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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal#ppascaledit #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x oc reader

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

Text

Ash and Dust Part 3- Sound the Alarm

18+ Dabi x fem!reader (MINORS DNI)

Summary: You first meet Dabi on the worst night of your life after unwittingly walking into the very bar the League of Villains made infamous. That should probably be the end of the story. You stumble on the remnants of one of the most infamous terrorist groups in the history of Japan, get viciously murdered or call the cops and get them arrested, the end. Except that’s not the end of the story. It’s only the beginning.

Warning for choking

Masterlist Help Lulu <3 (Kofi)

You wake up with a start to the sound of your fire alarm screeching.

Your building just tested its new system a week ago so you know it can’t be a drill. Your heart races, panic making your chest tight and the blood in your veins run cold as you scramble off the couch. You expect to see smoke billowing around you and clogging your lungs as you wrestle yourself free from the blankets but the air is shockingly clear. Just as you finally manage to stand, the very voice you’d been praying to never hear again calls out to you over the persistent wail of your fire alarm.

“Good morning Doll. Couldn’t have you sleeping the day away now could we?”

Dabi is grinning at you as he burns one of your kitchen towels right below the smoke alarm. He only pulls it away and tosses it in the sink once you’re gaping at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you ask incredulously as you scramble over your couch, grabbing a chair on your way. You set the chair down and then climb on top of it so you can press the reset button on the fire alarm, the horrible screeching finally stopping. “Is it so wrong of me to want to make sure you don’t sleep the day away Doll?” he retorts and god what you wouldn’t give to wipe that cocky smirk off his stupid face. Your eyes wander to the clock on your microwave and then widen in disbelief when you see the bright flashing 5:08 staring back at you. “Oh my god, it’s fucking 5am Dabi! Why are you waking me up?” “What can I say Doll I was-“

“Bored.”

You both say the word at the same time and the shit eating grin he’s giving you is genuinely pissing you off now. You’re tired and irritable and unemployed with no game plan and so you snap.

“Of fucking course you were. Y’know what? Fuck this! I’m calling the cops to come get your stupid, beef jerky looking ass,” you growl, grabbing your phone from where it was charging nearby and moving to make good on your threat. You’re just about to dial the number when suddenly you’re being shoved up against the wall, a hand wrapped around your throat, your entire vision filled with Dabi’s cold stare. “No you’re fucking not Doll, you wanna know why?” he asks. You swallow, feeling your throat struggle against his tight grip with the action. “I asked you a fucking question,” he hisses, the hand around your throat starting to get uncomfortably warm. “Why?” you ask obediently as your phone slips out of your limp hand and clatters to the floor. “Because I would burn you to ash and have fucking vanished long before your precious heroes and the inept cops got anywhere near here. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

His grip eases around your neck but he doesn’t remove his hand quite yet, the cold gaze he was giving you before melting into something more amused. “I respect that you got bite though Doll, you may be even more interesting than I first thought,” he smirks before finally releasing you. “Do you really have nothing better to do than mess with me? Like revenge to plot and shit?” you ask cautiously, hand coming up to rub at your throat as you retrieve your phone with the other. Your mind flashes to Endeavor. You’ll never forget the scene Dabi had made when he first revealed his connection to the then number one hero. The deranged man who had danced for the news cameras is a stark contrast to the smug asshole casually taking up residence in your home. “I’m not an idiot. I can’t exactly draw a lot of attention to myself while I’m still in planning mode can I?” he explains, his tone dripping with condescension. “Well excuse me for not knowing the villain protocol for vengeance,” you grumble, regretting the words almost immediately. Before you can turn panicked eyes to Dabi and ponder the consequences for your sass, the man is laughing. It’s the same cackle from the bar, the one that had been growing on you when you still thought Dabi had a secret nice side. It throws you just as off guard now as it initially did then. When he finally recollects himself he pushes out of the kitchen and makes his way back towards your bedroom. “Thanks for the laughs Doll, but it’s much too early for me so I’m going back to bed,” he grins before slamming the door shut behind him, presumably to get more rest.

You stare at your closed bedroom door in disbelief for several long moments before loudly groaning in frustration. Your uninvited house guest may be able to fall asleep but you’re far too rattled to try and do the same. Between the fire alarm and Dabi’s threat, adrenaline is still rushing around your bloodstream. With sleep off the table you figure you may as well attempt to be productive and go to find your laptop. You spend the next few hours workshopping your resume and job searching. You can’t sit around lamenting your situation forever after all. You even send a message to your boss letting him know you’ll come by the office to finally clear your desk in the morning. By the time Dabi wakes back up, wandering into your kitchen with a stretch, you’ve managed to send in applications to a few new opportunities and decide you’ve earned yourself a break.

“You gonna make me breakfast Doll?” Dabi asks smugly, kicking his feet up on your battered kitchen table across from where you’re sitting with your laptop. “Nope,” you reply easily as you close your laptop. “Oh really? That’s rude considering I’m a guest,” he snarks but even his dramatics can’t ruin your good mood. “Guest implies I invited you and I never said I was a good host. I’m heading out but groceries are in the fridge if you want to make your own damn food,” you tell him cheekily, rising from the table and going to get dressed into clothes you can comfortably paint in. You expect him to be pissed or perhaps to have lost interest by the time you re-emerge but instead he seems to eye you up before declaring “I’m coming with.”

“I’m sorry what….”

“You heard me Doll, lead the way.”

“You’ll be bored.”

“I’m sure I won’t.”

“Dabi I-“

“Get moving before you piss me off.”

“Ok…”

“Good girl.”

A/N: I didn’t originally plan for Dabi to join reader at her art studio but as I was writing the end he kind of demanded to go and who am I to stop him 🤷🏾‍♀️

Taglist: @thechroniclesofawriter @simpsfortodoroki @ahtsuwu @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @tina-98 @vibesdontlie

#hopelessad #dabi x fem!reader #dabi x y/n #dabi #bnha dabi #bnhacity

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purrincess-chat · 3 years

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Cat’s Definitive Ranking of Every ML Episode as of 4/22/21

Are you guys ready for this? I did the thing. You’re all welcome. Don’t ever ask me for anything again. You can watch me get progressively more unhinged in real time.

Now, just to preface this, I did not give this too much thought. Most of these are just my gut feelings. I went through every episode and just made some snap judgments based off the lasting impressions I’ve been left with. These are my opinions. If you don’t like them, tough. And also I don’t care. Go spend 4 hours making your own damn ranking. And shut the hell up. Anyway, this is probably the longest post I’ve ever made, so I’m gonna put it all under a read more. Click on it if you have an hour to read it. Okay, here we go!

1. Origins II- Good starting point for our heroes. Good establishment of canon ships and character dynamics. Umbrella scene literally stole my wallet. Cannot emphasis enough that I am whipped for the umbrella scene. I wrote a whole ass AU just to say how whipped I am for the umbrella scene. In the Rain will play at my wedding. Jk. Weddings are for suckers. But dammit if I don’t want these kids to get married. 10/10

2. Origins I- Good introduction to lore. Good introduction to characters. Good establishment of status quoyo. Just good. 10/10

3. Simon Says- Listen, I am nothing if not a shipper at heart. This episode just sparks joy. And the whole series almost ended when Gabriel almost jumped off the roof. I was really rooting for this one. This was the episode where I saw Ladrien and went yes, ma’am, I’ll have one of those. 10/10

4. Evillustrator- Are you all surprised? Cat, the MC-skeptic ranked the pivotal MC episode so highly? Well, let me tell you all a thing, I started this fandom out a MC shipper because of this episode. Their first interaction is gold. I don’t deny that. I enjoy it. This is the MC dynamic I fell in love with. Yall toxic shippers ruined MC for me when you opened your mouths and spat in the face of Ladrien and baselessly declared MC the sin-ship. We all know it’s Ladrien. Stop kidding yourselves. Boy in leather catsuit? Please. Basic ass vanilla bitches. I’m getting off-topic. Solid episode 10/10. We love to see it.

5. Stormy Weather- Baby’s first Miraculous episode. It holds a special place in my heart. It’s a solid episode. Good establishment of what the show is. Fun villain. Good times. Fond memories. 10/10

6. Riposte- Listen, I know I’m an Adrinette stan, but hear me out: Ladrien. It’s just so good. And Kagami was compelling in this episode. It was just really solid. It’s my favorite s2 episode. If you ask me if I want to rewatch Riposte, the answer is always yes. 10/10. We stan.

7. Gorizilla- Okay, so this episode has some solid Adrinette in it, but the real reason it ranks so high is that fucking Ladrien trust fall. I stare at that scene for hours, you guys. HOURS. It is absolutely just *chefs kiss*. Sometimes when I need a pick-me-up, I just go watch gifs of that catch on loop. 10/10. Beautiful. Radiant. Carefree.

8. Gang of Secrets- I have been keeping most of my opinions to myself about s4 (mostly because I’ve backed way the hell out of this fandom), but GoS was pretty solid. Gotta say, it’s the first episode in a long time with this show that made me actually excited to see what happens next. Most other episodes I was like, okay, that was cute. The show is still meh overall. But GoS really got me like oh shit, is ML good again? 10/10 for making me feel things again.

9. Oblivio- Told you guys this one was probably rated higher than I thought. Oblivio is just really fun. There is good Adrinette. That “No wonder I fell in love with you” paired with the softest of Adrien smiles just sends me. And the kisses. The unquestionable trust. These two kids literally woke up together alone in an elevator with no memories and said welp, you’re my boyfriend/girlfriend obviously, I don’t make the rules. Honestly, how anyone could argue that these two dorks aren’t made for each other after that episode is beyond me. 9/10

10. Backwarder- Okay, I know I am weird and alone for this one, but I really liked this episode. It got a lot of shit for the constipation capsule thing at the end, but like who cares? We finally got some more backstory on Fu. He got a love-interest who is dope as hell. This episode is my favorite lucky charm use ever. Like that queen DID that. I like Backwarder, guys! Fuck off. 9/10.

11. Kwamibuster- We all know I am a Marinette-stan by this point, but our girl was SHINING this episode. This bitch said gimme all them and let me go whoop this bitch’s ass, and she DID. Hawkmoth could never. Multimouse is a gift, and Marinette is a boss ass queen. 9/10

12. Chat Blanc- Listen, this episode was very good. I enjoy the idea of my children being happy in another timeline somewhere very much. We got all 4 sides of the square in an episode. It’s just really solid. I know this is the fandom’s favorite, and everyone is gonna shit their pants because it didn’t make my top 10, but this is my list. So, I put it at number 12. It’s good. I like it. It just didn’t steal my wallet like other episodes did. Put the pitchforks down. It’s gonna be okay, you can still love it more than me. 8/10

13. New York Special- I know everyone felt some type of way about this special, but I wasn’t mad at it. My perception of it might be clouded because I watched it in Disney World where I was chilling and having a great time, but like this special really did somethings for me. The Adrinette was top tier. Tippy top tier. Even though they hurt us in the end, I am okay with it because it just means the children will grow and come out stronger. I don’t care if it’s not technically canon. Ask me if I give a fuck. I don’t. I had fun here. 8/10. Solid.

14. The Collector- This one might shock a lot of you, but let me paint you a scene. It’s the first episode of s2. We have just come off a 2 year hiatus. The fandom is thriving. We’re hungry for canon content. We have hopes and dreams and expectations. Everyone is going wild with theories. This episode confirmed something that was long since obvious (in my opinion) and ended the stupid arguments people had been having. It made Gabriel actually seem semi-competent. We got our first taste of how Chat/Adrien will react to his dad being Hawkmoth. We got a peek at their life. Adrien’s isolation and sadness. They were so close to figuring it out. The battle was epic. Like Collector really had them on the ropes there for a second. It’s a solid episode, yall. I’m not wrong. Hate me all you want, but this episode brought it. 8/10

15. Despair Bear- Is this episode up this high because of the Adrinette slow dance scene? YOU BET YOUR ASS IT IS. Okay, but fr though, shipping aside, this episode gave us hope that Chloe was actually gonna redeem herself. I mean, she didn’t but, we didn’t know that at the time. Seeing her run around trying to be nice was fun. And then she actually did something good, and we had a moment of okay, she’s capable. We’ll get there. We didn’t. But what a ride this episode was for making us think she would. 8/10

16. Startrain- Cat, you’re just ranking all the Adrinette episodes highest. And? What of it? Are you surprised? You clicked a blog that has simping for Adrinette in the description, and you’re surprised all my favorite episodes have Adrinette? I’m not wrong, you’re just an idiot. The Adrinette nap cuddles aside though, this was a pretty good episode. If you don’t think too hard about the whole space thing, we got a look at Max’s life, his mom is a driven, smart lady doing her best. Adrien rebels against papa for once. Alya stops a Lila scheme. Chloe gets to play the hero. Alya and Nino actually investigate like the heroes they are. Gabriel gets to realize what a dumbass bitch he is. I mean. Guys. Startrain is solid. 7.5/10

17. Sapotis- This one shot up in rank for me after GoS, but tbh it’s always been a solid episode. Alyanette sleepover? Check. Alya becoming a superhero? Check. It’s a fun episode. And looking back, it’s nicely called back to later in GoS. We love it. 7.5/10

18. Sandboy- Idk why I enjoy this episode as much as I do, but I do. Sandboy is a cute bean. I love his aesthetic. We also get hilarious looks at everyone’s nightmares. “Plagg, who turned you into a sock?” cracks me up cause like Adrien, bby, no XD And Chat Noir’s nightmare. I think it would have been interesting though if since Sandboy dusted the Agreste mansion, if we got a peek at Hawkmoth’s nightmares. It would have been a nice hint of plot to go along with Master Fu’s nightmare. Also Plagg giving the akuma the slip like the clever boy we know he is deep down? 7.5/10

19. Furious Fu- If you guys haven’t realized by now that I love Fu, idk what you’re doing. Pay attention. I know that some people don’t like him, but I’m just gonna say it, you’re wrong. Fu took care of the Miracle Box for over 100 years, and this episode kind of gives some insight to what the Order was like. Very strict. Lots of rules. And ya know what, Fu said fuck the police, I’m gonna befriend these little magical demigods, and fuck off! Like what an absolute legend. I was really happy to see him living his best life, and that he and Marianne got married because it’s what he deserves. We love to see it. 7.5/10

20. Gamer- People like to shit on Marinette in this episode, but like honestly, if I were in her shoes, I’d have probably done the same thing if I had the skill. Ain’t nothing wrong with a girl trying to spend time with the boy she likes. And Tom and Sabine being absolute shipping trash. I love them. And the awkward Adrinette. The introduction of the lucky charm that Adrien STILL carries. Wholesome. This was a good episode for their friendship, and we love to see it. 7.5/10

21. Christmaster- Okay, I know a lot of people hated this episode when it aired, but I thought it was really funny? Everyone skidding around in the ice rink was hilarious. If you don’t take this episode seriously, it’s really fun. Chris is pretty cute, and damn right Ladybug is the best kid in the world. Idk. This episode is fun. I’m not mad at it. Sue me. 7.5/10

22. Weredad- What? Another MC-heavy episode in Cat’s top 30? Listen, I don’t hate canon MC. The fans just annoy me. This episode was funny. The secondhand embarrassment and cringe was real. Plagg taunting Adrien because he knows the secret was great. Marinette being a self-saving queen was great. It’s a good episode. I like MC, you guys. I do. I swear! 7.5/10

23. Miraculer- This episode was interesting to me, and I think it’s still a good development episode. For one, Sabrina finally got her own akuma episode named after her. Secondly, because it’s a big step for Chloe, just not in the way we expected. It totally makes sense that Chloe can’t have her Miraculous back because literally everyone knows her identity. Can’t argue that logic. And she is the first person to ever refuse to become akumatized, so like mad respect. I know a lot of people had high hopes for redeemed Chloe (myself included), but I think watching a character fall from revering someone to hating them is also an interesting path. The friends to enemies arc as it were. Idk. I liked this episode. It was an opportunity for Chloe to grow, even if she didn’t in the end, but we’ll talk about that later. 7.5/10

24. Lady Wifi- I like Alya. I feel like I don’t say that much, and people make some assumptions because of MDCSP, but MDCSP is just a concept I wanted to explore. It doesn’t really reflect how I feel about any one character. Except maybe Lila. And Gabe. But every other spite fic I’ve written branching from Chameleon, the class has been fine. Alya has been fine. So, let it be known that I like Alya. Lady Wifi was a fun episode. Putting aside the fact that she thought Chloe was Ladybug for no reason, I like her akuma. I like the interactions we get with LadyNoir in this episode. After GoS, this episode gets a bit funnier. It’s solid. 7/10

25. Dark Cupid- I don’t have much to say about this one. LadyNoir. That’s it. That’s the tweet. Send it. 7/10

26. Volpina- So many things about this episode. It introduced a new antagonist who we didn’t exactly 100% know was going to be an antagonist at the time. This episode sparked a lot of fun fan theories for a while. Who was Lila? How was she going to shake things up? Not to mention this episode gave us a taste of plot and lore, and set up Marinette meeting Master Fu officially. Lots of intrigue sparked from this episode. And that LadyNoir door scene? OOOOOO 7/10

27. Hearthunter- One word: Adrigaminette. This episode was so cute for them! I loved seeing them all goofing and running around together. Adrien and Kagami being absolutely in love with Marinette when her hair is down. They both love her, I don’t make the rules. Not to mention, Marinette takes a big step by letting her friends be happy without her. Kagami not wanting to hurt Marinette. The drama!! Gabriel being a messy ass bitch to his friends. It loses points for the abomination of an akuma, but overall, I wasn’t too mad at it. Yet. 7/10

