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renee-writer · 5 years

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Autumn

One Shot Moodboard challenge. Thanks to @molecularstardust for the beautiful moodboard.💓💓💓💓

It is her favorite time of year. With the beautiful colors and the crisp but, not yet cold, air. She doesn't like the common name for it, fall. Autumn more describes the taste of cider, the sound of crunching leaves under her boots, smell of the coming winter.

Besides, autumn is when she meet him. She was sitting on a bench in the park, her head laid back, doing nothing more then enjoying the feel of the breeze against her skin. Between classes, she can't handle being inside.

“May I join you lass?” She looks up into the bluest eyes, the color of the cloudless sky above her and a head of hair as red as a changing maple leaf.

“Ah sure.” He sits beside her, drawing his long legs under the bench.

“Jamie Fraser.” He offers his hand.

“Claire Beauchamp.” She takes it. He gently squeezes it.

“Beauchamp? French but your accent is English.”

“I had a very unusual childhood. I am surprised you picked up the English Mr. Fraser. Must people hear the many combined ones and can't quite place it.”

“Jamie. I've an ear for the English accent.”

“Growing up in Scotland?”

“Aye. I guess we are both outsiders here.”

“Yes. My Uncle said Harvard was the best so..” she shrugs.

“My da said the same. What is your field of study, Miss Beauchamp?”

“Claire. Medicine and yours Jamie?”

“Law. Seems we are two ambitious people, eh Claire?” She thoroughly enjoys the thrill that runs up her spine at the way he says her name.

“Seems so. Oh, I must be off. Have class. I will see you around Jamie.” She stands and he stands with her.

“Wait lass.” He places something in her hand. She looks down to see an small index card with his name and number on it. “So we can stay in touch, eh?”

“Thank you Jamie. Not much of a caller but will text you.”

“That will be fine Claire.” She walks to class on lighter feet.

She does text him later that day. She had returned to her little apartment, a mile of campus and pulled the card out of the front pocket of her jeans where it had been all day. She smiles as she enters his number in her phone, saving it under Jamie, the scot. She then kicks of her boots and, curling up in her favorite chair, she text him.

“Hi Jamie. It is your favorite future doctor.” She then turns to her course work. She is in the midst of studying the names of the bones in the hand, when her phone dings.

“How do you know you are my favorite future doctor, eh?”

With a smile, she replies,” So I've competition?”

She watches as little dots appear and disappear, as he changes his mind. Then.

“No.” A few more dots. “No in no way Claire.”

She stares at the phone. What she had meet as a tease, he had made serious. How was she to respond?

“I was teasing.” She decides on honesty.

“I wasn't. Don't..” Dots appear and disappear again. “Run Claire. I know... Bloody. Can I call?”

She debates only a second. “Yes.” Her heart hammers as she waits for it to ring. Finally.

“Hi.”

“Hi Claire. Have I scared you? Will you block my number?”

“I wouldn’t have answered or even gave you permission to call, if that were so. I am puzzled though.”

“At what?”

“I was really teasing. Your response..”

“Yah. I thought about joking back but… I know we just meet and hardly know each other but I feel a pull between us that won't allow me to be nothing but less then honest.”

“I do too. What is this?”

“I don't know but I know I want to see you. Want to talk with you. Want, well, a lot. But will start with dinner. Will you let me take you out?”

“Yes.”

She is in a semi panic state as she gets ready that night. She hasn't had a serious boyfriend for years and that was in upper school. Never as an adult. This feels serious. As serious as they come.

She pulls her hair up then lets it back down. Slips on slacks then changes into a dress. “Get a grip Beauchamp.” She firmly orders herself. Finally she decides hair down and a red dress that shows her figure to perfection.

He knocks on her door right on time and she almost trips over her heels getting to it. She will never make it through dinner if she doesn’t get her nerves under control. So before opening the door, she takes several cleansing breaths.

She opens the door to find Jamie in kakis and a blue button down shirt that shows off his eyes. Lord, he is gorgeous. She finds him staring at her.

“Jamie?”

“Lass, God you are so beautiful.”

“You are quite handsome yourself. Shall we go?”

“Ah yes before I.. Yes let's go.” She locks up and he takes her hand. It feels good and she links their fingers. With their wrist resting against each other, she can feel his heartbeat. It is as fast as hers.

The restaurant he chose has a stunning view of the changing leaves. He pulls out her chair and she glazes out the window at them. They bring her some much needed peace. After their drink orders are taken and the hostess leaves, she fully turns to Jamie.

“You like the changing of the colors.” He states.

“I do. It is my favorite season, Autumn. With the cool but not cold nights, the beauty of the changing leaves, hot cider and sweaters. Truly what is not to love.”

“Aye but you missed one.” He is smiling mischievously at her and she can’t resist the bait.

“That is?”

“It is also cuddle under a quilt or tarden weather. Cuddle weather, eh?”

“Yes.” Her breath is coming short again. His hand reaches across the table to cover hers. Their waitress arrives with their drinks and take their orders. Jamie asks her to come back as they hadn't even taken time to look at the menus yet.

“Shall we decide and then talk?”

“A good idea.” She agrees.

He looks down at the menu then up at her and finds her doing the same. She blushes and he smiles. After they order, he reaches out to take her hand again.

“Shall we talk about it?”

“Yes let's. This thing between us, it is quite powerful. I've never felt anything like it. I dated a bloke in upper school. Went as far as to sleep with him but never felt like I do when you simply rest your hand on mine. I am fascinated and scared. Thrilled and terrified.”

“There has never been anyone who made my heart pound with just a touch, a look. Never been anyone I can see sharing a life with, children with. Grow old with. There is heat, aye. But it is more then the urge to join bodies. Oh, and it scares me to death too.”

“Oh!” she is breathless and speechless. To know it isn’t just her is reassuring. But, he is talking marriage and babies on their first date. It is all a bit overwhelming.

“Not that I am proposing anything but dinner right now.” He is quick to add when he sees her face. “We need to go on dates. Get to know each other.”

She lets out her breath and he smiles. “That is what we will do. So Jamie, tell me about your family?”

“I've a big brother William and sister Janet, called Willie and Jenny respectively. Willie runs Lallybroch, our families estate since my da, Brian retired. Jenny married my best mate, Ian, five years ago and they have three bairns, Jamie, Maggie, and Kitty.”

“Three, in five years?”

“Aye. Jenny wants a large family and none born after she is 35.”

“Sorry, go on.” He grins at her. They still hold hands across the table. He starts to run his thumb over her palm and she lets out a deep sigh.

“Jenny stays at home with the bairns. Ian runs Lallybroch Distillery. You see, Lallybroch is many things, a working farm, a historic site( it has been in our family for over 300 years), and, the extra grain is made into spirits.”

“Sounds fascinating.”

“It was a good childhood.”

“Your mam?” That he hadn't mentioned her didn’t escaped her notice.

“Ellen. She passed two years ago from cancer.”

“Oh Jamie!” She moves to his side of the bench seat and draws him into her arms. He buries his face in her neck and let's her comfort him. That is how the waitress finds them when she delivers their orders.

“Is all alright?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Claire replies. She gives them a concerned look before setting the food down.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“Claire, tell me about yours.” He needs a distraction. She stays on his side and tells him.

“I am an only child. My mum and daddy tried after me but.. So, I was fairly spoiled. My dad and mum are both doctors. My dad a surgeon. My mam an OB/GYN. Growing up, I knew a lot more then I should about the human body. When I was ten, my parents, Julia and Henry, let me spend summer holidays with my dad's brother, Uncle Lambert, who I call Lamb. He is an archeologist, so I spend my summers all over the world. It was wonderful.”

“Wow. That is quite nice Claire. That you was able to experience so much.”

“It was.” They stop talking to eat.

“What was the most unusual thing you saw? When with your Uncle Lamb?” He asks as he walks them back to his car. He holds her hand and she leans against him.

“Hmm, I guess it would be a completely intact room. He and the others uncovered it in Israel. It was a kitchen. The table was still set. It was awesome and strange at the same time. Like the people were just lifted out. Uncle Lamb and the others were quite excited. I was 13 and just wondered where the people went.”

“Did they figure it out?”

“Yes. Seems that it dated to the time of the Roman occupation. They fled and left everything as it was.”

“Wow.” They had reached his car and he opens the door for her. She grins and enters. He joins her. “Is that what fueled your desire to be a doctor, all you saw those summers or was it more your parents?”

“A bit of both. Seeing all the needy people. People dying from lack of simple meds, simple hygiene and clean water. My parents have always done what they could. They have did medical missions, volunteered at free clinics. So yes, both I would say. How about you? What drew you to the law?”

“”Well, I was always argumentative as a child. Had an answer for everything. My sister would tell me,’ You should be a barrister, Jamie. A joke between us, at first. As I got older, I started to see the appeal of it. At first, it was just the idea of getting paid to argue. But, as. I started to research it, I was drawn to the since of fairness, rightness. The idea of justice. Of setting things right again.”

She smiles at him as he starts his car. “A romantic not just monetary draw. Something else we have in common.” She lays her hand beside him and he covers it with his own.

“Aye. Anyone who gets into the law just to get rich, is in it for the wrong reason. Whether on the prosecution or defense side, you are serving the public good. That should be the motivation”

“I feel the same about medicine. You can't be in it for what you get out of it. A public good, as you say.”

“Aye.” He links their fingers as he drives off. He doesn’t want this date to end but knows it must. They need to do it right. This, what is between them, is to important for less.

“I feel it too, you know.” He turns quickly to look at her. “The hesitation about ending this date. I want to..” she trails off with a blush,” But, it is far to soon.”

“Aye, I was thinking the same. You are worth more then that.” He had arrived back at her place and they both sigh. He parks and gets out and opens the door. Taking her to the door “I really want to kiss you., which is why I mustn’t.” Another sigh. He bends down and brushes his lips across her forehead. He then lifts her hands up and kisses them.

“I've classes and then a test to study for tomorrow night. But, the next night can I take you out?” she asks him.

“Aye lass. Can I text you tomorrow?”

“Yes please.” She stands on her toes to reach his own forehead. “I will miss you way to much if you don't. Good night Jamie.”

“Good night Claire.”

She wakes up to a text from him.

'Good morning beautiful.’'

She smiles as she responds.

'Good morning my handsome scot.’

She is making the bed when her notification bell rings.

‘My. Like that.’

A flush covers her face. She had claimed him and isn't sure if it was intentional or not.

‘We do belong with each other.’ She text back, recalling what he said about honesty.

'Aye. And to?’

She swallows hard as she stares at her phone. He is right but, it had been just three days since she meet him.

'Claire, I'm sorry. Don't run.’

She feels the fear coming through his text. Her heart gives a lurch as she quickly replies.

‘You are right. And to each other. I am scared Jamie.’

A few seconds later.

'Don't be. There are two of us.’

'Coffee? Before class. I need to see you.’

‘And I you. Coffee aye.’

Her heart slows as soon as she sees him. He sees the relief reflected in his eyes too. He draws her into a hug, unmindful of the other people waiting.

“Better.” She says against his chest.

“Aye. Much better.”

She giggles. “How are we ever to do this Jamie. Not able to go a day.”

“Coffee and talk, eh?”

“Yes.” They order and he takes her to the table farthest away from the others.

“I've a crazy solution.” She looks at him with a head tilt. “Hear me out. Okay?” She nods. “We could get married.” Her mouth starts to open and he reaches across and covers it with his hand. “I know insane. But so is this. All of it. I am not saying jump into bed. Just join names and households. So we can live together.”

“We can do that without marriage.” She replies under his hand. He moves it. “It is 2019.”

“Aye. It is just not how I was raised. We are heading there. We both know it. So, keep doing this. Longing for each other. Or. Marry. Share a house and a bed, when we are ready.”

“Give me a day or so.”

“I guess I can do that.” She grins at him, reaches over to kiss his cheek. “Have class. I love you Jamie.”

“I love you Claire.”

“Marry!” her mind screams as she tries to focus on her classes. “It is crazy. Insane.” But, it has a strange appeal. A pull. To wake up in the same place, the same bed, well, it makes more sense then this crazy longing. Then finding herself unable to go a day without seeing him. Touching him. But, on the other hand, should she be running from the strange power of this? Shouldn’t it scare her? It does but in a thrilling way.

“Did I just propose, to a lass I've known for three days, at a coffee shop?” Jamie thinks in a kind of fascinated horror later. “Have I lost my mind?” Aye, his mind, his heart, his soul, his future, everything important to him, is hers. Totally and completely hers. They are heading towards marriage. Despite how crazy it is. They were made for each other. So, in that regard, it makes sense. He shakes himself and refocuses. He decides to do it right. Well, as right as he can now. He will get a ring and ask her proper.

His last class is over an hour before hers. He hurries to his apartment and takes out his lock box. He opens it and takes out the ring that is inside. A silver and gold mix that has a diamond crown cut in the middle. It had belonged to his grandmother. At her death, his mam had gifted it to him. “Fot the woman who will be my daughter-in-law.”

He bounces in his hand, the ring that his grandpa Simon had placed on his grandmother’s Vivian's hand when he asked for her hand 60 years ago. He wonders if they would approve of his choice. Yes, he thinks. Claire is a lot like her. Has the same intellect and ambition. He smiles. She had reared five children while taken night classes to get her business degree. She ran Lallybroch while grandpa served in the military. Yes, they would like her.

She meets him where they first meet mere four days ago. She is nervous so is he. “Claire, I am sorry. I should have never blurted it out like that. Right before we both had class.”

“No. It made concentrating hard.”

“Sorry babe. Besides the place and timing and place, what did you think?”

“There is a kind of logic to the illogical idea of it.”

He laughs aloud. “Christ Claire, your way with words. That is a perfect description.” She laughs with him. “Does that mean yes?” She looks deep into his eyes and sees all she has ever dreamed of. With a deep breath she nods.

“Yes, as crazy as it is, yes.” He drops down before her. He slips the ring out of his pocket. “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, I know it is crazy but there is no one else I want to hold hands with, the only one I want to wake up beside, the only one I want to see in our children’s faces, the only one I want to fight with, make up with, laugh with and cry with. Will you do me the honor of stepping into the future with me. Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes Jamie!” He slips the ring on her finger. It fits perfectly. “Did you go out and..”

“No. It was my grandma's. Does it suit because I can.”

“No. God Jamie. It is beautiful.”

“Like you.”

“You know we have yet to even kiss.” His fiancée reminds him.

“Hmm we should remedy that.” He stands up and pulls her to her feet. Placing his hands on her face, he meets her eyes before lowering his head.

Neither are sure what to expect but are not prepared for the power behind it. She clings to his shoulders to avoid falling. He holds tight to her back to prevent the same. She feels the power he is holding in check. He feels the trust she is given him and is exquisitely careful with it.

They both look awed as they come apart. She rest her head against his chest. His arms come tight around her.

“So, do you want a long engagement.” He asks against her head.

“No. I think a short one would be best.” He chuckles.

“I agree. You want a church wedding?”

“I think simpler is better. Maybe a church wedding later. Like on an anniversary.”

“Okay. Claire I don’t even know if you are a Catholic?”

“I am. Nominal but yes.”

“Good. That is good. Children, you want children?”

“Boy are we doing this backwards.” She says with a laugh. “Yes, I want children.”

“We are. Okay Claire, let's go..”

“To your place. And talk.”

“Aye. My place it is.” They join hands and the feel of the ring does strange things to Jamie, and he takes her to his flat.

His place is tiny but neat. He was verra glad he followed his mam's advise and always kept it straightened. “Yah ne' ken when you will want to bring a lass home.” She had advised,” so always assume you will.” Because he followed that rule, he knows he won’t be embarrassed by wet towels on the floor or dishes in the sink. This is not just any lass, but his fiancée. He is thankful for the good first impression.

She smiles as she walks in. An efficiency, with the living room/ bedroom together. The perfectly made bed is off to the side. The sofa has a tarden style blanket over the back. A bookshelf is filled with both law books and novels. The kitchen is clean with just a few dishes in the drainer.

“I am impressed. Mine isn't this neat.”

“My mam. She always told me to leave the house as if I would be bringing someone back to it.”

“A smart woman.”

“Aye, you would have liked her and she you.”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Come Claire, let's talk.” She takes a seat on his couch and fingers the soft fabric of the tarden.

“Your families colors?”

“Aye, the Fraser colors.” He takes it and spreads it out over their laps.

“Beautiful.” She runs her hands over it.

“Aye.” But he isn’t talking about the tarten. He meets her eyes and they both swallow. “Talk. We need to talk.”

“Yes. How many children do you want?”

“Two or three. Siblings teach you a lot, I've found.”

“Yes. I always wanted one. So, are you a ‘attend mass every time the doors are open' type or..”

“Or. I should go more. But..”

“Ah, that is me too.”

And so, they slowly get to know their future spouses for the first time. They discuss family, their own and what they expect for the one they are building together, values and mores, and then they get to the more intimate stuff.

“I was 16. He was 19. I was in Paris with Uncle Lamb. He was sweet, and very French. We were at his flat and I felt myself very grown-up. Well, until I missed my cycle.” His eyes get comically large, “I wasn’t. Just nerves. It was only a week but put me off the whole idea for awhile. Besides, I couldn’t figure out what the attraction was. It seemed a messy affair that only brought pleasure to the man.”

“You didn’t..”

“No. I hardly ever do. I know it is harder for a woman but..”

He is shaken his head. “The man must take his time and pay attention. Though, my first probably didn’t get much out of it either. I was seventeen, a bit older, eh. She was also. We were out in the barn, fumbling in the hay loft. I took her in three strokes.”

“Three.” She is giggling.

“I've gotten better.” It is without thought that there lips come together, that there hands fumble under the tarden that still covers them. Hers land on his thighs. His glaze her breasts. Their moans blend together. She finds herself under him as he kisses down her neck. Her hands twisted in that wonderful hair.

“Please,” she whispers, as his hands work under her sweater.

“Are you sure?”

“Very. I want you.” He eases it up as she pulls on his. He lifts hers off and then his own. She watches his eyes as he looks at her. Her breasts are one part of her body she is insecure about. To small, she has always thought. But, the awe she sees in his eyes makes her start to think differently.

“Claire, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”

“You don't think them to small?”

“No,” he lowers the bra straps. “God no. You are esquist.” He reaches back to take it off before moving his hands to the front to cup her. She shivers at the contact. “With nipples like cherries. Shall we see if they are as sweet?” Her eyes drift closed as he lowers his head. Only to fly open with his first deep suck.

“Oh god!” It feels so good. So very good as his pulling mouth works her nipple deeper in. His fingers pull on the other one. He then switches sides. Her left is even more sensitive and she cries out as he starts to love on it. The thought that he is to be her husband and her breasts will have this type of attention all the time is what causes her to tear up. He feels them fall on his neck and looks up.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No. I just realized that, as my husband, you can love on my breast, like that all the time.”

“Ah lass, and we have just begun.” He pulls her jeans off and kisses down her belly.

“Where? What?”

“I think you know.”

“Yes, it is just..”

“Aye?” he rests on her hip bone and looks up at her with raised eye brows. “Ah, there is an odor.” She is blushing.

“True. You smell of your desire for me and it is intoxicating. Please Claire, let me bring you pleasure. “ She nods and tries to relax as her eases her panties off. He kisses back up her legs, easing them open. He licks up her inner thigh, and she starts to shake with anticipation.

He kisses her mound before opening her with his hands. She closes her eyes as he starts to lap her, up and down. He hits her clit with every swipe and she is soon panting for more. He fully turns his attention to it.

“Ohhh!” She had never felt anything like his mouth holding her in place as his tongue pulled at her. His hand comes up and finds her left nipple and she is gone. Pulled almost out of her body by the surge of pleasure, her legs start to shake and quiver, her body bows up and over him. He keeps a hold of her breast and clit and waits for her to come down. When she does, he pulls her back over with a deep suck and a gentle squeeze. This time she screamed.

“That,” he breathlessly tells her. “Is what it is supposed to feel like.”

“Yes! Oh yes. Thank you.”

He grins from her belly where he had worked his way too. “Shall we continue? We don’t have to. Can wait if you want.”

“Sweet man, I want you. Let's go mess up your bed.”

“Oh aye,” He pulls off his clothes before taken her hand and leading her into his room. “Claire, are you on something?” he asked her.

“No I, well I've not been.”

“Right. No worries I've,” He reaches into his bedside drawer. “My da taught his sons to always have rubbers around. That you will never know and.. well, I listened.”

“Thank God you did.” He grins in agreement before pulling one out of the just opened box.

“Aye.” She climbs on the bed. He joins her and runs his hands down her body. “You are so very beautiful, my wife-to-be.”

“Soon Jamie. I wish to be married soon.”

“Aye, me too.” He is playing with her breast and she starts to gasp and keen. “Claire, may I?” In answer, she takes the rubber from him and slips in on. Her hands on him are almost his undoing. He groans and then gasp as she guides him between her legs. “Oh God. “ The feel of her, surrounding him, he knows he was exactly where he was born to be.

“Yes, Jesus Jamie, yes!” her hands hold tight to him as he starts to move. He watches her, gaging her reaction so he can find the rhythm that suits them both. The slow slide, in and out, that has her clawing at his back, seems to be it.

“Close. Oh God. Jamie I think..” he smiles and lowers his head, drawing that wonderfully sensitive left nipple in. It is all she needs and, with his next slide in, she gasps, and cries out as she clamps around him. “Oh!”

“That's it, my love. “ he sooths as she comes down. He had stopped as she came around him, not wanting to cum himself, just yet.

“Oh wow!” He kisses her deeply before picking it back up. He moves a bit faster and her legs come up to hold him in place. “Jamie!”

He is determined to bring her there again and lifts her wonderful bum up, drawing her closer. Her pants and gasps get more frantic and he feels it build back up in both of them. “Come baby. Cum with me.” She starts to move with him and a minute later whimpers and groans as the pleasure runs back through her. He follows within seconds, crying out her name.

“Well okay then,” She says after a few more hundred heartbeats that slowly return to normal. “That is what it is supposed to feel like.”

“Aye.” He lays breathless and sweating beside her. “Aye but that is making love. Was new to me. The intensity.”

“Good. Good to know I am not alone.”

“Never again.” He rolls over and faces her,” that is my vow to you. You will ne' face another day or night alone.”

“God Jamie. I so love you.”

“You are my world. When do you wish to make the wedding then?”

“Do you wish your family here?”

“We can have ceremony for them later. Just you and I is fine for now. Unless you wish your family here?”

“No, just us sounds perfect. Can we just go to the register tomorrow?”

“Aye, my love. We can if that be your wish.”

“Yes please.”

“Then that is what we will do.”

That is what they do. After stopping to purchase simple gold bands, they walk into the registers office, hand in hand.

“We would like to be married, please.” He tells the lady at the counter.

“Excellent. Need you to fill out this license. You have ID?” They hand it to her. “Very good.”

“So, we can get married now?”

“Yes you may. In three day.”

“Three days?” Claire complains.

“Yes. We have a three day period from when the license is filed and when it is picked up. Gives us time to see if you are married elsewhere and you time to cool off, not to marry in haste.”

“It is only three days. I am going nowhere.” Jamie tells her.”

“Right.” She smiles at him. “We can be married here though?”

“Yes. The day you pick up your license.”

“Thank you. We will be back.”

“I bet she thinks I am pregnant.” Claire teases as they leave, still hand in head.”

“Undoubtedly. Well it matters not what she thinks. We know why we wish to be married so fast.” She smiles at him. “Because I canna live another day without you.”

“Nor I, you. Well, it is only three days and with classes and all.”

“Time will go fast. Aye.”

“And it doesn’t mean we can’t be together. Neither of us have class until tomorrow.” His eyes shoot up.

“Well then, future Mrs. Fraser, your place or mine?”

“Oh, we have to figure that out. Later.”

They stand before the judge three days later. Holding tight to each others hands and looking deep in each others eyes, they repeat the words that bind them together. They slip the rings on and kiss. They take a selfie with the marriage license and their ringed fingers. They send it to their families and then hide in her apartment for a week, waiting for the explosion to die down. Their families eventually come to understand and except the marriage.

A year later, August Julia-Ellen Fraser is born. The grandparents and aunts and uncles come to meet the chestnut haired blue eyed lass. When they see how in love her parents are and how the are making it work, still keeping up with their classes still on the right track, the last of their doubts fade away.

They return to Scotland after finishing school. They build their practices as their children grow. Every Autumn, they take a week, just them, and go camping. Exploring the monros, making love under the stars, keep warm by her husbands heat, reminds Claire why it is her favorite season.

#my writing #one shot #moodboard #challenge #autumn #okay this is the longest one shot I have ever done.#pray you guys like it #gets explict

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years

Text

fox rain | three

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. namjoon) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid namjoon is (oh and like... ant gambling rings??) → words: 15.7K → a/n: this is late by a month and my whole life is a joke. i hope this makes you laugh bc i made namjoon extra dumb for y’all (for no extra charge. suck it, chipotle.) also: check bio for other chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

“This can’t be my fucking life. Can it?” you say to your own reflection, curtains of despair dripping from every inch of your visage. Your reflection stares back, the same dead eyes twitching imperceptibly from the lack of caffeine in your system. At this point, you wouldn’t be sane enough to be surprised if your parallel self would reply, perhaps with some scathing remark about how you were slowly losing your grip on your life. Not that it would be unwarranted, anyway.

After Hoseok’s explosion the other day, your weekend doesn’t exactly feel as exciting as it usually is. Of course, your mood is still a vast improvement from last week when you were out of commission for most it after your mental breakdown. Although, it doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still knee deep in shit and that you have no idea how you’re going to face Hoseok and Jimin the following Monday.

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

The day seems to be in much better spirits than you, and it would be a waste not to let the universe’s good mood try to make you feel better as well. There is a coffee shop just a block away, and maybe you could take a walk in the sunshine afterwards to help relax the dread consistently knocking at the back of your mind. It’s a little bit optimistic, but it’ll have to do.

Shrugging on a thin cardigan over some other semi-decent clothes, you step out of your stuffy apartment with a spring in your step. You didn’t bother with any of your usual morning ritual, seeing as how you don’t plan on meeting with anyone you know from university anyway. So what if your landlady Mrs. Park sees the bird’s nest on top of your head? Who is she going to tell? Her gang of old auntie friends all hate you already for wearing a “TRANS RIGHTS” shirt in front of them, so it’s not like you’re vying for their acceptance.

Other than your less than friendly neighborhood aunties, there are better old people to hang around anyway. Nearby the coffee shop, there is a senior home where you used to volunteer during your spare time until your other commitments forced you to give up your spot to some other benevolent soul. Since you have been meaning to visit the grandmas and grandpas there when you got some free time, you suppose it would be nice to talk to kind ol’ Ms. Kim today and listen to her recount her many youthful adventures (which is, more often than not, a euphemism for her various sexcapades in the 70s.)

The senior home is closer to your home than the coffee shop, so you choose to stop and gaze at the plain-looking white building with its neatly trimmed bushes and white picket fence. It looks out of place in the neighborhood, with its very suburban and Americana design, but you know it is only because the owner of the establishment had gotten her inspiration from Forrest Gump. She has a crush on young Tom Hanks, and you honestly can’t blame her for it; that man… he is a Man, with a capital M.

You’re in the middle of debating whether you should buy your coffee first before visiting the seniors when you hear a distant shout coming from within the house. Alarmed, you take a step back, almost falling on your ass and onto the sidewalk. You pause, tilting your head to try and peak over the fence and through the large windows that showed the reception area within. You recognize Hana, the receptionist, sitting by her desk in her usual green scrubs, her head bowed over a book as if the sound had not fazed her in the slightest.

“Am I crazy? Am I starting to hear things?” You wonder aloud, still staring at the innocent-looking home. Has the universe had enough with your lacklustre existence that it has caused you to hear nonsense? Is this only the beginning of your slow descent into madness?

You don’t have to fret over your sanity for too long because moments later, the shout repeats itself. Like the previous one, this one sounds just as pained and anguished, though you aren’t sure if it was a male or female who had screamed. For all you knew, the person might have either stubbed their toe or gotten a knife stabbed through their chest; it’s not like you spend time distinguishing the subtle nuances of tormented screams. However, you are more certain now that it had come from within the home, even though Hana has yet to react to the chilling noise. She flips to the next page, tired eyes squinting at the small text.