28. Glaciator- More MC in Cat’s top 30? It’s more likely than you think. Listen. Listen… Listen. MC is fine. This episode was the closest thing to fanfiction that we got. The balcony scene was really sweet. I was drinking the irony. We got introduced to Andre the icecream fraud. Andre the please just give me the flavor I asked for man. I could have done without Chat pouting, but the LadyNoir in the end was pretty good. I wish they’d done more with Ladybug’s feelings for Chat. Had her question herself a bit more after this one, but overall, it’s cute. 7/10

29. Zombizou- A lot of people started hating Mlle. Bustier after this episode, and like I can kind of see it, if I squint, but I did not draw that same conclusion from this episode. Mlle. Bustier just wants good things for all of her students. They’re 14 ffs, she just wants to be a good influence on all of her students and wants them all to be successful. But go off, I guess? Plus, this episode was basically just a spoof on zombie apocalypse movies. We got so many things. Julerose, Myvan, DJWifi. Chloe actually showing some depth and emotion. LadyNoir. We won this episode, babes. Sorry you didn’t get the memo. 7/10

30. Timetagger- Okay. This is the last episode in the ones that I’d venture to call “good.” Number 30. I enjoyed Timetagger. I know people have feelings about timey-wimey bullshit, and like I’m not gonna lie and say I’m thrilled with it either (I mean, I changed the rabbit’s power in MDCSP) but that being said, Timetagger was so sassy. Bunnix was cool as hell. We get to see that LB and CN are still doing the thing in the future. So many questions sparked from this episode. It was fun. Idk. I liked it. That’s all I got. 7/10

31. Malediktator- Okay, from this point on, less comments because this is the section that are more or less just meh to me. Like they’re fine. This episode was fine. Chloe was fine. Chat playing with the laser was cute. 6.5/10

32. Mayura- Adrien’s speech at the end. Nuff said 6.5/10

33. Ikari Gozen- Ryuko/Ryuuko. Gals being pals. 6.5/10

34. Reflekdoll- I talked about this earlier, but I don’t hate this episode. It’s not as bad as people make it out to be. Sue me. 6.5/10

35. Anansi- Nino is the goodest boy. Also I need more of the gang taking Adrien on adventures via Facetime. Stat. 6.5/10

36. Shanghai- This one is new, and tbh I still haven’t watched it with subs, but I had a good time. Fei was cute. The boy squad was cute. Adrien bonding with Great Uncle Cheng was cute. Hawkmoth getting literally dunked on was *chefs kiss* 6.5/10

37. Gigantitan- I love overly supportive, ride-or-die girl squad. 6.5/10

38. Party Crasher- Idk why this episode was funny to me. Kim is the purest bean. We don’t deserve him. 6.5/10

39. Desperada- This episode was an emotional roller coaster, and even though we all collectively hate Aspik’s stupid egghead, we love the Ladrien this episode provided us. 6/10

40. Oni-chan- Listen, I loved seeing Lila get a tiny bit of karma even if she made it up in the end. I loved Chat going off on her. I loved seeing her get outsmarted in the end. 6/10

41. Frightningale- My good lesbian Clara Nightingale. We stan. 6/10

42. Style Queen- I like Audrey in a “she’s the worst person I’ve ever met, I want to travel the world with her” kind of way. She’s funny to me. Idk. I love her firing everyone. She’s the one I love to hate. She’s the worst, but we love her for it. Plus this episode gave us Plagg’s adorable little Cataclysm that destroyed half the city. 6/10

43. Gamer 2.0- Chat confidently strutting in heels made this episode worth it. And we get to see the beginning of Marinette being overwhelmed. Plus it was the return of gamer!nette. 6/10

44. Troublemaker- I don’t hate this episode as much as the next person either. It was fine. Jagged is a manchild, but we love him for it. He’s a Marinette stan which like mood. The Adrinette at the end was cute. I wasn’t mad at it. Idk. It’s fine. 6/10

45. Reflekta- Where are all my Juleka stans at? I loved the LadyNoir banter in this ep. V. cute. 6/10

46. Dark Owl- This episode was fun. And it really shows their level of trust. Plus Plagg and Tikki interacted. 6/10

47. Timebreaker- Have I ever mentioned that I like Alix? I like Alix. 6/10

48. Silencer- I don’t hate this episode as much as you’d expect me to, and that is 100% because of the LadyNoir. 5.5/10

49. Prime Queen- Chat purrs. 5.5/10

50. Syren- I think the fish power-up is adorable. Ondine is a gem. Kim is a pure bean, but we been knew. 5.5/10

51. Befana- I like Gina, but this episode fell flat for me. Almost as flat as the animation. 5.5/10

52. Reverser- Another episode that everyone hates that I am actually fine with. This episode made me like Nathaniel more. Probably because I was previously indifferent toward him. Marc is cute too. 5.5/10

53. Mr. Pigeon- Marinette is one clever girl. And the Adrinette hand-touch. 5.5/10

54. Felix- Felix is a gremlin of chaos. A true chaotic neutral. He gives his uncle the finger, and I think that’s beautiful. 5.5/10

55. Truth- Bet you expected this episode to be higher. While I did enjoy watching toxic people’s world crumble, this episode still gets a meh from me dog. 5/10

56. Lies- The Adrigami was cute, and I respect Kagami as a character. The akuma could have been better tho. 5/10

57. Princess Fragrance- Not much to say here. 5/10

58. Copycat- 5/10

59. Bubbler- 5/10

60. Mime- 5/10

61. Animan- 5/10

62. Robostus- 5/10

63. Ladybug- This episode ranks this low purely because I don’t care about GabeNath, and I hate that Lila won something in the end. But Adrien saying I won’t hesitate, bitch! At the end was nice to see. 5/10

64. Catalyst- I know I ranked Mayura way higher, but Catalyst fell flat for me. Like it was fine. Wasn’t as into it though. 4.5/10

65. Puppeteer- One of my favorite lucky charm uses. 4.5/10

66. Pixelator- My favorite Cataclysm. 4.5/10

67. Horrificator- That almost-Adrinette kiss tho 4.5/10

68. Pharaoh- 4.5/10

69. Kung Food- 4.5/10

70. Rogercop- 4/10

71. Guitar Villain- 4/10

72. Dark Blade- 4/10

73. Bakerix- 4/10

74. Antibug- And now onto the bottom 10. To start us off, I will just say: UGH, this episode annoyed me. First of all, Sabrina didn’t even get her own episode. Chloe was a piece of shit. Idk why they made Ladybug the one in the wrong when Chloe was being obnoxious. Ugh. 3/10

75. Captain Hardrock- I’m gonna be honest. My apathy for this episode has grown into loathing. Toxic stans are 100% to blame. Birthday ruining, bitches. This is the reason I threw a breakup bash after Truth. Yall deserved it. 3/10

76. Christmas Special- I didn’t hate this episode as much as everyone, but it still wasn’t great. 2.5/10

77. Stormy Weather 2.0- This episode was really dumb. It didn’t need to exist. 2.0/10

78. Queen Wasp- Why did we give Chloe a Miraculous after this episode? 2/10

79. Animaestro- Did we really need a self-insert? Did we really? 2/10

80. Puppeteer 2.0- Listen, this episode would have made more sense in s1 or at the very latest early s2. Adrien gave a whole ass speech on how great Marinette is, then he turns around and is like idk if she likes me… Clean it up. 2/10

81. Miracle Queen- I could talk at length about how much I hate the ending of this episode and what they did with Chloe and Master Fu, but we’re just going to remain calm and give it a solid 1.5/10

82. Frozer- This episode made no goddamn sense. I call bullshit on so many things. Just ugh. 1/10

83. Chameleon- Surprisingly, even though this episode sparked many, many spite fics out of me, it’s not my least favorite because at least Ladybug semi-redeemed this episode. Still really dumb and ooc tho. 1/10

84. Feast- Okay, okay, okay, here we are. Bottom of the barrel. Cat’s most hated episode, and you wanna know why? You want to know why this episode fills me with the rage? Because we spent two fucking seasons building up all this mystery and lore and intrigue surrounding Fu’s big mistake, and they dropped the fucking ball! They did my mans so dirty! They could have really deepened his character, deepened the Order, deepened anything other than whatever fucking affair Gabriel and Nathalie have going on, but NO. They made it some stupid, bland-ass thing that got resolved magically in the end, then just ignored it for the rest of the season. I will never not be salty about how they did my boy Fu in this show. I’m happy he found his peace, but fuck if I’m not livid about how they did it. Whatever. Chat being done with Ladybug’s shit when they’re about to get eaten was funny I guess. .5/10

#cat speaks #cat spoils #episode ranking #long post #i'm tired now #i go to bed

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teamhook · 3 years

Text

Emma and Killian :: Kate and Leopold CS AU for CSMM

Hello lovelies!! So I’m on a schedule and you will be getting updates for my fics. 3 per Month ;)

I want to thank @captainswanmoviemarathon and the wonderful CSMM Discord Family. My co-writer @revanmeetra87

I want to also thank @ultraluckycatnd for Beta-ing thiis thing for us.

|FFN|

|AO3|

Friday and The Weekend

Killian and David shared a guilty look. They had both behaved like children. Killian knew he had more than the other, in part due to his inebriety and the other part was jealousy of what he didn't know. Killian said goodnight to his mate and went home to ponder on his actions.

He decided he would try his best to make amends to her. So he did what he did best, put his thoughts on paper, and hoped that it would grant him redemption.

The next day, Emma woke up and got ready fast. She had to get to work and somehow fix the mess her brother and that jerk that couldn't keep his mouth shut had made.

David greeted her in the kitchen with a cup of coffee ready for her which she promptly snubbed and rushed out.

David had arranged for Emma to find the letter that Killian had dropped off earlier, but she was eager to leave the apartment. He knew they both had misbehaved and his sister was in her right to be angry at them.

He grabbed both the letter and the first fruit in the basket he could and dashed after her.

Emma had reached the street and was just about to hail a cab when she heard David's voice. "Ems! Emma, wait!"

She halted because she loved her idiot brother, and it's them against the world.

She turned to face him with her best 'you're in trouble' face.

"Before you say anything, I'm sorry. I know I fucked things up for us. I know that everything you do is for us to have a better life."

Emma stared her brother down. "I have to go clean up the mess you two made."

"Emma, I know and for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry. Here, you can't go to work on an empty stomach," David said as he handed her a papaya. "Yeah, I know that," Emma says as she looks to the street for a cab. That's when he slipped the letter into her bag. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

Emma arrived at work, waiting for the fallout of the previous night, but it never came. She was told there's a meeting with marketing, and she was the last one to arrive. She rushed into the conference room and took a seat so they could finally begin. The marketing team was going over the troubles they had come across due to the texture of the margarine. Emma peeked at her boss to see if looked angry or like the usual. She really doesn't see a change in him, but they have yet to talk. She sighed and opened her bag to pull out some papers. An envelope caught her eye and she quietly opened it.

Dearest Emma...

I behaved as an imbecile last night, animated in part by drink, in part by your beauty, and in part by my own foolish pride and for that, I am profoundly sorry. Please accept, as a gesture of apology for my bad form, a private dinner on the rooftop tonight at 8 O'Clock.

Yours truly, Killian

Emma felt her cheeks blush as her thoughts were interrupted by her boss.

"Emma, dear, where are we on Farmer's Bounty?" Mr. Oz asked.

Emma turned to her boss and took a deep breath. "We are good. As you know, we found our spokesperson. The response room final showed a 98 in the top two boxes. His key female descriptors were handsome, romantic, and with some write-ins of "What a babe".

Mr. Oz sullenly replied with a simple, "Great."

As they ended the meeting and everyone went back to work, Mary Margaret was waiting for her. Emma handed her assistant her bag and rushed after Walsh to say her apologies.

"Mr. Oz, I mean Walsh, I just want to apologize for what happened last night," Emma said.

"I appreciate that," he simply said.

"So are we okay?" she asks, hopeful.

"Yes, we are. Now if you would excuse me, I have to make some calls. We will talk later," Walsh said as he walked to his office.

Meanwhile, Jefferson was losing his patience at the Hospital. He just wanted to get released so he could get home and get Killian back to his time. Out of pure desperation, he thought explaining the situation to his doctor would be enough, but Dr. Hyde wasn't as receptive as he had hoped.

"I didn't jump to my death. I fell because there was no elevator," Jefferson clarified.

Dr. Hyde nodded. "And you feel it's somehow your fault?"

"Well, it stands to reason that nature would correct itself since my great-great-grandfather isn't there to invent the elevator or spawn his seed," Jefferson added matter of factly.

"Both you and the elevator would cease to exist, but clearly do," the doctor said.

Jefferson shook his head. "I can see you are a very busy man and I hate to take up your valuable time. I'm not one of those people who need your attention. Would you please just sign my release papers?"

Dr. Hyde sighed. "I'm concerned you might be a danger to yourself. State law requires that I keep you here in such cases. I'm afraid I cannot in good conscience sign your release."

Jefferson tried to open the door while balancing on crutches.

Before he could open it, the door flew open. "Dr. Hyde, is there a problem?" a lovely woman asked.

"No Priscilla, everything is fine. Could you please assist Jefferson back to his room and ensure this prescription is filled?" Dr. Hyde said to his nurse.

"Jefferson, I'm going to prescribe a mild antipsychotic. Nothing too strong."

Wandering around in circles in Game of Thorns, David looked over his notes, nerves getting worse with each lap.

"Mary Margaret, did you want - no, Mary Margaret, would you like...uggh…"

He was never going to convince her to go on a date if he tried mumbling and bumbling through his invitation. He was already humiliated, and he wasn't even asking her yet!

Outside of the flower shop, he could see Killian handing a street musician some cash as he made a request. Just what the request was, David couldn't quite hear.

Well, he had enough of his own problems to deal with, in any case.

Killian then entered the shop, and David practically pounced on him. "Listen, Killian, about the things you wrote for me here, for Mary Margaret...Some if it seems kind of…"

"Did you pick your flowers?" Killian asked, looking at him expectantly.

"Oh. Yep. Right, uhhh...here," David said, grabbing the nearest arrangement. "Now, about this speech-"

"Oh no, this will not do," Killian said, concerned.

"What, the flowers?" David looked at them for the first time. They seemed pretty enough to him. Plenty of colors. They even smelled nice.

"The orange lily suggests extreme hatred. The begonia and lavender danger and suspicion, respectively. Every flower has a meaning." Glancing around him, Killian grasped an enormous (and to David, absurd-looking) flower and held it in front of David. "Might I suggest the amaryllis, which declares the recipient a most splendid beauty. Or-" Breaking off, Killian strode forward. "- the cabbage rose…"

Sighing, hoping Killian was right about all this, David followed.

Inside her office, Emma lifted a piece of paper that was accepting Killian's invitation.

The only problem?

She hadn't written it.

Grinding her teeth, trying to pretend she was angry at her assistant and not at the fact that she did want to accept Killian's offer, Emma called for Mary Margaret.

Almost immediately, Mary Margaret poked her head in the office. "Yes?"

"What is this?" asked Emma, waving the paper in the air.

"It's your agreement to having dinner with Killian," she responded, as though there was nothing unusual about it. "I made it up for you to sign."

"I hadn't decided if I was going!" Emma cried, slapping the letter on her desk. She knew she was overreacting, but the thought of a private dinner with Killian was making her so...so stupidly nervous.

Mary Margaret lifted her chin, and a bit of fire entered her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said in the strongest voice Emma had ever heard from her. "But that is the best apology in the history of mankind, and if you don't go with him, I know you will regret it! Please, just sign it, and we can fax it to him. There is still time."

Taken aback by her usually shy assistant's firm manner, Emma closed her eyes, bit her lip, and grabbed for her pen.

Inside Jefferson's apartment, Killian was cooking the meal for his dinner with Emma. To his relief and delight, he had received the fax confirming her presence.

Taking his eyes from the stove, while still being attentive to his work, Killian watched as David paced the room nervously with the telephone to his ear.

Suddenly, with a little start, David said, "Oh, hi Mary Margaret; it's me, David. I was calling to see if you got my flowers. I mean your flowers. I mean the ones I sent?" He paused for a breath, then said "Good!" to the reply. He then looked to Killian, voice stalling.

Killian gave him a smile and a nod. "You can do this, my friend."

Pressing onward, David continued. "I was wondering if you would like to go to a movie, and then...perhaps accompany me to dinner?" Waving his free hand, he rushed on, "I-I-I-I understand completely if you are otherwise engaged. But, uh, I just wanted to say, umm…" Stopping to consult his notes, a small furrow appeared in David's brow.

"Come on. No need to be ashamed. You can do the speech as written," Killian encouraged silently.

"I wanted to say you've made an impression on me. And...and it's not only because you are so pretty. I mean, you're very pretty, but it's more than that. It's, umm...You're graceful. You know, the way you move, and speak. You just have a way with words. And I really, really like you."

There was a very long pause, during which David looked terrified. Then, responding to what Mary Margaret had said, he mumbled, "Seven? Yes! Yes, seven would be great. Would be fantastic. See you then!"

He ended the call, then jumped straight up in the air victoriously. "I did it! I am going out with Mary Margaret!"

Killian chuckled as David did a small dance.

"I gotta go get ready!" David exclaimed.

Emma arrived home and she would deny it to anyone, but she was a little excited about the dinner date with Killian. She was about to go to her room to get ready when her brother came out of his room looking very handsome. He had a silly grin on his face that she had not seen in a while.

David smiled wide at his sister as he greeted her with a quick kiss on her cheek.

"You look very handsome David. I didn't know you were going out tonight."

"Yeah, I have plans. It was unplanned until earlier today."

"So is this a big date?" she asked.

"Yeah, Ems I really like this girl."

"Who is the lucky lady?"

"Uhm, if it goes well, I'll tell you tomorrow, but I just don't want to jinx it."

Emma nodded. "Okay, good luck, and for what it's worth, she is lucky to have your attention."

"Thanks, and I think you are supposed to say that cause you are my sister."

"Just stating facts, David. You don't give yourself enough credit. You are one of the good ones."

"Ems, so are you. Have fun tonight, okay?"

She smiled. "I will. Now go before you are late for the big date!"

Finally, in her room, she opened her closet. She ruffled through the hangers, trying to find the right outfit. Her eyes landed on a pale pink dress she purchased years ago, and it never felt right to wear until now.

The dress fit perfectly and it made her feel like a true princess. She put her hair in a high ponytail with very light makeup, just enough to heighten her looks. Why was she so nervous?

It was time to make her way up to the roof.

Emma opened the roof door slowly and was astonished at the display in front of her. There were fairy lights hanging, creating a magical environment, and a man was playing the violin. The table was set with candlelight, and she could see a wine bottle next to plates and the tray with the food. Her mouth opened at the effort Killian made to please her.

"This is beautiful! You didn't have to go to so much trouble," Emma said, biting her bottom lip.

"No trouble at all, lass," Killian confirmed as he met her to guide her to her seat.

"May I?" he asked as he grabbed the chair to pull it out for her.

She nodded, unable to speak. He looked handsome wearing his old-timey outfit. Perhaps the atmosphere he created made him appear as if he was the lead in a romantic novel.

Emma stared into the night for a moment. "My mom was a true romantic." She smiled fondly. "She cried for weeks after Prince Charles and Lady Di got married."

Killian furrowed his brows. "I'm not familiar with them."

"Oh, trust me, you wouldn't want to be. A cautionary tale, proof that you can't live a fairy tale," Emma said and added, "I'm not very good with men."

"Perhaps you haven't found the right one," he said hopefully.

"Maybe, True Love only exists in fairy tales."

"My brother told me I had become a blemish on the family name due to an indiscretion from my youth, and now he tries to marry me off every chance he gets. I would be married now if I hadn't followed Jefferson. I was to announce a bride that night."

"Who?"

He sighed. "I don't know, it didn't matter to him. I suppose the one with the most money. Our family fortune is gone, and all we have is the family name."

After they finished eating, Emma stood up to start cleaning.

"What are you doing?" Killian asked.

"Just cleaning up."

"The night is not over yet. Would you do me the honor of a dance? Please?" he asked as he extended his hand for her to take.

"I'm not a good dancer," she said as she took his hand.

"There's only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what he's doing." He winked, pulling her close to him as she rolled her eyes, and they started gliding.

"Smee always told me love is a leap. I was never ready to jump until I met you."

"Killian, this was lovely but I don't know if I can leap, even if I am inspired." The lightness she had felt while dancing with him was sinking into harsh reality. And she was afraid. "I'm not...not brave enough."

Then, in the next moment, he was quoting something to her, something beautiful and flowery and perfectly Killian, and she was kissing him, warmth spreading from her chest all the way to her toes.

The next morning, after a wonderful date with Mary Margaret, David woke to the sound of Killian cooking breakfast.

They exchanged hellos, each asking how the other's date went. According to Killian, his date had also gone well.

David was pleased, but something was nagging at him. Emma was so rarely happy these days. And it was great that Killian was helping her to take down her walls, but if things were to continue...well, he wanted to make sure Emma was with someone she could really trust.

"Look, Killian, I have to ask you…" David trailed off. "Who are you? I mean, really?"

Killian spread some jam on toast, seeming confused. "What do you mean?"

"It's been a lot of fun doing the duke act with you, but...Emma's been through a lot, and I don't want her to have to deal with even more."

Killian lifted his hand. "I understand, David."

"So...Who are you?"

With a deep breath, Killian said, "I am the man who loves your sister. Who would go to the end of the world, or time, for her."

And with that, David was reassured.

David showed Killian how to master the dishwasher after breakfast was made. Killian was still in awe of the technology of the time.

"Just make sure Emma sees you push the button. Whatever you do, don't press it until she is awake to see you do it."

"Oh, clever. The proverbial tree in the woods. If a man washes a dish and no one sees it...Did it happen?"

"Exactly!" David said, excitedly.

Emma then made her appearance. Her stomach growled at the delicious scent.

Killian's smile welcomed her. "Love, a cup of coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

David watched the pair making eyes at each other and decided not to be a third wheel and made his escape. Perhaps he could call Mary Margaret to make more plans.

Killian got a plate ready for Emma as she took her seat.

"Nine-grain toast with strawberries and mascarpone, my lady."

"Yum, this is really good," she moaned as she took bite after bite.

He hadn't seen anything as beautiful in his life.

Emma took the last bite and turned to Killian with a smile. "What should we do today?"

"Your heart's desire," Killian simply answered.

Emma and Killian get dressed, independently of course. Killian Jones was always a gentleman, after all. They set out to explore the city together.

Killian stopped at a market table full of sunglasses.

Emma snorted. "Oh no, no, no, no, no, no," she said as she took the glasses away from him, scrunched her face, and put them back on their display.

Killian looked so sad as he faced her.

"Make that face all you want, but those glasses were so inappropriate for you."

He quirked an eyebrow and they resumed their walk.

Killian gasped. "Emma, love. Emma, come!" he said excitedly as he pulled her toward a house.

"Killian, what are you doing?" she hissed.

He had gotten them inside the house; it appeared to be a museum of sorts.

"Bloody hell! This is where I lived. Good Lord. A portrait of my parents, my brother... and me." He pulled her up the stairs.

Emma looked at the portrait and gulped as she passed it. She still tried to find logic and deny what he told her was true. "Killian, I don't think that we should just be barging around here like that."

Killian held her hand as he pulled her all over the house before he stopped and stood in front of one of the rooms. He faced her with a smile. "Emma, this is my old quarters," he said as he walked to his hidden spot.

Emma looked around frantically. "What are you doing?"

He put pressure on a spot, then they heard a crackling sound. "Emma, this is the place where I put everything I most cared for. Things I didn't want Liam to touch. Like our mother's ring." He showed her a beautiful ring that he somehow knew its hiding place, and she hated to think what that truly meant for them, so she ignored the nagging pull in her heart.

Emma smiled. "Oh, it's breathtaking."

Later that evening, Emma and Killian finally end up cuddled on the sofa together after their day exploring the city.

Emma had her hand on his chest, playing with the hair there. She felt so comfortable in his arms. She sighed. "Do you..."

"Hmm, What would like to know, love?" he asked as he gently caressed her back.

She sighed and shifted in his embrace to see his face. "Do you miss where you're from?"

"Ah, I suppose I do in a way. There are things I miss, such as its rhythm."

"Is that slower like today?"

"Aye, quite a bit slower." He smiled.

She groaned. "That means that tomorrow is Sunday. I don't want it to be Sunday. What I do want is more of this." She snuggled closer to him.

He laughed heartily.

"Ooh, Monday is when we shoot your commercial so that's something exciting." She hummed comfortably from her cozy little bubble.

Not long after that, she drifted into sleep.

Killian kissed the top of her head and took out his mother's ring. He knew she had fallen asleep and it was now a lost moment. He picked her up and took her to bed, and tucked her in affectionately.

Emma said sleepily, "You're tucking me in."

"Aye."

"Huh, you're my Smee."

"Yes, I am Your Grace."

"Hey, hey, you don't have to... don't go upstairs. Stay."

He nodded and got in bed behind her, spooning her. He whispered, "I love you, Emma," in her ear before drifting off to sleep himself.

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay @ohmakemeahercules @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @mariakov81 @sals86 @elizabeethan @brooke-to-broch @hookedonhiddles @onceratheart18 @the-darkdragonfly @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @cocohook38 @zaharadessert

#Captain Swan #CSMM #CSMM20 #cs ff #Captain Swan Movie Marathon

32 notes · View notes

bellamyblcke · 3 years

Text

Wishful Thinking

Fandom: True Beauty

Pairing: Han Seojun/Im Jugyeong

Summary: While Jugyeong may have accidentally told Chae-ni that she was dating Seojun, she didn't think that he'd actually go along with it. And now that he has, she has no clue how they're meant to go back.

(a Suho doesn't come back fake dating fix it fic)

Read on AO3

Jugyeong buries her head in her arms. The bar is spinning. “Why?” she moans. “Why is it everything so messed up?”

Around her, their high school gang is chattering happily, but she can’t bring herself to join in. “How am I ever going to tell him?” Jugyeong mumbles, still not lifting her head. “It’s so embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing?”

Jugyeong startles, whirling around, her head spinning again in response, and then there’s Seojun standing in the doorway to the bar. Cho-rong gives a cry, and then the group of boys is surrounding him, and Jugyeong thinks maybe that will be the end of it, but Seojun is nothing if not persistent. He drops into the seat beside her, shrugging off Cho-rong’s attempts to get his attention. “What’s embarrassing?” he asks again.

Jugyeong sends a pleading look at Soo-ah next to her, but Soo-ah raises her hands, mouthing, “Just tell him,” before turning to say something to Hye-min. Jugyeong looks back at Seojun, and then shakes her head. “Uh-uh,” he says, grinning. “You have to tell me.”

The lights are really spinning now, and Jugyeong sways. “Jugyeong,” Seojun says, steadying her. She falls into him, her face smooshed against the fabric of his jacket. He smells nice, she thinks. He is nice. And handsome. And talented. And soon to be famous. All of these things are sometimes a very nice thing. “Is everything okay?” he asks, shaking her shoulder.

Jugyeong shrugs out of his grip, attempting to stand, but then she really is swaying. “How much did you drink?” Seojun asks, amused, but he loops an arm around her waist to support her.

“I’m not drunk,” she mumbles, stumbling forward a couple of steps and pushing his arm away.

“No?” Seojun asks, following after her.

And then she and Seojun are out on the street, his arm going back around her. It’s cold outside, but the alcohol has warmed her, and the cool air on her face is nice.

She can feel Seojun looking at her, and it makes her insides feel warm and fluttery. This, this is how she’d gotten into this situation in the first place.

They walk a block in silence. “Are you more sober now?” Seojun asks her, moving as if to take his arm away.

“No,” Jugyeong says, and she’s not. She clings onto his arm, and he laughs, directing them over to a corner store. “I’ll be right back,” he says, gently settling her against the bench, and then disappearing inside. Jugyeong stares after him. Just tell him, she scolds herself.

When he returns, it’s with a bottle of water in hand. “Here,” he says, thrusting it towards her.

Jugyeong fiddles with the cap of the bottle. “Thanks,” she says, softly.

“Hey,” he says, coming and sitting beside her. He nudges her shoulder with him. “You might as well just tell me,” he says. “Have you done something really bad?”

Jugyeong looks up at him, and finds his face is quite close to hers. She doesn’t think she could handle it if he left, too, she thinks. She, she— “Did you kill someone?” he asks. “Should I buy a shovel?”

Jugyeong is surprised into laughter, and she bats at him. He laughs, too. “What could you do that was bad?” he asks, and Jugyeong’s laughter fades. Say it, Im Jugueong.

“I need you to date me.”

Seojun’s face morphs with the statement. He looks a bit like she’s punched him. Oh, this is bad. “Not for real,” Jugyeong says, quickly. “We don’t have to date for real. If you could just pretend...”

“If I could just pretend,” he repeats, as if it is a statement that makes no sense. His eyes are blinking open and shut, and he has a sort of heavy-lidded shocked look to him that hurts Jugyeong’s chest.

“Chae-ni was asking about you again,” Jugyeong says, deciding that the only way through is forward even if it kills her. “And saying how she couldn’t believe that we were actually friends, and how when you two were dating—” Jugyeong hands twist in on themselves, “I just wanted to shut her up,” she mumbles. “The way she talks about you, sheesh.”

She hears Seojun release his breath through his teeth, though she can’t bring herself to look up at him. “I’m sorry,” she says, miserably.

“What did you say?”

Jugyeong’s shoulders rise. “I just said that you weren’t ever going to date her.” Which was true. Seojun has said it more than once. If that had been where Jugyeong had stopped then she could probably be forgiven. “And then she said, ‘Why? Because he’s dating you?’ And then I—” Jugyeong breaks off, burying her head in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she repeats.

“Why are you sorry?” Seojun asks.

She peers at him from between her fingers, and sees that he’s looking out at the park across from them, his face strangely still. It’s rare that she ever sees him not smiling. For a moment, he looks unfamiliar. “You shouldn’t have to pretend to date me in front of my stupid client,” Jugyeong says. “It’s not fair. I’ll just tell her that I lied.”

But Seojun shrugs, and when he turns to look at her again, the smile is firmly back in place. “What’s the harm?” he says, sticking his hand out for her to shake as if they are enacting a business deal. “I’ll pretend.”

Jugyeong blinks back at him, completely taken aback. She hadn’t thought he’d say yes. And now that he has… “What’s the harm?” she repeats, and takes his hand.

“And you said yes?” Cho-rong is lifting weights, and Seojun is sitting on the bench across from him, legs folded up beneath him. If he was being good, he would be lifting, too, he has a whole routine he’s meant to be doing every day, but it’s much harder to mope when he’s lifting, and well, he’s earned a good mope.

“What was I meant to say?” Seojun snaps.

Cho-rong considers this for a moment, as if it were a serious question, and Seojun looks at him, wondering if he is going to offer an actual solution. As it was happening, it had felt like there was no other option but to agree to Jugyeong’s plan. How was he meant to say: oh actually, Im Jugyeong, I’d like it if we dated for real, because now that you mention it, I’ve liked you all along, but I haven’t known if you were over Suho yet, and even if you were, there’s still no reason for me to think you’d ever consider dating me, but uh what do you think? Should we make a go for it? It was laughable. And Jugyeong has never given him any sign that she was interested in him like that. And if she was interested, why would she ask him to pretend to date her? No, she wanted to save face with Chae-ni, that was all. Which makes it the worst possible scenario for Seojun to confess after all these years. Everything is so messed up. And, “I don’t know,” Cho-rong says after some contemplation. He sets the weights down and comes and sits across from Seojun on the bench, tilting his head to look at him.

Seojun squirms under his gaze. Then, “You need to seduce her,” Cho-rong declares.

Seojun startles, whacking at him. “How?” he asks. As if he hasn’t been trying his best for the last two and a half years. To no effect.

“I don’t know,” Cho-rong says, making to pinch his cheek. “Your life is like a drama, you know? It’s exciting.” Seojun bats him off, picking up the weights that he had been lifting before and starting to heft them. They’re lighter than he’s meant to do, but he doesn't want to set them down after he’s just picked them up. It would ruin the effect.

“The male lead always falls in love in the dramas when they pretend to date,” Cho-rong says after a moment, as if this is a point that Seojun should seriously consider. Seojun turns to glare with him.

I’m already in love, he thinks. That’s the whole problem. It’s Jugyeong that he is waiting for. And it’s going to be torment to watch her pretend to feel something for him that she doesn’t actually feel. What’s the harm, he thinks, again, groaning. He is such an idiot.

Two days after they’d agreed to fake date, Seojun shows up to pick Jugyeong up from work. He is wearing a long maroon coat, a dark turtleneck, and shimmery eyeliner, and everyone in the plaza stares as he walks up. It’s as if he’s parting the ocean. “Do we know him?” Jugyeong hears a girl asking. Chae-ni halts her rant about the photographer, and turns to watch him, something hungry in her expression. Jugyeong feels it, too. It’s hard not to pay attention to Seojun. And even though she knows him, even though she’s seen him in leopard print underwear dancing around his kitchen, even though she’s had to deal with him when he’s grumpy and sick and drunk and ridiculous and well, he’s Seojun, he’s her friend, he’s still… dazzling. He’s dazzling. And then he’s walking up to Jugyeong, stopping in front of her.

Her heart stops. And then he’s leaning right into her face, his eyes shining, his mouth curling into a smile, and oh no, she’s looking at his mouth. She should not be looking at his mouth, and then somehow he’s even closer, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She freezes, going stiff as a board. She doesn’t even dare breathe. His mouth is warm against her skin. But when he pulls back, the shine has faded from his eyes. “Are you off?” he asks.

“Huh?” Jugyeong asks, still a little starstruck. This was a bad idea, she thinks, belatedly. But it’s a bit too late to back out now.

Seojun shifts his gaze behind her. “Can she go?”

Her boss looks a bit starstruck, too, and she just nods. “Come on then,” he says, holding out his hand for Jugyeong to take. She looks at it as if it might bite her, and he laughs, and takes her hand in his. Their palms press together, and then before she can second guess it she intertwines their fingers, too. “Let’s go,” she says, brightly.

When she turns back to look at Chae-ni, her face has slackened with disbelief, and Jugyeong smiles, broad, back at her, and then they are leaving the group behind. Their hands swing between them, and it feels… Easy. But then things are always easy between them. It figures that this would be easy as well.

But when they are a block away, Seojun drops her hand, looking off, and a little stab of hurt goes through Jugyeong. But then it’s not fair to ask him to pretend when Chae-ni isn’t watching. “I’ll buy you food to thank you,” she says, forcing a cheer into her voice that she doesn’t feel inside. “What do you want?”

He doesn’t turn for a moment, Jugyeong staring instead at the back of his head, and Jugyeong wonders if she should apologize to him again. She opens her mouth to do so, but then he looks back at her over his shoulder, and she wonders why she’d thought he was upset in the first place. “Something spicy,” he says, smiling.

“You always say that,” she says, and they fall into step beside each other as they make their way down the street. How many nights over the years have they spent just like this? But now Jugyeong’s hand tingles, and she thinks of how easy it would be to just bridge the distance between their palms, to take his hand in hers again. And also how impossible.

Seojun is packing up his stuff to leave rehearsal when Cha-ni comes around the corner towards their studio, tapping her phone against her open palm like a whip. “Seojun,” she says. “I was just looking for you.” Her smile is sickly, and Seojun straightens, putting his hands in his pockets as he looks back at her. Fuck, but he really hates girls like her. He’d thought he was done having to deal with them when he graduated high school.

“Did I say you could use informal speech with me?” he asks. “Are we friends?”