You are stuck at an impasse: do you go inside the home despite the possible danger of entering a secret cannabilist society of which your acquaintance has been initiated to, or do you turn around and go home where it is 100% more likely for you to survive the next 24 hours?

The choice becomes apparent to you, however, when a tall, lanky boy bursts out of one of the doors behind the receptionist, with his arms piled to the ceiling with dinner plates on the cusp of making their way to the floor. Even through the window and behind a fence, you can tell that he is in dire need of help, which Hana does not seem likely to extend. The mess of legs makes a beautiful display of himself, his lower limbs flapping about aimlessly as his body contorts to try and keep himself and the plates balanced.

Finally, after what feels like hours of torture watching the poor volunteer make a fool of himself, he manages to steady himself, his legs crossed together like he’s trying to hold in his piss. Carefully, he squats down, placing the plates on the floor in front of the receptionist desk. For a moment, you feel as though you should be applauding, for whatever reason.

Now without dishes obscuring his face, you can make out the identity of the flailing giraffe man. He turns, fingers combing through his distinctly colored hair––

Oh god. It’s him. You gotta get out of there, fast, before he recognizes you. Maybe if you run quickly enough, then maybe he won’t notice you when he looks out the window around.

“Ha,” the universe laughs, clapping their asscheeks to the rhythm of Ludacris’ Move Bitch Get Out Da Way™️ with a smirk. “Cute of you to think your life isn’t basically a 20-year long trainwreck in motion.”

Inevitably he turns around, his eyes immediately locking on your face despite being half-concealed by the fence. He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he lights up, recognition flooding his features. Even though you cannot hear him clearly, you just know that he said something stupid, judging by the way Hana has finally looked up from her book to stare at him weirdly.

Please don’t come out and greet me. Please just let me wave at you awkwardly and for you to stay where you are. Please don’t go out and talk to me––

Your prayers go unanswered once more as he sidesteps the wall of plates, his hip just barely grazing it and almost causing it to tumble down. The pile sways precariously from left to right, miraculously staying put as he rushes out to greet you. You can only imagine the mess he’d have to clean up if it did, shards of cheap porcelain left behind in his awkward, fumbling wake.

Luckily (or unluckily for you), he makes it out of the senior home in one piece. He crosses the short path to the fence in two inhumanly long strides, slamming the fence door open with a wide swing. It smacks loudly against the railing, the hinges making a pained groan as it looks to be at the inch of its life––literally. You vaguely remember replacing the screws on it just before you left over six months ago… Surely you hadn’t done such a shoddy job? Although, you know that simply can’t be true. After all, you’re dealing with none other than destruction incarnate himself, Kim––

“Y/N!” Namjoon greets happily, his dimples deeper than you remember. You swallow heavily, trying your best not to sweat under his overly enthusiastic gaze. God, you should’ve gone straight to the coffee shop when you had the chance.

Nothing like facing disaster head-on, as they say. “Hey,” you reply half-heartedly, though the walking inflatable tube man doesn’t seem to mind your lacklustre mood. He grasps your hands for a shake, swinging your entire body up and down with the care of a man who does not know his own strength. You, his unfortunate victim, are left to suffer through his artery-bursting grip.

“Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Not that I’m not normally happy to see you at university, but––” He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the specific contents of his sentences, so you can only hope that your unenthused nods will be enough to placate the bumbling buffoon. You resign yourself to a fate similar to the bobbleheads on the dashboards of those white suburban soccer moms.

“Wait, hold on.” What on earth..? You are full on gaping at the piece of work on top of his head, not even pretending to be polite as you try to process what is in front of you. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

You know from old Facebook photos that Namjoon has natural black locks, though you can’t say that his wacky hairstyles were also inborn. Ever since you have known him, he has always dyed his hair a sandy brown color, complimenting his tan skin. Now, however…

“You mean the weird blue streaks?” Namjoon says, rubbing a few strands thoughtfully. His hair is a walking disaster, and this is coming from someone who has seen what Kim Seokjin has done to his clients. (There’s a reason his Yelp reviews are terrible… He deserves negative stars, if you’re being honest.)

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

“Uh… Kind of?” He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I had meant to change my hair color to something more exciting, so I asked the kids at the daycare and they suggested blue. Problem is, the seniors said they preferred my brown hair but I already promised the kids so… Here we fucking are,” he says in one breath, appearing as though what he said was obvious.

“So your solution was to compromise… by coloring half your hair blue, like some botched version of Death the Kid?”

“Exactly!” He beams, glad that you understand him perfectly.

Oh my god… He’s… No words are coming to you right now, but you get the picture.

The thing about Kim Namjoon is… he’s not… bad. Or dumb, for that matter.

Okay, not the best compliment out there, but it’s true. You’ve known for as long as you’ve been a university student, and your first meeting is certainly one for the books. You wouldn’t exactly consider him a “friend,” and an acquaintance is a bit of a stretch on most days, but he’s a nice guy. He’s eccentric in the most positive way, and not at all in the same chaotic and evil way that Seokjin is (for which you are thankful for.) It has always been a bit tricky to get close with him, as his head is always so far up in his work that it almost feels like he’s being reclusive on purpose.

If you ignore the fact that he has that odd propensity to volunteer himself in any job on the face of the earth (with him being unqualified 9 times out of 10), it is easy to see why people think so highly of him.

He is a scholarship student with a 4.0 GPA, is the youngest candidate to ever receive the university president’s yearly public commendation, and has already released two reputable mixtapes with high praise from critics nationwide. He’s nothing if not a prodigy, and he’s amassed a hefty following for his accomplishments. As a music major yourself, it’s hard not to be a little starstruck with him if you’re being honest.

Most of all, you remember the first song that you had ever heard from him: Moonchild. You still can’t quite believe he let you hear one of his many masterpieces when the two of you had just been total strangers. The lyrics had been so heartfelt, so intimate, that you felt as if you were intruding on his personal space or something. But he had let you listen, let you take a peek at what goes on inside that nebulous brain of his. When he does things like that, it makes it easy to understand why people might think your love poem might be about him. He’s just so… easy to admire.

The poem isn’t about him, but. It could have been, in some other life. (Or maybe it is.)

(Was.)

(Will?)

Regardless, you still have to convince him otherwise. You just simply aren’t ready for that type of development, much less with him. Despite all his good sides.

Thus, Kim Namjoon leaves you at a standstill. Why do you feel so fucking weird about harboring this idol crush on him? How can he be so dumb and so smart at the same time? He has blue fucking hair for crying out loud! He’s causing you cognitive dissonance just by existing, and it’s giving your meagre amount of brain cells a workout.

Oh shit, have you been ignoring him? You were totally zoning out this entire time, haven’t you?

Somewhere around the time you were having your mini mental breakdown, Namjoon’s mouth had stopped moving, giving you an expectant look. Oh shit. He probably asked you something. Embarrassed and unwilling to give away that you had not processed even a single word out of his mouth, you nod and give him an approximation of what you assume is a friendly smile.

For a second, you think that you might have gotten away with it when Namjoon’s face breaks out into an enormous grin. He grabs you by the shoulder and envelops you in an chokehold-like embrace. You let out a wheeze, clawing at his biceps with your remaining strength to try and prevent your untimely death due to asphyxiation. “Namjoon..?”

He lets out a shriek at a higher octave than you thought a man of his size was capable of. Somewhere out there, a dog probably perks up at the supersonic sound. “Y/N, I knew I could count on you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the elders for Zombie Tea Time!”

Now that caught your attention. You pause in your squirming to fix him with a confused expression. “I’m… I’m sorry? What did you say?”

His smile never falters. He presses his cheek against yours, rubbing it happily with a hum. In any other scenario, you might have fainted from how adorable he was being, but seeing as how all your blood is still trapped in your upper extremities from his vice hug, it is difficult enough trying to remember how to stay alive.

“Every Saturday, the senior home hosts this event called Zombie Tea Time where the old people all get to have their faces painted with fake blood and all the volunteers have to pretend to be innocent civilians trying to get away from them!”

The more Namjoon speaks, the more you feel your sanity dripping out of your ass like diarrhea. “Ex. Excuse me? Say that again?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing the volunteers are trying out this month,” Namjoon says, finally (finally) releasing you from his hug. You don’t know if your flushed cheeks are from embarrassment or a stroke. “Like I said, we’re a bit shorthanded today, so I’ve had to wash the plates from breakfast AND pretend to get eaten by senile zombies. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You grimace, patting him on the shoulder empathetically. You freeze. “Wait. So that’s why you were screaming a while ago?”

“Huh?” Namjoon pauses, before his face does something funny where it looks like he’s either going to sneeze or take a shit. Thankfully he does neither, but instead reaches his hand around his back like he has an itch he needs to scratch. He makes a pained yelp, plucking something out from his asscheeks and pulling out what appears to be––

You stare at the object in his palm. “Are those… dentures?”

“Hmm…” Namjoon stares at it, too tired to be disgusted. He just nods his head sagely. “Must’ve been when I was too slow to dodge Mister Lee’s lunge. I was beginning to wonder why my ass felt like it was being eaten out.”

“Please, never say that sentence to me ever again.”

“Yea,” he agrees, sighing faintly. He pockets the teeth much to your horror, patting it gently like he hadn’t just placed a pair of dentures in his fucking scrubs. He dusts off his hands, his lips pursed so that his dimples stand prominently on display. You barely contain yourself from sinking your finger right into their hypnotizing abysses.

He looks at you hopefully. “So… Uh. You said you’ll help me?”

Oh right. You fucking said you’d help him fend off a hoard of virulent old people in face paint.

You look to the right, where the coffee shop is just within sight. Sweet, sweet caffeine, tantalizing you with its saccharine presence, dangling its wretchedly addictive power over your head. If you breathe deeply enough, you think you can smell the coffee beans from here.

You turn back to Namjoon, and you can physically feel the weight of his hopeful gaze on your shoulders. Your defenses have never crumbled so quickly in your life. Fuck him and his stupidly handsome ass.

You sigh, resigning your fate to eternally being whipped for a pair of pretty long legs and size B man titties. “Let’s fucking do this, I guess.” Easier said than done, but you already have one foot in elephant shit, so might as well submerge your whole body as well.

You follow Namjoon closely, having to take two extra steps for every one step that he takes. He crosses the reception area quickly, sending energetic finger guns at Hana which unsurprisingly goes unrequited. You take the more inconspicuous route and wave shyly at her, intimidated by her even after you have long since stopped working here. She levels you with one of her infamous hundred yard stares, lips turned downwards as she appraises you.

“You’ve decided to come back?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with a huff.

Namjoon is in the midst of trying to once again carry all the plates in his Play-Doh arms, so you’re a bit distracted when you shake your head in response. “Uh. N-no, Namjoon just asked me to help with the dishes, that’s all.”

“That’s a shame,” Hana says, no trace of disappointment in her voice whatsoever. She returns to her book, buzzing open the double doors to let the two of you pass. She flicks her hand lazily at the commotion happening behind her. “Better hurry back in there. The seniors are getting antsy.”

The doors open automatically, and you almost topple over when you are immediately bombarded with the terrifying symphony of old people hollering obscenities at frantic volunteers trying desperately to get away from their gnarled clutches. The hoard hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, and you fear to wonder what type of horrors that you will have to face once you step through those doors. You absolutely refuse to die on this hill, not when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet.

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Namjoon says, as if he can read your mind. You look at him skeptically.

“You think?”

He clears his throat. “I can’t promise we’ll come out of this unscathed, though.”

He takes a tentative step forward, the pile of dishes wobbling dangerously on their perch. You are quick to steady the leaning tower of Disa(ster), managing to transfer half of it into your own arms. You grunt, adjusting your stance so that you do not accidentally lose your grip. “Dude. How the hell did you get all those plates out here in the first place?”

Namjoon stands up straighter, the weight significantly easier for him to manage now. He smiles cherubically back at you, eyes crinkling cutely. “Oh, I was literally on survival mode and trying to stop lil Mrs. Sun from gnawing my leg off. The elders can smell fear you see, so they were definitely going to climb on top of me like World War Z and probably kill me.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Although, I think I dropped a plate or two while I was escaping, so watch your step!”

He says all of that with the same eagerness as man who is about to do something crazy, like jump out of a plane or walk a tightrope over a 100 ft canyon. Though, you have to admit that this entire scenario feels like it is on the same calibre.

“Is it me, or are the old people here 10 times crazier than I remember when I volunteered here?”

“You used to work here?” Namjoon says, amazed. “Oh, I didn’t know that! I only started a week ago when some other person resigned due to mental health issues or something.”

“You sure that this place isn’t the cause of their mental decline?” You say it like a joke, though you mean it seriously. Maybe the universe had been looking out for you when decided to get out of this place.

“Hmm… Maybe. Although, we only received this shipment of old people fairly recently.”

Pause. Rewind. “S-shipment?” you repeat, staring at him wildly.

Like the lovable airhead that he is, Namjoon fails to notice your astonishment and instead takes the first brave step forward through the double doors. He tilts his head towards the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. The plates rattle dangerously from his movements. “C’mon, we gotta get these plates cleaned before the lunch crew comes to take over their shifts!”

Walking to the kitchen is easier than you thought, especially after you take into account the fact that all the old people completely ignored you and chose to only attack Namjoon, for whatever reason. You like to think that it is because the seniors still remember you back when you were still volunteering here and that they hold some semblance of endearment for you, but Namjoon begs to differ. In fact, he screams out his hypothesis as to why you have been left unharmed, all while two older women climb his back like demented crabs.

“Y/N! I think they can’t attack you because you’re in civilian clothes! They only attack scrubs!” Namjoon says, swatting away one of the women off his back with a surprisingly coordinated headbutt. She shrieks as she falls, landing on all four legs like a cat would do. She hisses lowly at you, before scuttling off to somewhere unseen.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” you wince, watching Namjoon unsuccessfully trying to spin quick enough to dislodge the remaining senior.

Namjoon perks up when he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s face, giggling and appearing as if he isn’t currently being assailed by a senior citizen. “Oh, Ms. Kim! I didn’t see you there. I love the zombie make-up you got going. Who helped you?” He looks at you, as if imploring you to compliment her as well.

“Uh. Yes. You’re looking very… yellow.”

Ms. Kim snarls, baring her teeth. “It’s the jaundice,” she says.

Not wanting to stand in that hallway any longer, you carefully place the plates back on the floor before you gently unclamp the old lady’s talons from Namjoon’s poor biceps. You wince, feeling the length of her nails and knowing that Namjoon is going to have some nasty scars.

You tell him so, but he only shakes his head. “Nah? I think they’d be pretty neat! Battle scars are cool right?”

You grimace at him. “If that’s… what you think, then sure.”

After grabbing your plates and hurrying after him before the elders make note of Namjoon’s survival, the two of you share a sigh of relief as you both slowly start piling them into the dishwasher. The task is menial and repetitive, and despite what Namjoon’s earlier chattiness might have suggested, he is quiet while he works. The silence is not as awkward as you feared, and honestly the peace is a welcome respite after all the chaos that you had to endure in such a short period of time. Although, silence has never been a good friend to your overworked mind, as it allowed you to stew inside your own head for much too long––and you have found in your 20 years of existence that it is probably for the best that you are not left without external stimulation for too long.

But here you are, forced to do exactly that. You would have engaged in some conversation with Namjoon to stop yourself from getting in over your head, but you are afraid of what sort of embarrassing topics might spew out of your mouth if you do. Heaven forbid that you start geeking out on him about your unhealthy obsession of collecting miniature glass horse figurines––that is a secret best kept between yourself and the tentacle monster under your bed.

You begin reflecting on the events from the past two weeks, replaying them second by agonizing second and ruminating on the state that your pitiful young adult life has become. The more you allow these memories to simmer, the more you slowly realize the weight of the accumulated stress that has long since made you hunch over like a goblin.

Hoseok and Jimin’s argument comes to the forefront of your mind, the unexpected heat coming from both of them confusing you to no end. You still don’t know the source of their ire towards one another, but what baffles you the most is how you could have missed it in the first place. Sure, you had thought they were at least more than acquaintances; one does not simply challenge a near stranger to a dance off in the middle of a library three times a week, for more than two months and counting. Friends might have been a stretch, though you can’t say you’re familiar with how their schedules look like outside your tutoring sessions together.

The question is though… should you interfere? Normally, you would have stayed far away from anyone else’s drama––you just aren’t the type of person to stick their noses in other people’s business. Yet somehow, you feel as if your poem was the catalyst to this violent chain reaction, that you have inadvertently caused the foundation of a precarious building to explode and bring the whole thing crashing down. To think that your silly love poem for a boy who hardly knows that you exist has become the center of so many people’s lives… the entire thing is giving you a headache.

Speaking of headaches… you should probably confront Namjoon about the poem as well. It is probably best that you plan your approach better this time, seeing as how your two previous attempts have been anything but stellar. Namjoon can’t be that difficult to convince, right? And even if he does see right through you, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would laugh cruelly at you in the event that he figures out that you are the author. Not like Seokjin, at least. Luckily no one is like Seokjin, the fucking rat bastard that he is.

(In the distance, Seokjin has the sudden animalistic urge to slip anthrax in your milk tea the next time he sees you.)

You glance at Namjoon from the corner of your eye, definitely not ogling the way his arms flex as he loads the final couple of plates. The breath catches in your throat when you realize that some time while you were busy swimming in your junkyard of a brain, he had rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying his god-like veins for the eyes of the deplorable (you) to feast upon.

Your mouth feels dry, even though other parts of you feel more moist than you remember. Oh god, now is not the time to remember how hot this fucking nerd is.

Despite the fact that your biological clock is screaming “HORNY HOUR” at your monkey brain, Namjoon continues to be thankfully unaware of your internal panic. He closes the dishwasher door shut, clicking it on with a relieved sigh. He gives you a megawatt smile and makes your heart leap into a somersault, probably knocking around some vital organs along the way.

“Thanks so much for the help, Y/N! Couldn’t have done it without you!” he cheers, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You wheeze under the impact, waving away his concern despite feeling like your lungs have probably slipped out of your asshole.

“It’s no problem, Namjoon…” you sigh, gazing sadly as Namjoon begins to do a final sweep of the kitchen before inevitably going to sign off for the day. You know your window of opportunity has already closed, and if you had not spent so much time staring at his beautiful man tiddies, you are sure you could have been a little more productive with him. Curse him and his damn chest.

But now, at least you’ll have more time to think of how to approach him and bring up the poem when you aren’t, like, seriously decaffeinated and on the cusp of a heart attack. You are about to bid him farewell with your tail between your legs when his hands cup your cheeks, catching you off guard.

You splutter incomprehensibly, arms flapping about like a fish out of water. “Wha––?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! After my hours here at the senior home, I have the afternoon shift at the daycare center near our university and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

If Namjoon’s cool, large hands holding your face like a delicate flower had caught you off guard, then his sudden invitation only exacerbated the furious blush blooming across your neck like a rash.

So what do you say?

“Meep,” is what you say, like the verbose poet that you are. Y/N, renowned campus poet, has the vocabulary of a five year old.

“Is that a yes?” Namjoon smiles, letting go off you in favor of looping his gangly arms around your waist. Another unflattering noise escapes your throat at his proximity and his firmness. “That’s so great! The kids love seeing new faces, and I bet they’d love to have a pretty girl around instead of plain ol’ me all the time!”

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

“Yea, sure!” Namjoon says, his stupid grin still on his stupidly handsome face. He does not appear to be embarrassed at all by his brazenness, which is starting to make you think he is either a well-seasoned flirt or just plain oblivious to the implications of his own words. Knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him that the latter might be the reason.

Compliments and unintentional flirting aside, you really did not feel up to another harrowing experience with Namjoon at one of his other volunteering stunts. You are but a woman in clown shoes, and even the most seasoned clowns must have their rest.

“Listen, Namjoon… I don’t think I can go with you. I have to go, uh,” you pause, your hamster brain working a mile a minute. “Water… my dog? No, I mean… feed my plant.” You cringe, mentally slapping yourself.

Namjoon, the sneaky bastard, hits you with his strongest and most potent puppy dog eyes in his arsenal. It was super effective! “Please, Y/N? I won’t take too much of your time! Just play with the kids for two hours and I promise to leave you alone!”

C’mon, Y/N. Focus. Are you the type of woman to break down her defenses for the wilful fancies of any man? You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Surely you can look him in the eye and tell him straight to his face that you would prefer to go home and rest on this beautiful Saturday than go frolicking with a bunch of snot-nosed children––

“Oh, sure. Why the hell not?” you say, like the dumb fucking idiot that you are.

Namjoon’s dimples deepen even further. You glare menacingly at them, knowing full well that they were entirely the cause of your weakness.

“Thank you so much, Y/N! The kids will really appreciate your presence! C’mon, we haven’t got time to lose!”

Namjoon does not even give you the time to fully comprehend your own pitiful existence before he nearly tugs your arm out of its socket as he maneuvers you to the local daycare just a few minutes away from the senior home. You don’t get to say your farewells to any of the seniors or your old work colleagues, but it might be for the best… You will need all the sanity left in your body to survive the rest of the day with Namjoon.

On the bright side, that means you’ll have the chance to talk to him about the poem, though you’re still hesitant to do so with how badly your previous stunts had ended up. But then again, when else would you get another good opportunity to talk to your crush acquaintance about this? You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see what happens next, and hope for the best.

You have been at the daycare for almost three hours now, and there are still no signs of you ever bringing up the poem. You might as well sign your last will and testament with the macaroni art supplies currently decorating your body, making you look like a morbid pasta dish monster from hell. You hope to god that the sticky stuff all over your skin is just cheese… White, rubbery scented cheese…

“Ain’t this fun?” Namjoon calls out from somewhere, presumably under the mass of ten or so toddlers all climbing him like a tree. You are caught in a state of déjà vu as the children start feasting upon any exposed areas of skin that their kid-sized incisors can find.

You just wanted to talk about the fucking poem for fuck’s sake! Instead, you have to deal with thirty 2-foot children and one 6-foot manchild during one of your only free days in a week.

A miniature demon tugs your sleeve, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s slow demise. You bend down to the little gremlin’s height, mouth twitching upwards in what you hope is a somewhat decent smile. Judging by the kid’s unimpressed face, you doubt it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Y/N? Can you tell your boyfriend that Jake peed in the ballpit again? Aera slipped on the puddle and now she’s crying and disturbing the younger kids.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Out of all the things the kid had said, you are sure that his implication that you were Namjoon’s girlfriend should not have been on the top of your list of priorities, and yet here you are, your cheeks as flushed as a baboon’s ass.

“He’s not––We’re not––” you stammer, waving your hands as you try to explain to this unenthused six year old that what she said was entirely impossible. “Namjoon is just a friend!”

You turn to look for the man in question, desperate for him to back you up when you realize he is no longer there. Confused, you leave the huffing child in search for him. You leave the main playroom and search the nearby nurseries, the kitchen, the bathroom… all of them with no Namjoon in sight. Just so you can cover all your bases, you decide to check one of the supply closets too, not really expecting to find anything except––

“Namjoon? What the fu––fudge?” You quickly correct yourself, noticing that not only is Kim Namjoon inside the cramped broom closet, but he is also surrounded by five other children huddled around what appears to be a series of tupperwares connected together by plastic straws.

Namjoon hastens a glance at you, before refocusing his attention back onto what he deems to be more important. He nudges his shoulder against the smallest of the bunch, stage whispering into her ear. “Jihyo, did you bet the three lollipops on Ant #3?”

Jihyo shakes her head, looking mildly offended. “Oppa, do you think I’m dumb? I bet all of my chocolate bars on Ant #6.”

Namjoon whistles lowly, impressed. “All-in? You’re one smart lady.”

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon has the audacity to hold a finger up to silence you. “Give me a sec… Okay, Seungcheol. You said ten hard candies for Ant #2?”

“Namjoon. Are you seriously running a gambling ring in a daycare?”

He peers up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh… Teaching them about capitalism.” He deposits the candy bets into his pocket before starting the timer on his phone. The children begin to cheer raucously, little fists pumping up as they watch their bets race towards a slice of cake.

“I can’t believe this,” you groan, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow you whole.

Eventually, Namjoon exits the closet, gently closing the door. The shouts of the children become muted immediately. When you gaze inquisitively at him, all he does is shrug his shoulders. “What? Secret clubs allow people to explore their interests.”

At this point, you don’t really want to argue anymore. And so, the hectic day goes by, full of running after the children and occasionally having to reel Namjoon in when he does something bordering on negligence. The parents slowly start filtering in by five in the afternoon, most of whom pat Namjoon affectionately on the back and thanking him for his stellar daycare service.

“Oh, Namjoon! My little Jihyo absolutely adores you! She hardly wants to leave whenever I come to pick her up.” Jihyo’s mother smiles, slipping a small tip into Namjoon’s waiting palm. The little shit pockets it, bowing graciously at her.

“All in a day’s work, madame. I just love children, you know?” he says, sighing dramatically.

From behind her mother, Jihyo gorges herself on her prize winnings, shoving a whole packet of M&M’s into her mouth. She swallows them quickly when her mother turns to bring her home.

“I hate this,” you say to yourself, smiling through the pain.

“Oh, before I forget!” Jihyo’s mother dashes back inside, startling you. She approaches you, grasping your hands in hers and shaking it wildly until you can hear your joints pop out of their sockets. “Your name is Y/N right? Thank you for taking care of Namjoon, too. It’s so nice to see that he’s finally snagged a girl as pretty as you.”

It is a testament to how dead inside you truly are by how nonplussed you are by their unfounded accusation. At this point, they could congratulate you on your recent engagement to Namjoon and you probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Thanks.” All in a day’s work of being a madman’s little bitch for the day.

After the last child is taken away, your Saturday finally ends. There had been no poem discussion and no progress made; only your respect from one of your long-time crushes being whittled away like the soaps on those ASMR channels until you are left with useless cubes of Irish Spring scented granules.

On your way home, you pass by Seokjin sitting languidly on the bench outside the coffee shop that you had originally intended to go to this morning. The closed sign greets you impetuously, and your wounds are salted further by the sheer presence of the most annoying man on the planet.

Seokjin sips on his venti iced Americano, Gucci sunglasses tipped downward on his nose. An odd, high pitched windshield wiper sound escapes his lips, and you belatedly realize that he must be his version of laughter. “Y/N. So nice to see you. I’m guessing that you just came out of a… fishy affair?”

You grind your teeth, flexing forward with the intent of hitting the rat bastard. Fish crackers fall out of your hair in clumps from your movement. “I’ll eat your toes if you say another word about this.”

You say that, but you know that there will be photos of you out on Facebook by the time your head meets your pillow for the night, as you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter go off as you limp sadly back home.

The following Monday, you resolve to talk to Namjoon during your History of Music class together.

Now normally, you would never subject yourself to sitting near Namjoon in class. No, it is not because of your debilitating crush, nor his eccentric personality, nor something unexpected like insanely toxic body odor (which he does not have, by the way. He always smells alarmingly like cotton candy.) In fact, nobody likes to sit near Namjoon, made apparent by the two row radius of empty chairs around him. As much as everyone adores and idolizes him for his talent, no one can stand his propensity to overachieve like the infuriating know-it-all that he is. His hand is perpetually up in the air, begging to be picked for recitation, always with something profound to say.

“Sir, I don’t think your notes are correct. From my research, that type of music would not have existed until the 1600s––”

“Namjoon,” your professor seethes, Powerpoint clicker clutched tightly in his fists. His left eyebrow twitches concerningly as he tries to calm his breathing. “I would prefer it greatly if you do not question the actual expert in this area, is that okay with you?”

Yeah. He is definitely not someone you’d want to sit beside.

Though, he really makes it hard not to want to be around him. Despite all the imperfect parts of his personality, Namjoon always looks like the cover model of what a perfect college boyfriend should dress like. Terrible dyejob aside, his hair is slicked back in a fashionable way, revealing his beautiful forehead for all of humanity to behold. He is wearing a fitted graphic tee under a denim jacket, with loose brown slacks that look good on his endlessly long legs. To top it off, his signature wire-frame glasses sit daintily on his nose, making him appear as smart as he is.

You are suddenly reminded of the true scale of your crush on him as sweat begins to build on your neck and down your backside. How the hell are you going to approach him now that you are perfectly aware of how good he looks? It is people like Kim Namjoon that remind you of this universal truth: attractive people only exist to cause the less fortunate to forget how to use their basic motor skills.