Chae-ni’s smile freezes on her face, and she lets out an awkward little laugh, and maybe Seojun should feel bad, but then he knows how she treats Jugyeong, and he’s never had any patience for people who are cruel to those who work for them. Especially when that person is Jugyeong. She’s far too nice to stand up for herself. And he still remembers how tormented she was back in high school by the girls that bullied her. He’d like to make up for all of it.

“I’m older than you,” Chae-ni says, awkwardly.

“Are you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ha-jun looks up at the exchange with curiosity, but Seojun keeps his gaze on Chae-ni. “Well,” she says, fiddling with a long strand of blonde hair. “I just wanted to come by and ask if you’re really dating Im Jugyeong.” She says it as if it’s still a concept that she can’t believe, which really pisses him off, and he was already annoyed.

“What’s it to you?”

“Does our Han Seojun have a girlfriend?” Ha-jun asks, putting his arm around Seojun’s shoulders and ruffling his hair, trying to lighten the mood, Seojun is sure. Do-gooder.

“Aish,” Seojun says, pushing him off. “Leave it.”

“Im Jugyeong,” Ha-jun says though, looking thoughtful. “Isn’t that your school friend? Did you finally ask her out?”

Chae-ni is watching him closely, and Seojun feels a bit like a cornered beast. But, “Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “That’s her.”

Their third bandmate, Sang-hoon, looks up at this. “Aw, Seojun-ah,” he says. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Shut up,” Seojun says, shaking his head.

“Why do you never talk about her?” Sang-hoon says. “Have you been dating long? When can we meet her?”

Seojun looks back at Chae-ni. This is expanding the scope of the subterfuge, he thinks. Pretending in front of one person is one thing. But making it a larger lie is another. But still, “I’ve liked her since high school,” he says, watching as Chae-ni’s face drops. “The dating is new.” And really, that’s how it well and truly starts to spiral out of control.

On Thursday, they are meant to hang out after Seojun is finished with rehearsal, but it is almost an hour before he appears in the Move lobby, looking harassed. “Is everything alright?” Jugyeong asks, rising when she finally sees him rounding the corner.

Seojun gives a terse nod, and then runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Have you been waiting long?” he asks.

Jugyeong shakes her head, though she had been. “What do you want to do?” she asks.

Seojun doesn’t answer for a moment. Jugyeong calls his name again, wondering what is wrong with him. She moves forward to touch his arm, but, “Let’s go skating,” he says all of a sudden, striding away from her towards the door as if he’s made up his mind about something.

“Skating?” she asks, hurrying to catch up with him. She’s never been skating. She’d always thought it was a thing that only couples did. And it’s been years now since she’s been part of a couple.

“Skating,” Seojun agrees, and Jugyeong thinks about saying no, but then she nods, and they start towards the bus station. She looks up at his face again, catching just the edge of his ear, and feels her heart flutter. Get a hold of yourself, Jugyeong, she reminds herself. “Why skating?” she asks him as they approach the stop.

He looks down at her, and then smiles. The sight of it eases the line of her shoulders, and she smiles, too. “Why not?” he says. And it seems as good a response as any. “Alright,” she says, linking their arms together. “Let’s go skating.”

Jugyeong seems nervous when they arrive at the skating rink, and Seojun wonders if he should have chosen something a little bit less aggressively couple-y. But then the whole point of diverging from their normal routine was to prove to her that they would make a good couple. And at least this way, Seojun has an excuse to hold her hand. That probably makes him pathetic. Definitely, he thinks, pulling the laces of his skates straight. But well, he’s passed the point of insanity.

He can feel Jugyeong’s eyes on him, and he looks up at her, meeting her gaze. She has put tiny, sparkly clips in her hair, which looks nice, but it’s not that.“What?” she asks, raising a hand self-consciously to her hair. “Do I have something in my hair?”

“No,” Seojun says, and then before he can wimp out. “You just look pretty today.”

Jugyeong’s mouth softens with shock, and Seojun looks at it for a moment, and then his gaze goes back to her eyes. “So do you,” she says, quickly and too-loud, as if it is a challenge. She raises a hand to her mouth, turning partway away from him, and Seojun smiles.

“Do I?” he asks. Seojun isn’t self-conscious about how he looks. He’s had enough people comment on his appearance to last a lifetime. Normally, he isn’t affected by things like that. But he wants Jugyeong to like how he looks.

She pushes at his shoulder, embarrassed, he can tell, which causes a rush of pleasure to go through him, and then makes to stand, wobbling back and forth. Seojun puts a hand out, and she takes it without thinking. “Let’s go,” she says, dragging him towards the rink.

They hobble onto the ice like a strange multi-limbed creature, laughing as they stumble, and Seojun thinks: this might actually work. It’s a traitorous kind of hope.

Jugyeong holds his hand as they make their way, haltingly, around the first lap. “I thought you’d be good at skating,” she says, watching him.

Seojun stumbles, and Jugyeong laughs, looping an arm around his waist. He feels her, warm, against his side, her hair tickling the bottom of his chin, and he thinks that he has potentially entered some other dimension. It is somehow both terrible and incredible at once “Huh?” he asks, already forgetting what she’s said.

“Han Seojun,” she says, mock stern.

Seojun looks up at the edge of the rink several feet ahead of them. “I’ll make you a bet,” he says.

"A bet?" she asks, frowning.

He pushes her off him, and she wobbles, clinging to his arms, glaring at him. He raises a palm as if in surrender, and she makes to attack him. He skates back from her, grinning, and she hurrumphs.

“What bet?”

He points. “Whoever makes it to the pole first, gets a wish.”

“A wish?” she asks, skeptical.

“Anything you want.”

“Hmm,” Jugyeong says, and then she nods. Her face pulls in with determination, and it’s so cute that for a moment Seojun’s mind goes blank. You idiot, he thinks. What are you doing? But then, “Go,” she says, and they’re both racing across the ice.

“You’re a sore winner,” Jugyeong says, grumpily, sipping on her mug of cocoa. Seojun is smug beside her, his legs crossed in front of him. He hasn’t stopped smiling since his hand touched the pole first. Their skates are off now, and they’re just watching the other skaters, and though she’s proclaimed her annoyance, she still feels happier than she has in forever. This was a good idea, she thinks. They should do things like this more often.

“What are you going to wish for?” she asks, looking over at him. And then she thinks, I know what I would wish for. If I could.

Seojun just shakes his head though. “Uh-uh,” he says. “It’s a secret.”

“What secret?” Jugyeong grumbles, but he just smiles, and they lapse into silence for a moment. They are sitting close enough that she can feel the warmth of his leg even though they aren’t touching. If she were to move just a bit their hands would be overlapping on the bench.

“Let’s take a picture,” Seojun says. And Jugyeong nods, and he scoots in even closer, raising the camera so that the two of them come into the view, smooshed together and smiling.

“Send that to me,” she says, gesturing at the image. And Seojun shrugs, pulling up the photo, and then tapping on the instagram app. “I’m already posting it,” he says. “But I can send it to you as well.”

Jugyeong tenses. “Why?” she asks. It doesn’t seem at all like something he would do. Almost all of Seojun’s posts on instagram are pictures from photoshoots or candids with his bandmates. The only photo posted of them is from all the way back in high school, and it’s in a multi-post with other graduation images.

“Some of the trainees were asking why I never post with my girlfriend,” he says, shrugging as if it’s not a big deal. But it is. It is a big deal. She hadn’t considered that the news that Seojun was dating someone would spread to the other trainees. And she’s not sure why the thought affects her so much.

Seojun taps on the post button, and Jugyeong watches it load for a moment, and then it’s done. Seojun clicks his phone shut, and then looks up at her, his expression neutral. Jugyeong wonders if she looks as shocked as she feels. She’d forgotten. And then she feels so stupid for forgetting. But she hadn’t thought they would have to pretend in front of anyone but Chae-ni. She hadn’t thought they were pretending at all.

“Did you still want me to send it to you?” he says.

And Jugyeong shakes her head. “That’s okay,” she says.

When she gets home, the photo already has several thousand likes, and several hundred comments. Several of them are from their school friends. “Finally!!!” one reads. And another, “Are you actually dating now??” Jugyeong throws the phone onto the bed, and lets out an irritated huff of breath. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And then she picks it up, pulling the photo up again. They look happy in it, she thinks, miserably. Seojun’s smile takes up his whole face, and his arm is wrapped tight around Jugyeong’s shoulder, and she’s leaning into him as if it were easy. It looks as if they really are dating. Jugyeong sighs, and then she’s scrolling back through his feed further, past all the more recent photos until she’d found the one she’d been thinking about earlier. In it, Seojun is in focus, grinning as he ruffles Jugyeong’s hair, while Jugyeong is in motion, turning to look up at him, her face all warped. “Aish,” Jugyeong says, closing the phone again, and rolling over. “What am I going to do?” she asks her ceiling.

Seojun collapses backward onto his bed. “What am I doing?” he asks the ceiling. When he opens the instagram app again, he’s flooded with comments, and he pushes the notification aside, closing the app almost immediately, choosing to just open the image in his pictures. What are you doing, Han Seojun? he thinks again. Did he think a picture of them would convince her? When he had posted it, she’d looked as if he’d punched her. Idiot. Why did he think that if he just tried hard enough, she would change her mind? Wishing didn’t make it true. He’d been wishing for a long time now.

He has a text from Cho-rong, and he pulls it open: How did it go???

Seojun looks at it for a moment, and then throws his phone to the floor. Bad, he thinks. It went badly.

Soo-ah peels the mask from her face, patting at her skin, looking ruminative. “But you aren’t really dating?”

Jugyeong shakes her head, wondering if she looks as sad about it as she feels.

Soo-ah is quiet for a moment, and then, “Why not?”

Jugyeong turns towards her, her hair flying out around her, her mouth falling open.“Why not?” Soo-ah repeats, drawing it out. “People have thought you were dating for forever. You’re so cute together it’s gross.”

“You’re one to talk,” Jugyeong mumbles under her breath.

“Ju,” Soo-ah says, grasping her arm and tugging on it. “Just do this. You know you want to.”

“He doesn’t like me like that,” Jugyeong insists, pulling her arm out from Soo-ah’s grip, and then ridding herself of her own mask. Normally, she likes the slimy feeling of the product, but just now it’s suffocating.

Soo-ah pulls up the instagram photo and waves it in Jugyeong’s face. “That was for show,” Jugyong says, batting it away. The sight of it still causes a swooping feeling in her stomach.

“He’s not an actor,” Soo-ah says, laughing, but seeing the look on Jugyeong’s face she quiets. “You’re really sad about this, huh?”

Something in her tone makes Jugyeong feel even more pathetic. She’d been trying for a middle ground of just vaguely pitiable. Girls night hadn’t been meant to be about this at all. Instead, she finds herself wiping at her eyes, trying to pretend she’s not crying. About not dating Han Seojun. What is is her life coming to? “I’ll just tell him we should fake break up,” she says, miserably.

“Aw, Im Ju,” Soo-ah says, putting an arm around her shoulders, and Jugyeong leans into her, thinking like a broken record about Seojun’s arms around her shoulders at the rink, how right it had felt. All of it was wonderful. And all of it was horrible. “We’ll have a fake mope about it once you’re broken up, and then we can get you a real new boyfriend, huh?”

But the thought brings no comfort. Jugyeong doesn’t want a real new boyfriend. She just wants the fake one to be real instead. That’s the problem.

They are sitting at the restaurant waiting for his bandmates to arrive, and Jugyeong is regarding her lap. Seojun looks at her, and then frowns, reaching out between them and poking her in the cheek. “Hey!” she cries, looking up,

“Are you nervous?” he asks her.

“No,” she snaps, and then she exhales, raising her hand and gesturing for a little bit.

“They’ll like you,” he says, confidently, tilting backwards in his chair. They will. People always like Jugyeong. But then he’s a bit biased.

He taps his fingers against the table as they wait. “I’m sorry,” Jugyeong says into the silence.

“Aish,” Seojun says. “Stop saying you’re sorry. It’s pissing me off.”

She blinks back at him, as if in surprise, but before he can say anything more, the two of them have arrived, dropping into the seats across from her. “So you do exist!” Sang-hoon cries. “We were beginning to think he made you up. A fantasy girl.”

Jugyeong shoots Seojun a look out of the corner of her eye, and Seojun coughs. “What are we ordering?” he says, looking off for the waitstaff.

“You shouldn’t be shy, Seojun,” Sang-hoon says. “Don’t you want to brag about your girlfriend? She’s pretty.”

Jugyeong flushes, and Seojun thinks, well, this is worse than I thought it would be, but then she pokes him in the arm. “Don’t you want to show off?” she asks him. There is something bashful about the way she says it, and he thinks back to the conversation they’d had years ago, when they’d talked about her and Suho, and while Seojun knows that if they were really dating he would never shut about her, they’re not, which makes it complicated, because it’s not like he wants her to think that he doesn’t want to show her off in particular, because he does, but the more demonstrative he is, the more the fake break up is going to hurt. And having to contemplate fake break ups makes him feel like a character in some melodrama, but well… he’s been pushed to the point of melodrama. But Jugyeong is already turning away, her smile fading, and he reaches over and ruffles her hair, making the decision in an instant. Consequences be damned.

She yelps, turning to glare at him.

“I’ve just been wanting to keep you all to myself,” he says. “It’s hard having such a pretty girlfriend, you know.”

“Sheesh,” she says, but her flush has darkened, and Seojun wants to say more, to watch her really blush, but he doesn’t really want to do it in front of his friends or when he’s meant to be faking it, and he settles for just tucking her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin before he pulls them back. “Is it not hard having a pretty boyfriend?”

The look she shoots him is equal parts exasperated and fond, and Seojun relaxes some, though there’s still a nervous energy within him that he doesn’t know how to channel. “Do I?” she asks. “Who?”

Ha-jun laughs. “I like her,” he says.

Seojun brandishes the menu. “She’s alright,” he says, reaching out and covering her hand with his own. They both look down at it, her hand dwarfed by his larger one, and then she flips her palm so she can intertwine their fingers, and the feeling of it is so acute that for a moment, the breath is stolen from him. I can have this, he reminds himself. Just for right now, I can have it.

But, “You didn’t have to be so touchy, you know,” Jugyeong says awkwardly when he is walking her back from the station after dinner, and, “Oh,” Seojun says, a lump building in his throat. “Sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“No, I,” she starts, and then stops. He stares at the profile of her face, the long fall of her gently curling hair, wanting to reach out for her even now. But there’s no one to pretend for here. “It’s alright,” she says, eventually. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to.”

I want to use my wish now, Seojun thinks, still staring. But he doesn’t. He keeps the wish buried inside instead. He feels it like a second heartbeat against his own.

Their high school friend group gets together around once a month for drinks, and Jugyeong is surprised when she receives the invite to the next one and is forced to acknowledge that a month has really passed. One month since she and Seojun had agreed to pretend to be dating. It feels like a lifetime. And also like no time at all.

“Im Jugyeong!” Hyun-Gu cries when she enters the bar “You came without your boyfriend!” He nods his head to Seojun who is already sitting in the corner of the booth. Ha-jun is sitting beside him, the two of them talking quietly. They all look up at her.

Jugyeong looks between the three of them.

And then Seojun shrugs at her, as if to say, what can you do? and Jugyeong already feels like she has a headache, but she forces her lips to smile. “We don’t go everywhere together, you know?” she says, sinking into the seat on the other side of Seojun.

Seojun smooths her hair back, smiling down at her, and Jugyeong resists the urge to shudder, or to lean like a cat into his touch, both of which would be embarassing. She settles instead for raising her hand to hold his on her shoulder. He grips her hand tighter, linking their fingers, and something inside her melts at the contact. She’d been yelled at twice today by two different clients, and she’s tired, and she’d really like to curl up against Seojun’s side, and pretend that they really are dating. But she can’t do that, because it would be taking advantage, and the not doing of it rushes over her all at once. Soo-ah gives her a sympathetic look, and Jugyeong tries to arrange her face into something more neutral.

“I always knew you two were going to date,” Hyun-Gu says, leaning back in his chair, and observing the two of them keenly.

“Sure you did,” Seojun responds, and when Jugyeong doesn’t respond, he shifts to look down at her. “Are you alright?” he says, under his breath.

“Mmm,” she hums. Seojun runs his thumb over the back of her hand, and there’s something both soothing and electric about the motion, and Jugyeong thinks, I’m so screwed, I’m so screwed, I’m so screwed. But she just taps his hand lightly in response with her pinky, and says, “I’ll have a bottle please.”

Jugyeong is drunk. But then so is Seojun. It’s made him seem more careless than usual. They’d moved locations from the bar to a dance club, Tae-hoon’s idea as he’s trying to fit in all the fun he can before he joins up next month and Soo-ah has always liked dancing, and they’re all on the dance floor now. Seojun’s hair is slicked back with sweat, and the neon lights cast his face in an array of colors. He’s wearing makeup again tonight, and his eyeliner has smudged beneath his eye. Jugyeong raises a hand to his face to wipe at it, but he catches her wrist before she can.

“What are you doing?” he asks her. It is hard to hear him over the sound of the music, and she steps closer.

“Just let me,” she says, fussing at him, and she reaches her hand again to his face, and he becomes very still. He seems even stiller next to the moving crowd, and Jugyeong feels like she can scarcely breathe as her fingers brush his skin. And then she’s wiped the smeared liner with her thumb, and it’s clear, and she moves to step back.

“Im Jugyeong,” he says though, and she halts.

She looks back up at him. “Dance with me?” he says.

“I thought we were,” she says, though they’ve both stopped moving. She swallows. “Weren’t we dancing?”

Seojun just shakes his head. “Nevermind,” he says, but Jugyeong grabs his wrist, almost surprised at herself, and moves it to her waist. “Like this?” she says, awkwardly.

Seojun swallows. His eyes look darker than usual. Maybe that’s just the lights. Or the alcohol. Jugyeong doesn’t know. But she lets her eyes tilt closed, feeling the music move her. And beside her, Seojun moves, too. Only this time, they are moving together.

When her eyes blink open again, his face is right next to hers, close enough that she can only see it in parts. An eye cast in green, his nose in blue, his mouth, parting as she watches, in red, and then she’s pushing onto her toes and kissing him. Her mouth presses firmly against his unmoving one, and the room spins, and Jugyeong thinks: what have I done? She feels horror wash over her, and she pulls back, raising a hand to her mouth. His eyes are wide. “Jugyeong,” he says, but she shakes her head, and darts away, feeling tears well in her eyes. She’s always the one messing everything up, she thinks. And now she’s gone and—

And then she’s outside in the cold air. She breathes it in deep into her lungs, gasping and gasping and gasping, and she thinks, stupid. Stupid to think she could do this and be okay. Stupid to think she could do this and not lose him. And she can’t, she can’t lose him.

“Jugyeong!” Seojun calls, pushing his way out onto the street, looking around for her. His lips are still tingling, and his heart is beating too fast in his chest. “Im Jugyeong!” he calls louder, and then he’s turning, and there she is, her hand raised for a taxi, her cheeks pink from the cold, her eyes blurred. Is she crying? he thinks, distressed, starting towards her.

She jumps when she sees him coming towards her, and Seojun pauses, feeling guilty. “Let me take you home,” he says.

But Jugyeong just shakes her head, avoiding looking at him. She regrets it, Seojun thinks, his heart sinking. Of course she does. It was stupid to hope. Stupid to think it was anything but the rush of alcohol and proximity. But then he was always being stupid about this. “Im Jugyeong,” he says, and she sways. How drunk is she? he thinks. Aish, but he’s drunk too. “Let me take you home.”

She looks back at him, her eyes wide, and then she nods, and he raises his hand and a taxi comes forward, and then he’s shuttling her inside, and closing the door behind them.

As the taxi makes its way through the streets, the lights blur, and Seojun’s eyes flicker open and then closed. Jugyeong falls against him, burying her face in his shoulder. And his hand raises to touch her hair. I love you, I love you, I love you, he thinks. But the words remain stuck in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles against his coat, and his heart freezes.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks finally, but when he looks down at her, he sees she’s already fallen asleep, and the question goes unanswered. Why are you sorry when I’m not sorry at all?

When Seojun wakes, it’s to Mrs. Im peering down at him. “Are you eating with us our Seojun?” she asks, smiling. It is too early and too bright for this kind of inspection, and Seojun blinks several times trying to bring the night before back.

“Let him sleep,” Jugyeong snaps, and when he looks up, there she is, standing, arms crossed, in their kitchen. She’s bare-faced and in sweatpants, her glasses pushed up into her hair, and she… She kissed him last night. Seojun feels a flush spread through his whole body.

“I’m awake,” he says, pushing to sitting, rubbing at his eyes.

“Help Jugyeong get the table then,” Mrs. Im says, pushing him off towards Jugyeong with a wink. He smiles back at her, but when he turns to Jugyeong, she’s worrying at her hands, folding them in on themselves. And Seojun is hungover and in bright yellow sweatpants that belong to her father, and this is not how he’d thought he’d have this conversation at all.

But, “Let’s get the table,” she says, and he just nods and follows after her. It’s better to do it in private anyway, he thinks.

“Im Jugyeong,” he says, once they are in the hall, the table in hand.

“Do you have it?” she asks, avoiding his eyes.

“Jugyeong,” he repeats. She looks up at him, wide-eyed, and he thinks again of the miserable way she had said, I’m sorry, last night. She regrets it, he thinks again, the thought like a stone in his stomach. What was the point of saying anything? Things hadn’t changed at all. But of course they had. How could they not? “We should talk about last night.”

“What happened last night?” she says. “I blacked out. I don’t remember anything after we left the bar.”

Her expression is obstinate, and while Seojun knows that she’s lying, he has no clue what he’s meant to say in response to that. How in the world is he meant to say: well, actually you kissed me and I’m wondering what in the world that meant and if we could do it again, but sober this time, and also, if we could finally stop pretending to date and just get to it? All of it makes him sound like a total asshole. So, “Tae-hoon and Soo-ah are back together,” he says instead. It’s nothing. It’s nothing, and yet somehow it still hurts.

He hadn’t thought it was possible, but Jugyeong’s expression drops further. “Oh?” she says though, giving him an absentminded smile. And Seojun smiles, too, even though he feels like his heart is breaking, and says, “Mmm, yes,” and they carry the table the rest of the way down.

“You’re coming to our Hee-kyung’s wedding, are you not?” Eomma asks Seojun. The question sounds pointed, and Jugyeong glares at her. But then her mother hasn’t given up hope that Jugyeong and Seojun might end up together, even if Jugyeong has. She can never find out about the pretend dating, Jugyeong thinks. She would be so insufferable about it.

Seojun looks uncomfortable, but nods. “With Gowoon,” he says. He fiddles with his chopsticks, and while he’s not purposefully avoiding looking at Jugyeong, she knows, she still feels like he is. She worries at her lip. She’s really messed things up this time. Every time she thinks she can’t make it worse, she does.

“And what about Jugyeong?”

Jugyeong startles. “What?” she asks. “I’m going with Juyoung.” She points at her brother, who gives her a look.

“Why would I go with you?” he asks. “I’m going with Gowoon.”

“She won’t go with you,” Seojun retorts.

“How do you know?”

Seojun raises a finger, and then, “Ask just once,” he says, sternly. “If she says no, then it’s a no.”

Juyoung’s face morphs with delight, and he leaps up from the table. “She won’t say no,” he declares and then rushes out as if to go and ask her right now. Jugyeong stares up at him in astonishment. And then she looks back at Seojun, who is watching him with the same type of bemused surprised,his lips quirking up. He looks over at her and she smiles back at him. She wonders what it’s like to be that carefree with your emotions. To not be so afraid of getting hurt.

Eomma looks between the two of them. “You should go together then,” she says, clasping her hands together. “It’ll be perfect.”

“Eomma,” Jugyeong says though, shaking her head as a warning. Beside her Seojun is quiet, and the topic changes, but after breakfast, Jugyeong walks him out to the street, a bag of food clutched in her hand. “You don’t have to go with me,” she says. “Besides, I’m doing the makeup so it will be more like work than anything.”

Seojun puts his hands in the pocket of his jacket. The dark wool of his coat against her father’s bright sweatsuit is funny, though Jugyeong can’t even bring herself to tease him about it. She feels miserable. He nods. “Alright,” he says.

She holds out the bag for him, and he takes it. “Im Jugyeong,” he says. “Do you really not remember?”

“I don’t,” Jugyeong says, her voice too high. She lowers it. “Remember what?”

Seojun looks at her a moment more, and then shakes his head. “Nevermind,” he says, and Jugyeong watches him walk down the street, his shadow growing longer behind him, and it’s only when he’s gone and she’s back inside the gate that she lets herself break down. How will they ever come back from this? she thinks. All she seems to be able to do is push him away.

Seojun tries to think of the wedding as work too, like Jugyeong said, but he’s not doing very well. “You look like you’re going to a funeral,” Gowoon mutters under her breath. “Cheer up.”

He gives her a nasty grin, and she screws up her face at him in response, finishing her text and then pocketing her phone. “Gowoon!” he hears an adoring voice cry from afar, and he shudders, watching as Juyoung makes his way around the corner near a running pace. Gowoon gives him a disgusted look, but holds out her hand for him to take. “Don’t be embarrassing,” she tells him.

Juyoung zips his mouth closed with one hand, and takes hers with the other, his smile spread wide across his face. Gowoon shakes her head, but pulls him afterwards towards the buffet, and Seojun supremely doesn’t get it, but they seem happy. And somehow Im Juyoung has secured a date to the wedding when he has not. Perhaps he should be less judgemental.

He hears someone calling his name, and he looks up and sees Jugyeong making her way towards him, and he might as well be back in the courtyard at Saebom High or in the coffee shop where they’d used to work part-time or in any of the hundreds of locations where he’s been blown away by her. He swallows. He’s exactly like Juyoung, he thinks. It’s not the first time he’s thought it. He’s just as embarrassing.

And then she’s upon him. “Hi,” she says, breathlessly. “You came.”

“Mmm,” he says.

“It’s been awhile,” she says, rocking back and forth on her heels. He’s been avoiding her, because he knows what she’s going to say. He hums again, looking over her shoulder at the wedding photos. “They really love each other, huh?” he says.

“Mm,” Jugyeong agrees. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s nice,” he says. It’s not a position that he would normally take, but then he’s feeling sentimental today. And Jugyeong is quiet for a moment, though he can feel her eyes on him, and he wonders, as he so often does, what she is thinking. But, “Yeah,” she says after a moment. “It’s nice.”

During the ceremony, Jugyeong cries, but so does Seojun because it’s stupidly touching to watch how in love they are, and she laughs at his tears, but takes his hand and though there’s no one there that thinks they’re dating, Seojun keeps it clasped in his, already dreading the moment he has to let go.

But, “I think we should break up,” Jugyeong says several days after the wedding. “You’re debuting next week, and…” she trails off. And you’ll be wanting to move on from this.

She wonders if it will upset him, but, “She’ll start giving you shit again,” is all Seojun says, his expression indecipherable. And Jugyeong thinks, what are you thinking, what are you thinking, what are you thinking?

“I know,” she says, folding her hands in front of her. “I just can’t do this anymore.” And she can’t. She feels like she’s losing her mind. And more than anything, she needs to move on. It’s already going to be hard enough with his debut.

Seojun’s face shutters. “Ah,” he says. “Right.”

“And I know that it’s not fair to you,” she adds. “Especially with, well you know.”

“Im Jugyeong,” Seojun starts, and then he falls silent, and Jugyeong wonders if she’s meant to say something else, but then, “Alright,” he says, picking up his chopsticks next and starting on the noodles.

“Alright then,” she says, but it feels like she’s swallowed something terrible, and she wants all of a sudden to take it back. But she doesn’t at all know how.

They finish with dinner, and when Seojun comes back from paying the check, his hands in the pocket of his coat, he calls her name, and she looks up, bleary. She hadn’t been moping in front of him, had she? “Huh?” she asks.

He shifts back and forth on his feet, looking like he’s about to say something he thinks he will regret. Maybe he’s going to tell her he doesn’t think they should be friends anymore. That was what she’d been so afraid of in the first place. And it’s seeming more and more likely by the second. “Do you remember back in high school,” he says though. “The girl I said I liked.”

The sinking feeling in Jugyeong’s stomach returns, stronger than ever, and she frowns. “The one with the boyfriend,” she says though, nodding. “Did you see her again? Do you still like her?”

Seojun looks pained, but then he nods. “Ah,” Jugyeong says. “It’s good that we’re breaking up then.” She wipes her hands on her jeans and stands. “So you can tell her now.”

She tries not to think too hard about Seojun confessing to another woman. I have high standards, he’d said when he’d first described the girl to Jugyeong. It was the only hint he’d ever given her about his type, and she hasn’t forgotten, not when she knows that she herself could never live up to those standards.“Good luck then!” She tries to offer him a cheery grin, but Seojun only looks more confused, and Jugyeong supposes it must not have been very convincing.

“Do you really not know?” he asks. He is frowning.

Jugyeong thinks about it. For all the female attention Seojun gets, he doesn’t really spend a lot of time around that many girls. “Is it actually Soo-ah?” she asks. Soo-ah is beautiful of course, but she wouldn’t really think that she was Seojun’s type.

“Aish,” Seojun says, and then pushes past her out into the night. Jugyeong stares after him, and then she follows after him. “Seojun-ah. Han Seojun!”

She wants to stop him. But more than anything, she wants to tell him. To tell him that if she could, she would do it all over again. She’d do it all differently. And she’d do it exactly the same. She has so much to say and no words for any of it. I like you, she thinks. I like you so much. And I have no idea at all how to tell you. She’s messed this whole thing up. All of it. And then he turns to look back at her, and he looks just as wrecked as she feels inside. “I’m sorry,” he says.

And Jugyeong blinks back at him. “Why are you—”

And then he’s striding forward, and kissing her. His hands are cupping her face in his palms. And Jugyeong makes a sound against his mouth, so surprised that she can’t react for a moment, but when he makes to move back, she brings her hands up to his, trapping him against her. And then she’s pressing onto her toes, and kissing him back. His mouth softens in surprise, and this time, when he pulls back again, she lets him. “Jugyeong,” he says, his eyes wide.

��Let’s not break up,” Jugyeong says, shaking her head. It’s the only thing she can think to say.

And Seojun huffs a laugh, and that, his laugh, feels like she’s won a prize, the best, most wonderful prize. He smiles at her, and she’s close enough that she can watch just his lips do it, and she does, her gaze going hazy. He brushes her hair back from her face. “Should we not?” he asks.

She looks back up at him. And then nods. Then she startles. “The girl,” she says, her hands fluttering. She had forgotten in the face of the kiss, but he’d just told her, he’d just told her and then she’d—

Seojun laughs, and then he leans close to her until his lips are right back against his ear. “The girl is you,” he says, “Idiot,” and then he closes the distance fully, pressing his lips to her neck right beneath her ear. It tickles, and Jugyeong laughs, but she also thinks: do it again. Do it again but longer, deeper, more. It’s a type of hunger that she’s unfamiliar with.

Seojun pulls back, and while his expression is put upon, he also looks lighter. As if a weight has been lifted. Jugyeong feels that way, too. As if she’s floating on air

When she looks up, she sees that the grey sky has opened up and snow has begun to fall. “Seojun-ah,” she exclaims. “Look.”

The first snowfall. The day for wishing. She has known for months now what wish she would make when the snow finally fell. She points up at the sky, but Seojun’s hand covers hers, pulling it down and tucking that hand against his chest. She can feel his heartbeat against her palm.

“It’s beating fast,” she says. And while her gaze is on the snow, she can feel him, warm, against her skin.

“Mmm,” he says. “I want to use my wish now.”

Jugyeong turns fully towards him. “What could you possibly wish for?” she asks, softening.

And, “Nothing,” he says. And then they’re kissing again. And Jugyeong thinks, me, too. This was my wish, too.

#true beauty #seojun x jugyeong #team seojun #han seojun #im jugyeong #fake dating #my writing #my version of the ending lmao #some things have changed

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buckysdolls · 3 years

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Chapter 5

Fel’s POV-

“Bucky don’t walk away from me! James! James!” I shouted hot on Bucky’s heels as he walked down the hallway. Tony had F.R.I.D.A.Y call everyone into the living room for a meeting. I stopped in my tracks as Bucky had slammed the door shut before I could enter. I scoffed at his immaturity, why was he being so off with me? He had ignored my attempts to talk and wouldn’t make any eye contact with me at all. As soon as Tony summoned us I was at Bucky’s door waiting for him to come but he just carried on as if I weren’t there. In the same moment Sam appeared next to me, wide eyed and thinned lips.

“I was going to go in an annoy birdbrain. I think I’ll wait a little while.” I sighed heavy and pouted my lips.

“What’s up with him Fel?” Sam asked, we continued to walk up to the door which he opened for me letting me enter first.

“Such a gentleman!” I yelled out on purpose to capture Bucky’s attention, he scrunched up his face

“Real mature” I muttered under my breath. Sam and I continued to walk to other side of the living room slumping back in our seats.

“He’s been off with me ever since the other night at the club. He mentioned he didn’t like anyone else touching me except him. He hasn’t spoken to me since. And quite frankly its R.U.D.E” I emphasised the words ‘rude’ giving daggers to Bucky, so he knew it was aimed at him. Once again Bucky mocked me this time with an eye roll.

“He finally told you huh?” Sam said rather chipper with a big grin forming on his face as he looked at me, I responded with a puzzled look.

“Told me what Sam?” I whispered gripping onto Sam’s arm.

“How the big doofus feels about you. Or did he not mention that?” Sam quietly responded rushing the latter part of the sentence as his big grin faded his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape.

“What do you mean?” I shot up in my seat still holding onto Sam’s arm, Sam took a glance at my arms before picking it off him and placing it over his shoulder bringing me into him, I knew Bucky was observing us and Sam was doing this to annoy him. I smacked Sam’s chest as hard as I could before removing my arms and chuckling.

“Don’t aggravate him even more Sam!” I muttered trying to disguise my laughter at Sam being an idiot as Tony entered the living room.

“Due to our recent success, thanks to our wonderful Felicity and the rest of the team, I’m throwing a party tonight! Lot’s of drink, dancing and fun.”

“A Stark party is music to my ears” Natasha declared clapping her hands together. I watched as everyone cracked smiles at Tony’s announcement, except I had to work which was a bummer. I slowly raised my hand signalling I wanted to speak.

“Sweet Fel, what it is?”

“I’m afraid I have to work tonight. Friday’s are my late shifts”

“Nope, not today. I had F.R.I.D.A.Y reschedule your appointment and work commitments.” Everyone dispersed, I watched as Bucky approached Tony asking if any missions were available. Much to my pleasure Tony declared there were non and he should go punch a gym bag if he need to release some steam. I nodded at Tony to say thank you for sorting it for me and allowing me to attend the party. I’d moved over to the sofa and flicked through my social media seeing as my workday was over, Sam jumped over the sofa and plonked himself next to me handing me a can of Cola.

“Thanks”

“No problem Fel. So, a party huh, your opportunity to get drunk and spill all your feelings to Bucky!”

I coughed at Sam’s comment spitting out the drink I had just taken a swig of.

“I am a responsible young lady Sam. One’s days of getting incredibly drunk are over” I mocked giving myself a posh accent holding my can of cola with the pinky finger extended.

“You’re going to get wasted aren’t you” Sam sighed, shaking his head as I nodded my head smiling.