Focus. Remember how much of a crackhead he was last Saturday? Okay, retain that information. Remember how fucking stupid he is, and this will be much easier on your heart and your loins.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to where he is seated, right at the front of the class. It is a long way down the auditorium to where he is, and you can feel the stares of a few of your classmates as you make the treacherous journey right into the proverbial lion’s maw. You do your best to ignore them, quietly sliding up next to him and waiting for him to notice your presence.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he is jotting something frantically on a notebook, a mess of words in more languages than you can speak decorating every available space on the smooth white pages. At the top of the paper, you can see what might be a tentative title for a song, perhaps? You can’t be too entirely sure, as Namjoon is part of so many clubs and organizations that he might as well be writing next week’s lunch menu for the cafeteria.

(Highly doubtful as Namjoon has a reputation for allowing inflammable things to catch on fire, but you wouldn’t put it past him to at least try and apply for a culinary position.)

It seems that Namjoon is too immersed in his writing to greet you himself, so you have to be the one to steel yourself and strike a conversation with him instead.

“Uh. Hey… Namjoon?” Smooth like butter. Seokjin would be proud.

Namjoon doesn’t reply. He keeps scribbling along, humming something indistinct under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

No response. Again, “Hello?” You wave a hand in front of his face. His blinking slows for a second, but he continues to ignore you.

Starting to get pissed off, you huff quietly to yourself before bringing your palm backwards and slapping him upside the head. “HEY PANINI HEAD! YOU FUCKING IN THERE OR WHAT?”

That manages to bring him out of his headspace, thankfully. “Huzzat?” Namjoon jumps, cradling the back of his neck gingerly as he stares at you, confused. Recognition filters through his eyes as he realizes belatedly what had just happened. He blushes slightly. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. Were you really going to ignore me for the rest of the class if I hadn’t slapped you?”

Namjoon shrugs, grinning in that cute goofy way that he does. “Sorry. ‘M not used to people sitting beside me, is all. Glad to have a friend in this class though! Have you always been in this class?”

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

Namjoon nods, turning back to his notebook. “Sorry for ignoring you. I really didn’t mean it. When I’m in the middle of writing, it’s kind of hard to get me out of my own brain. Plus, this draft is due in two weeks and I’ve scrapped three pages worth of lyrics already… I’m kind of in a panic right now.”

You peek over his arm, trying your best to decipher some of his words. Your interest is piqued, always having wanted to see his draft notebook ever since that first time he showed you Moonchild almost a year ago. “Lungs have capsized… I am drowning in my own body… Wow, those are some dark stuff.”

“You think so?” Namjoon squints at his own messy handwriting. “I got inspired by the fish in the aquarium I volunteer in. I’m actually excited to go back there, because I want to play it for the fish and see if they like it.”

“Isn’t it better to play it at the daycare of senior home so you can actually get… human feedback?”

Namjoon gasps, hand to his heart, offended. “How dare you assume that fish can’t give quality feedback!”

“Right,” you cough, raising your hands in defeat. How dare you, indeed. “Sorry.”

Namjoon sniffs, closing his notebook just as the professor walks in to start the class. “You better be. The fishies get really offended when people say stuff like that.”

The professor begins the moment he sets down his things, so you know you won’t have time to bring up the poem, not when Namjoon is already starting to fall into his overachieving know-it-all student persona. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Hey, I have to ask you something later after class. Will you stay behind for a few moments?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies cheerily, flipping on his laptop to start taking down notes. He stops in his tracks before gazing warily at you. “Hold on. If this is about the fishies again…”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, so you sigh instead. “No, Namjoon. This isn’t about the fishies.”

Appeased, Namjoon returns to listening attentively to the professor drone on about dead musicians and their impact on musical culture. You hardly take any notes, still nervous about talking to Namjoon about the poem. What would be the best way to approach the subject, you wonder? Your previous attempts with Seokjin and Hoseok had featured a lot of yelling and arguing, and you would prefer not to leave a bad impression on Namjoon of all people. Additionally, you don’t want to know what arguing with Namjoon would entail, because you have a strong feeling that any debate with him will only leave you second guessing your entire existence with how good he is at flipping the subject. Or, you could always kick him in the knees, but that would be like overpowering a baby––you’d be a monster for taking advantage of him.

The short one hour lecture flies by quicker than you would like. To your surprise, Namjoon only interrupts the professor twice, so you suppose that’s a win for everyone else.

“Alright class. Please remember that the research paper regarding 17th century music is due on the Friday before your break,” your professor says. He points a stern look at all of you, and maybe you’re imagining it, but somehow you feel like he pauses just a second longer when he passes his gaze over you. “And please, try not to send your paper to the entire student body to air your secret little crushes like a bunch of lovestruck idiots.”

Your ears turn an unflattering shade of red as most of the students chuckle at his little joke, all of them probably not knowing that the lovestruck idiot was just a few seats away.

“C’mon, Namjoon.” You sigh, shrugging on your backpack as you wait for him to finish packing up. Namjoon watches you curiously, brows furrowed.

“You seem dejected. Are you having trouble with class? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“N-not… not really,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we talk about this outside? People for the next class are starting to come in.”

Namjoon follows you dutifully from behind, and you can hear him bid his farewells to a few giggling freshmen as the two of you exit the lecture hall. They coo openly in his presence, with one of them bold enough to compliment his fairly generous bosom, her fingers twitching as if she is only one push away from grabbing them by the fistful.

You walk towards the small cafe near the entrance of the building, grabbing one of the empty chairs and gesturing for Namjoon to sit across from you. He does as you say, confusion still gracing his handsome features.

“So, will you tell me why you’ve called me out here now?” Namjoon asks. Before you can respond, however, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a half squished sandwich. He offers you the less crushed half, like the gentleman that he is, but you find it hard to accept when you feel like your stomach is turning inside out with nerves.

“Umm… How do I say this…” You groan, leg bouncing so incessantly that the poor table begins to shake. Namjoon doesn’t even try to stop his other sandwich half from sliding over, instead giving you a concerned glance.

Fuck it. Better to rip the band-aid off in one swoop, right?

“Y/N––?”

“Namjoon, are you aware that people think someone wrote a stupid love poem about you?”

His previously open mouth clamps shut, then. He stares at you in confusion, a dollop of mayonnaise hanging off his jutting chin. “What?”

Panicking slightly, you’re quick to continue your train of thought, probably to your own detriment. “NOT that the poem is about you, by the way. Well, it could be? No? I DIDN’T WRITE IT!” Pause for heavy breathing. “A-anyway, that’s not the point… I just wanted to ask if you were… umm… aware of it. Yeah. That’s it.”

Ohhhh my god. You stupid idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck you fucking stupid piece of shit ass tit fuck what other swear words are there oh yeah FUCK!!!

In the midst of your personal mental beatdown, you fail to see Namjoon’s genuine look of confusion, his head tilted to the side as he watches your face turn red. He chews on his sandwich thoughtfully. “Uh? No? I’m not aware? I really have no idea what you are talking about, Y/N.”

You finally stop swearing at yourself. “Wait, really?”

Namjoon nods his head. “Really. What poem are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t really like being teased; I get enough of that from Seokjin.”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon raises his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t joke about something that is clearly giving you distress.”

“It’s not causing me distress!” You screech back, voice cracking from your tone going up a pitch. You clear your throat. “Um. Wait. So that means you haven’t heard about the huge rumor going around about a love poem being about you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, lips pursed. “Not a clue. Am I supposed to?”

Huh. You stare at the imbecile before you, his previously handsome looks starting to look less appealing by the minute. Is this shithead for real? Did you really spend hours worrying over how you would approach him about the poem, only to find out that he has no clue what you’re talking about? Like, how is it even possible for him not to know? You can’t even spend a minute doing anything without someone bringing up that stupid mistake of a poem. How the hell did you ever have a crush on him?

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

“Oh shit,” you curse, slapping a palm to your mouth. Did you fucking say that out loud?

“Sorry,” Namjoon swallows thickly, a large bite of his sandwich visibly going down his gullet. “I was chewing too loudly so I didn’t hear you properly.”

You heave a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe being an idiot has its benefits.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” you say, already arranging your things to get up and leave. If Namjoon is oblivious to all the poem shenanigans that have been circling campus, then who are you to inform him? All you can hope now is that he remains ignorant of the poem at all, and chalk it up as a success in your book. It’s not like he’s going to be curious to find out more anyway––

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ve piqued my interest now. I wanna know what you were talking about,” Namjoon pipes up, leaning his lanky body sidewards so as to block you from leaving. You halt in your movements, surprised by his sudden inquiry.

Sweat starts to form in the middle of your back at his earnest curiosity. “I––it’s nothing, Namjoon. I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” You laugh nervously.

“I don’t think you were?” Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have been so adamant to call me out here just to be joking.”

“Listen, I really have to go. I have another class soon and I wanna grab lunch before I––”

“You said something about a poem.” He remains undeterred, pulling out his phone. “And it’s about me? Well, not about me, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“Hold up!” You snatch his phone out of his hands, holding it behind you to keep it from his reach. Even though you know his inquisitiveness is not his fault, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to punch him square in his cute little nose. Hell, you don’t recall wanting to fight anyone as much as you do right now.

(Seokjin sneezes somewhere in the distance, feeling offended for whatever reason. “Y/N should only be punching me,” he thinks to himself as he dumps way too much purple dye on this poor lady’s head.)

“Why are you being so weird right now? Give me back my phone!” He pouts at you, not at all knowing that your resolve is already quickly crumbling before him.

“I…” You gulp, foot tapping restlessly as you try to think of what to do. “Okay. Fine, I’ll show you the poem. Just… don’t read too deeply into it, okay? It’s just a stupid thing that got too many people excited over nothing.”

“Sure,” Namjoon nods his head, acquiescing quickly. “I don’t really like paying attention to much of the rumors and trends that happen on campus. I just want to see what this poem is all about.”

“Just… don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, returning his phone to him. You direct him to the university confessions group page, watching as his fingers fumbled with his keyboard. Eventually, he gets to the post (pinned to the top, forever mocking you for your stupidity) and reads the short piece in record time.

There is a pause where neither of you speak. You know he has finished reading it from the way he has started to scroll down to the comments, though he quickly jumps back to the top when you glare at him to stop. He leans back into his chair, closing his phone and stares at you expressionlessly.

You click your nails across the coffee shop table as you observe him suspiciously, his lack of response making you more nervous. “Well?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up––but not in a way that might suggest glee or satisfaction––and he stays frozen like that for a bit. You have the sudden urge to wave your hand in front of him to check if he’s fine, and being the type of person to submit to your urges, you do as you please.

Thankfully, he snaps out of it, blinking quickly as if he’s forgotten that you were there. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. The poem, uh… How do I put it…”

“What?” What on earth could he have a problem with? Does he genuinely think the poem might be about him? “If you’re starting to think that the poem may be about you––”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Namjoon opens his phone again, peering at the poem questioningly. “I was just going to say that this poem is a lot less impressive than you were hyping it up to be.”

Excuse me??????? He did not fucking just say that.

“You did not just fucking say that,” you verbalize, glowering at him. You can feel the fumes start to steam out of your ears, but Namjoon remains oblivious (as per usual) to your emotions. He just hums, shrugging his shoulders with his nose upturned in the air, as if he had just smelled something horrible.

“It’s just… the meter is all messed up… Like, I’m all about free verse or whatever, but I can tell the author is trying waaaay too hard to keep whatever rhythm they had going on in the first verse.” He scrolls through the poem some more, before stopping somewhere in the middle. He shows you one of your favorite verses with a look of something akin to disdain. “And what’s up with all the moon references? That theme is so overused.”

“YOUR MIXTAPE LITERALLY HAS A SONG CALLED MOONCHILD! THAT’S WHY PEOPLE THINK THE POEM IS ABOUT YOU!” You explode, spittle flying everywhere from the force of your shout. A group of freshmen sitting nearby jump up in surprise, though most of the older, more dead-eyed college students do not even bat an eye at your spectacle. This university is full of cuckoos, is what they are probably thinking.

The biggest cuckoo of them all looks at you defensively, frowning somewhat irritably. Namjoon continues, “Yeah, but I used the moon in my song in a classy way! I would be offended if someone would write this poem for me after being inspired by my song.”

Is it possible for blood to boil inside your veins? Because you’re really starting to feel heat trail up your back up to your neck, causing you to see nothing but red and the tantalizing vision of your hands around his neck. Easy, Y/N. You can’t afford anger management therapy; you have a tuition to pay.

In all seriousness though, you cannot take this any longer. You have suffered long enough while having to follow Namjoon around like a bitch for two days, and if karma still wants to use the strap on you, then she’s going to have to do it some other day because you cannot physically stand being around Namjoon for another ten seconds if you can help it. And this is coming from someone who is around Kim Seokjin at least twice a week, so it is obvious that your patience and sanity is truly at its limit.

“I’m done.” You are barely able to keep yourself from slamming your head against the table. Instead, you stand up hastily, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shoulder your bag quickly, waving at him without even turning to face him. The sooner you get away from him, the better. “You can think what you want. Just live your life, man. I’m done.”

“Okay? Well, have a nice day, Y/N!” Namjoon calls out a cheery goodbye, though his tone obviously still sounds confused even as you walk further and further away from him, a trainwreck of a human being. You resolve to yourself to call Hana the next morning to ask her to slip some opened sweets into his jean pocket so the ants at the daycare might climb out of their shelter to bite him in the balls.

How did you ever have a crush on that bastard? I guess that mystery will have to remain… unsolved.

Unluckily, your mood does not improve after lunch, nor do you calm down after your next class either. In fact, you are still steaming when you arrive to your tutoring session with Hoseok, so much so that you have completely forgotten to be worried about him after the events of last Friday.

(Record scratch, freeze frame. Pause. What the hell happened last Friday again? Your overworked brain cells can only handle one stressful event at a time, so you suppose that problem with Hoseok and Jimin will have to be solved another day.)

Hoseok, the caring boy that he is, also forgets to retain his moodiness from Friday’s argument when he spots you looking like you were about to pop a blood vessel at any moment.

Hoseok sits hesitantly in front of you, even placing his textbooks gently onto the table as if any sudden sounds might cause you to self-combust and splatter your guts all over the library floor. The only thing really keeping you from doing exactly that is because you wouldn’t want poor Jungkook the library assistant to have to clean up your mess.

“Umm… Hey, Y/N. You okay? You look kind of… red.” Hoseok says carefully, smile twitching on his face.

The suddenness at which you slam your hands on the table causes not only Hoseok, but also Jungkook who is three whole bookshelves away, to jump up in surprise. The former makes a terrified scream to accompany his leap into the air, staring at your frantically with his fists held up in defense.

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

“SHUT UP!” You point a finger menacingly at him, making him shriek once more. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding audibly. “YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT, HOSEOK? I’LL WRITE THE NICEST POEM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR YOU, OKAY? YOU DESERVE IT! FUCK WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS! I’M A GOOD WRITER AND NOTHING KIM NAMJOON SAYS WILL CHANGE THAT!”

Hoseok’s mouth opens, agape. He doesn’t know how to respond, not quite understanding what you were saying in the first place. A lot of angry words spilled from your lips in such a short amount of time, and Hoseok was more impressed with your flow than anything. Were you a rapper, by any chance?

Unaware of Hoseok’s musings, you huff loudly to yourself, slamming open your lecture notes and shoving them aggressively towards him. “ALSO, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WRITING A REVIEWER FOR YOUR MIDTERM! PLEASE READ THROUGH THEM IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!”

“Umm… Thanks?” Hoseok says, not really sure which part of your loud declarations he is specifically thanking you for. He sneaks a glance at the front desk, thankful that it is only meek little Jungkook in charge today and not the cranky older librarian who already has a personal vendetta against you and your tutoring group for being public nuisances (not that she was unjustly pointing fingers, of course).

Your mental collapse aside, the rest of his tutoring session goes smoothly, with Hoseok still walking on eggshells around you just in case you might feel like exploding again. You know, for fun or something. Although, he does end up asking if he can leave a few minutes early, saying something about a paper due at the end of the week. The excuse doesn’t make you bat an eye until Jimin arrives for his own session, his grin faltering when he sees his hyung not there to greet him with their usual dance battle in the library.

“Ah… Guess Hoseok-hyung really is still mad over what happened…” Jimin sighs, slumping into his chair. He thumbs his textbook thoughtfully, tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon,” you say hopefully, though your heart isn’t quite in it either. Coughing awkwardly, you pluck his textbook out of his hands, desperate to talk about something else other than your crumbling interpersonal relationships. You pause at the page, however, before staring incredulously back at Jimin.

“Jimin.”

“Hmm?” Jimin is still listless, head pillowed by his arms on the table. “What?”

“This is a book on differential calculus. I’m supposed to teach you about writing academic essays.”

“Oh yeah,” Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. “I stole that book from some freshman on the way here. The English textbook I usually bring is with Taehyung right now.”

You pause. Actually, now that you think about it… “Jimin, do you actually even go to this university? What the hell is your major, even?”

“Wha-?” Jimin yawns, fanning his mouth with his hand. He blinks sleepily at you with a big, doofy grin. “Sorry, I played MapleStory for hours last night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. Can I just sleep during this session? I’ll still pay you or whatever…” he trails off, stretching like a cat under a patch of sunlight. Before you know it, the soft sound of Jimin’s snoring fills the silence.

Thankfully, Monday ends without much more commotion. You may have come out of this experience a little bit more broken inside, but hey! That’s what character development is all about, babey. You are just glad that Tuesdays are usually your quietest days, as you only have two classes to worry about. It is also one of the days when you have Creative Writing with Sera, who usually manages to rope you in to get greasy fast food after class. Despite the traumatic experience that particular class has indirectly inflicted upon you, your usual zeal and excitement does not diminish in the slightest. After all, writing will always be your first love, so there isn’t any way some silly poem mishap will make you detest it.

Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, because you aren’t so sure your sanity can take much more of a pounding.

(Fwip. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of karma putting on her strap.)

“Alright class, see you guys on Thursday. Don’t forget that we have a quiz at the beginning of class on Thursday, so please don’t be late.” Professor Puth says, his eyelids blinking out of sync. You hate to be someone who assumes what other people do during their off days as it is none of your business, though the perpetual cloud of marijuana that clings around him can only do so much to mask what his recreational activities might be.

“Dude, I think Prof Puth is finding Nirvana soon,” Sera says loudly, earning the giggles of a few classmates nearby.

“I’d be surprised if he could even find the exit of this building,” you snort, just as the man in question trips over air and nearly faceplants on the ground. Like the model students that you are, you both pretend to be busy doing something else, leaving some other poor soul to help your professor.

Two girls that you vaguely remember from somewhere approach Professor Puth. They are quick to help him straighten up, if his groaning and gasping are anything to go by. He thanks them gruffly and waves them off, but the girls seem adamant to stay put.

“Professor, I have a question…” One of the girls asks, nervously tugging on her ponytail. Her friend giggles surreptitiously beside her, urging her to continue. Their odd demeanor causes signals to go off in your brain, telling you to stop and listen. You tug on Sera’s hand, halting her from leaving.

“Wait. I wanna hear what they’re gonna ask,” you mutter, ignoring Sera’s complaints about being hungry. She can wait for her McNuggets for another five minutes, no matter how much she pretends that she’s starving. You had seen her eat two whole burritos before coming into class today.

Professor Puth raises his brow. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We were just wondering if you could… tell us anything about the identity of the author from that poem?” The girl manages to get all of it out in a rush, cheeks flushed as her friend nods fervently beside her.

“Yea, Prof! We’ve been dying to know! The suspense is killing us, knowing that the mystery author is in one of your classes!” The other girl continues, glittery excitement practically exuding out of her in waves.

Professor Puth sighs, leaning heavily on his desk. He appears about as done as you feel. “Listen… You can badger me all you want, but there’s no way I can tell you. Privacy laws prevent us from sharing information like that without prior consent, even though that student in question might have accidentally sent her assignment to the entire school.” You might be imagining it, but you think Professor Puth points you with a knowing look. You gulp, hastily bowing your head and pretending to fiddle with your phone.

“Aww, Prof! It’s been days and the university hasn’t shut up about it! Surely one of the theories on who the author and muse are must be true, right? You can tell us that, at least.”

You can’t bear to keep listening any longer, though Sera has started to become more interested in the conversation as it progressed. “Wait, wait… I wanna hear the Prof’s opinion,” she says, grinning despite your nails digging crescents into her arm as you try to pull her away.

“No can do! Remember, I have your freshman Halloween pictures saved on a harddrive, and you wouldn’t want me to accidentally send that to the entire student body as well, would you?”

That manages to snap her out of it. Quickly, the two of you leave the lecture hall and away from possible discovery by your poem-frenzied classmates. You are also relieved to be able to breathe in fresh air once more, after being stuck in that class surrounded by liberal art students for two hours. You always do feel a little bit more relaxed after class with Puth, although that might just be from all the secondhand drug use.

Perhaps the fumes really did dull your reflexes, as it takes a while before you realize that Sera has been nudging your shoulder.

When you finally glanced at her, there is a sneaky grin on her face: never a good sign. “So,” she begins, a singsong quality in her voice

After having been her friend for long enough, you have become adept at telling what Sera is going to say next. Call it intuition or whatever, but you like to think of it is a self-defense mechanism. As much as she is your friend, she does love digging into your personal life like it is the cover story of some shitty tabloid. You have to prepare yourself to be interrogated.

“You’re going to ask about the poem, aren’t you?”

Sera rolls her eyes, like you shouldn’t have even asked. “Duh, of course I am. What else would I want to talk about?”

You shrug your shoulders, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have asked ‘Hey, Y/N! How’s your mom been? Have you been eating and drinking well?’ You know, like a normal person.”

“Well, firstable, your mom is literally my friend on Facebook and I saw her go out to that bougie high tea place with Jennie’s mom the other day, so I know she’s fine,” Sera says as the two of you round a corner, heading closer to the parking lot where her car is. “And secondable, you don’t fucking drink water, because you like pretending to be a dehydrated piece of jerky.”

“I just like drinking apple juice, okay? Water is weird,” you say defensively, kicking a pebble as you walk.

“Nah, you’re weird,” Sera counters, ever the creative debater. She remains undeterred, however. “So. Any updates on the poem situation or am I going to have tickle the details out of you?”

You groan, pushing her away from your sensitive sides. “Please don’t… I have no upper body strength and I won’t be able to push you off!”

“That’s the point.” Sera laughs, pinching your cheek. She snatches her hand away, only narrowly escapes getting bitten by you. “Why don’t we skip my torture methods then and go straight to the juicy bits? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“What if nothing has happened since I last saw you?” You grumble, miffed that she really isn’t letting it go. You just want to have one relaxing day, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is. Relaxation is a rare commodity these days. Sera snorts, patting you condescendingly on the back. “Nonsense. You’ve got that post-mental breakdown glow around you. You look absolutely radiant with stress!”

The conversations pauses for a bit when you make it to the parking lot. You don’t have to walk too far, as her car is parked relatively close to the exit, which is just another display of how lucky Sera often is in comparison to you. While your unfortunate plebeian ass is busy drowning in shit, Sera is off somewhere aboard a yacht, getting a massage from some Instagram thot.

She hops into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to put your seatbelt on before backing out with one hand on the wheel. “McDonalds?” she asks, though it is pretty much a given that is where you are going. The last time you both tried diverging from your usual hang out spot, you got intense food poisoning from eating at Chipotle. Sera came out completely fine though, that lucky bitch.

She continues her questions on the drive there, and you relent by telling her most of what has happened to you over the past few days. You gloss over the argument between Hoseok and Jimin, not really wanting their spat to suddenly go viral on Facebook as well. Everything else, however––

“Wait, so you talked to Kim Namjoon? The Kim Namjoon? The Namjoon that you had an embarrassing crush on during our first year?” Sera laughs maniacally, almost driving off into the wrong lane. Luckily, you are quick to latch onto the wheel, saving the two of you from becoming roadkill.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“No, but Y/N! That’s literally so fucking funny!” Sera’s laughter has simmered to a giggle, despite the fact that she is still trying (and failing) to furtively glance your way when you hit a stoplight. “Is he like how you remember? God, do you remember how you were after you first met him? All starstruck because your senpai showed you a draft of his single? ‘Oh, Sera! He has the most amaaaazing flow! I’m going to suck his di––’”

“Shut up!” You whine, slapping her in embarrassment. “Believe me, that crush has died, along with any respect I may have had for him. Men are scum, and I’m going to only date girls from now on.”

“Fine by me! More dick to suck for me, I guess.” Sera teases, whistling innocently. Bold of her to assume that there is any innocent or pure bone in her body; you’ve seen her thirst tweets and no amount of holy water can cure the disease that your vision must have sustained.

“I just want the rumors to die down… It would make my life way more bearable.” You murmur to yourself, sliding down your seat.

Sera is silent for a while. The McDonalds is just within sight, so Sera waits until she has finished parking before she turns to face you fully, uncanny sincerity in her expression. It unnerves you how serious she is, not when you know that this is the same girl who would snort sugar packets if you bet her $5. She places her hands on your shoulder, fixing you with a meaningful look.

“Listen, Y/N. I know all of this is tough right now, but I’m sure it’s going to be alright, okay? The rumor is going to die down soon enough, and everything will be back to normal. Stay strong for now.” Her voice is soothing, sympathy dripping from every word. As mortifying as it is to admit, the tears flow down your cheek effortlessly; perhaps it is the consequence of having to bear this burden on your own for so long without anyone actually telling you that it’s going to be alright.

“Thanks… I think I needed that,” you say after a while, sniffling just a bit. Sera grins fondly at you, wiping your tears.

“No need to thank me. I may be a chaotic shithead, but I’m also your friend.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, gesturing for you to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll even share my nuggets with you.”

Despite her best efforts at comfort, you still feel a little bummed. You allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, as McDonalds is a prime location to feel shitty about your life choices anyway. The heart attack inducing food, the barely hygienic facilities, the minimum wage high school employees… Nothing else screamed “I’d rather be dead but it could also be worse” quite like Mickey D’s often did.

You wait by one of the booths while Sera goes off to order for the both of you, leaving you with her phone and other belongings. She promises to let you eat four out of the twenty nugget pieces, which is asking a lot considering who you are dealing with. Sera could probably eat sixty nuggets if she so desired, but only stops herself so she can be physically well enough to continue being a thot. Chasing men all day requires physical fitness, or so she says.

When you go to place her things on the other side of the booth, you notice that Sera had accidentally left her phone unlocked. You can see that she had been previously looking at one of those popular forum sites for your university, where most of her repertoire of gossip is usually sourced from. You aren’t usually the type to frequent those types of pages, with good reason too. That exact forum is the reason of your current stress, where your most private thoughts and feelings were revealed for all to see. Any sort of positive opinion you might have had for that site was immediately dashed the moment that cursed poem was released into the wild.

It kind of pisses you off that Sera still uses that forum despite knowing how much anxiety it has caused you, but then again, there is only so much you can expect from her. Her appetite for drama and chaos is her way of life, her only other hobby aside from writing. You also vaguely recall her saying that she gathers inspiration for her short stories from some of the more outrageous posts made by your fellow schoolmates.

In the end, curiosity gets the best of you as you stare at the open webpage, tantalizing despite the murkiness that lies within. Oh, lighten up. It’s just a confessions page… Besides, you also kind of want to see what people are saying about your poem, and whether the commotion might have died even slightly over time. (Unlikely, but you remain hopeful.)

“Let’s see,” you murmur to yourself, sneaking glances at the counter to see if Sera is close to ordering. She appears to still be next in line to order, so that might give you enough time to read a few of the comments on the post. It doesn’t take you long to find the original post either, since Sera seems to have been perusing the same thing just beforehand.

“Typical Sera... Sympathetic in the streets, a nosey bitch in the sheets.” You snort, scrolling quickly through the comment section. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for a few overenthusiastic responses from a couple of people who have bombarded the forum so much that it takes you a few moments to navigate past their thread. You catch a few words here and there, mostly the names of the seven possible muses and not so much the names of any of the possible authors. Honestly, you are more than happy with these turn of events, perfectly content as long as your identity never sees the day where it becomes associated with that disaster piece.

You sort the comments by popularity, wanting to know what everyone’s biggest guesses are. You want to remain hopeful, but as the results start to load, the wave of nausea that suddenly hits you may have been the first warning signal that you should probably stop before you read something that you will regret.