“Absolutely”

“You surprise me everyday”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re full of surprises. First your talent of listening to a bunch of misfits. Secondly your impeccable skills in the gym and now you’re a secret party animal!” Sam counted each one on his fingers.

“Well, it’s not everyday you get invited to a Stark party” Sam nodded in agreement and began to mumble under his breath.

“No wonder Bucky loves you”

“What did you just say”

“What I said was… no…wonder… Bucky…” I raised my eyebrows at Sam who was rubbing his lips and speaking so slowly trying to figure out what he could say to cover up what he said. My impatient ass interrupted Sam knowing exactly what he’d said.

“You said… no wonder Bucky loves me”

“I said that!?” Sam acted surprised pointing to him and then dramatically looking over his shoulders.

“I need to take a shot” I walked away to the liquor cabinet and gasped trying to comprehend what Sam had just let slip. Inside my stomach was doing flips, it felt like fireworks were exploding. The feeling in my gut telling me there was something between Bucky and I from the moment I saw him in the doorway was right. Suddenly the cogs in my braid began to work as I realised why Bucky didn’t want me on the previous mission and then what he meant about nobody else touching me. I needed to get so drunk to be able to deal with this and have the confidence to address this if it was all true.

Later

“Brainbird! Heads up tonight.” Sam spoke as he adjusted his bowtie catching Bucky’s attention as he slicked his hair back.

“I may… or may not… have told Fel you’re in love with her.”

Bucky closed his eyes for a second and tilting his head processing Sam’s words. “You did what?”

“I did say may not have!” Sam pointed out shaking his finger in Bucky’s face. Sam tried to adjust Bucky’s tie in an attempt to change the subject.

“You did tell her didn’t you?” Bucky asked looking down at Sam.

Sam simply nodded slowly, pursing his lips waiting for Bucky’s reaction. Bucky slapped Sam’s hand away from his tie and slumping his head in his hands

“Shit!” Bucky muttered; Sam quickly took off running from Bucky’s room.

At the Party

I sat at the bar in Stark tower, the music was pumping, the drink was flowing generously and the chatter amongst the attendees created the perfect party vibe. I was mildly tipsy and enjoying people waching. I searched the room, Nat and Banner were flirting with each other at the other end of the bar which made me incredibly happy to see them together enjoying each other’s happiness. Thor, Sam, Bucky, and Steve conversed looking deep in conversation, probably stroking their own egos discussing who was the strongest Avenger. I looked over to the elevator when my ex-boyfriend stepped out, with another man next to him. They both stood behind another man.

“Fuck!” I mumbled to myself, downing the contents of my drink, plus the person’s drink who was standing next to me at the bar. I stood up adjusting my dress, I was wearing a tight baby pink mini dress, the thin straps crossed at the back, and a side split that would ride my dress up, pulling down at the hem of my dress and composing myself I quickly slid out of shot of my ex and creeped over to the group where Bucky was.

“Darling Felicity! You look most ravishing tonight!” Thor yelled out holding out his arms clearly drunk, I gave Thor a quick smile that probably looked sarcastic, but I had not time for Thor’s flirtations. Motioning with my head and wiggling my finger at Bucky to follow me he picked up his whiskey, adjusted his blazer and excused himself from the guys following me over to the corner of the room.

“Are you done ignoring me?”

“Huh” Bucky grunted, looking as if he wanted to be with anyone except me. I huffed and knocked back the rest of Bucky’s drink. He looked confused but oddly impressed, smirking as I put the glass down and wiped my mouth.

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend” I blurted out, pulling the most sour face as the taste of Bucky’s whiskey burned my throat.

“What if I don’t want to just pretend?”

“What?” Did I just hear that correctly? Before I could even comprehend what Bucky had said the annoying voice of my ex made the hairs on my skin stand up and crawl. I looked up at Bucky searching his eyes for hope he would go along with this plan before turning to face Xander with the fakest smile…as if I were happy to see him.

“Fel! How wonderful to know you’re alive? Dodging my calls for the past 6 months”

“Erm, yeah” I smacked my lips before snaking my arm around Bucky’s waist and settling my hand on his chest. Bucky gently squeezed me; the squeeze reassured me knowing Bucky was playing along.

“I’ve been busy Xander, there’s lots of work to be done”

“Oh yeah? I bet there’s lots of work to do … fucking all The Avengers must be pretty hard work.” Xander spat taking a flute of champagne from a tray as it walked past and smirking. His words shocked me and all I could think about was wiping that smirk off his face.

“Excuse me!” I questioned

“What did you just say to her!” Bucky questioned as he suddenly let go of me and got in Xander’s face. Xander sniggered, sizing up Bucky, knowing he stood no chance in this fight. Bucky’s protectiveness turned me on so much and made me weak, yet I knew I couldn’t allow this to cause a scene, Xander would love it if I got heat in the company.

“Bucky stand down.” I said holding Bucky’s hand pulling him back into me.

“There’s a good boy, do as your told” Xander mocked insinuating Bucky was a dog and gesturing to pat him on the head. Well… what’d ya know, Bucky was angry. Bucky stroked his beard and thinned his lips before raising his metal fist and throwing a punch at Xander, laying him out. Bucky began to climb on top of Xander ready to throw a second punch, thankfully being stopped by Steve who caught Bucky’s hand. Woah Bucky was so hot when he was angry. My thoughts were distracted as Tony and Xander’s people arrived on the scene.

“What the hell is going on here!” Xander’s boss flipped as he looked at Xander knocked out on the floor. Bucky wiped back the hair from his face that had fallen there from his sudden movement. Stark encouraged everyone to continue enjoying themselves and that there was nothing to see here.

“Bucky! Fel! Hallway now!” Tony calmingly said trying to maintain the light-hearted mood of the party, but deep-down seething inside. We made our way out to the hallway where Tony shoved Bucky to the wall holding him by the collar of his shirt.

“Tony. It was may fault!” I yelled trying to defuse the tension between them, placing a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“His boss is one of my business partners Barnes! You can’t go around throwing punches at the first person who say’s the slightest thing that angers you.” Tony continued to speak retreating from Bucky. I sighed in relief knowing Tony wasn’t going to harm him.

“He was Felicity’s ex-boyfriend and he accused Fel of fucking all of us. I couldn’t stand there and hear him talk shit about her!” Bucky yelled throwing his flesh fist into the wall, it reminded me of the first time I’d met him when he’d punched the countertop in anger. Bucky winced as he traced the cuts that had formed on his knuckles. Tony sighed and rubbed his forehead in exasperation realising Bucky may have had a legitimate reason for his outburst.

“Fel, take Sargent Barnes home.”

“Tony I’m sorry this happened” I whimpered biting the inside of my cheek to control any tears that wanted to fall.

“You have nothing to apologise for Felicity. I’ll make sure he’s delt with accordingly. Please ensure Barnes is seen too” Tony cupped one side of my face smiling sweetly before downing his drink and heading back into the party.

Back at the compound

The car journey home and ride up in the elevator was silent, Bucky just constantly played with his hands and wincing in pain as he pressed his cuts and bruises that started to form. I walked side by side with Bucky into the kitchen, throwing my bag on the kitchen counter watching as Bucky leaned against the countertop, his roughed-up hair hanging over face. I approached Bucky calmly, reaching for his hand to look at it. Bucky opened his legs, pulling me into his embrace. His hands settling on my hips as they did once before, his read resting on my shoulder. My thoughts returned to Bucky’s hand, I needed to get a damp cloth. I tried to leave Bucky’s grip, but he held on to me tightly refusing he hummed softly inferring that he didn’t want to let go

I chuckled sweetly “Bucky I need to get a damp cloth for your cuts, wipe the blood.” I began to run my finger through his hair which he seemed to like as an occasional moan left his lips.

“I meant what I said Felicity” His words caught me off guard. I stopped playing with the end of his hair, causing him to lift his head up and lock eyes with me.

“I know Bucky”

“I don’t want to just pretend. I don’t want to watch other men putting their filthy paws over you Fel. I can’t take this unspoken tension between us anymore.”

“Hey, Bucky all of that was fake!” Bucky’s hands cupped my cheeks, I leaned into his touch closing my eyes and smiling as I melted.

“You’re so beautiful Fel. I wish you saw you the way I see you” Bucky guided my head to rest on his forehead, our lips were inches apart, I was begging for him to kiss me, biting my lip we locked eyes once more before he placed his lips on me. The kiss started slow and delicate, my stomach exploding with butterflies. The longer we kissed the more lustful it became, Bucky had turned me around and hoisted me up on to the kitchen counter, he had one hand gripping the back of my neck whilst the other roamed up my thigh getting closer to my sweet spot. My hands were lost, gripping onto his hair as I moaned through the excitement as his kisses made its way down my neck and across my collarbone. My dress was low enough for Bucky to be able to place lustful kisses along the top of my cleavage slowly working towards my breasts. I moaned out Bucky’s name in pleasure. Suddenly, I remembered where I was. At work. I stopped Bucky from going further by lifting his head up, allowing us to catch our breath.

“Bucky, this is my workplace. I can’t do this” I sighed knowing all I wanted was Bucky and yet my responsible side took over.

“This is your home Fel.”

I jumped off the kitchen counter creating space between me and Bucky.

“I’m here because of my job. I have to be professional”

“So, what you can’t have life?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows with a smirk as he grabbed my arm pulling me back into him. I couldn’t resist that damn smirk of his.

“You’re hot when you’re angry” I said biting my lip trying to hide my smile.

“You wouldn’t have said that a few years ago if you knew me.” Bucky’s face and tone became serious as he seemed to think about his past.

“If someone spoke those words…”

I cut off Bucky by placing a kiss on his lips knowing he was getting irritated thinking about the past him. Pulling away I reassured him he didn’t have to think of that time.

“We don’t need to talk about that right now Bucky. I know that person wasn’t you. Besides, I only know this version of Bucky and he’s seems like a pretty nice guy… a few anger issues but I can work with that” We both chuckled as I tried to make light of the situation.

“I don’t know what it is Felicity but there’s something about you.”

“That you love?” I questioned, referring to Sam’s earlier slip up as I grabbed a cloth soaking it under tap.

“Hmm, I wondered when that would come up.” Bucky hugged me from behind as he let me wipe the blood away from his injured hand.

“And he calls me the birdbrain” Bucky muttered under his breath, his head snuggled into my neck, his chin resting on my shoulder.

#bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x oc #sebastian stan #the avengers #the winter soldier #the white wolf #marvel #bucky barnes imagine #marvel universe #avengers

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bourbonboredom · 4 years

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A Reason To Believe Chapter 14

Being an undercover officer is a perilous job and Flip Zimmerman knows this far too well. He keeps his romantic life limited to one-night stands, never letting anyone get too close. That all starts to change when he meets a vivacious Jewish woman named Elle just as he’s about to take on a seriously dangerous undercover job; infiltrating the KKK. Elle and his undercover work make him question things he’d never thought to before and challenge him to see the world, and himself, in a whole new light.

A Flip x OC Fic

Word Count: 3,817

Warnings: none

The night is gone

The light has come

A new day has begun

The weather is clear

And people are here

And morning's here

Calling everyone

(x)

The office is always a little quieter after an undercover mission is completed. Usually because the mountains of paperwork leave little time for chitchat. There was less of a busy feeling in the air though in the weeks after the explosion, it was more of simmering tension.

The case had been declared shut just a few days after the attack, but not because Ron or Flip felt it was done. Chief Bridges had made the declaration, finding the klan no longer posing a threat after the death of three members. It was bullshit and everyone knew it. To make things more outrageous, Bridges said he wanted everything to do with the case destroyed.

Flip was furious. He'd wound up walking out of the office before Bridges had stopped talking. This wasn't fair, this wasn't over. Just because three died doesn't mean there wasn't still a whole chapter in Colorado Springs left. Or that Duke wasn't still running hundreds of other chapters. No one was safer from anything happening.

Him and Ron barely looked at each other the rest of the day, both to angry to even talk about with with one another. The boxes that contained evidence were now siting next to his trash can, they weren't of any use to the case if there wasn't even going to be a case of record. The second he was off is shift he'd stormed out of the building, racing to get home.

He'd packed up some essentials from his house; clothes, documents, his photos and army memorabilia, and put it in the trunk of his car. With the organization knowing his residence, he couldn't live there anymore. He'd find a new place to live in the next few days, there were bound to be apartments with vacancies. In the meantime, he could rent a motel room or crash on Jimmy's couch, or something.

As he sat in his car, his mind wandered to Elle. At least this would give him more time to be with her. Maybe she'd let him spend the night more often, let him hold her close and tell him that things would work out.

He started his car and headed in the direction of her apartment. He'd probably get to her place before she got off work, but she didn't mind him hanging around there now. She gave him a key after all. He unlocked her front door, pulled a Coors from the fridge and sat on the couch, processing the days events.

Elle got home a half hour later. She was dressed in her shirt and pants with her necklace secured back around her neck with a new chain. She looked happy to see him, but her face feel after she saw his expression.

"Hey, is everything okay?" She pried off her shoes and sat beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"The chief closed the case even though he knows the organization is still a threat. He wants us to erase it from record. Everything about the klan must go," He mumbled. He knows he shouldn't tell her, but he doesn't give a fuck.

"What?" Her voice was full of shock, partially from the news and partially because he'd actually told her what was going on. "Why would he do that?"

"Who knows. But it's over, I gotta cut ties with the organization. And probably move because they know where I live now,"

"One, fuck your boss. He's an idiot and I'd give him a piece of my mind if you'd let me," She started.

"My boss can't know that you know about all this," He interjected.

"I know. But he's an idiot for shutting that down. You and Ron were doing great things." She rested her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. "And two, move in with me,"

"What?" He wasn't sure he heard her correctly.

"Move in with me, you practically live here anyways. There's enough room for two people, and I'm ready for it if you are,"

"Aren't you worried about what people are gonna say? What your landlord could say? Most people around here don't live together until they're married,"

"It's my apartment and there's nothing in my lease that says anything about it. I don't care what people will have to say, it's our life not theirs," She broke into a sly smile after her statement. "Besides, what are they gonna do? Call the cops?"

He cracked a smile and swooped her into a kiss.

"I love you," He murmured against her lips

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a yes,"

He heart felt full. The abrupt ending for the case was awful, and he knew he'd feel that way for a long time. But now he knew he'd be coming home to her every night. He held her against his chest, his heart beat feeling even as he calmed down. He was going to be able to get through this, get through anything, with Elle next to him.

----------

Weeks later, the office was starting to get back to normal. The holiday season was starting up, putting everyone in a better mood despite the air growing colder and snow starting to fall.

It was the end of November, and staying true to his promise, Flip was ready to celebrate the first night of Hanukkah with Elle. He noticed more than usual this year how Christmas completely dominated the season. He could count the number of menorahs he saw around town on one hand, and nothing was marketed in stores for the holiday.

He picked Elle up at the hospital that night, the two of them were going grocery shopping to pick up ingredients to make latkes. He remembered his grandparents making them when him and his parents stayed over for a few days. His mother refused to make them for him when he asked for them after.

Elle had told him that Hanukah wasn't a huge deal for her family either. It was a quiet holiday for her parents in Germany, especially right before the Second World War broke out.

"It wasn't until they got to America that Hanukkah became a big thing," She had explained to him a couple of days ago. "The rabbi at temple wanted the community to be involved and have something to look forward to in the winter, like how Christians had Christmas. So we'd give little gifts to one another and play dreidel and stuff."

He was kind of excited to celebrate with her. After turning down Yom Kippur and Sukkot, he'd felt a little guilty. At the time, he didn't think much of it. But after being faced with hate day in and day out, he wanted to learn more about his culture.

And so here he was, pulling his car up to the curb so that Elle could jump in from the snow currently falling around them. She greeted him with a kiss, her cold nose touching his cheek as she did, and they drove out to the store.

It was late afternoon and the store was quiet. It was only a week or so after thanksgiving, and a month until Christmas, so the shelves were well-stocked during the holiday lull. They strolled down the aisles, Elle reading from list she'd pulled from her jacket pocket.

Sour cream

Applesauce

Onion

Potato

It was simple enough, but that didn't stop them from messing around. When Elle sent him to get a tub of Daisy sour cream, he came back to her trying to reach a jar of applesauce on the top shelf.

He could have easily grabbed it for her, but instead opted to come up behind her and left her in the air. She let out a yelp and nearly elbowed him in the face until she saw it was just her boyfriend. She rolled her eyes, laughed, and grabbed the glass jar, asking to be put back in solid ground.

He set her back down and spun her around to give her a kiss. Normally he hated watching other people's PDA, but he could barely keep his hands off her. She broke the kiss and rubbed her nose against his.

"Come on Romeo, we've gotta get cooking by sundown, let's finish up here,” She hooked a finger on his belt, drawing him closer as she continued in a hushed voice. "We've got the night to ourselves, be patient and you might get a reward later,"

"Oh? What kind of reward?" He rested his hand on the small of her back, subtly drifting lower.

"It's something small. And lacy. You'll have to unwrap me to find out," He let out a short breath as she spoke, looking around to make sure no one heard that.

"Trouble," He gave her a light smack on her ass as she started walking toward the produce section.

"Only for you," She called back to him.

Only for him. All for him.

She had him grab onions while she looked for the best bag of potatoes. He put the newly-filled paper bag into their basket and started to head back over. He'd come up behind Elle, resting his hand on the small of her back to let her know he was there. He looked around the store as he waited, watching as a few people went by with their own groceries.

Suddenly, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to see a familiar face looking at him from down the aisle.

A brunette was watching the two of them, her cart stationary as though she stopped to stare. It took a second to place her, but he remembered. She was from the klan bar out in the country. She was the one who wanted him to dance.

He stared back, waiting to see if she knew who he was. He couldn't quite place her expression. Elle didn't notice the interaction. She had turned to face him, tugging his sleeve to let him know she was finished. The woman's gaze shifted from their faces to their necks.