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

[+103, -4] i’m really hoping that kim seokjin is the muse of the poem!! has anyone seen the ads for the new play he’s staring in? he totally looks like the lead actor in a romantic comedy ^^

➾ [+54, -69] psh. that idiot, the muse? PLEASE anyone who has ever worked for kim seokjin KNOWS that it’s physically impossible to form a human connection with that man

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

[+88, -3] WAIT why am i not seeing kim namjoon’s name more often T_T he deserves more love!! stream moonchild or else i’ll bite your ankles

➾ [+1, -6] lol i miss when namjoon used to do actual hiphop… fucking hippie dippie go fuck a tree and some crabs while you’re at it

You sneak a look over your shoulder. Sera is at the front of the line, reciting her orders while the harried employee has to quickly punch in the inordinate amount of food items. Okay… While no one’s looking, time to downvote a couple of these and maybe report some of these assholes… No way in hell are you letting anyone think Moonlight Sonata is about either of those Kim idiots. You would honestly rather out yourself than let anyone think they are worthy of such public displays of love and humiliation.

You are just about to close Sera’s phone and vow never to set foot on social media ever again when the next post catches your eye––the first one where you actually see your name. In fact, your name is generously sprinkled a number of times in this one specific thread.

“Wait a second…” You squint at the top of the thread, reading out the username of the original poster. Is that… Is that your name?!

“User Y/NKook… Oh my god!” You shriek loudly, almost dropping the phone from your sweaty palms. It must be the same person who had organized that merchandise booth in the cafeteria the other week! The number of upvotes on the post isn’t making you feel any better.

posted by u/Y/NKook [3h ago]:

[+98, -5] idk why you noobs are even trying… intellectuals KNOW that y/nkook is real and i won’t take no for an answer… give me my childhood friends to lovers fic RIGHT NOW because this slowburn has been going on for years now and i can’t stand it!!!

➾ [+11, -0] omg op do you know them personally?? how’d you know that they were childhood friends?? i go to the same drama class as y/n and jungkook but they never sit together… are you sure it’s them??

➾ [+20, -1] of course!! they’re even neighbors… besides, haven’t you heard what his nickname is? his friends call him moon eyes for a reason! they say that y/n is the one who gave him that name ^^

You feel your eye twitch, disbelief flooding your senses. Why is this weirdo shipping you with Jungkook? You guys haven’t even spoken properly since elementary school… How does this dude know who you are? Are you being stalked? You whirl your head around, scanning the restaurant for any suspicious people who may or may not be following you. Is this what celebrities feel like when they get shipped with their friends? You feel a sudden surge of respect for them, unable to grasp the situation that you are in. God, you really hope Jungkook hasn’t read any of these.

You go to switch Sera’s phone off, feeling less accomplished than ever before. Maybe it is best to save yourself the anxiety of seeing your world fall apart and try to delude yourself into thinking that the past two weeks have never happened at all. However, there is a certain appeal to reading things that you know you should not, like watching a car crash and unable to look away. The urge to keep scrolling and gaze upon your own personal hell is hard to stop when you have already gained momentum.

“One last post, then I’m done…” You are hard set on that promise, not wanting your apprehension to destroy your peaceful afternoon completely. The next post on the forum greets you with a high upvote number, sending a lick of fear to run down your spine at what you might find. Please don’t be about Y/NKook, you pray helplessly. Little did you know, there are worse things to worry about other than being shipped with your friends.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

[+154, -5] hey guys i’m back again with another update! so i’ve managed to shorten the list a bit since last time i posted, and i’m 100% certain that kim seokjin is not the muse! sorry, gamers… our prince is in another castle it seems. worry not, though! that only helps our search better and shortens the list. on the other hand, the authors list has also been edited! turns out that neither jodi nor melody is the author, as they both submitted poems about something else. if you are interested to see the updated lists for both muse and author, please head to my profile and look for the original post titled “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse” :-)

You have never clicked on a profile as quickly as you did in that moment. Not even a notification from UberEats could make you move that fast.

Lo and behold, the post that started it all is right at the top of the user’s profile, with the significantly shorter list that they had promised. Sweat begins to build on your temples when you realize that the authors list has decreased to seven names, with your name still obstinately sitting at the end of the lines. When will your suffering end?

There is still something that doesn’t sit right with you, however. As you peruse this user’s profile some more, you feel as if there is something weird about it that you can’t quite place. You never did like using this forum, so maybe you are just not used to the layout of the website? What is it about this user’s profile that is making your stomach coil with nerves?

Wait a second… Why is there an edit button beside their profile picture?

“Y/N! I’m back! Sorry for taking so long; I think I ordered too much again. You’re fine with BBQ sauce on your nuggs, right? That’s all I asked for––” Sera had been happily chirping away, sliding into the bench across from you before finally noticing your stoney face. She pats her face, rubbing her cheeks in confusion. “What? Do I have something on me?”

“How fucking dare you!” You hiss, slamming her phone on the table. Unfortunately, you had accidentally locked the phone in your anger, showing only a black screen.

Sera flinches backwards, bewildered. Her eyes flick to the screen and then to you. “Huh? I thought you liked BBQ sauce on your nuggs? I mean, I can ask for sweet and sour sauce if you want…”

“Unlock your phone right now and explain to me why you have triceratops’ profile logged in.”

Your words begin to click in Sera’s mind. Her face grows pale, her body unconsciously sliding further into the booth to hide from your glare. “U-uh… Haha, what on earth are you talking about..?”

“Don’t even try to lie, Sera. I saw everything, and I honestly don’t know if I’m madder that you betrayed me or that I was stupid enough to believe that you were my friend.”

Sera splutters incomprehensibly at first, waving her arms in panic as she tries to save her ass. “I––! You––! It wasn’t like I––”

You lean forward, peering at her coldly. “Oh yeah? What wasn’t it like? It wasn’t like we were friends?”

“No, of course not! I mean,” she backtracks, tongue-tied. “We are friends! It’s just… I made that post before I knew you were the author and I originally sent the poem to just a couple of people because I was so impressed, and I just wanted to––”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, holding up a finger. She squeaks, staring at you fearfully as you slowly get up to your feet. You cry out, “You were also the one who released my fucking poem to the world?!”

“Anna ou––” Sera whimpers, slapping her palm to her mouth. She lowers it, whispering ruefully. “I… didn’t mean to say that…”

“Oh, so you were meaning to lie to me even more?” You seethe, ready to burst into flames.

The poor McDonalds employee who had come to deliver your order to your table seems too frightened to approach the two of you, her arms shaking both with fear and the weight of five orders of 20 piece chicken nuggets. “Uh, is this a bad time?” The girl asks, eyes darting away from your heated glare.

Instead of answering, you grab the tray from her hands and dump the contents on the table. Sera squawks pitifully when a few of the nuggets fall to the ground, though she absolutely yells when you start chucking them at her head like tiny oily cannonballs.

“What the fuck––Dude stop!” Sera has her arms up in defense, shielding her face from your fiery attack. The sound of you ripping open a BBQ sauce packet has her straightening up, however. “No, not the BBQ sauce! Anything but that!”

“Give me one reason why I should show you mercy.” Your hand is poised to pour the sticky sauce all over her white Valentino bag, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Please, Y/N! I’m really sorry!” Sera jumps out of the booth, and goes on her knees. She clasps her hands together, shaking them frantically. “I really didn’t know it was you at first!”

“Well then, why didn’t you fucking take the post down the moment you did know it was me? I thought you were my friend!” You clench your fist around the BBQ sauce packet, causing some of it to spill onto her bag. She makes a desperate noise.

“I just… I like the attention?” She knows this is the wrong answer, judging by your unimpressed expression. She sighs heavily, head bowed in shame. “Look, I’ll fix this, alright? I genuinely didn’t do this wanting to hurt you… I just got so caught up in the clout that I didn’t really think about what would happen if you found out!”

“‘If’ I found out, huh…” You echo, more disappointed than angry now. You slump back into your chair, taking care to grab the napkins and cleaning the sticky mess on your skin as best as you can. “You really were going to continue doing this for as long as it took, huh?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Her voice is soft, repentant. It doesn’t do much for your sympathy, however.

“Fuck you, honestly. If you really are sorry, you’ll fix this mess as soon as possible.”

You reach for your bag, your movements jostling a few more nuggets to tumble to the floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, not wanting to see if Sera is doing her Crying Face Emoji impression to try and soften you up. Not this time. This time… you don’t think your feelings can recover after this.

You have read enough stories about heartbreak and longing, but you don’t think any of them top the experience of losing a friend you realize you never even had.

The next morning, there is a new post on the forum from user triceratops.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

[+0, -0] Hello, friends. I think I’ve found the author.

It’s Lee Sera.

398 notes · View notes

lokimostly · 5 years

Text

Home from War (Ch.1/8)

James Conrad x Reader Word Count: 2,565 Warnings: so much angst (sorry not sorry) Fic Summary: One year after you lost the love of your life, a last-minute decision changes everything you thought you knew. Now only one question remains: how to make it out alive, and return home from war?

If you haven’t read the prequel series, go HERE to read Rainy Days! Super important, you don’t want to miss it.

A/N: Tag list is open! Thanks for the overwhelming support for Rainy Days and this new series! I love you all so much and I hope you like this one. Also, since his fic follows the plot of the movie, I apologize in advance for any discrepancies between my writing style and the script itself. I’ve taken most of the dialogue verbatim. I’ll try to make all of the extra characters fit into the story as smoothly as possible (so we can focus on the romance, lol). Enjoy! <3

Captain James Conrad stood in the middle of the road, uniformed soldiers passing him by. The wind whipped at his clothes, pulling them from him, as he stood frozen and utterly hopeless.

Where had you gone?

His mind raced and his blue eyes darted around, looking for some sign of you, but there was nothing to be found. All he could feel were the heartstrings in his chest splitting, the unbidden tears in his eyes blurring his vision, the overwhelming sense of hopelessness.

He fell to his knees, and looked up to the sky, where the yellow clouds had turned dark and drowned out the sun.

It began to rain.

One Year Later

Rain came down from the night sky in droves as the two scientists, Randa and Brooks, made their away across the busy Saigon street, holding their black umbrellas upright. As usual, they were caught up in argumentative conversation, shouting above the noise.

“Why do we need a tracker? And why SAS?”

“Former SAS,” Randa, the older, bearded man, corrected. “No allegiance to anyone. And he rescued twelve downed pilots from Da Nang in ‘72!”

Brooks’s reply was lost in the commotion of traffic and the onslaught of rain coming down on their umbrellas. As the two of them ducked into the corner establishment, folding up their umbrellas, Brooks sighed noisily and pushed his glasses up.

“Okay, fine. So how much do we tell him?”

“Just enough to get him to say yes,” Randa replied.

The bar was bathed in red and blue neon light. It lit up the silhouettes of everyone inside, revealing the room to be overcrowded and dusty. The air was thick with the smell of perfume and alcohol. Slow music played from some hidden room, giving the entire bar a mellow, diluted atmosphere.

The two men made their way to the bar and stopped short at the sight of the man they were looking for: James Conrad.

The former captain was a shell of his previously clean-cut self. Wearing a blue button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned at the neck, Conrad’s sharp features were diluted by an unshaven beard, unstyled hair, and a clouded veil over his blue-green eyes. Apart from the hardness of his physique, the rest of him was in obvious disrepair, for reasons Randa and Brooks could only guess.

Conrad shot the eight ball deftly into the center hole and reached for the pile of money on the pool table. As he did so, someone grabbed his wrist and objected, scolding him in Vietnamese.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Conrad stared at him, deadly and unblinking, before he snapped the pole upwards and hit the man in the face. Intuitively, he jabbed the pole backwards and slammed it into the body of another man with an open switchblade in his hand. The man threw a cue ball– he dodged. He threw another, and this time, he deflected it back into his face, knocking him to the ground.

Randa raised an eyebrow and turned to Brooks, giving him a look that screamed I told you so.

“Now there’s a man worth talking to.”

“...So we need someone like you, with unprecedented experience in navigating uncharted jungle terrain, to lead us on this expedition,” Brooks finished, watching Conrad nervously from across the table. Bathed in neon light, Conrad’s face was cold, calculating, and entirely unreadable.

Randa scoffed lightly. “We’re just scholars and scientists. We need someone with experience. In case things go sideways.” He held up his shot glass and paused, giving it a thoughtful look before his eyes flickered up to the rugged, bearded man sitting across the table.

“Men go to war in search of something, Mr. Conrad,” He pointed out. “If you’d found it, you’d be home by now.”

“Attention all soldiers and base personnel, final troop withdrawal will commence at 0600,” the loudspeakers above your head announced as you walked through the flight bay of the U.S. army’s Da Nang air base– your home for the past eleven months.

You cupped your hands around your mouth. “Hey, Slivko, do you have my Steinbeck?” You shouted, striding over to where the small group of soldiers were lounging on folding chairs, playing cards on top of ammo crates. You came within earshot of them just as Mills finished a joke, and laughter erupted from the men. You couldn’t help but smile, too– they were a funny group, and unlike your past experiences with previous squads, these soldiers actually felt like family.

Slivko looked up at you, laughing, and muttered “oh, shit,” reaching in his back pocket for the dog-eared paperback. He tossed it to you. “Sorry!” He called apologetically, waving as you walked past.

You grinned and shook your head, taking the book with you as you headed back to your quarters: a small, plain room with a single bunk, your half-packed duffle bag sitting open on the bed.

You sighed, tossing it onto the pile of books and other miscellaneous items, and took a moment to glance out the window. Squads of men ran past in drills. Planes and helicopters moved in and out on the runway like clockwork.

You were going to miss it.

Da Nang was a stark contrast to the jungle camps where you’d spent most of your deployment, but the change was a welcome one. The resources and free time that the air base provided had allowed you to finish up your degree: you were a bona fide Field Nurse now, and finally used to the title.

The rest of your life, however, wasn’t lining up so nicely.

News of your parents’ fatal car crash reached you only days after you lost the man you loved. The two combined were enough heartbreak to send you spiraling. Suddenly, war became the only constant, dependable thing in your life.

You snapped out of your trance and shook your head, inhaling deeply. You still had things to pack.

Your fingers worked nimbly to stack your books in orderly fashion, next to folded civilian clothes.

When was the last time I’ve worn jeans? You wondered amusedly, setting your other personal effects inside, reaching for the final items.

Your hands wrapped around something small– silver metal, cold and familiar.

“Nurse L/N,” Said a voice behind you.

You whirled around and snapped to, holding your hands at your sides and closing your fist around the item in your hand. “Sir?”

In the doorway stood Colonel Packard– an imposing, stern-faced man who’d seen too much war for his own good. Despite this, he was kind enough to you, and you’d been underneath his command during your time here.

The colonel glanced at your room, taking in the stages of preparation to leave laid out.

“Your orders for home have been processed, I see.”

“Yes, sir,” you nodded.

The Colonel leaned against the doorway and eyed you with scrutiny. “Any plans for when you get back to the world, L/N?”

You blinked. This was the question you’d been avoiding. “No, sir,” you admitted. “I don’t.”

“How do you feel about one last Op?” He asked.

You frowned, not understanding. “Sir?”

“My boys and I have been called in. It’s just a flight escort for some organization called Landsat.” He tapped his fingers on the doorway. “If it’s what you want, go home. But if not …” he trailed off, raised his eyebrows, and pushed himself off the wall. “Let me know. We could always use you.”

You saluted one more time before he left, the sound of his boots fading down the hallway.

You fingered the cold, metal square in your hand, looking down as you opened up your palm and flipping it over to read the letters. R.A.F.

Captain Conrad’s lighter.

A familiar pang in your chest made your eyes teary and you angrily wiped them away. An entire year ago, and you were still crying over it?

Pathetic, you thought miserably. He’s probably been dead for a year.

You inhaled deeply to calm your nerves and turned back to your bed, staring at the half-packed duffle bag lying open on your bed, like an open-ended sentence.

“What do I have to go home to, anyways?” You sighed aloud. You shoved the lighter back in your pocket.

One last Op, you thought, Packard’s words echoing in your mind as you set to packing – but for a different purpose.

The docks of Bangkok were damp from rain and crowded by both cargo and the people carrying it. Your duffle bag was slung over your shoulder as you walked with the troops. Slivko and Mills were less enthusiastic than usual, and you knew from their grumbling that they were upset at being deployed a day away from going home.

Needless to say, you didn’t share the same sentiment. There was nothing for you to miss that you could find at the end of a return journey. Right now, your job was everything you knew, and you weren’t about to leave it for the unknown.

You nodded to Colonel Packard, who was standing at the base of the gangplank, and he gave you a barely-discernible smile. He’d already expressed that he was glad you were coming.

It’s nice to be wanted, you thought, heading up the plank and onto the freight carrier Athena.

Stepping onto the ship gave you immediate nostalgia. The smell of seawater and rusted ship metal reminded you of your deployment to Vietnam from the states, and the weeks you spent at sea. You felt like you’d been so much younger then, even though it was a mere few years ago.

Tossing your duffle bag onto the bunk without a second thought, you brushed your hands over your camo pants and headed down the narrow hallway towards the common rooms of the ship, where debriefing would take place in a few short minutes.

You yawned. The trip to Bangkok had taken a full day and then some– hopefully you wouldn’t fall asleep halfway through.

The room was decently sized and filled with folding chairs, where men in blue, collared shirts sat on one side and soldiers sat on the other. You took your place in the sea of green camo, finding a seat next to Mills.

You yawned again when you sat down and shook your head, trying to blink away the tiredness. He nudged you with his elbow. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me, L/N. I don’t want your drool on my shoulder.”

You chuckled and nudged him back. “You can’t make me,” you threatened playfully, ignoring his comically hurt expression as the lights dimmed and the projector in the middle of the room whirred.

A dark, curly-haired man named Victor Nieves introduced himself as the chief LandSat field supervisor. The presentation began.

Almost as soon as he started talking, your eyes started to droop, and you felt yourself falling asleep despite your best efforts. You tried bouncing your knee, picking a spot on the floor to focus on, breathing deep through your nose, but nothing stuck. You swallowed and shook your head, looking up stubbornly at the bright projections of maps and geographical summaries. Your eyelids began to close again.

“...we’ll then land and make base camp for ground excursions led by Mr. Conrad–”

You jerked awake so fast that your chair skidded against the floor. The sudden, jarring noise made the LandSat supervisor pause before continuing his speech. He cleared his throat. “As I was saying…”

In another situation you would have been embarrassed, even mortified, but you were too startled even for that. With sudden and desperate urgency your head turned to look around the room, searching every face, anxiety growing in the pit of your stomach.

“What the hell, L/N?” Mills hissed at you, but you weren’t listening.

You only had eyes for Conrad.

You finally found him. Standing against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest, listening intently to the LandSat Field Supervisor with no sign that he knew you were there.

You stared at Conrad, mouth agape. You inhaled shakily and took a moment to really look– after all, you hadn’t seen him in a year.

He was leaner. Harder. Even more handsome than you remembered. But when he turned his head as he leaned against the wall, you could see an unfamiliar shadow in his eyes– one that hadn’t been there before. It cast a darkness over his countenance.

You watched his blue-green irises flicker over the projector screen, listening to Nieves talk. He sighed, and his gaze began to wander, and your heart rose in your throat.

He looked at you, and the world froze.

It was like time decided to take a day off. Suddenly you couldn’t remember the last time you’d drawn a breath, and the beat of your own heart was unfamiliar to you. Every atom in your body felt torn apart, every hair raised, your eyes sparkling with tears as you met the gaze of the man you loved– the man you lost.

In the painfully slow tick of time you saw his breath catch in the way that his chest shuddered, how the blood drained from his handsome face.

You wanted him to move to you, to make some sign. Damn the debriefing and the rows of soldiers and scientists between you– for all you cared, you and Conrad were the only two people in the vast expanse of the universe.

But he didn’t.

He looked away.

Time returned to its regular pace and suddenly you came back to your senses, just in time to hear the Field Supervisor finish the debriefing and dismiss you.

Without a word you shot out of your chair and ran back down the corridor that led to your bunk. It was all you could think to do– you shut the door behind you, and fell with your back against the metal as you slid down to sit on the floor.

And you cried.

He looked away, you thought, replaying the momentary interaction over and over in your head. He saw me, and he looked away.

A sudden, dreadful thought occurred to you, and you looked up at the wall. You whispered your fear to the empty room, voice thick with emotion.

“Did he forget about me?”

Conrad watched you bolt as soon as the meeting was dismissed. You were gone almost before anyone else was was out of their seats, lost in the crowd of military uniforms.

He sighed, reaching up and putting his hand on his chest. His heart was pounding out of his shirt.

It was really you, he thought, clenching his jaw. After all this time. All my searching.

As the room gradually emptied, he stood alone with his thoughts, staring at the empty seat where you had been so close.

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut and stolen the breath from his lungs. The urge to follow you was overpowering, but he stilled himself. After all, he didn’t know exactly where you’d gone. And there was another thing to consider– that you’d run from him, like you’d seen a ghost.

Men go to war in search of something, Mr. Conrad, Randa’s words echoed in his mind. Conrad tightened his jaw and sighed, speaking quietly to the empty room.

“If I’d found it, I’d be home by now.”

- - -

A/N: thanks so much for reading! Kicking things off with a bang and a ton of angst. There are two tag lists: people who asked to be tagged, and people who I assumed wanted to be based on their comments. If you’re on the second list and do not want to be tagged, just let me know and I’ll take you off. :)

Tag List: @tarynkauai, @jessiejunebug, @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi, @fire-in-her-veinz, @daylight-swiftt

Assumed Tag List: @damalseer, @un-consider-it, @uinen-ulmiel, @kinghiddlestonanddixon

#james conrad #james conrad x reader #james conrad x you #james conrad fanfic #angst #fanfic #kong #kong: skull island #captain james conrad #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #reader insert #oc

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kandikorne · 5 years

Text

Until The Light || {M.YG}

Genre: Smut, slight angst

Word Count: 5.6 K

Warnings: Praise kink, slight degradation, pet names, unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), mentions of mafia Yoongi, and break ups.

He pouted as he stared closely at his reflection, his eyes holding to his neck where deep purple bruises laid on his flesh, not from sweet, plush lips, but from an angry boyfriend who had found him screwing around with his baby sister. Sometimes he really hated that girl, he hated how she could so easily manipulate him into coming to bed with her, to him begging for her touch.

He was so weak with that whore of a girl. He needed a lover not an occasional fuck, and Hoseok had made that pretty clear that morning after disposing of the male who dared to even touch Min Yoongi.

“Boss?” Called a deep voiced male who softly rapped his knuckles on the large doors of Yoongi’s bedroom.

“What’s needed Taehyung?” His voice raspy, his eyes hooded into a glare as he growled at his reflection, punching his reflection in the face. His inner turmoil showing in his reckless actions.

“Jungkook sent me with word as to where that slu-Da-eun is.”

“I don’t care where that whore ran to, what I do care for though is how long until she’s silenced?”

“I’ll inform him of your order sir. It shouldn’t take more than half an hour, at most.”

“Good, I’m heading out.”

The breakup stage sucked, your heart yearned and ached for him. Your bed was so empty without him. You missed the morning kisses, the slow hand that would play with your hair before falling asleep.

Hell you missed him, but fuck, it was over. He was just a chapter in your life, one that could be replaced but you couldn’t leave him in the past. You wanted him back. You hated drowning yourself with alcohol, you hated walking around your house with the ghost of him.

It’d been a week since you left your house, but today was the day you’d clean up your house and remove all signs of him. It’d hurt, you knew it would, but you couldn’t keep living with the ghost of him, no you had to let go like he had three months prior to breaking up with you.

You were so young and naive to believe in love, now you saw where love would get you, it was fake. You would pretend to be alright even when you weren’t you always tried to please him and seem like the perfect girlfriend, but look how far your love had taken you.

Carding a hand through your tangled hair your eyes ghosted over to the mirror, taking in your messy distraught self. you sweatshirt, a size too big, with a big chocolate pudding stain on the right breast. some dried substance besides it. You shook your head at your reflection and climbed out of your bed.

Strutting your way to the shower, turning it to the hottest it could be, you stripped yourself of your clothes as your remembered how he’d come up behind you, kissing the shell of your ear and whispering, all for me. God baby you’re really something, before his large hand would take your breast and began kneading the soft flesh.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Head!” You gritted as you continued to undress only for more memories to wash over you, him helping you undress, slowly tugging your panties down before pressing you against the tile wall, his lips capturing yours. It was all the past, it wasn’t good to keep looking back on. Swinging open the shower door you climbed in, eyes closed as you let the scolding hot water burn the memories away. The tears mixed with the water, disguising the pain. If you stopped to even think about it you could hear his deep voice reverberating off the glass doors, could almost feel his arms wrapping around your middle as his lips would ghost over your neck leaving the softest of kisses.

You wished, just even for a second to have him there with you. To hold you, to kiss you. You needed a way to forget him. So after your shower you moved to the closet, towel wrapped loosely across your frame as you pulled out a nice form fitting tan dress, which showed off your lovely curves.

You could only imagine Namjoon’s words if he were to see you right now, damn baby girl you look so good. Fuck it we’re staying in. As he’d grab your hips leading you back to the bed, undressing your body before marking your flesh with beautiful blooming bruises.

You had to stop thinking about him.

You dropped the towel and laid the dress on the bed as you went to dry your hair off that way you wouldn’t ruin the dress. You needed someone or something to make you forget about your ex, Namjoon, so why not have a few drinks, and dance with a stranger or two?

Yoongi walked around his club, his eyes fixated on the dance floor as he searched for any single or lonely women, except almost all that he found exceptionally interesting were with someone. He wondered if he’d ever have a wife or a serious relationship.

His eyes landed onto Hoseok one of his many men, Hoseok was especially good looking and great on the dance floor. He was sure that those hip thrusts would make anyone weak in the knees.

He sighed as he paraded around to the bar, his eyes landed on a young woman, her body leaning against the bar, her hair thrown into a tight bun but then he saw she was with a man, he laughed, his smile revealing his dimples.The male happened to be Kim Namjoon, a rival gang leader. He had some balls being in Yoongi’s club, but then again Namjoon had never harmed his enterprise or even messed with him, they had the same rivals, but him and Namjoon weren’t allies, far from it.

You had just walked into the hottest new club, and honestly it wasn’t even anything special, it was just like every other club you been to, except this time instead of having Namjoon at your side you were all alone, but now you could possibly find someone to replace your love for Namjoon, or at least help you forget him. Maybe even a few drinks would help ease your mind.

God it was so awkward being there all alone, your eyes kept following random individuals as you took in the night club scene. There were so many people dancing upon each other, the bar was full, the club was full of so many good looking males and females that you began questioning if you even fit in and what your sexuality truly was.

Your mind raced as you moved towards the bar, no one there was alone, everyone seemed to have a partner or a group of friends, you pressed your way through the crowd and stood patiently at the counter.

“Can I get a-” Shit, your mind blanked as a familiar voice spoke, you turned your head to see, him, he was only a few feet away. There he sat with a beautiful brunette, her hair in a tight bun, her body exposed for the most part through the thin material she called a dress.

You prayed he wouldn’t notice you, you just wanted him to stay in the past. You turned your head back to the bartender who offered a sinister grin, suddenly you didn’t want a cocktail, or anything that’d be made by this man. So instead you simply ordered a soda.

With your carbonated beverage you turned away from the bar and walked away only to run into a strong chest, a gasp escaped your lips as your drink fell to the floor, your eyes wide as two hands fell around your middle, holding you steady.

“I am so sorry,” you apologized as you looked at the mess on the floor, then at his face. The male said nothing as he studied your features carefully, he took in your bright wide eyes, the cute curve of your nose and plush lips. The two of you stood like that for another minute, your bodies still pressed against one another and fuck, Yoongi could feel something just by staring at you. It was as if he was back in middle school, crushing on the sweet, shy girl.

Slowly you stepped back and looked closely at him, you felt like you’ knew him. A moment passed and you were still admiring each other. “I’m Y/n.”

“Yoongi.” He responded his eyes not leaving yours. “Would you like me to buy you a drink?”

“It’s fine, I can buy myself one.”

“No, let me I caused you to spill it.” He couldn’t help himself, you were so stunning, he hadn’t meant to collide into you like that, but shit, he’d take what he could get. He placed his hand on your shoulder and lead you back to the bar.