After the case was over, Flip had retrieved his necklace from his desk, returning it to its rightful place around his throat. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and Elle's uniform showed off her own Star of David. The woman's mouth drew tight and she walked off, not giving them a second look.

He thought about it all through the check out line and on the car ride home. That woman, who had spent nights on end checking him out at the bar, had just turned her nose up at him because of a necklace. Of course, he didn't want or need her attention, spending most of those nights purposefully avoiding her. What was bothering him was that without knowing a single thing about it besides his heritage, the woman had gone from pursuing him to being repulsed by him. The case was over, people had died or gone to jail, but the hatred still persisted. Had anything really changed?

He helped Elle unpack everything onto the counter, and she set him to work peeling and grating the potatoes as she diced an onion. The radio played in the background, thankfully the Christmas music hadn't started yet so it was just the regular rotation of pop music. Some pop group belted out their ballad as they worked in silence.

He handed over the peeled and grated potatoes to Elle, who was wiping her eyes with the corner of a towel, the onions proving to be potent. She mixed the two together with an egg. She instructed him to set a pan on the stove and turn on the heat. She formed patties with her hands and put oil in the pan, letting the latke crackle as it met the heat.

"You've been quiet, you got something on your mind?" She asked as she turned one over. Perfect golden brown.

"It's probably nothing. But I saw someone from the investigation at the grocery store this afternoon. A woman who frequented a bar the klan hung out at," He divulged.

"Do you think she recognized you?"

"I don't know, I couldn't tell honestly. But I think she saw my necklace. She was friendly before, when she thought I was Ron Stallworth, a brother. But she took one look at the necklace and suddenly it was like I was a piece of gum on the street,"

She turned the heat off and moved the pan to a different burner. She hopped on the counter, extending her arms to motion for him to come closer. He obliged, wrapping his arms around her frame, resting his head on her shoulder. Her arms reached up, embracing him. One hand ran through his hair in a soothing motion.

"People suck. She sucks," She said

"I just don't know if the case was even worth it. Sure, we got some good intel and some suffered consequences. But most of them are still out there, just living life. Ron told me he saw a cross burning from his apartment the other night. It's like nothing has really changed,"

"You changed,"

Her words confused him. He look at her, brows furrowed.

"When I met you, before this whole case started, you didn't seem to care too much. About who you were, where you came from, what others were doing in the world. This case changed you. I don't know what went on most of the time, or what you heard or saw but you'd come home angry and tired. But you also started forming opinions, taking interest in your culture and really thinking about what's happening around you,"

"So yeah, they might not have changed. They're gonna be full of hate and ignorance probably for the rest of their lives. They don't want to actually be better, they want to think they're better than everyone else. You, Flip Zimmerman came out of this a better person,"

He thought about her words. It wasn't something he really considered, but he supposed she was right. Things had changed for him. New place, new girlfriend, new perspective on life.

He kissed her forehead, a silent thank you.

"I love you,"

"I love you too. Do you wanna put some plates our for me so I can serve these up?"

"Sure thing babe," He let her get off the counter and start cooking again. He grabbed two plates from the cabinet, letting her alternate finished latkes between them.

The sun was just setting when they finished. They placed the food on the table and brought a bottle of wine out to share. Her menorah, one her family bought her before she'd gone off to college and had been with her ever since, was sitting proudly in the window.

A tiny part of him thought about how visible it was, the shiny silver with the white candles could easily be seen from the street. Thoughts of someone from the klan spotting it, someone seeing it as a bullseye for who to target their hate against. He knew what people were capable of.

"Do you know the story of Hanukkah?" She asked him.

He realized he'd begun to space out, and she had seen him staring at the menorah in the window. He had a feeling that she knew what he'd been thinking.

"Not really," He admitted.

A Syrian king named Antiochus IV sent his soldiers to enforce his rule. He had outlawed Judaism and any holiday or custom that had to do with it. Jews were expected to convert to following the Greek gods or die.

After the Temple of Jerusalem had been declared to be for the Greek god Zeus, a Jewish resistance movement led by the Maccabees began in defiance of this ruling. They fought against the Syrians in several battles and though severely outnumbered, won.

According to the legend, when the Maccabees entered the temple and began to reclaim it, they quickly went to relit their eternal flame on the menorah. In the temple, they found a single jar of oil, which would only light the menorah for one day. It would take eight days for a messenger to bring them more oil. But miraculously that one jar of oil burned for the full eight days, keeping the flame alive until more oil could be brought. Those eight days became the miracle of Hanukkah.

"It's about perseverance of our religion and culture. Hanukah means dedication in Hebrew. The menorah is displayed publicly on purpose, it's a way of asserting your faith for all to see,"

He understood what she was saying. This was an opportunity for him.

“I'd like to light the candle for the first night," He said after some thought. "If that's okay,"

"Of course babe," Elle responded. She brought over a candle she'd lit previously, handing him the shamash.

As she used her flame to light his, he thought about how the last time he held a candle was during the klan initiation. He had to stand up in front of a room and swear he was of pure blood. He had to lie, mask an entire aspect of his existence. The entire time he'd found himself thinking of Rosh Hashanah with Elle, the ritual and meaning behind the candles, how they were to usher in a new year and positivity. Holding the shamash, now lit, felt cleansing. The flame once again holding a uplifting meaning.

"Do you need me to guide you through the prayer?" She asked. He nodded. She spoke slowly, letting him take his time to recite.

Baruch atah, Adonai

Eloheinu, Melech haolam,

“Hah-oh-lahm” she enunciated, letting him correct himself.

asher kid’shanu

b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu

l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.

The first candle was lit, the flame dancing steadily upon the wick. He set the shamash back down in its holder and stepped back to look at it.

He felt Elle wrap her arms around his waist. He curled his arm around her, hugging her to him. They looked at the menorah, watching how the light reflected on the icy window pane, creating dancing shadows on the wall.

"How do you feel?" She asked.

A few months ago, he was in a completely different place, mentally more so than physically. He looked down at Elle, her big brown eyes staring back up at him. She looked at him with love, a feeling he eagerly returned. He felt at peace, he felt accepted and in turn, more accepting of himself.

"I feel like I'm home," He responded.

He was unsure at first, if she'd understand what he meant by that. But she just smiled up at him before resting her head on his chest. She understood, he was home.

______

Welp, that’s all folks! Thanks for reading this story, I had fun writing it! It was cathartic to write a Jewish-driven story, you dont get to see those often.

Shalom aleichem

7 notes · View notes

himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

your fics are amazing ❤️ can i have anything about baberoe but julian also appears in the fic🤣? thank you so much ❤️

This is probably way more than you wanted, doll, but here you go!!

It’s been a long time since Gene picked up a late shift at Smokey’s Bar. Longer than he’s proud of, really. Medical school don’t pay for itself, even on a scholarship, and it’s a stretch to think that changes on an intern’s salary. Just because his daily routine is filled with a lot more triages and tracheotomies now doesn’t mean he’s forgotten where he came from.

Hell, Gene spent two years in this cozy backstreet establishment, serving drinks well into the midnight hours with his textbooks stashed just below the counter. The job at Smokey’s was the only reason he could afford an apartment at the time; without it, he might not‘ve even had a shirt on his back. The regular crowd was always great, the bar’s owner was a true gentilhomme, and there was no hard feelings when Gene left to start his internship. Smokey accepted it with grace, and everybody wished him well.

Of course, if he’d known he’d be back just a few months later, he’d have protested the going away party.

“You’re a real lifesaver,” Smokey declares as Gene steps back behind the familiar counter. “Skinny’s out tonight — something about helping his Granny with her pet cat, which I’d be glad to believe, if I didn’t know for a fact his Granny lives across the country — and we called Blithe about ten times, but no answer there.”

“It’s no problem.” Gene offers his old boss a thin-lipped smile, running hands hands lightly over the oiled bar top. It’s been a while; best to get the feel of the place before the night rush arrives.

“It is, though, Gene. Big favor you’re doing me. If you ever need anything —“

“Don’t worry about it.” Maybe in two years he and Smokey got past the point of “boss and employee”. Gene wouldn't call them friends, but they’re close enough. Helping out a friend is just what you do, and you don’t complain about it. “I’m happy to be here. Missed these old walls more than I realized.”

Smokey barks out a laugh. “Yeah! See it every night, and you get tired real fast.” The bar door rattles open without warning, ushering a familiar crew — half a dozen guys, all with the same swagger and grins on their faces. “Same old ugly mugs each night, too!” Smokey exclaims, brightening like the sun’s come out at midnight. “Not sure why we let you guys in at this point!”

“You’d go broke without us, Smoke!” Bill Guarnere’s voice is loud as ever, and as rowdy as Gene remembers it. “You know we pay half the bills ‘round here.”

“Lose us and you lose your nightlife too,” Floyd Talbert adds with a grin, already stripping off his heavy jacket.

The atmosphere is familiar; every corner is known, and fondly remembered. Across the room, a 90s rock beat pulses from a pseudo-modern jukebox, all but rattling that side of the building. Smokey’s has got a dance floor, a pool table, a dartboard... everything a person could need for a rowdy night out. “Except the dancers,” Smokey said once. “We tried to put in these nice cages, but seems like you need permits and all that. Why waste the money when Luz gets up on the tables after a few drinks for free?”

It’s a respectable place, and a cozy one. The city will never feel like home — home to Gene is warm air, thick as honey against your skin, the symphony of the bayou floating around you like zydeco in the night air — but Smokey’s is close. The closest Gene feels anywhere in the city, and he’ll take what he can get.

Gene settles back behind the bar, and falls into the familiar dance; he still remembers all the steps, and hasn’t lost his touch yet. Smokey’s isn’t a cocktail place; Gene’s job is generally restricted to serving up beer and chips, with the occasional harder drink coming in. He can toss together a good whiskey sour, and his Dark and Stormy’s are excellent, so he’s been told. It shouldn’t be this easy to pick up the old rhythm again; his days since leaving Smokey’s have been filled with nonstop work. The nights he isn’t on shift, he spends studying, memorizing so many conditions and treatments that there shouldn’t be room for anything else. The brain works in mysterious ways, though. This old job carved grooves into his memory, and he slides back into them now without even having to try.

George Luz grins at him, loudly proclaiming how good it is to have Gene back. “Place just wasn’t the same without you, Doc,” he declares, and a round of cheers from Luz’s group echo their agreement. Muck and Malarkey team up on him, pestering him about how work at the hospital is going. Gene suspects they’re only in it to hear the stories every doctor acquired over time. He humors them with one about a man who’s ent swimming in the buff, ending up with a fish stuck where no fish should ever be. Offhandedly, he tacks on a mention about the frequent cases of alcohol poisoning they get in the ER. Plenty of gory detail to go into there. From the grimaces on the duo’s face, and the way Muck eyes his third beer of the night warily, they definitely get the message.

A ruckus near the dance floor rings out, distracting Gene from mixing a whiskey-and-lime. His hands fumble with the bottle; it nearly slips from his grip, but he catches it without looking. The commotion is much more interesting. some spaghetti-limbed kid, all deer-in-the-headlights, is squared off against Roy Cobb, who’s already had one drink too many. Flushed and surly-eyed, Cobb steps up into the kid’s face, rearing up like a pissed off moode.

“You think I can’t hear you? What, you think no one in here hears you running your mouth?”

“Christ, buddy, I didn’t say a word about you!” the kid replies, stumbling back a clumsy step. “Why don’t you siddown, huh?”

“Don’t need to sit down, don’t need you to tell me —“

Now, Smokey’s isn’t the sort of place where fights break out as a rule; sometimes men get a bit riled up, but it rarely turns ugly. When it does, they’ve got Bull on hand to break up any fight before it can start, and probably break some costly furniture in the process… but it’s Bull’s night off. By now, the rest of the bar’s taken notice of the fight. Tension thrums through the room like a live wire, sparking off and just itching to catch on something. Everyone’s watching them, and no one’s looking towards the other side of the room. Gene does, and he spots the kindling.

Bill Guarnere, fists clenched and face red, is slicing straight through the crowd. At his heels is another kid, gangly, with a mop of messy ginger hair; he looks twice as pissed off as Bill, but doesn’t wear it quite as threateningly.

Gene moves forward without a sound, setting his drink on the table. In a few seconds, the situation’s gonna get three times worse. Better snuff it out before they get the chance.

“Cobb.”

Gene’s the quiet sort by nature — but when he wants to, his voice can ring through a room, cutting over shouts and curses as clear as a roll of thunder. Before he spoke, he might as well’ve not even been in the room. Suddenly, every eye’s on him, and Smokey’s is silent. He braces himself against the bar, red-hot gaze trained on the troublemaker. “Come here.” One hand gestures Cobb over; it’s not a suggestion. “Free drink for your trouble. Sit down, we’ll talk.”

“Don’t need to talk,” Cobb replies, voice dropping low and rough. The kid takes the opportunity to remove himself from the situation, scurrying back to his friends’ side. Bill Guarnere claps him on the shoulder, and sends a glance towards Gene; his nod, short and grateful, is all it takes to finish the threat off. Reluctantly, with the tension broken, Cobb trudges towards the bar and accepts the beer Gene slides towards him.

“Now,” Gene says, strictly business. “What’s goin’ on with you? You tell me, I’m here to listen.”

Offering an ear to a drunk’s sorrows is always a shot in the dark. God forbid Cobb disappointed. Gene ends up spending the next forty minutes listening to Roy Cobb’s woes about his job, his girl, and everything in between — until his last drink’s done, and he’s vented enough that he no longer seems ready to snap. Gene calls the taxi for him, and sees him out.

It all goes smoothly after that. Not an interesting shift; for his first time back, and probably his last time, Gene’s a little let down. At least on his last night there was cake. Tonight, all he gets it a thank-you text from Smokey, complete with copious emojis, and a few “see ya, Gene!” and “thanks a lot, Gene!”s at last call. Once all the patrons have cleared out and the bar’s gone dark, Gene lingers in the doorway for just a minute before locking up. Just one more minute… and then he’ll say goodbye to the old place. For good, this time.

“Aw christ, Julian, my goddamn shoes!”

A shrill voice echoing from around the corner… kind of kills the moment.

Uncertain, Gene lets the door fall shut, and hastily turns his key in the lock. Something about that voice is familiar, but he can’t put a finger on it. There’s no one else in sight, not even any stragglers from closing time… but as he tucks his key in his pocket and rounds the corner, the source of the disturbance makes itself painfully clear.

Some idiot is sticking ass-first outta the dumpster.

“No!” The idiot’s friend exclaims, bouncing on his heels as he tries to grab hold of a thrashing, sneaker-capped leg. “Get out of the — get out — this ain’t my job! Do I look like your mother to you?”

“Ain't my kink, babe,” echoes a voice from within. One second later, and the set of legs vanished completely; the dumpster consumes its victim, leaving nothing behind but a loud rustling, and the clank of limbs against metal.

I don’t want to know, Gene acknowledges, weighing the situation like a detective at a crime scene. I don’t need to know. It’s late. I’m tired. I’ve got a shift in twelve hours.

“Everything alright here?” he blurts out, before god-given common sense can talk him out of it.

The friend turns on his heels, with a soft grunt of surprise. Immediately, Gene realizes why he sounded so familiar — the head of messy red hair is familiar, as are the lanky limbs and the telltale freckled Irish skin. Bill Guarnere’s buddy, in the flesh.

Since it’s definitely not Bill in the dumpster, Gene’s got a good clue who it is.

“Your buddy’s recovered well,” he observes, crossing his arms, “from the mess earlier.”

“Huh? Yeah! He, uhh — shit, he sure has. We don’t make a hobby outta this, you know.” The kid goes to run a tired hand over his face, then seems to think better of it. There’s a puddle of liquid near his feet, with the telltale sheen of half-digested liquor. His eyes are haggard, mouth twisted up like he’s not sure whether to laugh or scream. Maybe it wasn’t an awful night for Gene, but someone’s clearly taking the brunt of it.

“I hope not,” he observes, cocking his head slightly at another thud from inside the dumpster. “Strange sorta hobby.”

“It’s just that Julian — well, he’s an asshole, right, and he ain’t used to drinking like the rest of us — lightweight. You know how it is. He don’t have any rights.” As if to emphasize the point, the kid aims a kick at the side of the dumpster. From within, Julian yelps. “We try not to give ‘im too much, but he was real rattled from the whole thing, so we thought —“

“I remember.” Gene distinctly recalls Bill Guarnere’s unusual order, and the effort it took for him to remain stone-faced through it. “Vodka schnapps.”

“Yeah. A fuck-load of ‘em.” The kid offers up a smile, crooked and half-desperate. Whatever the hell his heart does in the moment, Gene isn’t prepared; it feels like a mini heart attack. To cover up, he hastily turns his gaze back on the dumpster again, making out like he’s more concerned than he really is. “I was gettin’ ready to call an Uber, but my phone — if some jackass hadn’t tried snatching it outta my hands, and then not let go ‘til it went flying —“

“Blamin’ me? Babe! Butterfingers!”

“Shut up, you!” Butterfingers Babe aims another kick at the dumpster’s side. This time, Julian shouts . His friend doesn’t seem a bit concerned. “Just find the damn thing!”

“You got an iPhone 6! ‘S right where it belongs!”

“You wanna buy me a new one?”

Julian has to pause, like he’s genuinely considering it. Butterfingers Babe taps his foot. Eugene crosses his arms and waits.

“Like hell,” Julian finally declares, and a new round of thunks echo from within the garbage can.

“Okay,” says Gene. That’s all it takes to get Butterfingers’s attention back on him, like for a moment he’d genuinely forgotten Gene was there. As soon as their eyes lock, though, the kid flashes him a smile like Gene’s never seen before — downright fluorescent, definitely lit up by liquor, but something more, too. Gene’s never smiled like that at a stranger; hell, he’s never smiled like that in his life, and definitely never had one sent his way.