“Jimin,” he ordered and the bartender turned to him immediately, his creepy smile gone but replaced with a childish one.

“Your usual?”He asked as Yoongi nodded, his eyes turned to you as you simply ordered a soda.

“Not a big fan of alcohol?” He asked in shock.

“I rather be sober when I’m getting to know someone,” you answered sheepishly as you looked at the counter.

“Jimin, cancel my drink, I’ll have a sparkling water.” Jimin nodded and gave you both your drinks. Yoongi and you sat at the counter, neither of you saying anything for a second before he decided to break the ice.

“What brings you here alone?” He hoped you were alone and didn’t have a boyfriend, because that would kill the mood.

“My boyfriend cheated on me for three months and just a week ago I found out and kicked him out of our apartment. Tonight’s the first night I’ve been out since, I just wanna forget about him and his touch. You know?” You asked and god you hoped you hadn’t just made things completely awkward with this man.

“Fuck him,” replied Yoongi who shook his head causing his black locks to fall into his eyes and holy shit was that a look.

“I could care less about him right now, I seriously hope he gets an STD.” You laughed as you took a long sip of your drink, eyes locking with Yoongi’s, he couldn’t help but smile.

“What about you?” You asked ad he looked taken back.

“What about me?”

“Why are you here all alone, or are you here with someone?”

“I’m alone too, except I don’t have a shitty ex to dis like you.”

“Must be nice.”

“Not really, the single life sucks, as do the whores that come with it.”

“Oh should I leave you be so I don’t get killed by your whores?” you joked as his eyes widened.

“Hell no, and if any whore comes at you I’d kill them before they could even touch you.” He gently punched your exposed shoulder earning a laugh from you.

“Spicy,” you teased and he laughed before asking, what? The two of you laughed about nothing, his hand fell to your knee, your eyes widened but you threw it off.

“What do you do as a living?” He asked after your laughter had settled, “I’m a medical student, I’m studying to be an OB-GYN. How about you?”

“I don’t think you wanna know.”

“No I do, tell me please,” you whined like a kid as you leaned forward from your stool grabbing his hands. He laughed at how cute you were.

“I doubt you’d think it’s cool.”

“I dunno you’d be surprised.”

“What was your ex?” He asked pouring salt into the wounds, you pulled away as you looked at your hands, you remembered the lie he told you when the two of you had first met, well baby girl if you must know I’m a bouncer. When in reality he lied to you almost every single day, and it definitely wasn’t for your own good.

“It doesn’t matter,” you brushed off his question and finished your soda, realizing that now without that beverage you wouldn’t have anything to cover the awkward pauses.

“Well I own a small business that’s growing dramatically, and we’re currently sitting in it.” His club which was gaining noticeable recognition, which wasn’t exactly a lie, and his mafia was growing quite large in size and power. Pretty soon he’d be in control of the capital.

“That’s really cool.” You weren’t sure what else to say but Yoongi smiled at you happily nevertheless.

“Wanna dance?” He looked at you with a raised brow, visibly taken back by your question. “Can you dance?”

“Not really but I bet it’ll be fun,” you beamed as you stood up and took hold of his large hands pulling him towards you, a bright smile on your face as he chuckled and shook his head slowly.

“You’re really something you know that.”

“The only thing that should be moving is your hips.” The teasing words made him smirk as he dragged you closer to him and started to rub his hips against your “Ahh like this?” He asked as he took in your blushing face.

“Almost but,” You pulled away from him and made sure to stand a bit farther from the counter as you turned and grinded your ass against his crotch, quickly his hands fell to your hips as he pulled you closer, a laugh escaped your lips earning a chuckle from him as he spun you around to face him.

“I can’t believe your boyfriend fucking left you,” he groaned as he stared into your eyes, he leaned in and your heart fluttered only for Yoongi to be pushed away from you.

“Maybe keep your hands off of what belongs to me D- Boy.” Yoongi brushed himself off as he glared up at Namjoon who was now standing in front of you.

“Fuck off Namjoon.” It was clear that he was intoxicated, the slurring of his words and staggered stance made that pretty obvious.

“Come on baby les go home.” He grabbed your arm only for you to swat if off. “You and I are broken up because your dumb-ass decided to cheat on me.”

“But baby girl I love you, why would I-?” He paused as he tried to think, he looked at you innocently. You pulled away from him as Yoongi pushed Namjoon’s shoulder.

“I think it’d be in your best interest to go buddy.”

“Not without my Y/n-bear.”

“She’s not yours to claim, or even have, just go home before things get ugly.” Warned Yoongi, his eyes in a deadly glare, his ton cold, his face threatening.

“Should I extract him boss?” Asked a male from behind you, his voice was so deep that it sent shivers down your spine, you turned to look at the rather tall man, he had a small freckle on his nose, his eyes cold, one hand was behind his back as Yoongi nodded.

“Show him the door.” Namjoon began to yell as the younger male reached for him, his shirt rode up his back revealing a gun, a gasp escaped your lips as you were pulled away by Yoongi, who looked thoroughly pissed.

“Don’t kill him!” You begged, you held your feet to the ground as your eyes watered, sure you were heartbroken and hating every ounce of Namjoon, but you did not want him to die.

“He won’t be killed, Taehyung is part of my security force. Do you actually care for that cheating bastard?” Yoongi sounded incredulous, he wanted to make you forget all about that prick and only think of him. He wanted you to crave his touch more than you had for Namjoon’s, he wanted to see you within his future. He wasn’t exactly sure how’d you fit into his future, maybe girlfriend, occasional fuck?

Hell whatever you were to him later in life wouldn’t matter. He wanted to live in the moment and he was sure with a few drinks and some dancing he’d get you back to his manor and out of that skin toned dress.

An hour or so passed, your feet ached from being on them for so long, Yoongi still held you by the waist as you continued to dance with him, you were feeling a bit sluggish from all that dancing, all you drank was soda and a water.

“Tired princess?” He kissed the back of your ear earning a nod, “very Yoongi.”

“Wanna sit and rest?”

“I wanna sleep,” you managed to groan as the two of you stopped and began walking off the dance floor.

“Wanna head back to my place and get a drink?”

“How do I know you don’t plan on kidnapping me and selling my organs through the black market?”

“That’s a fair point, but, how do I know you won’t kill and rob me when we leave?”

“Touche Yoongi... But, I’m far too incapable of murder, I can’t harm anything except flies.” His laughter was contagious, he had to pause and lean against a wall before he caught his breath, you weren’t exactly sure as to why he was laughing but man was it a sound and a sight to see.

His face was like a child's, round and his smile was all gums. He was adorable, except you couldn't place your finger on it but you knew he was bad in some manor. He had a fucking security officer, threatened Namjoon to leave who was also a notorious mafia boss.

The two of you left the club and Yoongi had his driver, his very own personal fucking driver take you back to his home. Within the short drive you and Yoongi managed to learn even more about one another. He learned you hated snails, and that he would kill anybody if they stole his lamb skewers, you doubted he was joking.

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of a large gate, then drove through another and another, three gates in total. Was this his house or a prison?

The car pulled to a stop before the front door right in front of a fountain. “You live here?” You asked eyes wide as he laughed and nodded.

“Well obviously,” he rolled his eyes before climbing out the vehicle and opening your door as he lead you to the mansion, you couldn’t believe he actually lived here. After walking up some stairs you reached what you were presuming was his bedroom.

“I thought we were gonna get drinks?” You asked as he showed you to his room. He walked over to the closet and walked inside, you followed hesitantly and your jaw practically hit the floor.

Talk about a walk in closet. Inside was a mini fridge and a small counter before going further to where all his clothes were stashed and organized neatly.

“What would you like?”

“Whatever you got in that fridge.”

He looked at you for a moment and pulled out some whiskey, “I doubt you could handle this.”

“I doubt you could handle a drunken me.”

“Oh baby doll, you’d be surprised, I’m pretty good at everything,” he shot you a wink before licking his lips and grabbing some glasses.

A few drinks later you were only slightly intoxicated, your sense were dulled a bit but fuck, Yoongi looked so good sitting across from you on his King sized mattress. Together the two of you had roughly six drinks, him drinking more and laughing at your bitter face after every sip.

“Wanna know what I’m thinking?” You giggled as you slowly finished our drink off earning a laugh.

“Does it involve me and you?” He asked his brows wiggling suggestively as he stared you down, his eyes on your chest for a bit as his tongue ran across his top lip.

“Well not before you mentioned that,” you whispered crawling over to him as you sat on on his lap, legs behind his back. “You don’t know what you’ve started,” he breathed before roughly capturing your lips in a tortuously slow but hard kiss.

A groan escaping from your lips, fingers entangling themselves in his hair, as his cold hands trailed up your thighs and underneath your dress, pushing it higher to where he’d have access to your wet folds, clothed by the sheer thin, lace fabricate.

“You wear these just for me princess?” He muffled against your lips, quickly nipping your bottom lip, your hands leaving his soft black locks, trailing down from his clothed shoulders to his chest to the buckle of his belt, quickly you unfastened his pants and before you could unzip them his hands caught yours, he pushed you back onto the bed. He hovered over you, his eyes hooded as he stared at you completely lost in lust.

“You look so good right now,” he breathed as he started placing kisses along your collarbones, his hands left your hands as he moved one of his hands to your covered slit, slowly tracing over your wet lips, his eyes holding yours as you released a breathy moan.

“So wet already, fuck, you’re such a good kitten. My dicks going o feel so good inside of you won’t it kitten?” You nodded your head eagerly as he smirked, he pushed the fabric to the side and slipped one finger inside of you.

“Yoongi, please don’t tease me like this,” you pleaded and just as quickly as he slipped his finger into you he withdrew it just as quick. A desperate mewl escaped your lips, but your eyes widened as he took that single digit soaked in your wetness into his mouth, his eyes holding yours as he sucked it clean.

You couldn’t say anything to the man hovering above you, fuck you couldn’t even find a tangible thought, instead you sat up and began to unzip the back of the dress until it got caught in the midst of going down. A chuckle fell from his lips as he reached behind your back and skillfully maneuvered the zipper down even after it got stuck.

“So sexy,” he breathed against the base or your neck trailing his kisses up to your ears, definitely leaving blooming bruises along the way to remind you of your lustful actions. Your hands grabbed on his suit shirt, quickly unbuttoning the material and pushing it off his shoulders, you pushed yourself onto your knees, you hands roaming his muscular physique in appreciation, before lowering to his abdomen and to his crotch.

The black pants that he wore was still unfastened, his zipper down, his hard on obvious against the palm of your hand. So many dirty thoughts raced through your mind from you taking hold of his cock and pumping him to you gagging on his girth.

Your fingers found a way into is boxers, his kisses halting as he looked at you through his lashes, waiting for you to make your move. Slowly you pulled his member out, he wasn’t even fully erect but looking at his girth you wished you knew Yoongi a long while before your breakup, because after tonight you knew you’d be forgetting all about Namjoon and his touch, your only focus would be the man before you, whose lips were tantalizing, his touch unearthly. You wanted him to take you right then in that moment, but of course he was gonna be a tease.

“You like what you see baby?” He asked a smile on his face, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from his cock, all you could do was nod your head.

“Eyes up here kitten,” he grabbed your chin gently having you look into his warm eyes, your lips were slightly parted causing erotic thoughts to swarm his mind. He shifted himself as he pulled off his jeans and boxers, throwing them somewhere behind him before reconnecting your lips to his. Your tongue ran across his lower lip before drawing his lower lip between you teeth before sucking on the soft flesh, swelling his bottom lip.

His hand tangled into your hair, tugging lightly as his other hand ran down to your wet heat, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit earning a gasp from your lips, his lower lip swollen from your kiss.

“Such a needy kitten aren’t you?” His fingers stopped as another whine escaped your lips. “No need to get upset,” he muttered as he pulled you hips up and to his chest.

“Yoongi what are you doing?” You asked eyes wide as he dipped his head down to your core and ran his tongue over your slit and to your clit to which he ran rapid circles on with his soft, warm muscle.

Your body arching upwards, and you hips shaking in his grip, he wrapped an arm snugly around your abdomen, holding you in place as he slapped your clit with his palm.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, “you understand me slut?” A shaky gasp left you as you nodded your head quickly waiting for him to continue, just his dominance on it’s own made you wet.

“Yes, daddy.” You whispered, the words catching him completely off guard. He wasn’t used to anyone calling him that, he found that kink a bit too much for him, especially if he were to have children, but hearing the words fall from your mouth and seeing your eager expression and blown out pupils, he figured why not entertain you? But he also knew that’s possibly what you called your ex in bed.

He shrugged it off nevertheless and brought his lips down on your clit and began sucking while he brought to fingers to your slick opening, slowly pumping two of his long fingers in and out. the stretch was blissful and your mouth opened as you panted in pleasure. A knot began to form in your stomach and you knew you wouldn't last long if he continued with his tongue.

He sucked harshly on your swollen nub, speeding up his fingers as he did so, his eyes would flick to yours every so often, watching your fucked out expressions.

You walls clenched and unclenched around him as your moans grew louder with each thrust. “I-I,” you panted, the words not coming out as Yoongi withdrew his fingers and lips.

“Not yet kitten,” you wanted to cry out from the loss of contact and the knot that formed in your stomach loosened in emptiness, you were so close to your orgasm only to be denied. Your hips bucked forwards out of desperation.

“Naughty little slut,” he growled pushing your hips down before hovering over your body. “Such a dirty girl, I bet you want my cock don’t you?” You nodded your head and he glared.

“Vocalize it like a good little slut. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you, come on kitten let’s hear you.” Your core throbbed just by his words, it definitely wouldn’t be hard to beg him, especially since you did want him.

“Daddy, please just fuck me, I’ve been a good kitten.”

“That’s debatable my little whore, you’ve been a naughty little slut. Why don’t you make it up to me kitten?”

“How would I do that?” You asked innocently, batting your lashes a him.

“You know how,” he whispered, grabbing your chin, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips, his dark eyes full of lust and dominance.

“Okay,” you whispered pushing him out from being above you, he now laid on his back and you pondered how you were going to do this. One of his hands reached out and grabbed your hips pulling you closer to him.

‘Sit on my stomach,” he commanded and you did just that, you leaned forwards grabbing Yoongi’s cock doing so gave him the perfect view of your dripping cunt and ass. Slowly you began to pump him, every so often your thumb would run over his slit gathering his precum and smearing it down his shaft.

A sharp slap rang across your left ass cheek, “stop being a tease you little whore.” He groaned out, spitting on his tip and smearing that you dipped your head and took his tip in your mouth, slowly running your tongue over his tip before sucking. Moving your head further down, taking even more of him.

His hands grabbed your ass, squeezing and massaging the soft skin, your jaw slackened as you bobbed your head up and down his length each time trying to take a bit more.

“Good little slut,” he breathed and to your surprise he slipped two fingers into your soaked cunt an curling them earning a gasp from you as his cock went further in your mouth and to the back of your throat.

“That’s it baby, just like that, throat me.” You moaned around his length, sending vibrations through him, his hips bucked upwards, fucking your throat, as you made sure not to gag on him. “Your throat is so good kitten, I bet your ex loved playing with you, didn’t he?”“

You didn’t respond as you bobbed your head and swirled your tongue around him, he pulled his fingers out of you, much to your dismay, his hands moved to your hips, pulling your ass back, your balance being tested with his movement.

“Come on kitten answer the question,” you moaned around him, pulling your lips away from his cock, his tip was bright pink letting you know you’ve done a good job and the slight twitch.

“No, he was always too busy to even do anything with me.” You muttered as Yoongi pushed you off him and crawled over you once more, his eyes taking in your swollen lips, he couldn’t resist his temptation to kiss you, so he did just that The kiss was rough, his tongue claiming every inch of your mouth, you sucked on his tongue tasting yourself, a grunt escaped his mouth and fell into yours.

He couldn’t wait any longer, he lined himself up with your entrance, with one quick thrust he was engorged by your tight, wet, pussy. He pulled his lips away from yours and moaned at the feeling.

“He was definitely missing out on something, I bet if his ass could see us now he’d be whimpering like a starved puppy just begging to be in you, to have you.” A moan left your lips as he rocked himself in and out slowly, his eyes held yours in satisfaction. He was enjoying the power he had over you.

“You like this kitten?” His lips brushing against your forehead as you nodded your head, hands landing onto his shoulders, as your legs wrapped around him giving him a better angle.

His thrusts quickened, his hips hitting yours as he moved deeper into you, his face was buried in your neck leaving a dark purple bruise in it’s place. He was so engorged by your tight wetness, he could stay there for hours if he could. His balls slapping against your ass the only sounds to be heard was the slapping of skin, heavy breathing and your moans.

His lips left your neck as his hips slowed a bit causing you to move your hips against his, earning a chuckle out of him. “You like this kitten?”

“Very much,” you answered honestly through a moan, his head falling back as he started to move his hips quicker, but made sure to pull out slow, to impale quick once again. Your walls were already pulsating around his length, your eyes began to close, looking at him through your lashes, your lips parted. He looked so good, his skin practically glowing with sweat.

He brought his hand down to your core, his thumb rubbing quick, rough circles to your clit causing you to moan out and arch your back up, bringing your breasts to his chest.

“Fucking hell kitten, so vocal and just for me.” He kissed the tops of your chests and continued to pound into you, his movements were getting sloppy but it felt so good. You were close and he knew it, his thrusts got harder as his pace slowed a bit, you whined from the lack of speed, but even at the slower pace he felt amazing.

He hit all the right spots, and he fit so well in your pussy, it was as if his dick was made especially just for you. Another moan fell from off your lips, his thumb moving erratically, you started to see splashes of colors, something that sounded like his name ripped from your throat as your high hit. He helped you ride it out, you walls enveloping him tightly making it hard for him to move, soon enough his cock twitched as he painted your walls with his sticky, hot fluids. Your walls continued to pulse around him, milking him for all that he’s worth.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he pulled out, he fell right besides you, his body glistening in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. his arm fell around your waist drawing you closer to him. Your fingers ran over his ribs as your head laid against his chest.

“Wanna go get dinner with me later today?”

A laugh escaped your lips and he looked confused, “that sounds nice.”

“What was so funny?”

“Just the fact that we fucked and afterwards you asked me on a date, I’m pretty sure it goes date then you can get into my pants.” He smiled a cute gummy smile as he blushed, “so does that mean I can fuck you after our date?”

“Maybe,” you whispered as you snuggled closer to him. His lips brushed your forehead as you both fell asleep. He definitely replaced Namjoon from your head.

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blackpaperwritings · 5 years

Text

My Fault

Law of Talos, after the tourny. (CHARACTERS BELONG TO UNKNOWN PERSON ON DA)

It's my fault, my fault, MY FAULT, MY FAULT, MY FAULT FAULT FAULT FAULT FAULT!!!!!!

Karl's yelling echoed through the restaurant he had taken refuge in, accompanied with the sounds of him punching the wall as hard as he could. The wall and his knuckles were bloodied, his knuckles were starting to turn purple and blue, bruising from the repetitive hits against the wall, and the wall was broken in multiple spots. But Karl, in the midst of a breakdown, hardly felt the pain at all, not when punching the wall let him have some sort of emotional relief. Though he was going to regret that later, later was not something he knew at this very moment. He was so caught up in his breakdown he didn't hear or see Climber rush into the building, he just continued screaming at himself and punching the wall.

IT'S ALL MY FAULT!!! I LET HER DIE!!! I LET MY PRECIOUS ROSE BE KILLED!!! I SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED HER!!!!

Climber quickly rushed over and grabbed Karl's wrists, pulling him away from the wall.

"Hey!! Hey, hey, hey! Karl!! Calm down!" Climber said, holding Karl back as he struggled, it was hard though, him being so weak. Karl started screaming at Climber to let go of him, yanking at his grip. Luckily for Climber, Clarice soon ran into the building, over to Karl and Climber, and grabbed onto Karl as well, trying to help restrain him. Karl was too far into his breakdown to realize that there were two pairs of hands holding him back, he just kept struggling against the two, screaming and sobbing. He soon stopped though, panting heavily, he collapsed to his knees and continued to sob. Shaking heavily. Climber and Clarice sat on either side of Karl, they looked at each other with worry and then looked at the blonde between them. They have never seen him in such a broken state, never seen past his obvious facade, the obvious mask he put on. And yet today, they were seeing past that mask, seeing through the cracks in the mask that was slowly starting to crumble.

"Karl? Are you... Okay?" Climber gently put a hand on the blonde's shoulder, but pulled his hand back when Karl flinched harshly. He shook his head softly, forcing out a 'no' as his answer, there was no way he could keep his facade up, and the pain in his hands was starting to become apparent to him, especially in his knuckles.

"Wait... What happened?" Karl asked, looking between Climber and Clarice.

"What happened??? What do you mean what happened?!" Clarice raised her voice a bit, but the soft glare from Climber made her force out a small apology.

"I j-just remember my mind wandering too far... Th-then getting up and walking over to the wall... And next thing I know I'm o-on the ground and my hands are bloodied and bruised..." Karl said, forcing it out through his sobs of sorrow and dispair.

"You must've panicked so badly you blacked out..." Clarice said, then looked at Climber, "You can explain, you got here first."

"Oh. Well uh, we heard you screaming and so we ran towards the noise... I got in here first and saw you punching the wall and screaming and sobbing about... Something being your fault... So I grabbed your wrists and tried to hold you back, and Clarice came in and helped hold you back... Then you collapsed and continued to sob.... And then we're here..." Climber explained, then asked, "Who were you talking about?" Karl tensed up a bit.

"I-I.... Old friend..." He responded, "T-The one that taught me violin...." He sniffled, then let out a stiffled sob.

"What was their name?" Clarice asked, moving so she was sitting criss cross.

"H-Her name was R-Rachel... She was so nice... Had beautiful cherry read hair... Emerald green eyes.... And was really good at playing violin. Even better than I ever could... Hell I wouldn't be surprised if she had been the violin god." Talking about her seemed to make Karl feel better, or at least at the moment, "Then that damned captain.... Shot her.... Killed her... And I couldn't protect her...."

"You can't save everyone Karl.... It wasn't your fault..." Clarice set her hand on Karl's shoulder.

"B-But I could ha-"

"Karl. You aren't at fault. If anyone is it's that damned captain." Climber said, surprising both Karl and Clarice, whom looked up at him, "Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can't save who you want to save. All that matters is you tried." Climber put his hand on Karl's other shoulder. Karl was quiet for a few minutes before finally saying something.

"You're right... I-I shouldn't beat myself up like this...." Karl sighed, looking at his hands, "Do... Either of you have bandages, by the way?..." Karl looked sheepishly at the two.

"I do. Always carry some on me." Clarice opened the little fanny pack she had started carrying around and pulled out some bandages, rubbing alcohol, and a few cotton balls, "I have to clean your wounds first, those cuts probably have wall dust in them, and that can cause your wounds to become infected." Clarice opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured some on one of the cotton balls, then gently took one of Karl's hands, "This is gonna sting a bit, just be warned."

"Probably not any worse than how my hands already feel." Karl joked, giving a small, goofy smile. Clarice smiled a bit and shook her head, then started dabbing the cotton ball against Karl's wounds. Karl let out a soft hiss of pain, clenching his teeth. Clarice finished as quickly as she could, cleaning up the blood a bit, and wrapped Karl's hand up. She repeated the process with Karl's other hand, then put everything back.

"There we go, finished." Clarice gave Karl a smile, and Karl mustered a smile back. The three moved to one of the booths and started a small conversation. Climber and Clarice were very much glad that Karl felt like he could finally let go of the emotions he had held inside him all this time, especially to them.

They were glad he could finally trust again.

#law of talos #castle of nations #law of talos karl #castle of nations karl #law of talos climber #castle of nations climber #law of talos clarice #castle of nations Clarice #panic attack #breakdown

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staying-home-is-killing-me · 5 years

Text

Aruani week au

Prom night Part 1

With the girls of Maria High,

Annie stepped out of the bathroom freshly wet and clean, she took a deep inhale of the warm and moist steam from the shower. There she was off to her big day. Annie's first prom. She was going with her friends as a group. Annie was also excited for her date, she kept her feelings hidden for a while and surprisingly she was the one to ask him out. Annie actually didn't know why he agreed to take her to prom. That was one of her fears, love.

She fasened her gaze upon her roommate, Hitch Dryse. "Hitch you can shower now." Hitch was the teasing type of friend. She made jokes and she was also very popular with boys. Annie herself, was also popular with boys too. But she only had eyes for one, and she was furious when she discovered her feelings. Annie was emotionless most of the time and she was shocked when he had a crush. She tried to hide it sayin that it was her brain tricking her but eventually it was her heart that caved in and admitted to her feelings.

The stone cold, bad girl,and half jock, Annie Leonhard. Had actual feelings rather than mad and annoyed, who knew. Especially with Armin, Armin Arlert wasn't the type of person she expected to fall for. He was fairly tall but he was far from tall compared to the other boys, he had darker blonde hair, and he was very smart and very very kind hearted. He was. He was different from the other guys. He was a nice change of pace for everyone. Annie couldn't hide her feelings any more. But why would a strong badie fall for a weak nerd.

Even though he was in the soccer team. He never acted like a meat head and he was always level headed. He is a very good sport and he is always "Mr.Modest" when ever someone is complementing him. Compared to all of the standards for men. Armin is the perfect guy. But many judge him for his smaller shape and smaller stature but, Annie sees past that. Even Armin sees past Annie's facade he knows deep inside she cares and she is a big softy. She just likes to hide behind something, like being afraid to let your guard down. She acts as if she is surrounded my the enime all the time. But with Armin she is different.

Annie was pacing around her room. She was having second thoughts about going with Armin. She wanted to call and cancel with him. But she knew how much she wanted this. And Armin was her first and only love she had. Of course she would want to spend the best night of thier lives together. But what if they weren't meant to be. what if Armin didn't like her that much. What if armi-

A sudden knock on the door jolted her back to reality. "Hello. Hey Annie it's us". Annie opened the apartment door to see Mina,Mikasa,Krista,and Yimr. "Guys what are you doing here". Annie carefully examined their outfits. Mikasa wore a tall black dress with a diamond bracelet and she had black gloves on. Of course she still wore Erens red scarf. Mina wore a blue dress with a diamond tiara that her boyfriend bought her she also had het hair in a bun. Krista wore a small orange dress with a cute pink bag and and a small orange bow in her hair. Yimr wore a romper instead of a dress but it had black and white polka dots on it and black stripes on the sides with her hair in a small braid.

"We came to help you. And Hitch told us you have a hot date tonight". Mina blurted out. "And obviously we want to find out who is making the rock hard Annie blush and be a mess". Said Yimr. "We also came to make you embarrassed you in front of him". Mikasa added. "You guys suck." "Ohh. You'll just adore him." Hitch said walking out of the shower. "Hey". Annie walked over and gave her a hard nudge with her elbow. "Well it just slipped out. Now get out of that robe and get into your dress"...

Hey guys. Im a bit late to Aruani week. ( the story was too long for just one post so ill make a part 2 or more if i have too) I worked very hard. And i really want you to like it.

By,

am-da-brown-bear Tumblr

#High school.#mina #hitch #mikasa #krista #armin #aruani must live

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bee-kathony · 6 years

Photo

Fraser Memorial | Ch. 1 “Sutures”

Thank you @sassenachwaffles for being my beta on this chapter and thank you @jules-fraser for approving of my pictures and indulging me as I started another fic!

2015 | Scotland

The emergency room had been quiet all morning, only three people had come in with minor injuries that were fixed in minutes. My fingers ached to suture someone’s skin, fix a broken nose... anything that would take my focus off of my ex.

Frank Randall had cheated on me. Simple as that.

But it wasn’t simple, he was my fiancé, we’d been together for six years and had plans. Hopes and dreams that involved us buying a house, getting married, children… he ruined them when he slept with one of his students. A history professor at Oxford University, Frank had wooed me in my last year of school. He was a new professor and I was smitten with the teacher.

I should have known that something like this could have happened.

I was once the student, crushing on their professor, hoping he would ask to see me after class so we could talk those extra five minutes without anyone else around.

It’d only been three months since I found out he was sleeping with her and in that short time I had relocated to Edinburgh to get away from him and my shattered dreams. Thankfully the hospital accepted my transfer. It was rare that they would take on a resident from another hospital, especially since I was English.

I glanced down at my watch, only ten minutes had passed since I’d last checked it. Sighing, I ran my hand through my mass of curls, getting my finger stuck in a knot. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” I cursed, yanking my hand and managing to make matters worse.

“Ye need scissors?” Geillis, a fellow resident, asked from behind the nurses station.

I huffed, “No, thank you. I’ve almost,” I pulled a bit more, “Got it!” My hand came free and only a few loose strands drifted to the white tiled floor.

“Ye ever think about cutting it? Yer hair?” Geillis pointed to my bird’s nest.

Shaking my head, I pulled my hair tie off my wrist and started putting it in a messy bun, “I would look horrific if I cut my hair,” I laughed, tucking loose bits into the bun. “They would stick out even more, if that’s even possible.”

“Aye, yer probably right.” She laughed and then we both turned our heads to the emergency room doors that were now opening with a bang. Finally.

A man with a slight limp walked through the doors, holding up a very large red headed man who appeared to be doubled over in pain.

“Mine!” I called before Geillis could and raced off to meet the men, leaving Geillis’ shouts of complaint behind me.

“How can I help?” I asked, my eyes taking stock of what was before me. The larger man’s face was twisted in pain, and his hand was clutching his opposite shoulder. Dislocated. There was also blood, and a lot of it, running down his arm.

“This idiot here thought he could lift a box of about forty-five bottles of whisky, clumsy dolt.” The blonde man laughed through his words, “Happened walkin’ up the stairs. Smashed all the whisky o’ course.” I chuckled lightly to myself, clearly the man was not too concerned about his friends pain.

“Come with me, we’ll get you set up in a bed and I’ll take a look at that shoulder.” I led the two men who slowly followed over to the row of beds. The large man laid down, wincing as he fell back against the pillows.

“You’ll probably want to sit up and not lean on that arm.” I instructed and moved my fingers in a ‘come forward’ motion.

“Aye, I think it’s broken.” The red haired man said, groaning as he sat up in the bed.

I laid my hand gently on his shoulder to assess the damage, it was in fact dislocated. This would be an easy fix. “It’s not broken, only dislocated.”

“Only,” he laughed and I looked into his eyes for the first time to find that they were the brightest blue I’d ever seen. Caught off guard, I shook my head slightly and turned my attention back to his shoulder.

“I’m going to pop it back into place, it’ll hurt but then feel a whole lot better.” I placed my hands firmly on his arm and he nodded, gritting his teeth and looked straight ahead.

Applying pressure, I forced his shoulder back and then up and it made a sort of popping noise as it reset. The man grunted but then let out his breath, looking down at his shoulder to see it good as new.

“Ah Dhia, it feels a thousand times better, thank ye Sassenach.” He smiled up at me and I felt my belly do a little flip.

“You’re welcome. It really wasn’t very — wait… what did you call me?” I shot my eyebrows up at him. I’m pretty sure that ‘Sassenach’ was not a very nice name to call someone.

The man blushed, his ears turning pink as he met my gaze full on, “Och, I didna mean it in a bad way, of course not, yer English are ye no’?”

“Well, yes I am.” I crossed my arms in front of me and waited for further explanation.

“So…” he drew out the word, “’Tis only a way of calling ye that, yer an outlander, lass. Please dinna take offense because I truly didna mean to offend ye. ’Tis only I dinna ken yer name.”

I looked down at my chest where my name tag should’ve been but it had somehow fallen off during the day. “Oh, I’m Claire. Claire Beauchamp.” I smiled and then I remembered the man’s friend and turned my head to him as well, offering him the same smile.

“This is Ian, my brother-in-law,” the man pointed to his friend with the limp, “and I’m Jamie. Now that we ken each other’s names maybe ye could attend to this blood that hasna stopped drippin’ out of my arm?”

I cursed under my breath. Christ, I had completely forgotten that he had been bleeding. His eyes were a distraction and his Scottish lilt was rather enchanting. Of course, I knew that by moving to Scotland, I would in fact hear plenty of Scottish accents but there was something in the Highland-lilt -- something about the way he said ‘Sassenach’.

“Jesus! I’m sorry,” my cheeks turned red and I moved over to the cabinet beside the bed, quickly pulling out what I would need. Definitely sutures, bandages, antiseptic and tweezers to pull out any remaining glass.

Once I set up the tray and had it arranged neatly, I rolled the small cart over beside the bed. “Hold out your arm please.”

Jamie lifted his arm, and I sucked in the air between my teeth, there was a large piece of glass sticking out. I normally had a strong stomach but sometimes, there were things that put me over the edge.

“Jamie, yer doctor’s afraid of blood. I told ye we shoulda gone to the other hospital,” Ian laughed and put his hand on Jamie’s back.

“I’m normally fine, blood doesn’t make me ill but seeing that,” I looked down at his arm again, “has made me just a wee bit nauseous.”

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. If ye throw up, I promise to make sure none of that hair on top of yer head gets in the vomit.” Jamie laughed and I would have hit him on the arm if he wasn’t injured.

“Thank you,” I said sarcastically and turned to grab the antiseptic and cloth to clean around his wound before I dislodged the glass shard.

While I cleaned his wound, Jamie didn’t complain, only pressed his lips tightly together and put on a brave face. “This may hurt,” I said in a soft tone as I held my tweezers near the glass.

“Just do it, lass.”

The glass came out easily enough, and thankfully it wasn’t very deep into his skin but he would definitely need sutures. I laid the shard on the tray and grabbed another cloth to clean him and this time Jamie let out a little yelp as the antiseptic touched his wound.

“Can deal with a dislocated shoulder but not a little sting?” I mused, smiling up at him as I continued to clean the remaining blood.

His arm twitched slightly but he didn’t pull it back, “Och, the stinging is verra painful, Sassenach, dinna make fun of me!”

“He’s a big baby, Claire, dinna listen to him,” Ian chimed, “He cries in sappy romantic movies too, don’t ye?”

Jamie glared at Ian, but there was a slight mischievous glint in his eye.

“I dinna cry, I have allergies,” Jamie grumbled, puffing out his chest a little.

I grabbed the needle and threaded the suture through the small hole and brought it to his skin. “I have allergies too, you know like when I watch ‘Titanic’ and Jack dies, somehow I always get allergies during that scene,” I joked, which earned me a nudge from Jamie’s other hand into my side.

“Dinna joke about ‘Titanic, Claire, ’tis verra serious, their love was forever.” He laughed and I had to admit to myself that he was very interesting. Jamie was such a large presence, one wouldn’t think at first glance that he was into romantic movies and even cried during them.

“Seems like ye’ll be awhile,” Ian said, “I’m gonna go and grab a snack out of the vending machine, ye need anything, Fraser?”

Fraser? Surely not…

I waited until Ian had walked away before asking Jamie what was currently making me freak out.

“Fraser? That’s your last name?” He jumped slightly as I poked him with the needle and began to suture his wound.

“Aye, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, to be exact.”

“As in… Fraser Memorial… the name of this hospital?” I paused my work on his arm to look up into his face.

Jamie’s ear’s turned pink again, “Aye, well ’tis no’ like it’s me who owns the hospital. That’d be my Da Brian. One day though… it’ll be mine.”

He was practically my boss and here I was picturing late nights cuddled up next to him on the couch watching ‘Titanic’ and crying.

“So it’s named after your dad then? Kind of odd to name a hospital after yourself, aye?” I resumed suturing his wound, nearly done.

“Och, no. It’s named after my older brother Willie.” He replied, looking down to watch the needle go through the last bit of skin and I clipped the end and tied it off. “He passed away when I was a lad.” I watched as I saw his blue eyes go gray and his smile faded for a moment. “He had cancer.”

My hand lingered on his arm, offering comfort, “I’m so sorry Jamie. Was he treated at this hospital?”

“Aye,” his voice trembled, as if he was remembering his brother now, “My father partnered with a man and bought the hospital a year after Willie died. Then they renamed it for him, to remember.”

I bandaged his arm in silence, not quite knowing what to say, what could I ever say to that?

“You’re all done.” I tucked in the end of the bandage underneath, “You need to clean the wound daily, and for the first couple of days you’ll need to change out the bandage, some blood seeping through is normal.” I assured him, and looked over to see Ian returning with bags of crisps and candy in his arms.

“Och, yer finished? I had to go to three different floors to find what I wanted.” He groaned and offered Jamie a bag of crisps.

“Thank ye, Sassenach. For healing me wi’ yer wee hands so well.” Jamie grabbed my hand and placed his lips on the back of it. I could have sworn he heard my heart beating frantically in my chest.

“No problem at all, anything for a Fraser,” I laughed, hoping I didn’t sound like I was trying to suck up to the owner’s son.

“Will I need to come back to get the sutures taken out?”

“Oh, yes! Come back in about three weeks and I’ll take them out for you.” I only prayed that when he returned I would be on shift.

“Aye, three weeks then, Claire.” Jamie smiled and turned to leave with Ian, who was munching on a Snickers bar, going on and on about how stupid Jamie was to lift that heavy of a box.

My eyes never left the back of his head as I watched them walk away and just before they turned around the corner, Jamie’s eyes met mine and he grinned, setting butterflies loose in my belly.

Present day

I checked my reflection in the mirror, applying one more coat of mascara before I decided my make-up would just have to do for the evening. My dress was a simple black, that hugged every curve and line of my body. Just the way my husband liked, or so he showed me.

“Sassenach!” He called from the living room, “Are ye ready? We dinna want to be late!”

“Such an impatient man,” I fussed, grabbing my coat from the bed and slipping it on over my shoulders. Jamie was waiting for me, his arms crossed, looking down at his watch.

“I’m ready. I swear it!” I smiled and kissed him on the cheek as he turned his face to press his lips to mine.

“Don’t!” I pulled back, “You’ll mess up my lipstick and I don’t think you want to wait around for me to fix it.”

“I’d love to mess up yer lipstick, Sassenach. And that wee dress of yers too,” the color of his eyes turned into a deep blue, “but yer right, we must go.” He sighed, frowning as he settled for a kiss to my forehead and took my hand, leading me to the door.

“Are you nervous, Jamie?” I squeezed his hand as we walked to the car parked on the street.

“Aye, a wee bit.”

“Your speech will be great, I know it.” He stopped us before we climbed into the car, his hands slid down my body to rest on my hips.

“’Tis a big responsibility, bein’ an owner of a hospital.” He squeezed my sides making me jump, “With my father retiring and all, I ken it has to be me but I just worry I willna be good at it.”

Not caring about my lipstick or the stain it would leave on his lips, I pressed forward and closed our mouths together. “Jamie Fraser, you’re the bravest man I know. You’re ready for this, your father has trained you well. Besides…” I smirked, my hands sliding down over his arse, “I can’t wait until I can say I sleep with the boss.”

Jamie laughed and pressed his lips to mine again, “I love ye, Sassenach. Truly, I do.”

“And I you, Jamie. Now let’s go! It’s bloody freezing out here, and I need those heated seats!”

He let go of my hips and opened the passenger door for me. The entire drive over, his hand never left mine - I squeezed it off and on, a matter of habit, to remind him I was there. I was always going to be there, I was always going to be his biggest supporter.

The tension was seeping out of his body. No normal person would have known that, but I knew James Fraser, and I knew just how big of a night this retirement gala at Fraser Memorial was going to be.

#fraser memorial #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie x claire #outlander fanfic #fanfiction #mclairefras #another one #chapter 1 #sutures

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lady-o-ren · 6 years

Text

Bad Luck Follows

Chapter One / Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Claire woke up that morning knowing full well that this day was not meant for another mindless puttering around her house. No more rearranging the bottles and jars that lined her shelves from potency, to size, then back to their usual alphabetized, or one more read of the same old books, with the same damn pages that never turned with a fresh verse she hadn't already memorized. Her bruises were gone, her arm was out of it's sling, free from pain and her hand had healed nicely with just a pucker of pink for a scar.

So then, for the first time in nearly two weeks, Claire pulled her green cloak on, fastening the metal clasps together and grabbed her medicine box, small nicks marking the wood finishing here and there, with a rush of excitement flowing in her veins.

It was a day of bright sun that greeted Claire, with a crisp breeze that slipped past the wool fabric at her neck, leaving her with a pleasant trail of goosebumps as if nature itself was welcoming her back with a chilly kiss.

As she walked down the bumpy path Claire couldn't help herself from hoping for something tremendously rousing to heal, though she wished no harm to come to her neighbors. Truly.

Nothing too bad. She assured to the one high above. Just a scratch…that needs stitches. Or a leg needing to be reset, that would be just about heaven. I wonder what Mr. Fraser is up to? Claire mused with a laugh that colored her cheeks.

_____

It was the biggest boil she had ever seen, Claire concluded, as she brushed the strays from her face.

Mr. MacNab had seemed quite in awe of the size of the growth himself, proud almost. But it was a nasty looking thing protruding from his leg that pained him and his wife would have no more of his whining. However when Claire pulled out her roll of leather that contained her knives he suddenly realized the benefits of such an oddity. The stories he could tell, the people he could show…

He watched as Claire dragged her fingers over the different blades and Mr. MacNab wondered which she would use. The long curved one? Perhaps the one with jagged teeth that gleamed with a wink his way? Or a small saw hiding in the folds of her cloak? Rabbie told him she had one for severing infected limbs…

“Mebbe I could rub some oil on it, Mistress Beauchamp? Or joost crush the bugger back in, aye? Wouldna want tae distress ye, bein' that yer barely on yer feet and all.”

“Well, if you want to baste it, fine. But there's only one way to deal with a boil this size and that's not by pushing the bugger back in. A simple slice and drain is all that's needed." Claire then noticed the color of Mr. MacNab's face drain to ashes when she picked up her knife and decided to give him some comfort the best way she knew how for a man. She let him drink from her flask of whisky until his nose shined red.

“Alright, Mr. MacNab, let's get to it shall we?”

“Aye, ba dinna 'ell da missus 'bout -” he lifted the flask with a shake to and fro, smiling sheepishly as he downed another dose. Doctors orders, ye ken?

____

De-boiled, cleaned and thoroughly soused, Mr. MacNab was sleeping peacefully on the floor of his kitchen which he assured was fit even for the Bonnie Prince. If that was good or bad Claire didn't know, she couldn't move him anyway if she tried. After cleaning her hands and tools, Claire gave Mrs. MacNab instructions for when her husband would wake.

“Now remember, if the incision begins to change to a darkening color and his skin becomes fevered, don't hesitate to call on me." Then Claire added for good measure. "And make sure your husband doesn't pick at it, that's how it got as big as it did.”

"Aye, Mistress, but I trust yer hand as a healer, there's naught to worry about. Though -" Mrs. MacNab looked thoughtfully at her husband, loudly snoring, deep in sleep. "I'll keep my broom at the ready if I so much as see that man o' mine twitch."

With laughter shared between the two, Claire was given the payment of a small bundle of apples, much to her delight. She took her leave with a goodbye to the family - the large brood had been waiting outside during the procedure with wee Rabbie peaking through the window narrating, what he described as a most gruesome scene, and were now all hovering over their soused father.

Outside, the air began to smell of dampness that was now graying the sky which would hinder Claire from continuing her rounds and had her stepping quickly home. But it was the sight before her that sent her mood plummeting to her feet and slowed her stride.

It was the Scot on his devil of a horse coming down the slope of hill, locking his blue eyes -that she could see even from where she stood - with hers. Claire then saw those same eyes darting around, expecting trouble that was always soon to follow and hers rolled hard in response.

It then surprised Claire that Jamie didn't outright avoid her as he brought his horse to meet her. Out of politeness, possibly, but she took note of his appearance, purely from a healers eye if that's what brought Jamie to her.

He was wearing the leather coat he seemed fond to wear that accented his shoulders, broad and looking well, with breeks that showed the long cut of his legs that made him tower over her, irritatingly so. The only dishevelment she could see was his hair, tussled from the wind making his copper locks even curlier then usual.

Jamie caught her stare with a queried cock of his brow as he brought Donas to a halt and Claire felt a sudden heat to her features that had her quick to find her voice.

"It's been some time, Mr. Fraser. I hope you haven't been misusing that shoulder of yours."Her hand moved to her hair, smoothing down what the wind had surely disrupted.

“I'm well, Sassenach. The oil ye gave me did me well but had me reeking to high heaven." Jamie made an exaggerated face of offense Claire couldn't help but find humourous that broke with a quirk of his mouth. "The pigs were mighty jealous of me.”

A flash of Jaime, arms flailing in terrifying fright, running away from the blood thirsty sow had Claire in stitches. Jaime just assumed she was laughing at his joke and feeling very pleased with himself, chuckled along with her until their laughter quieted.

“I heard from wee Rabbie you were on the mends and seein' you now, ye look-” Bonny "Verra well, Sassenach."

“You speak to him about me?" Claire assumed the worst, going over in her mind what had been said and done in Rabbie's presence, with eyes narrowing and readying herself to pounce at the next sentence out of Jamie's mouth.

“Just to know how ye were.” Jamie replied defensively while shifting in his saddle that had Donas grunting at his masters squirming.

“You could have stopped by, Mr. Fraser and seen me for yourself instead of having Rabbie be a spy for you.”

“I didna - I was only - what I meant was - ” Breathe man and get out wit it.

“I was actually on my way to see ye, Sassenach.”

"Whatever for?"

A roaring crack of lightning startled them both and had Jamie patting down Donas who trembled at the sound. Then a faint drizzle soon fell down that had the twosome locking gazes.

"You can't blame that one on me." Claire remarked, pointing at the sky.

"I think mother nature is at fault here.” Even so Jamie cast a suspicious glance her way but fixed his gaze before she saw. He did come all this way for a reason.

"Ye canna travel in the rain even if its naught but a drizzle. Come." Jamie said, extending his hand to her "I'll take ye home as I was on my way there anyhow and I want no argument from ye either."

Claire gave a doubtful shake of her head towards Donas, having little faith in a beast afraid of lightning. And more so to the idea of sharing a horse with Jamie.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. Ye have nothing to fear. As long as I have the reins yer safe wi' me.”

The air was thickening now with a frigid wind that sent a shiver up Claire's spine and her limbs protesting the threat of a numbing and soaking.

Claire sighed a misty breath as she relented. “Alright, Mr. Fraser, my life is in your hands.”

"Tis how its been since we met, aye?" Claire would have been annoyed at the statement if not for the truth to what he said. Jamie afterall had given her a home all her own when she had nowhere else to go.

After taking her belongings from her, Jamie held out his palm once more for Claire to clasp on to and tentatively she did, as Jamie pulled her to his front between the press of his thighs and flush to his chest in a perfect fit of warmth that left any objections to the wind.

As they rode a gentle pace the light rain whimpered to a dew, yet neither made a move to stop their journey. There was still the cold wind to contend with, the mud to trod through and what if the rain picked up again? Instead they rode in companionable silence, which could only last so long for there was a problem.

Claire's hair, always in defiance, was loosening from it's pins, curling softly at his face that Jamie didn't find unpleasant. Being so close he noticed she carried an earthly fragrance about her, with a whiff of a whisky aroma he found enticing that burned at his lips, that had his tongue peeking out to taste. Most of all though, Jamie could feel the shape of her as she gathered closer for warmth, from the arch of her back, to the swell of her hips, that left his belly to flip wildly in response. It was involuntary he reasoned, but if she continued pushing her arse against him like that -

Jamie's breathing hitched, forcing him to clear his throat that sounded of a strangled toad.

“Are you coming down with a cold, Mr. Fraser?" Claire asked with concern as she turned her head towards him. “Your breathing sounds troubling.”

Jamie put a smile on with an assurance that there was nothing ailing him, but Claire gave him a dubious look.

“What Sassenach? Do ye plan on doctoring me on my horse?”

Claire did just that and Jamie barely had enough time to pull at the reins.

She twisted her torso to face him, placing the back of her palm to lay against his stubbled cheek, trailing her fingers down to his chin and back again checking for a fever. Jamie was very warm, she assessed, with a countenance hued a vivid shade of pink, and his breathing was becoming increasingly heavier as well. She pursed her lips at the foolish Scot who dared to ride in damp weather. Claire told him just so too.

“I'm no' sick, Sassenach, just a bit tired from the days work." Jamie stuttered out as the feel of her touch lingered even as her hand was back in her lap. "Now turn yer head back round," Jamie said lifting his head to the road, "And let's get to yer cottage."

He didn't wait for a response and clicked his tongue in signal to Donas to move on ahead with a sudden jerk that had Claire leaning further back into the saddle.

A Dhia

____

Jamie made sure Donas was tied far away from Claire's garden, lush from rain with no signs of the devastation from weeks earlier (which she made no comment to, most likely blaming the cotton tails for the loss).

He followed her in, minding the doorway as always, and set her things on the tabletop before sinking down to her kitchen chair. Jamie watched Claire as she removed her cloak and waved off her offer of tea, wanting to be gone before tragedy befell them. He never knew what fate had in store for him and Claire.

As if reading his mind Claire teased, “So what made you seek me out and face utter misfortune today, Mr. Fraser?”

“Well,” he began with a lopsided smile, "I was diggin' out an ol' tree stump when I found this -" Jamie pulled from his satchel, that laid at his feet, a large gnarled root cleaned from dirt. "It looked like something ye might grind in yer mortar so I brought it to ye thinking ye could use it somehow."

Jamie handed her the root that she gave a curious glance to as she took her seat next to his. “Could ye use it as a plaster maybe? Or one of yerr wicked concoctions ye forrce down the thrroat?" He heavily rolled his R's hoping to get a reaction from her unusually muted face. Was she pleased?

“You brought me a gift.” Claire was noticably touched by the gesture, her features softening that beckoned Jamie's eyes to linger. "Artium Lappa," she explained with a widening grin.

Jamie watched as Claire held it up to the light as if it were a precious gem, admiring the root for all the abilities it held beneath it's coarse covering. She turned it round and round in her hands before scratching the outer surface of it and bringing it to her nose to smell it's bitter tang that had her scrunching her nose up and furrowing her brow.

“Och, is it rotten then, Sassenach?"

"No, not at all. It's pungent. Quite awful really,” Claire brought it to her nose for another whiff, inhaling deeply. "But the stronger the scent the more effective the remedy, as I've been known to say." She rubbed her nose to rid the odor away and her smile returned.

“I believe I've been on the tail end of that old proverb from ye before." Jamie smirked. "So I did good?"

“Quite good." Claire agreed with a tilt of her head towards him. "I can't remember the last time someone gave me such a lovely gift."

Shit

"So this was what you wanted to see me for?"

"Well, no." Jamie bowed his head, his fingers thumping against his thigh. "I - uh - wanted to ask about the lass who visited ye naught a week ago. Laoghaire Mackenzie."

Any goodwill Jamie had earned was gone with a flash of her golden eyes ripe with a rising temper.

"And you thought to bribe me with this?" She gripped the root tight in her palms and Jamie truly feared he'd be missing teeth..if he could still walk.

"Honestly, do you think so little of me?" Claire didn't know if she were upset, disappointed or both.

“Forgive me, Sassenach. But my sister -”

Claire's demeanor calmed at hearing of his sibling. She had known about their history from the bits she heard during her rounds and was respectful enough not to ask for details. It wasn't her place to pry. But she did know the mournful reason for their quarrels.

"She has it in her head that I must marry." Jamie's face was flushed from embarrassment but mostly from pure exasperation." I've told her often enough to keep her beak out of my affairs as I do hers, but now I see I have no other choice but to ask for yer aid."

"My aid? Do you care for the girl?" Claire had no interest in matchmaking and her heart began to heighten it's pacing at the thought of having to do so for Jamie.

"No, I dinna have a liking for the lass. But I heard she came to see ye and what she asked of ye." Claire sighed, knowing exactly who Jamie heard it from.

"Laoghaire did ask for you,." She divulged. "Apparently she's under the impression we're quite friendly with each other." Utter nonsense that would have had them throwing words of distaste at one another and probably would by the end of this conversation.

"She wanted to know if I could talk to you, to turn your heart towards her. I thought it was nothing but a misguided crush, so I told her it would be an ill fated union between you two and for her own sake she should look elsewhere for a beau." Claire remembered her words had fallen from her lips without conscious thought and how Laoghaire glared at her not in broken-heartedness but of bitter determination. "Still the girl was adamant, so I gave her the bottle she asked for and showed her out."

“You werena wrong." Jamie mumbled, avoiding her stare, focusing his own to his boots. Forgetting who he was let the words cascade from his mouth

"I'm no one's ideal match. But before my father passed he had been eyeing Laoghaire for me. He thought she would keep me rooted to these lands, a simple lass for a simple life, but I was having none of it. I wanted to travel, to see the world in any way I could." A small grim smile crossed his face as the drumming of his fingers clenched into a fist. "I never did."

"Now he's gone and Jenny wants what my father wanted for me. That's why she's been speaking to the lass and the reason for her coming here. I'm a disappointment to her. I see it in her eyes, the way she avoids me And when I marry she'll finally be done wi' me."

It was then Jamie felt the soft caress of a hand along his, gently urging his fist to loosen it's grip and to raise his gaze where he found a pair of amber eyes emanating a kindness that eased the shame that had been crushing his heart.

“Whatever you think of yourself and despite what I may call you to your face or behind it." Jamie smiled weakly at that. "Believe me, when I say that you are a good man, Jamie Fraser. There aren't many men like you in this world who have your sense of duty and honor and I doubt your sister is blind to those qualities so seldom seen in others." Before Jamie could counter Claire squeezed his hand.

"How could she if I of all people see that in you."

Letting her words seep in, Jamie flipped his hand so his palm enclosed over hers, lightly stroking the base of her thumb with the scar. His eyes never leaving their entwined hands, taking in the rarity of the intimacy of so simple an act.

“You've calmed my mind, Sassenach. I thank ye for taking pity on me.”

“I wasn't speaking to you out of pity. It's what friends do for one another.”

“Friends, aye? Is that what we are?” There was a glint to his eyes cutting through the shade that once was there.

"Well, how would you describe us?"

"I dinna ken. But if ye are a friend then may I ask," he leaned in close enough to her that she could feel his breath brush against her face. "What sorta things do ye say behind my back?"

She let out a belly laugh that cast a rosy glow about her features and Jamie didn't know when he had seen her so genuinely happy in his presence.

"That you are a most ridiculous man." Claire tugged at his auburn locks for emphasis that had Jamie twisting his face in mock pain.

“If I'm ridiculous then yer a foolish women for puttin' up with me.” Jamie reciprocated her gesture and tugged at one of her own curls, marveling at how it sprung back as it slipped through his fingers. A true curly wig she was.

“I suppose I am.” They stared at one another with matching grins, becoming very aware of how much they were touching each other with familiarity. It was only when Claire felt the air becoming thin that she broke the moment.

"Mr. Fraser, about the aid you asked for..?"

"Och! Weel, I was hoping," Jamie scratched at his stubble, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "That maybe ye would tell my sister that I wasna fit to be a husband, in the way that matters, ken?" He wished for the roof to cave in now. Skull. Shatteringly. Hard.

Claire was too shocked to laugh, instead her mouth was left gaping wide. "You mean -"

"I was desperate! That's why I brought ye that monstrosity and risked bodily injury seeking ye out. I needed Jenny to leave me be." Jamie refused to meet her eye that shined with cruel amusement.

"Do you still need my assistance in that area?" She bit her lip, doing her best not to cackle at the sensitive matter.

"No." Jamie narrowed his eyes at her delighted face. "It was mistake to ask ye and I hope this counts as one of yer confidential meetings."

"Of course. As long as wee Rabbie isn't behind that door your secret is safe with me."

Standing to take his leave, Claire followed him to the door.

“Well, good luck with marriage woes, Mr. Fraser and -" Claire paused, pressing her hand at his shoulder. "Talk to your sister, even if it's like screaming to a redheaded wall, no matter how painful the conversation, she's your only family and you need one another."

"I'll keep you in mind - your advice that is, Sassenach." Jamie pressed his palm to hers for that last time and was about to turn the brass doorknob when one last question struck him.

"What was in the bottle ye gave her, Sassenach, if ye don't mind me asking?" A mischievous smirk lit Claire's face.

"The most important ingredient of all in a love potion. Shit."

#Outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years

Text

Red Right Hand X

—

The wind was cold and whipped painfully at her cheeks as she strode through the wild grasses and between the stones around her. The gravel crunched underfoot as the blonde woman made her way to the small, nondescript marker in the back corner of the yard.

Her father already stood before it, hands in his threadbare pockets and a scarf wrapped to cover the lower half of his face from the blistering cold wind.

Joanna barely restrained herself from running to him, but the overwhelming desire to clutch at the other was surrendered to immediately. She pressed her face into his chest, the scent of fire wood and horsehair flooding her reminding her of home, for a long moment as they just held each other.

“What’re we doin’ ‘ere, Joey darlin’?” “This is where we gain so much more than just than just ten percent, Da.”

The young girl pulled back from her father, brown eyes meeting hazel, and gave a shake of her head and pointed to the cold, solid ground.

“In there, there’s a treasure far of more worth for us than any horse takin’s.” “How do you know?” “Because the man on the stone is in London right now, on the Shadows payroll, instead of six feet down beneath us ‘ere.”

The possiblity had never crossed her mind that she might actually be able to uncover where the stolen weapons of the Faceless Shadows could be. She had felt her ears prick months ago at the idea the dark haired man had machine guns that were due to be sent to kill and stomp down her people, but she had simply thought it an interesting tidbit rather than something she could ever uncover. Ever take for her own.

However the previous afternoon she had been working through balancing the ledgers for the middle Visyak brother, somehow able to do the math quicker than the hot tempered man and possessing nicer hand writing as well, when the opportunity had presented itself.

“Jeffrey, how am I supposed ta help if I don’t know what half these numbers mean?” “Anything you don’t know, just ask.” “Okay, well firstly what is this ten pounds a week goin’ ta London for? It’s just left blank.”

Jeffrey had approached and leaned over her shoulder, hands pointing at the blank line above her own finger with a frown.

“Hmm, where’s it going in London?” “Somewhere in Crystal Palace.” “Oh, that’s for Amon-” “Amon? …didn’t he die a few months back?” “Smoke and mirrors, sweetie, just smoke and mirrors. A pelt of sheep’s brains and a convincing fall was all it needed and now Amon’s been in the city setting up for our next expansion.”

The man had paused in his speaking, drawing a drag from his smoke and flipping the pages back so he could point out the address and where the payments began immediately after the others death.

“Pretty sure we needed to up the price too, given he’s babysitting our sister in the city too.”

Joanna shook the memory from her head of the scared boy’s face when she first met him, and of the strangely sombre but not distraught way the youngest Shadow brother had behaved after his friends death. It had been too early to understand the nuances and she had not thought to revisit the matter once she understood Jackson further.

“So what are me and the boys due to be diggin’ up, Joey?” “Twenty six military machine guns and ammunitions.”

Her father stared at her at that, eyes boring into her as if trying to determine if she was lying, joking or speaking truthfully at that.

“How'dye know that? Who told you ‘bout there being guns down in this grave?” “I got told from th’ horses mouth itself that they had acquired some rattlers a few months ago. And found out ‘bout the faked death yesterday. ”

William Harvelle ran a hand over his hair several times as he looked between her and the soil, making the young woman shift uncomfortably. Perhaps she had over estimated her father’s hatred for those starting to invade their home, or his dedication to the cause. Or perhaps he doubted her honesty or fact finding.

Ducking her head, Joanna pulled her coat closer around herself as she moved to run a hand over the top of the tombstone with a pile of different rocks resting atop it.

“This could change everythin’ Da, if we can get them out of the country and back to Ireland and the army…” “We could also be arrested in this fuckin’ land and never see your Mam again.“

The comment about their yearly visits to the small graveyard in Cork made the girl shake her head.

“This is bigger than some fear, Da. Mam would understand.” “Understand she might, but Joey, she wouldn’t want ye throwin’ your life away gettin’ involved in what I’ve been doin’.”

It had been a long standing argument between father and daughter since the girl had lost her mother and then further still after the attack on the small community they had travelled in. William Harvelle may have been known in England as one of the finest horsebreeders in the isles, however back home he had a reputation for being able to source anything and everything, from clothing and potatoes to hand grenades and rifles. It was a reputation he had been fighting to avoid gifting to his headstrong daughter too.

“Da, you can’t shelter me forever. I’ve already seen too much a this world as you know… I’m not your little girl no more.” “Darlin’ girl, you will always be my little one. Growin’ up won’t change that one bit.” “Well you should still listen ta me. This could change everythin’.”

Joanna stared up at her father pleading with him to trust her. It would be bad enough their desecrating what appeared to be a grave site by exhuming the guns - if there was a real person in there, then the light of God was likely to turn it’s back on them soon enough.

“Da, this could change everythin’…” “Okay, Joey, okay.. I’ll get the boys ‘ere and we’ll start as tomorrow.” “Could… Could you bring one of 'em for me back at me flat before you move out?” “Why would'cha need a machine gun, darlin’?” “I don’t want ta leave them high 'nd dry since we’re takin’ the rest.”

She could feel her cheeks heating up as she requested the one to be left behind. She did not understand what made her ask, but the rumours of trouble between gangs starting up and the potential thought that the few men who’d treated her nicely may be outgunned when they lose their secret cache made her want to shudder.

Looking up into the thoughtful, and then knowing, look on her father’s face, Joanna could feel the judgement rolling off of him. The judgement for letting herself get caught up in feelings or thoughts that could derail everything. The judgement she’d directed at herself ever since the church a few months ago.

“Alright, my darlin’, I’ll leave them the one gun for that one, so long as you come to me when the fightin’ starts and come on home. We can always collect it again when we come back for the last payment.”

Tucking her face into the warmth of her father’s jacket again to hide the pleased look on her face, Joanna nodded her agreement to his demands.

She did not need to remain to see the fall out between her Shadows and the others. She could not see the violence of mindless death here as well as at home, she could not face it again or her heart may just finally burst like her father’s had eight long years ago.

—

“Excuse me, sir, if ye could make your way out when you’ve finished your pint your next drinks’ll be on the ‘ouse…” “Sorry mister, but we’re closin’ early tonight…” “No more drinks tonight, Ash, you’ll have ta come back tomorrow night…”

The girl ran around the room, shooing off those who were not connected with the gathering that was forming at the small pub that evening. Michael had thought it best to gather all those who operated under the Shadows payroll together to speak the once on the coming storm. Jeffrey had the barmaid scare off those not involved as the strike of the hour approached, and followed her around handing out drinks to those who were arriving and would stay for the meeting.

As the clock struck ten that night, the final few men arrived slipping through the doors before the previous barman slid the locks in place on the doors. This meeting would not be interrupted and Michael was determined to ensure all knew the expectations of each before anyone would leave.

The tall blond made his way to the second stair towards the upper storage areas of the pub, empty glass left behind him on the bar counter to be refilled while he spoke. He waited for the room to fall quiet, the odd murmur and greeting still being made but not sufficient to distract from his words as he surveyed the group as a whole. It had taken many years, and they had lost many of their closest friends and supports in that time, for the Faceless Shadows to grow from five friends running amok on the streets of Birmingham at the turn of the century into an almost legitimate organisation. With those ranging from book keepers and enforcers, to those who simply shared information and look outs, to those that worked supporting the families of those they had lost, to those that worked in the barges, those that worked on the trains, those that worked in the police force, those that worked in the hospital, those that kept their hands clean and those that did not. Looking over the amassed number filling the bar as it was, Michael felt a small swell of pride at what he had created - and the dark gnawing of the hole deep inside him that could only be fed by creating more seemed to bite harder.

“Gents..” His voice was not particularly loud, however it managed to bounce around the room and draw the last voices to silence. Michael cleared his throat once before begining again. “Gents, this has been a long time coming and I appreciate every one of you for your unwavering support and loyalty these last years since we managed to return from that horrible business in France, in Germany, on the continent.”

He paused as a general round of cheers came to that, allowing the foot stomping and claps to die down before he continued.

“Since that time, we have built this organisation into a truly impressive being, stronger than any one individual, any one family, any one calling. We have joined together to start down this path towards history.” Michael rubbed his hands on the inside of his pockets as he spoke, the number of eyes upon him would be enough to make anyone nervous however he simply felt a numb, cold chill as he thought of the pain and suffering he was about to draw upon them all. “And some day shortly, that history will continue and grow further - first with the removal of our rivals here in Birmingham, and then the removal of our rivals through the North.”

“Fuck tha Black Eyes-” “-Bloody Catholic cunts-” “-down with the lot of ‘em-”

Various shouts interrupted his next part to the speech, a round of calls and jeers about the other factions bouncing about the room. He could see Jeffrey and his small group of enforcers throwing back shots as each person shouted an obscenity related to their rivals. He could see the tall blond police officer, the only one to appear from the force itself that night but in place to let the others in on the information afterwards, in the back corner beside the short dark haired barman sharing an impassive look between them. He could see the bright blue eyes of his boy crowding near the staircase itself, but he would not dwell long on the boy having snuck his way into the meeting just yet. He could see Jackson smoking by the door to the private back room, eyes unfocussed and simply staring rather than listening to the information that would only not surprise him.

“In the coming week, we must be prepared to do what must be done - we have heard talk that the Catholic bastards and the Black Eyes have joined forces to bring the fight to us. We knew there would be… retribution eventually from the move at Cheltenham, and especially after the death of the previous Catholic leader.” Michael let out a small sigh at that, eyes glazing over where he could see the blonde barmaid glaring back at him at that comment. There was no need for her resentment to still exist. “However, they have made a fatal flaw in their decisions, in bringing the fight to us. To our streets that we know and control. To our very doorstep.”

A round of cheers came up at that as well from those around his brother, while those who mostly operated the every day and less violent roles in the group shuffled uncomfortably. Michael knew the feeling, he had once been as uncomfortable with the violence necessary - but that was when he was still weak. Now, he and the Shadows would not show weakness in the face of danger.

“Those of you who do not need to participate, you will be told and your tasks will be to secure your houses, your neighbour’s houses, and your neighbour’s neighbours. When the trouble starts, majority of you will be operating as such - protecting yourself, yours and those beside you. This is the most we will ask of you, to ensure our city, our people, remain safe throughout.”

There was a hum of relief and appreciation that rippled across the crowd. A suggestion from his mother - to ensure that the general populace would not be impacted - in order to avoid issues afterwards with innocents being harmed seemed to resonate well.

“Those of you participating, you would know who you are and myself and the other boys will speak with you. They will come for us here, they will approach through the city and plan to circle us as a whole. We will have you in position from tonight onwards, and you will need to remain as such and prepared for any moment.” Michael sighed slightly as he thought over the number of coins it had taken to clear out the streets bordering the pub to be able to hide his men in plain sight. “Jeffrey will cover the tactical plans with each man once you are in place, but we expect to take them by surprise when they come. To fire upon them from before and behind as they attempt to dislodge us.”

Shifting his feet, Michael noticed movement from the corner of his eye and accepted the drink held out to him from the boy at his shoulder. Swirling the dark contents around the glass itself, he found himself staring back at the depths like they would give him the last words. A cough from somewhere, towards the side back of the room and a gesture from the cougher got him moving again. Holding the glass aloft, Michael raised the drink in a toast. “So men, let us drink to what our futures hold for us. To the success and glory we will meet. To-”

“To the Facelss fuckin’ Shadows.”

—

London from Crystal Palace was not like London from the Mayfair or the Savoy the few times she had ventured to the capital before. London from Crystal Palace was like living above everyone else - the highest place in the city and views that stretched on for miles. The palace itself shone brightly at the top of the road she was staying on.

Every morning she and her companion would walk along Chruch Road up to the Crystal Palace itself, around the grounds and then back to the small townhouse they were staying in. By the time they returned, the redhead girl who worked cleaning and preparing the house in the mornings would have breakfast sat on the small table in the main room of the house.

After breakfast, Shada would find herself curled up on the chaise before the front window with a book or a cross stitch, waiting for something, anything, to happen. The curly haired man would follow her into the room and sit quietly at the kitchen table. The few times she would look over at him throughout the morning, she would see the boy with his head buried in his hands or shaking to himself if a horn would blow outside or a car back fired down the road somewhere.

The afternoon would be spent in the small back courtyard when the sun was shining, the pair of them would have tea and scones or finger sandwiches. There was a small vegetable patch that the man would dig his hands in, muddy and brown by the end of the afternoon, and work the soil over ot tending the vegetables growing there. Shada would watch, relaxing back in the sunshine. If the afternoon was wet and raining, she would take a brolly and head to the main street nearby to stretch her feet alone for once. There was a small haberdashery, and a bakery with beautiful French-style pastries, that she would frequent. It gave her a brief window whereby she could pretend that she was back at home in Birmingham, princess of the underground and free as a bird.

She never made mention of the shadow that would follow her, lurking near the doorways when she entered the stores, and then setting off at ten paces behind her the whole way back home. She could pretend he was not following her like the lost puppy he was, that she was able to travel where she liked as she liked, and that her brother hadn’t commanded she be accompanied every where she went.

Nights would be a quiet affair, sitting nearby the fireplace, red wine in one hand and another book in the other. Sometimes she would talk the other into playing cards, sat on the floor on either side of the coffee table and the deck spread between them. Rumy, bridge and poker being her preferred games; though sometimes he would instruct her in a strange game which used the instructions card and Joker. Sometimes he would actually withdraw to his room and leave her to her reading and letter writing. Those nights she would work on letters to her brothers and mother, advising how her days were proceeding.

She would finally make herself ready for bed and leave to her bedroom around ten each night; however she never removed the outter dressing gown until well after two in the morning. Every night between her retreating to her room and that time of night, Shada would hear the door down the hallway creak open, feet thud heavily along the squeaky floorboards, and shuffle downstairs. It would take until almost one before the crying would begin, and once she would finish the last page of the chapter she was on, Shada would put her book away. She would pad her way downstairs, and talk the whimpering man back up to his room with half a bottle of whiskey to fall asleep with.

Sundays they would walk to the church rather than the palace, but otherwise the last two weeks had followed the same routine each day. It had become almost quaint to her the way that life had fallen into a domestic haze, whereby each day blended to the other. Before she knew it, three weeks had passed.

—

It was the boy’s seventeeth birthday. A brilliant year for some and a horrible year for others. Six years earlier and he would have been conscripted and sent to die in the muck, mud and cold of the fields of France.

When his own seventeenth had come, his mother had baked a cake so large he had not seen one to the same size since. His father had given him a pocket watch with his inital engraved elegantly on the outside. His younger brother had remained scarce - a true gift in that. His elder brother had treated him to a few rounds at the pub, Mott’s Moat, on Green Street. His friends had brought several nuibile and beautiful girls to dance and talk with them. One of the girls had let him do her in the bathroom stalls. One of the pub-goers had taken offence to something he had said and started a fist fight on the streets outside. All in all, he had had an amazing day for his own.

Jeffrey clapped his nephew on the shoulder as he brought him into the pub with a cheery wave towards the blonde behind the bar for bottles to be brought through. He thought he heard her mutter about his drinking the profit away, but thought nothing of it, the girl always complained. Ian looked around in surprise as he was guided towards the back private room, though that was not too surprising as he was rarely allowed to join his uncles in their meetings at The Fort. His grandma had only recently allowed him to join the Tuesday family meetings at home, and his father had refused him entry to the men’s meetings thus far.

“Come on kid, we’re going to get you right and sloshed before moving the party on.” Jeffrey crooned quietly, grabbing the bottle of whiskey slid through the cubby hole with a wink at the barmaid. Joanna was always so fun to flirt with, especially as she leant into the space to stare at the younger boy sitting awkwardly on one of the benches.

“What’re ye up to, Jeffrey?” “Why, sweetie, I’m taking my nephew out to celebrate his birthday.” “Oh? How old are ye, kiddo?” “Uh… seventeen ma’am.” “Barely still a kid then, aye. Not far off meself actually. Well, happy birthday and let me know if you boys need anythin’ else, Jeff.”

The girl’s friendly greeting and chat to the nervous kid made him want to smirk. It was clear she was bemused by his choice to bring the boy drinking, and the boy ws perplexed at not being ignored or spoken over the top of. Jeffrey grabbed the glasses left as well and poured the both of them a large pour of the drink.

“Well, there you have it Ian. Not much a kid any more. And part of that is what we’re going to get up to tonight.” “You know I have had whiskey before-” “Clearly. This is just to warm the both of us before we go visit some very friendly friends of mine.” “Friends?”

“Whores, Ian. We’re going to go give you a night you’re not going to forget…” Jeffrey let out a laugh as he clapped the boy on the back, downing his own drink before pouring his own and gesturing for the other to do the same with his. The boy coughed a bit as he swallowed, and then spluttered at his uncle’s words, blue eyes blown wide. “ I mean, unless we get through enough here. Then you may just end up forgetting it.”

“I’ve… I’ve had girls before, Uncle Jeff.” “Just Jeffrey now, Ian, you’re about to start joining the adults this year.” “Oh, yes, Jeffrey. I’ve… I had a girl I drove about if you know what I mean.” “Figured so, what with that pretty flop of hair on your head and your being a fucking Visyak. But tonight isn’t just about what’s between a ladies legs, boy, it’s about so so much more.” “Uh…”

The boy gulped down another three drinks in the next half hour as Jeffrey continued to pour them. Soon enough the bottle was empty and the elder found himself lurching to his feet with a laugh. “Come on, lets go get your dick wet.”

The flush on the boy’s face as they left at that made him laugh even more as Jeffrey guided the pair of them along the wet cobble streets. There was the scent of spices and chili in the air, the sound of squealing animals and the horrible chatter of the Chinese town laundry workers as they made their way towards the personal favourite whores of Jeffrey’s. The ladies were more beautiful than the other working girls around the city, and they poured top shelf spirits if you slipped them an extra coin or two.

Making their way down the back alley way towards the red lighted door, the old man in place as always out the front, Jeffrey could hear the young dark haired boy gulp as he adjusted his shirt and jacket. When the boy went to smooth down his hair, Jeffrey let out another laugh as he finished his cigarette. “Ian, boy, they don’t care what you look like. All that matters is what is in your pockets, and tonight? Your pockets are going to make them drool.”

“Sure thing Un- uh, Jeffrey.” “Thats right kid. And we’ll get you Cynthia if she’s free.. even if she’s not, we’ll get you Cynthia. Maybe June too. You like blondes or brunettes?” “Uh.. blondes?” “Good answer!”

Stubbing out his cigarette, Jeffrey reached into his pockt to withdraw the two coins for the entrance fee for the old man right before the door slammed open and into his side.

“Oi! You fucker!” “Oh, sorry si- huh, it’s you.”

The trio of men exiting drew up short, voice of the one apologising pulling up short as the lot got a good look at one another. Sargeant Sam Winchester, the giant dark haired man of the Birmingham police brigade, had pulled back from apologising as he held the door open for his companions to move through. His brother, Chief Inspector Dean Winchester, and their cousin, Constable Christian Campbell, exited through the door and drew to their full heights as they stood almost toe to toe with the dark haired Shadow and his confused looking nephew.

“Did you boys enjoy our last meeting?” “You mean watching your beaten ass get dragged through the pecinct? Yes, yes we did.” “Doesn’t seem very fitting of your office to admit it though.” “None of us have our badges on at the moment.”

Jeffrey found himself staring off against all three officers as Ian drew a step back at the approaching men. Three against one was not always the best odds, however as he ran an eye over the rumpled clothes and roughly smoothed hair, he figured he may just have more energy than the lot of them put together. Hand sliding into his pocket that held his razor blade, he watched carefully as the biggest threat of the three, the older Winchester, reached his own hand into a pocket for a weapon on too.

“Heard you boys all been having some extra padding to your pockets lately.” He found himself stating quietly but filled with humor as he flicked his eyes between the three and the door behind them. “Given where we’re meeting, I guess my sources are right. Enjoying working for that cocksucking angel-obsessed mess, Winchester? The poofy Scotsman, Campbell?” Jeffrey grinned wickedly as he spoke, shifting his feet backwards less to give ground and more to free space for himself. “Not sure what you’re doing though, little giant - which cock are you taking?”

All three men growled, the skinny Campbell one letting out a round of obscenities as the trio each removed knives and switch blades from their pockets. Jeffrey matched in kind with his own straight razor before a noise behind him caught all four men’s attention.

Ian was only two steps behind his uncle, staring between the four older men with a look somewhere between uncertainty and arrogance. His stance was not completely awful, nor was the positioning of his fists - not quite by his sides as if he was unprepared, but not quite forceful enough to instigate an attack.

“You gentlemen mind if I talk to my nephew before this begins - it is his birthday after all.” “Yeah, send the kid on his way, Shadow.”

“That’s for him to decide,” Jeffrey quipped back, turning to his nephew again. He ran an eye over the boy again before withdrawing a knife from in his boot. Twisting the blade over, he held the handle out to the younger boy. Ian’s eyes flickered between it, his uncle, the three out of uniform officers and the old man reclining on the bench beside him. “Ian, you’ve got three choices right now - you can be a boy, and run back home. You can be a man, pay the old geezer and go see Cynthia. Or, you can be a Shadow. Your choice.”

The boy’s eyes widened even further and Jeffrey abstractly wondered if he was part fish from the way his mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment. It was only a moment though, before the boy reached out for the handle with a firm nod of his head.

“I’m a fuckin’ Shadow, aren’t I?”

—

The only consistency she had been able to rely upon in the last month was the Tuesday Family Meeting. The three brother’s and her grandson all sat around the small table, talking shit and complaining about various aspects of the business as any other Tuesday would do. Eleanor was not buying the peaceful setting the group was attempting to deliver thought.

She had heard about Michael’s inspirational speech at The Fort after their last Tuesday meeting. Eleanor had been glad to hear from one of the ladies down the road who had heard it from her daughter who had heard it from her beau who worked on the barges for her boys’ that Michael had followed her instructions to position the safety of the city citizens as a high priority.

Then in the early hours of Friday morning she had been woken up by the sound of Jeffrey and Ian crashing their way into the kitchen - bruised and bleeding on her lace doilies. They each still wore the marks of their escapades on the boy’s birthday, Jeffrey with a split lip, broken fingers and a gash across his eyebrow to jaw line, and Ian with two black eyes, a broken nose and having almost lost a tooth. She had heard there was an altercation with some off-duty officers from Robert, and barely restrained from choking her son for dragging the younger one into his fighting ways.

She had not heard Jackson being up to anything particularly concerning that week - however that barely meant anything, as her youngest was particularly skilled at hiding his trail and keeping things quiet. She had not heard of his spectacular find until he told her himself. That she had heard nothing did not settle her nerves.

“Well, if we are done here?” “Yes, about time we started work and got the doors open.”

The group moved about through the post-meeting routines, putting away dishes and leftovers into the pantry for use later in the week. If Shada had been there, she would have made up sandwiches for the lunch break then and there, but nobody wanted to step into the role. To admit they were missing one of their own.

As Jackson moved to the doors that separated the family quarters from business, there was a loud clink noise that froze all three of her sons. Turning around, Eleanor approached where her youngest had not moved the doors any further, staring at the floor in horror.

“What’s going on, Jacky?” “Ma, get Ian and get out of here now.” “What?” “Everyone get out now!”

The shouted instructions got all three sons to move immediately, the eldest grabbing his own boy’s shoulders as they sprinted towards the front door to the street. Eleanor looked in confusion as Jackson grabbed her arm and pulled her along himself as she stared at the silver metal pin on the floor. “Is… Is that-”

Her words were cut off as the family poured from the building, only to be chased by the licking flames as the building was engulfed in a loud bang and fire. The explosion sounded dreadful in her ears, noise ringing as she flung herself to the street beside the others. Hands over the back of her head, she tried to breathe, tried to be calm, tried to ignore the licking warmth that spread from where her door was.

Eleanor can’t find her way to the feet until Michael had his hands under her arms and was lifting her from the ground. Her legs seemed to shake and not want to work as her son wrapped her up in his arms. She could see the flames and smoke billowing out the open doorway and beginning to creep out of the upper windows all along the four joined and knocked together rowhouses that made up their home and head quarters.

“What..what happened?” Her voice quivered as she finally managed to support her own weight, hands digging harshly into Michael’s shirt as she stared at their home going up in flames and smoke. “What happened? Is everyone okay?”

“There was a grenade on the door handles, when Jackson opened the doors it pulled the pin, Ma. Someone broke into the work room while we were having out meeting.” “Must have been the Black Eyes - that is their type of move, to blow up women and children.”

The venom that came from Jeffrey’s voice as he joined his brother to explain would have made any weaker woman’s blood run cold, but instead, it fueld the flames boiling through Eleanor to match those destroying the home she had raised her children and grandchild in. The heat of her anger surging through her as she pulled out of the grip of her sons. Both men looked as furious as she did. Turning, Eleanor could see Jackson brushing the ash and soot off of Ian’s back and hair with a frown of his own.

As she brushed her own skirts off, Eleanor could hear the sound of voices calling and their neighbours pouring out of their own houses with buckets of water and hoses alike. The city and those that lived there pouring out to help their Shadows.

Even as buckets doused the flames, it could do nothing to the flames of war and vengence burning deep within the older woman. As she took up a bucket from the elderly lady next door, Eleanor threw the water over the burning wood of her front door thinking to herself that war had finally found its way to her doorstep.

—

Tuesday nights were usually relatively quiet, not being at the end of the work week for most to want to drown their sorrows or celebrate a week well completed, not being at the start of the week whereby drinking away the pain of work starting again. Tuesday nights were when she would usually play a round of cards against those two boxing organisers between pouring pints and shots, or she would go through the lines of the ledger reconciling the weekends book balance before Jeffrey could do it wrong.

She had been playing cards against Garth Fitzgerald IV and Ash Miles when the family of five had poured in - eyes fierce and fury clear on their faces. Joanna had moved to get to her feet before Jeffrey gave her a shake of the head and a wave of his hand to return to what she had been doing.

Looking at the two curious looks around the table with her, all three shared a shrug and continued their game of poker - small match sticks on the table for chips after the girl had accused them of trying to get free drinks five weeks previous. As they continued their game, Joanna found her eyes drawing to the closed private room more frequently than to the cards in her hand or on the table.

“Now, Beth, this isn’t fun.” “No fun at all.” “A distracted player just makes for bad sportsmanship after all-” “-which we would hate for you to accuse us of, sweetheart.”

Joanna rolled her eyes at the pair, glaring slightly at the blond taller one at the endearment. She had found both men to be exceptionally entertaining and relaxing to spend time with, though never when she was not on the clock. Nor would she get through a conversation without needing to shut down the flirty tone or comments from Ash at some point.

“Sorry then boys, I feel like I won’t be much fun to play against tonight-” “No I suppose not-” “-definitely not, what with the rumour of the morning-” “What rumour?” “Why, you didn’t hear it from us-” “-no, not from us. But there was a fire-” “-an explosion really, a bombing even if you like that word-” “-over at the Shadows headquarters. Whole place went up in smoke-” “-heard it was either the Catholics or Black Eyes, part of that whole… war they’re starting.”

“What…” The blonde’s eyes widened as the two talked back and forth, her eyes darting between them as they spoke before they'd even switched control of their sentences. Joanna's brow furrowed as she flicked her gaze yet again over to the private room as the door opened and the older woman of the group departed with some old, bushy bearded man with a hat still on inside. She caught a glimpse of the three brothers still remaining in the room as the door closed behind between them again.

"Huh, look at that. Looks like Michael finally gave his blessing." "About bloody time. That copper has been waiting six years now, almost seven by my count."

Joanna rolled her eyes at the back and forth as she pointed back at the table, "Get your heads back in the game while I get mine, would ye?"

The trio continued their game, matches moving around the table with ease and jokes and stories of the recent history of Birmingham flowing from both men as they drank more and more.

It was another hour before the eldest and youngest Visyak both emerged and left the private room, father and son with the same cold set face as they exited the pub. Joanna lost that hand.

As it neared midnight, her fellow players finally stood up.

Garth gave her a wave as he headed to the door to the room himself, knocking and then smiling as the taller Shadow emerged with a grin.

"We've set up a match tonight, special circumstances for that asshole and a few of the, uh, gents he had a disagreement with to have a proper rematch." Ash remarked as he helped her clear off the table, even going so far as to help carry their empty glasses over to the bar. Joanna had thought she'd have made a friend in the leery man had they met under different circumstances. The taller blond bumped her chin with a fist gently as he drew her attention back from staring after her boss and Garth's leaving backs. "You going to be alright here alone tonight? Think you've got an almost empty house."

She followed the trail of his eyes over her shoulder to where the only remaining patron was turning to go back into the Shadows room.

"I'll be fine, thanks." "Don't say I didn't ask. He's got no where else to go so I'd imagine you're going to have a hard time getting home tonight, sweetheart."

Laughing the other off, Joanna sent him on his way as she rounded the bar to start stashing away elements for the night. No other patrons had entered the building, and as she withdrew the cash drawer, she locked the front entrance before moving to the back office and store room. It took her another half an hour before she had the cash stored away, the ledgers filled out for the night, and the back of the bar restocked and prepared for tomorrows opening. Jeffrey never bother to stay on top of things, but having watched Harry’s process originally, the blonde did not deviate from what was not broken.

As she finished up the last of her preparations, Joanna gave a sigh before finally approaching the closed door to the small private room the only other occupant was hidden behind. She knocked gently, and then just pushed her way inside at no response.

The sight that met her made her laugh. The dark haired man was laying across the top of three smaller tables pushed together. His suit jacket was off and bunched under his head as if to mimic a pillow, while the long grey jacket he almost always wore when he first entered the building was thrown over him like a blanket. His eyes were closed, and if it were not for the small twitch of his lips at her laughter, she would have believed him asleep.

Approaching the table, the blonde bent over the other, hovering closely to his face for a moment before she poked him in the cheek with a finger.

“Wha-” “Sorry, Jackson, bars closed. You’re goin’ ta have to pack up and go home.” “Can’t, Beth, got blown up.” “Hmm that’s unfortunate. Well, regardless you can’t stay ‘ere.” “You realise I own this place, right?” “Mayhaps, but you still can’t do that.” “Beth, you get going home. I’ll be fine here.”

Jackson finally sat up right as they talked, one hand rubbing over his mussled hair while he fought back a scowl at her continued teasing. She knew it was not the right time or the right way to be teasing him, but she could not help herself watching him struggle to hold back a growl.

“I don’t think so, Jackson.” Joanna said, leaning against the table next to him as she tilted her head as if thinking over his words and options. As he moved to stand, she found herself resting a hand over his with a small smile, her voice dropping quieter in the empty, silent pub. “I guess you’ll just have ta come home with me.”

There was a pause as they stared one another down, brown in blue, before the other matched her smile.

In moments they were out the door, locks in place behind them, and making their way along the dark stone streets of the city in companionable silence. Joanna could not hear if he spoke to her, the thrill bubbling in her making the thud of her heart beat flood through her ears. His hand kept brushing hers as they walked, occassionally she would reach out and tug him one way or the other towards the small rented flat she had taken all those months ago. Her lease was intended for two years, however she knew that after this week, she would be gone and the room back to vaccant again.

She held her finger to her lips as they entered the front foyer of the house block she was in, before leading the other up the stairs and into the two roomed flat. Her bathroom was small and functional - more than she was used to living out of the caravan with her parents her whole life before, and something she was truly going to miss - while the rest of the flat was made up of the one room. Small kitchenette with a stove and cold drawer, a tiny island of cupboards to make a work surface butted up against the end of her bed along one wall, while the small fire place and one large, comfortable yet worn chair sat beside it and her small closet. Other than that, she had nothing to make the space feel more homely, no pictures or artwork, no book shelves or vases of flowers. Nothing to draw the eye, to interest the mind, or to pack and take with her when she left aside from her clothes.

No one else had set foot in the flat since she had moved in. Her landlady did not visit, she had no friends to visit, and her father was on the move half the time she had been in the city once he felt comfortable that she was alright. Joanna was used to living only with the necessities and light for travel, however as she watched the dark haired Shadow look around her empty flat, she suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed. Like he could see how empty her life was by the emptiness of her flat.

“Can I fix you somethin’? Tea, somethin’ stronger?” “What are you having?” “I’ll be puttin’ the kettle on for a tea.” “Tea it is then. Would not want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

Joanna felt her cheeks flame as they talked, watching the other’s eyes flash to the one bed in the space and then back to her again. As he caught her eye, she found herself flushing more at the way the blues seemed to be swallowed by the black of his pupils in the low light. Flustered, the traveller turned to put together a pot of water on the small oven cooktop before moving to stoke the fire into life. Anything to keep her hands busy and her eyes off of his.

The man appeared to look around her room once more before gesturing at the lone arm chair in the room. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all, be my guest.” “Your guest, yes. And where did you mean for your guest to sleep in your... quaint lodgings, Beth?” “Perhaps I did not intend for you to sleep.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, eyes widening slightly at the slight look of shock and then shifting into a look hotter than the fire she was prodding. Joanna felt the blush creep back on her face as she stood again, the other jumping to his feet in response out of good manners or out of something else, she could not be sure.

“Maybe we should have something else, while waiting for the water to boil.” “Maybe we should.”

Joanna looked up at the other, suddenly closer in the small room than she had felt they should be but whether it was her moving to him or him moving to her she could not say. They were magnetic, opposites drawing into one another and unable to stay away. And then her hands were on him, fingers in hair and lips on lips, drawing him in, drinking him in, drowing in him.

The moment was fleeting, but followed by more as he held her tightly in return, arms around her waist or her jaw. As she pressed into him and drew him into her, feet shuffling in a twisted dance through the room until the back of her legs found the edge of the bed. Until they were laying against eachother, exploring one another through fabric, and then through skin as layers slid from them both.

Pulling back to breathe, Joanna heard the other sigh against her neck, lips trailing kisses along the white expanse. The name she was wearing like a mask, the name that burned for her to hear like this. She jerked back a bit, hands grasping his face with care as she stared into the liquid fire looking back at her.

“Not Beth...” “What?” “Joanna. My first name’s Joanna.” “...Joanna?” “I’m in hidin’ remember.”

She thought for a moment that it would stop there. That revealling she had hidden her name from him would break the spell hathat was holding them in this space, in this time, in this feeling. That he would pull away like he should have months ago.

Instead, the Shadow whispered her name to himself, thumb stroking across her cheekbone as he looked into her eyes. Whispered her name three times, as if tasting it for the first time; before he nodded and leant back in for her mouth. The next moment he was at her neck again, her name rolling from his lips against her skin making her flush.

The tea was forgotten from that point on. Hands ran across planes of skin untouched and unloved on both for some time, wiping away the pain or isolation that coated each of them as they explored eachother.

His fingers had glanced over the scarring on her stomach - the one eternal remnant of what drove her to where she was now before the attack. The burns left behind from the fire that had stolen her mother from her eight years earlier. The fire whereby the two travellers had been caught in the middle of a gun fight between the rebel forces and Englands soliders, bullets tearing through Joanna’s shoulder and her mother’s stomach and lungs, before they had hidden themselves in a building. A building that was eventually set alight without their knowledge and the burning rafter that had fallen across the both of them painfully, before the mother pushed her daughter from beneath it to escape. The rafter that had continued to smoulder and smoke, drawing away the mother’s breath as the twelve year old had struggled to drag the dying woman free. His touch smoothed away the marks for her, replacing it with soft skin and warmth she could not really feel any more.

Her hands had circled the stab wound in his side, the bullet hole in his arm and the tight knots of muscle in his neck from the weight of the world above him.

Wiping away those pains and memories alike, they shed those pasts together as if anew, before they joined together. Joanna found herself gasping and close to crying as they moved as one, hands grasping his hair and back as she fought to forge the memory in her mind. Where the other was able to let go and open themselves to the moment, she found herself regretting the moment immediately. Not for the act itself, but for the finality of it. This would not happen again, this would never be repeated once he knew the truth of what she had done.

And as they clung to eachother after, kisses and gasps together, she could feel the battered and scarred cracks on her heart tear open again, unseen and unknown, as she lay her head against his chest for the rest of the night.

---

#AU stories #peakyverse fic

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prettyfunkyunorganized · 6 years

Text

Sugar Daddy Hanzo part 7

Hey there everyone! Another chapter all ready for you. Some set up for the next part and some struggles with how much you want your man back.

And btw, thanks for answering my question last time! It was super fun to see your responses! :D

Around 4,300 words today. Enjoy!

BTW, this whole business world AU is based on my bud @watch-your-grammer‘s post here. She’s glorious and so is her work.

The rest of the story: pt one, pt two, pt three, pt four, pt five, pt six

Saturdays were supposed to be relaxing – not a clusterfuck, but here you were, half tacking on another day to the workweek and half trying to get your best friend’s baby shower in order. And all the way losing your shit.

“What the hell do you mean Clarissa’s Cupcakes pulled out on us,” you fumed at your phone as you tried to dig through your desk for the to-do list that just kept growing and growing.

“Yeah,” Jules said slowly, “they canceled on us.”

“We paid upfront for that stupid reservation! What the hell happened?”

“They said someone else made them a better offer or something. The whole place is closed for the day for a private party, dude. We’re kinda boned,” Jules said, sounding pretty damn dejected for her, but at least that meant she was taking this seriously.

You heaved a long sigh and thought a moment. “Okay, okay. That’s okay. We’ll figure something else out. If all else fails, we can have the party at one of our places. Mags will be fine with that.”

“As long as it's not mine, I’m cool with that,” Jules agreed, going right back to optimistic fast enough to give you emotional whiplash.

“Why not yours,” you asked, “you’ve got that great dining and kitchen area. I’ll help you get it ready as soon as I’m done here.”

“About that,” she laughed, “I’m in the middle of a job, and my creative process is uh, messy, as you know. And this time the subject matter is sorta graphic. Like aliens with tentacles that have teeth graphic.”

Having one of your besties be an animatronic whiz and well-respected movie monster creator was great around Halloween. Right now, not so much.

“Well fuck. Nicole will never let that many people she doesn’t know in her place, so I guess my apartment it is,” you groaned.

“No offense babe, but your place is pretty small for that. I could try to clean my stuff up some, I guess, but the alien herself ain’t going nowhere right now.”

“No, no,” you sighed, “I got it. I’ll move some stuff around and rig up some more seating. Just hope I can get home in time.”

There was a pause on the other side of the line, and you knew what was coming next. A scolding. “You better not be where I think you are,” Jules said in her most grown-up tone.

“Um,” you hesitated.

“Good freakin’ gods woman! That job is bleeding you dry! You gotta stop letting them treat you like this.” She sounded more disappointed than angry, which stung plenty.

“I know, I know, but you know me, I work hard! It’s what I do. It’s important.”

“Lovebug,” Jules said gently, calling you by your childhood nickname to get her point across, “I know your mom and dad always told you that, but working yourself into a pit isn’t good either. Especially since that company doesn’t appreciate you and all you do. You could be doing so much better! You’ve got enough big-name clients that you should absolutely have more than that cheap little cubicle. You work with fucking Lucio himself, girl! That’s big-time shit!”

“I – I know,” you fumbled, “but there aren’t any openings here for a better position. I’ve just got to wait it out.”

“You ought to ask for a raise,” Jules snorted.

“Yeah, probably,” you huffed, rubbing your temple. “I don’t know why I can stand up to Hanzo like I did but going up to my superiors here at work seems daunting – even though I know I deserve more.”

“Because your parents taught you to value your career more than relationships and you’re still internally trying to please them despite the fact that you know they’re unhealthy and unhappy,” Jules said frankly. “Childhood psychological shit, it’ll get you every time.”

“No kidding,” you laughed, taking a moment to close your eyes and remind yourself that you were so much more than just your job.

“I know you’re not going to just blow off work,” Jules said, “but don’t go crazy today, alright? We have a party to get to! And the world won’t end just because you left some stuff to be done on Monday.”

“That much I can do,” you agreed, “thanks, Jules.”

“No problem. I don’t have many wise moments, but when I do, I’m more than happy to share them.”

“Maybe you ought to share some weed with me next week to get rid of the nerves before I go ask my boss for a raise,” you suggested, only partially joking.

“Holy fuck yes! Yes! Babe, let’s do it! Nicole can give you one of her hardcore pep talks and Mags can make you feel all good and shit! Fuck yeah! This is happening. I’ve decided.”

“Oh dear god what have I started,” you giggled.

“This is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Jules, love, I dig the excitement, but we have other things to focus on right now. If I get my place ready for the party can you get food?”

“Sure thing,” she said nonchalantly, “snacks are basically my specialty. I’ve got a caterer that owes me a favor, too.”

“Awesome, thanks, Jules. I’ll talk to you later. Keep me in the loop.”

“Yup. You just get done with stupid-ass work, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

You spent the next few hours toiling away at work, mostly alone at the office once again. Jules was right, you did have a problem. Thankfully, your phone buzzed, reminding you that time was in fact passing and you had other, much more enjoyable things to do.

‘Hey the caterer needs to get into your place soon to drop off goodies. You home?’

It was Jules. Who would be all over you for still being at work. “Fuck,” you hissed before typing a simple, ‘No.’

‘Da faq girl,” she replied.

‘I’m getting decorations and shit,’ you lied.

‘Oh. Cool. You do you. Just get home soon, k?’

‘Yep,’ you sent back, realizing you had dug yourself into a hole. Now you had to decorate, get home, and make your place presentable in a much too small window of time. Frantically, you called Nicole to see if she could help, but no she was still at the vet with her pup. Maggie’s mother could open the door for the caterer, but then she’d freak out about how ‘dirty’ the place was and start stressing and cleaning everything – or, even worse, tattle to your parents about ‘the state of that place!’ There was Maggie’s mother-in-law, but she was something of an attention whore and a snob who would undoubtedly make up some dramatic story about having to go to some ‘tacky shop’ for ‘tacky décor’ and how she did ‘the absolute best she could under the circumstances.’

No.

You were not listening to that on your day off.

Well, your day almost off.

As you scrolled through your contact list trying to find someone to help, a sudden text popped up. From Hanzo, no less.

“Huh,” you said frowning at his name. An image of him trying to pick out baby shower do-dads came to mind and made you cackle. “Oh hell no, I’m not asking him to do that, no matter how great the blackmail would be if I got pictures. Not that I could ever see the need to blackmail him.”

Since the morning at the coffee shop, you and Hanzo had done exactly as you had agreed upon. You were civil, spoke on occasion, and played nice. He was always respectful and appreciative of any time you gave him, but the tension was still there. At times, you would sill times get shudder including memories of that night he terrified you in that parking lot, but you were starting to see that part of him less and less with each conversation. Most of the time when he reached out to you, it was for a bit of advice or asking about something he’d read. He was a voracious reader now, it seemed, devouring anything he could get his hands on about overcoming mental obstacles. That seemed to be his new safe space – where he retreated when he was having a setback or had done something he deemed to be wrong.

He was being too hard on himself, you knew that, but there was only so much you could do while keeping an appropriate distance.

It was hard not to go to him and run your fingers through his hair, whispering soft reassurances.

The sadness that often coated his voice when you spoke on the phone made your stomach twist.

But this was his battle, and he would fight it in his own way. He had others to help him along the way, and he wasn’t your responsibility.

Hanzo was, however, always saying that he wanted to repay your kindness, so maybe you could ask him for a favor. Friend to friend.

You called him up before you could chicken out and waited rather impatiently for him to pick up.

“Hello,” he said, surprise and unease in his tone.

“Oh thank goodness,” you sighed. “Hey, Hanzo it’s me.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, “is something wrong?”

“What? No,” you replied in confusion. “Why would there be?”

“No reason,” he explained, “I was just not expecting a call. Usually, I am the one asking if I may bother you with a phone call.”

“Right,” you said laughing awkwardly, “well, the thing is, I sorta need some help.”

“What can I do,” he asked gravely. You could see his pensive face so clearly in your mind. It made you smile.

“Chill, Hanzo, I’m fine. It’s a little thing really, but I didn’t know who else to go to.”

“I am glad to hear you are alright and I am of course happy to help however I can,” he said softly. That damn voice of his was going to be the death of you.

“So, the gals and I are throwing Mags a baby shower,” you began.

“I see,” Hanzo said worriedly.

“Calm down,” you snorted, “you don’t have to come or anything, I just need someone to unlock the door for the people bringing food.”

“Ah, well, that I can most certainly do. Is there a spare key I should use nearby?”

“Yeah. It’s in a little magnetized box under the ridge of the big metal planter to the left of the door. If you can’t find it, give me a text.” You grabbed your purse and headed to the stairs.

“I will,” Hanzo said, evidently still taking this quite seriously, “but something has just occurred to me.”

“What’s that?”

“I have never been to your apartment,” he said, making you stop and frown.

“Well I’ll be damned, you haven’t. Whoops. I’ll text you the address in a sec, just leaving work.”

“My, my,” he said with a small chuckle, “your dedication is admirable.”

“That’s not what my friends say,” you grumbled.

“Why is that?”

“I may have a slight problem with balance,” you admitted sheepishly, “but I’m working on it. I do have a tendency to throw myself into the office when I’m stressed about other things, though.”

“Did I cause that reaction this time,” he asked gently.

In all honesty, yes, you were still dealing with the repercussions of taking on too much work to distract yourself after you and Hanzo broke it off, but he wasn’t the only cause. “Nah, it’s more me. I need to stop this pattern I always get myself into. I’ve basically buried myself in paperwork this time.”

“I can relate,” Hanzo hummed out, sounding stressed. As usual. “Do try to take care of yourself, though, will you? I – I worry. I know you are capable and independent, but . . . nonetheless.”

You shut your eyes tightly at the twinge in your heart. He could be so sweet. Sometimes. “Just, um, let me know if you need anything else, okay? I gotta go get some stuff.”

Hanzo cleared his throat tensely. “You have my word.”

“Thanks, Hanzo. Bye.” You let out an abysmal groan as soon as you hung up. “Why does he have to make it so hard to not like him?!”

Darting through the nearest party supply store like a tornado did wonders to take Hanzo off your mind – if there was anything in this world that absolutely did not remind you of that man, it was pink streamers and glitter – but seeing him standing next to your open doorway brought a wave of emotions you really didn’t have time to deal with.

You’d never seen him dress so . . . casually before. And . . .

Damn.

“Hey,” you called to him, cursing the way your voice broke. Christ, it was like you were back in high school, fawning over an upperclassman. At least this time he didn’t have swoopy hair. You had such terrible taste back then.

Well, maybe you still did, but that was a thought for another day.

“Hello,” he said with a smile. You looked him up and down as two people carried in a few trays. “Is something the matter,” he asked when he caught you staring.

“Nope,” you said with a grin, “I just didn’t know you owned anything other than freshly pressed suits.”

“Yes, well,” he said flushing, “you called me while I was in the middle of . . . something.”

“Son of a – ” you hissed, “I’m sorry! I didn’t even ask if you were busy, did I? I didn’t mean to – ”

Hanzo reached over and took a few of the bags hanging from your arms. “Think nothing of it. You did not interrupt anything important.”

You ushered him in and set the mess of shopping bags down. “Thanks again for letting these guys in,” you said gesturing to the people arranging miniature cakes all over your countertop, “but you didn’t have to stick around if you have other things to do. They’re good people, totally trustworthy.”

“I thought it best to stay close just in case. Not because I doubted their professionalism, but to see if you needed anything else. Based on the amount of food these people have brought in, you have quite the event going on here,” he said eyeing the pile of appetizers.

“Maggie has seven sisters-in-law,” you explained, trying not to grimace.

“Honto?! I cannott imagine,” Hanzo reeled.

You giggled, “Neither can I! I’ve always had such a small family, having ten in a household seems like hell to me.”

“Agreed,” Hanzo murmured, shaking his head.

“Anyway,” you said, smiling at him, “I should be fine. I’ve still got an hour to put up some decorations and tidy up a bit before the other girls get here to help me finish up. We got this.”

“Then I will leave you to it,” Hanzo said with a small bow before heading back to the hall.

“Wait,” you blurted, not really knowing why you’d said it. He turned back to you and waited.

Your face went hot as you rushed over to the kitchen and plucked a peach topped cake for him. “Here,” you said handing it to him, “for your trouble.”

“That is not necessary,” he said kindly, giving you an impossibly tender look, “I am simply glad I could help, and for a chance to see you.”

This was the first time you had seen each other face to face since that day at the coffee shop. He looked good, and not just because he always looked good. There was a sort of calm about him, as if maybe he wasn’t so bogged down by everything anymore. A proper therapist could do that.

You were happy for him. He deserved some progress, to not be alone and attacking himself all the time. You truly believed that.

And you also knew he had a sweet tooth as bad as yours.

“Take it,” you said, grabbing his hand and placing the little square napkin in his palm. “I know you want to.”

He grinned. “I can only say so to buttercream frosting so many times. Thank you, and enjoy your party. It sounds like you could use some fun.”

“I will. Take care, Hanzo.”

“I shall do my best,” he said with a nod, “and by the way, I like your home. It is, hmm, ‘warm’, I suppose is the word am looking for. Or perhaps safe. I never quite understood how to navigate that line between ‘house’ and ‘home,’ but you certainly have.”

Something about that sentence made you pout involuntarily as your heart dropped.

“Not that I mean to be looking for sympathy,” Hanzo said quickly, “I meant it as a compliment! I should not have made that comment about me, I apologize.”

The blush he got. It was too much.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said wavering a little closer to him. “I’m flattered that you like my place. Here I thought it might not be fancy or cleaned up enough for you.”

He scoffed, “Please, my own maid thinks I am a bit too much of a ‘neat freak.’ I know not everyone has my uncanny need to have everything polished.”

“Yeah, I don’t polish anything,” you laughed, walking him to the elevator, “but I probably should be more on top of the dishes.”

Hanzo shrugged, “If I did not have someone tidying up for me, I would likely be the same way. Or I would just eat out more often, I am not sure which.”

You parted ways with a wave that left you feeling unsatisfied. It was as if your skin was itching for his touch.

“Fucking hell,” you moaned, “I gotta get over this guy.”

The party came and went, Hanzo’s piercing eyes lingering in your mind when you weren’t occupied. You had thought you were over this dumb puppy dog love stage weeks ago, but evidently not. Maybe it was seeing the way Maggie and her wife got along that made you feel like this. Or seeing a new family being started in front of you. Or maybe it was just loneliness. Once everyone had left the house you were on your own again, wishing you had someone to vent to about your boss emailing you about picking up another coworker’s slack.

“I always get like this when I’m tired,” you tried to assure yourself, “I’ll get over it. All I need is a shower and some proper sleep. And maybe for my boss to stop being a shitlord.”

Soon, you were settled on the couch hair up in a microfiber towel and your fluffiest robe around your shoulders. You felt better, yes, but you couldn’t help but think about snuggling up in Hanzo’s wide-collared hoodie from earlier today.

“Why are boy hoodies always the best,” you asked the universe, slightly perturbed at this unwarranted slight the fashion industry had given your gender.

Your ringtone went off, and you swiped your phone from the coffee table. Hanzo again.

Now the universe was really being a dick.

‘I hope everything went well tonight,’ he had sent. ‘I forgot to mention that I set your key by the sink. One of the caterers saw where you had hidden it, so you may want to find another location just to be safe, but that may just be my paranoia at work.’

“Worrywart,” you snickered before sending back, ‘Yes I saw it. Thanks. Good idea. And yeah, we had a good time. A few hiccups, but I handled it.’

‘Hiccups? Is everything alright?’

‘There was a small soon-to-be-Grandma fight, and Bruce Wayne peed on one of my plants, but that’s all.’

It took him longer to respond than usual, but then a confused, ‘Bruce Wayne? The Batman alter ego,’ came through. You laughed and snuggled deeper into your cushions.

‘Nicole’s dog has a solemn looking face and very pointy little ears that make him look like Batman, hence the name. Gotta admit, I’m a little surprised you knew that name of the top of your head, or did you Google it,’ you teased.

‘Genji told me. He says hello,’ Hanzo admitted.

Half a second later Hanzo was calling you. “Um, yeah,” you said into the receiver.

“I told you she would pick up,” Genji said, sounding as if he were straining.

“And I asked you not to call her,” you barely heard Hanzo say. “It is late, and she has had a long day.”

“Well then maybe you should not have texted her,” Genji replied jokingly.

“That is different,” Hanzo griped. It was nice to hear them acting like normal brothers.

“What is going on,” you asked as a smile crossed your face.

“I stole Hanzo’s phone so I could talk to you,” Genji explained, “and now he is trying to get it back, but I am faster.”

There was a slew of angry Japanese that made Genji burst out laughing. “That sounds like a dangerous game you’re playing, Genji,” you giggled. “Was there a reason you called, or are you just torturing your big bro.”

“Meh, a little of column A, a little of column B,” he replied.

“Perhaps I should just call Mercy as retaliation,” you heard Hanzo say in a voice so devious you had to add a dramatic gasp to the conversation.

“WHAT,” Genji yelped, “and when did – how did you get my phone?!”

“I always took my stealth studies more seriously than you did, brother,” Hanzo chuckled.

“Damn it,” Genji said defeatedly, “okay, fine, I will give it back, but before I do, I wanted to invite your lovely friend here to a party I am having next week. Everyone at Overwatch adored you, and we would love to have you there if that would not be too awkward.”

“You want to invite me,” you clarified.

“But of course,” Genji all but sang. “It is just a casual little thing for a few friends I throw every year. Hanzo made it sound like you could use a night out, maybe one that involves less Grandmothers – no offense to your baby shower guests.”

“Just how much did Hanzo tell you,” you asked, feigning skepticism.

“I am nosy,” Genji said flatly.

“Indeed you are,” Hanzo barked.

“So will you come? I promise it will be a good time.” It sounded like the younger Shimada was almost begging you to join them.

“No funny business,” you asked apprehensively.

“Not at all.”

“And I won’t have to worry about people looking down their noses at me?”

“If anyone does I will show them the door,” Genji said.

“And you know I’m not coming as your brother’s date,” you said, a bit quieter.

“Yes, I know,” he replied, less excitement in his voice.

“Well . . . alright, I’ll come,” you agreed, not entirely sure this was a good idea considering how much you were already pining over Hanzo.

“That is fantastic news,” Genji said, “the others will be delighted to – Hey! Hanzo! I was not done with that!”

“Pardon the interruption,” Hanzo said, noises coming through the earpiece that sounded like he was holding his brother away with his other arm, “but you really do not have to come if you do not wish to. Do not let my brother pester you into joining us.”

“I don’t mind,” you said honestly, “it would be nice to see Lena and the others again.”

“There will be liquor,” Hanzo hinted, “not that I need to partake but – ”

“Why is liquor a problem,” Genji asked.

Hanzo sighed deeply. “She does not want to be around me when I drink after that night I hurt her.”

“That,” Genji started, then took a long pause. “Well, to be candid that is a very rational decision, and I approve of her looking out for herself.”

“As do I,” Hanzo agreed.

“I can still hardly believe you ruined such a good thing,” Genji lamented.

“Do not start with me tonight,” Hanzo groaned, “please? I assure you I cannot feel any worse than I already do. Just seeing her makes me – ”

“Ahem,” you said loudly, “I’m still here, you know.”

“Sorry,” the two brothers said simultaneously.

“Look, I don’t have to come to this shindig of yours if it’s going to complicate things. I’m fine,” you said with a shrug.

“No,” Hanzo said gingerly, “if you would like to come, that would be lovely. I do not need to drink that night.”

“I don’t mean to spoil your fun or anything,” you said awkwardly. You suddenly felt like a controlling girlfriend, only you weren’t his girlfriend. But you were just trying to look out for yourself . . .

“You are not ruining anything,” Hanzo said kindly, “just the opposite, in fact. Come, enjoy yourself, and I promise I will not drink. I believe it will likely be good for me to prove to myself that I can be out with some coworkers and not need a bevy of drinks to get through.”

While he didn’t sound entirely convinced in his ability to do so, you had to agree that it might be a good step for him to take. “Alright, I’ll still come. If you’re sure you don’t mind, that is.”

“Not at all,” Hanzo said, “I will let you know the details when Genji finally decides on a theme.”

“Oh yeah,” Genji yelled, “it is a costume party, but you do not have to get too into it if you do not want to.”

“Good to know,” you laughed, “tell your goofy brother thanks for the invite, but I should start winding down for the night.”

“I will. Goodnight, my beau- ” He caught himself and coughed in embarrassment. “G-goodnight.”

He hung up before you could respond, making you wince. “Fu-uh-uh-uh-ck,” you wailed, smacking yourself in the forehead. “I really, really, really wish I didn’t still want to be his god-damned beauty.” Tears began to sting your eyes, and you weren’t sure they had formed out of anger, or longing.

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