It takes a minute for his thoughts to snap back on track again, still wavering dangerously, like the kid’s grin has shot the wheels right out from under him. “Okay,” he says again, clearing his throat. “Uhh, if you want, I can just call you a ride.”

“Nah, that ain’t your job. Thanks, but you don’t gotta —“

“I don’t mind.” Gene shrugs, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans to hide them from the biting cold. “Don’t actually work here anyways, so…”

Butterfingers Babe’s brows furrow. Slowly, he tilts his head.

“You mean, you… just walked in and started pouring drinks, then?”

It takes an inhuman amount of effort for Gene to hide a smirk. “Yeah. Call it a hobby.”

“You can do that? Holy shit.” The kid stamps his foot on the ground, turning to the trash can as if genuinely forgetting that his buddy can’t react back at him. “Did you hear that? Julian! We could take over a bar for real!”

“Always been your fantasy, babe, not m— ahh , god dammit, there’s a rat!”

As the eight circle of hell echoes from inside the dumpster, Butterfingers turns his wide grin back on Gene. “So, how do you even — like…” As his words trail off, his smile calcifies at the corners, before crumbling away. “Hey, you’re yanking my chain, arentcha?”

Now Gene really can’t help it — he smiles, quick and unashamed. “Sorry.”

“You really got my hopes up.” He doesn’t look too upset, though, even as he drags a hand through his struggle hair and shakes his head. “Damn. New plan, Jules.”

“Call,” shrieks Julian, “the police! The army! Satan!”

“Must be the name of the rat,” Gene observes sagely.

Butterfingers crosses both arms over his chest, and takes a step back, bracing against his heel. Gene mirrors the casual posture. The both watch for a few moments, enjoying the show, as Julian apparently wrestles with one of Philadelphia’s notorious cannibal street rats and emerges victorious from the fray. At last, he breaks into fresh air, exploding from between bags of garbage like the parasite in Alien . His black hair is a scruffy mess, there are scratches on his cheeks that he’ll definitely need some shots for, and when he thrusts his arm into the air, a banana peel dangles from it.

“I found it! I found your goddamn phone!”

“Amazing,” Butterfingers drawls. “Now can we get outta here before my nose freezes off my freakin’ face? All the booze in the world can’t make tonight warm.”

Julian makes a noncommittal noise, and suddenly vanishes back into the garbage bag abyss again, like someone’s grabbed his leg and pulled.

“For chrissakes , Julian!”

“He always like this?” Gene can’t help but ask. “I mean… has he done similar stuff, in the time you’ve been…” Butterfingers stares blankly at him. Gene gestures vaguely, as if that stands a chance of making his meaning any clearer. “I mean. Not to be rude.”

“You ain’t being rude. He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, but…” Gene clears his throat, intensely uncomfortable. “Did he do this on your first date, too?”

“Dating?” The word escapes the kid’s mouth in a squawk loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. Gene jumps, and scrambled to regain his composure; in that time, Butterfingers has already doubled over, wheezing. “Jesus, Julian, didja know we’re on a date?”

“No kidding,” Julian calls from inside the dumpster. “Y’gotts tell me these things, Babe.”

With two drunken strangers laughing in his face at three in the morning — one of them hanging out of a dumpster — Gene suddenly feels like the fool. To be fair, what else is he supposed to think — hearing Babe, Babe, over and over again?

“My name’s Babe,” the Babe in question clarifies. “I mean — it’s really Edward, but everyone calls me Babe, even my ma, though she says —“

“No one cares,” says Julian. “Now goddamn help me, huh? The rat’s comin’ back.”

Suddenly, ending this encounter as soon as possible— and saving whatever dignity he has left — is more tempting than a twelve-hour nap. Gene gestures towards the struggling Julian with renewed eagerness. “We should probably —“

“Yeah, we really should!” agrees Babe, spinning back around again. Only then does Gene feel comfortable getting closer. Somehow, with lots of trial and error, they each manage to seize hold of one of Julian’s gangly arms. With a great tug, they haul him out. He ends up sprawled on the pavement, a lot worse for wear, but with an iPhone in his hand.

“Ha ha,” he declares, and, victorious, flops backwards onto the filthy ground. “Ha ha ha, ha. I did it.”

“Sure did, buddy,” Babe agrees, snatching the phone out of his hand. His nose crinkles as soon as he’s holding it; too quickly, he tosses it back down onto Julian’s chest, wiping his hand off on the rear of his jeans. The alleyway isn’t that well-lit, but when he looks back up, Gene catches a spark of hope in his eyes.

“Hey, y’know, I don’t mean to ask —“

Gene’s already ordering the Uber. “It’s no problem.”

Grateful, Babe gives him his address, and tucks his thumbs in his pockets as Gene sends the order through. When Gene holds up the phone for his inspection, he huffs in relief. “Twelve dollars, huh? I’ll pay you back.” He goes pawing through his pants, urgency increasing when both pockets turn up empty. “Shit, I mean — when I come back again, some other night, I’ll —“

“I won’t be here.” In spite of himself, Gene feels a stab of regret. “Actually don’t work here, I was just filling in tonight. As a favor to Smokey.”

Babe huffs a laugh, and it inflates Gene’s chest, warming him in spite of the bitter January chill. “That’s real great of you.” Babe runs a hand through his hair again, almost awkward, though the way he bounces on his heels dulls any tension between them. “I mean, I still feel bad —“

“Uber’s coming in two minutes,” Gene observes.

“Right! Umm, umm, ya know what —“ Babe snaps his fingers, then suddenly lunges forward, gesturing towards the phone in Gene’s hand. “My number! Is that okay? I could give you, and then, we could just —“

“Sure,” Gene says, in the same second as Babe blurts out, “Yeah?” They blink at each other for a second before Gene echoes, “Yeah,” and Babe exclaims “Sorry”, still at the same time.

As Babe claps a hand over his mouth, he can’t seem to help snorting. “Jesus Christ, I’m a lot better at this when I’m less sober — swear to you, just gimme the chance to prove it. My number, it’s 215—“

Gene’s quick fingers tap the number into his contacts, despite the chill gradually creeping its way into each digit. He titles the contact “Edward”... and then, after a second thought, adds “Babe” in parentheses. Just to keep from mixing him up with Cousin Edward from Lafayette.

A sleek grey car sidles up to the curb. Gene checks the license plate and nods towards it.

“That’s your ride,” he says, and the weight of parting presses down against his chest until his ribs creak beneath it. “See you… around then, Edward.”

“Edward?” A squawk like that has no right to sound damn charming . “Aww, c’mon, what’d I just say —“

“Save ‘Babe’ for the second date,” Julian advises, still flat on the ground. His friend aims a precise kick to his ribs; grunting, Julian jolts upright, only to be hauled to his feet by Babe’s grip on the collar of his jacket. They lead each other forward, both stumbling over their own feet — though for Babe, that might be just the effort of leading his friend along. Or the vodka schnapps. Hard to be sure.

At the last moment, Babe looks up through the Uber’s brightly lit window and raises a hand to Gene. Gene waves back, half-smiling, until the car pulls away.

Left alone on a street corner at well past three in the morning, he sighs and tucks his phone back in his pocket. It’s an ungodly hour; he’s got work tomorrow; his schedule can barely accommodate his body’s inconvenient need for sleep, let alone falling in love.

But maybe, just maybe, Gene can fit in a few extra shifts at Smokey’s sometime soon.

#baberoe #babe heffron #eugene roe #band of brothers #hbo war

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graciecatfamilyband · 4 years

Text

No Memories But These

A/N: Just in time for @ouad-week, part 1 of your classic “Dmitry leaves Paris without uniting with Anya” AU. Dmitry is back in Paris again and it’s harder than he had hoped it would be.

I would love to post one or two more (much) small(er and even less well edited) fic(let)s in this ‘verse this week, but I am at the mercy of physical forces beyond my control.

The rusted key turned in the latch and the wooden door clicked open. Dmitry placed his suitcase—the same one he’d left Paris with the first time—in the doorway as he examined his new flat. It was one room, as expected. The walls were bare but clean. The floor could do with a sweeping. There was a table and a chair. And a real bathtub—so what if it was in the kitchen? No mold either. Not a complete shithole.

Dmitry crossed the room. The bed didn’t even hit the opposite wall when he pulled it down; he’d lived in smaller. The thinness of the mattress wouldn’t matter so much if he could get an extra blanket or two to put atop it. He could afford such extravagances these days.

To the right of the bed, a thirteen-by-thirteen centimeter window looked out onto bricks. Orange light slanted across the wall in spite of the closeness of the building next door and in apparent defiance of the laws of physics. Dmitry noted there was no shade. Another window—more of a grate with glass, really—still small by most standards, but the clear highlight of this room—opened at the ceiling. He guessed that, if he laid down and propped himself up, he would have a perfect view of the fading sunlight as it glinted off the gold cross rising from the Nevsky Cathedral. There’s certainly a sky tonight. Dmitry knew he should appreciate that, but somehow it made him ache.

The spareness of the room, though—that suited him. It was a relief from the whirlwind that was Paris. The boulangeries, cafes, galleries, street traffic, river traffic, and the spring blossoms had all crowded Dmitry as he’d made his way from the train station. The gas streetlights had come on at sunset to turn the city warm and fuzzy. It was entirely too much like it had been three years ago. It may have been to his taste then, but it wasn’t anymore.

Dmitry hauled his suitcase onto the bed and opened it. He was done aching. He had plenty to think about that wasn’t her. He started moving clothes into the small set of drawers in the corner. His two suits—he had two now!—needed ironing. He’d have to find a way to hang them up, too. A professional image was more important to maintain now than ever. (A bourgeois image, his father might have said, probably with some regret. But what was Dmitry supposed to do? For all its flaws, he liked his job. And it beat petty crime by a long shot.)

Yes, he had plenty of other things to think about, he reminded himself as he put his toothbrush by the kitchen sink. There was an ironing board by the bathtub, but where was an iron? He’d have to scrounge up some dinner as well. His coworkers had gone out for the evening—celebrating their new town and new raises—but he didn’t like to spend money he didn’t have yet.

It had been three years. He should be over it by now. He’d actually come out quite well from the whole thing. Not immediately richer, unless you count the first suit, but out of Russia—and no arrests. He’d landed this job, or rather, the job that got him this job. Worked his way up to something. He’d kept getting lucky; he’d made his own luck. He should be happy. And he had been happy, he’d told himself. Until this transfer.

When Melyukov had informed him the Russian Emigrant Children’s Association was moving its headquarters from Strasbourg to Paris, Dmitry had tried to refuse, to stay at the smaller branch they would be leaving behind. His boss had waived his objections away: “This little town is too small for you, Dmitry. You have a big city energy.” How could he tell Melyukov that if he’d wanted to be in Paris, he’d have been in Paris?

“We can do great things there!” Melyukov had assured him. "Much bigger than we can do here.”

And that’s how Melyukov had got him. Dmitry’s proposal. He knew it was good, and he knew his boss was right—as long as they were in Strasbourg, they wouldn’t have the infrastructure, human capitol, or opportunity for financial support to pull it off. If he wanted his plan to see the light of day, Paris was the answer. And if he wanted it to be done right, he had to go there with it. Damn.

And so against his better judgment, Dmitry had gritted his teeth and talked himself into the transfer. Paris was a city of almost three million people. It wasn’t like he moved in the same social circles she did. It would be a place like any other; all he had to do was focus on work and to keep his head down.

But the street car ride to the edge of the eighth arrondissement had proved that, for him, the city was still steeped in her. Dmitry didn’t want to remember walking down the Champs-Elysées with Anya on his arm. He didn’t want to remember wearing a suit for the first time in his life, Vlad scolding him for pulling at the collar that was closing around his throat, as they stood outside Chanel waiting for Anya. He especially didn’t want to remember Anya finally emerging in white or the way the dress gently hugged her figure and the fabric rustled at her knees. “Well?” she’d asked him. “Not bad,” he’d said—what an idiot he’d been.

In their new clothes, people smiled at them. Everyone assumed they belonged there and belonged with each other. Anya moved as if she had been born in that outfit and worn it her whole life. Restricted and fumbling as he felt, Dmitry didn’t care. He’d never seen such freedom as Paris. A stiff collar beat armed guards at every corner any day of the week.

And the bookstores! A person could just walk in and find anything. Dmitry had made Anya go into every one that passed that first day. No, not made—he’d simply asked, and she’d laughed and said, “Again?” But in a way that felt like she was laughing with him.

She hadn’t complained as he riffled through the shelves of yet another politique section, holding up titles for her to translate with her bafflingly fluent French. There were texts on Marxism, Capitalism, Anarchism, Liberalism, Conservatism, women’s suffrage, the labor movement, and so on. In Petersburg, just holding some of the books would be enough to get a person disappeared to a camp; selling them would get you shot on the spot. His father would have loved the bookstore, though Dmitry was sure he would have had plenty to say about the French government too. Nor had Anya commented when he had finally declared he was purchasing The Conquest of Bread in a language he didn’t speak, let alone read. She had simply touched his shoulder in a way that made him think she understood. Who could understand better than her?

She’d been so free with her affection in those heady days: looping her elbow around his, squeezing his arm to get his attention or to silently signal her opinion, laughing against him. The line between them had felt so thin as they took in the Arc de Triomphe, the Tour Eiffel, endless jazz—which he’d liked—and even more paintings—which he hadn’t, except for the lilies. Seeing Paris, and seeing her seeing Paris.

At night, they’d gone dancing. Anya had arrived at and left the club with him, but it had seemed every man wanted to dance with her. Dmitry hadn’t pressed his claim; she could choose to dance with whoever she wanted. He had plenty of options himself. Still, all that practicing, and he hadn’t even gotten to dance with her. His dancing was bad anyway—he’d improved though. She’d improved him.

And finally, of course, there was the ballet. Anya—Anastasia, in that blue dress. Straightening his tie. Her left arm in his right, her free hand coming back to his bicep again and again. The way she had allowed him to slide his hand into hers after she had made confetti out of her playbill, and how tightly she had held on.

And then—Anastasia's hand on his chest, pushing him away from her. Accusing him of all the things he’d actually done. Telling him she hated him. He’d deserved it.

The last time he’d seen her, through the doorway of the hotel room, she had been home. Finally. That should be enough for him. But knowing that she hated him left him raw. He never wanted to see another ballet again as long as he lived.

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justalittlelitnerd · 4 years

Text

By A Thread by Lucy Score

We weren’t touching. But it felt like the space between us was charged with something. It was acting like a defibrillator on my heart.

This book had everything I want in a romance: a sassy, non-damsel heroine and a hero with soft boi vibes (I am a complete sucker for assholes covering up soft, warm centers).

Don’t let the office romance aspect dissuade you (it’s obviously a common, but controversial trope in romance b/c power dynamics and whatnot), this is not ~in my experience~ a conventional office romance.

First, Ally only ends up working at Dominic’s company after he gets her fired and his mom (who’s also his boss at the magazine she also owns) makes the job offer in reparation.

Second, in addition to the two characters being completely at odds from the first meeting (he got her fired after all), Dominic is staunchly against an office romance not only because of his own values and awareness of power dynamics but because of his father’s history of sexual harrassment and assault. When they eventually fall into bed together (because duh this is a romance) he immediately offers to quit his job so the power dynamics of the office wouldn’t be an issue.

That being said Dominic is an overbearing, and at times straight up controlling, son of a bitch (sorry as Ally would say his mother is lovely) and it made me want to throat punch him sometimes, but at the same time so did Ally’s stubbornness and pride.

Score has a talent though for balance because any time Dominic started to get out of control, Ally wouldn’t hesitate to go head to head with him and speak her mind and the honesty and directness was refreshing.

The ending felt a little bit rushed because clearly Dominic was trying (although in ways that were grossly overbearing and were exactly what Ally didn’t want him to do) and she made it clear that she couldn’t forgive him and I wanted more of a conversation or thought process to why she finally did aside from “that’s what love is.”

This book was fun and funny and sarcastic and their banter made the story flow and is definitely the main reason I would consider rereading this romance.

Keep reading for some top notch quotes!

It wasn’t out of the kindness of my heart. I had neither kindness nor a heart. I considered it atonement for being an asshole.

Clearly, she wasn’t intimidated by an asshole in Hugo Boss with a haircut that cost more than her entire outfit. I basked in her disdain. It was miles more comfortable for me than the terrified glances and “Right away, Mr. Russo”s I got in the hallways at work.

It had been too long since I’d squashed a disrespectful underling. I itched to do it now. She looked not only like she could take it but that she might even enjoy it.

“Fine. But if she poisons me, I’ll sue her and her entire family. Her great-grandchildren will feel my wrath.” My mother sighed theatrically. “Who hurt you, darling?” It was a joke. But we both knew the answer wasn’t funny.

I knew he felt it, too. That unexpected jolt. Like taking a shot of whiskey or sticking a finger in a light socket. Maybe both at the same time. For one moment of pure insanity, I wondered if he intended to take me over his knee and if I’d let him.

I’d assumed they’d all get used to me. Apparently I’d assumed incorrectly. I was the beast to my mother’s beauty. The monster to the heroine. When they looked at me, they saw my father.

Her tone was steely and anger all but crackled off her. I hoped she got the guy’s balls in the divorce.

“You know, you’d be a lot prettier if you smiled once in a while,” she mused, fluttering her lashes. No wonder women hated it when men said that.

It was fucking cold. February was right around the corner, and if there was anything colder and damper than January in New York, it was fucking February. Of course, fashion didn’t heed below-freezing temperatures. No. Fashion made its own rules outside of time and space and temperature.

I, on the other hand, didn’t trust myself to survive even basic contact. Ally was only safe, my soul was only safe, as long as I didn’t touch her.

He was looming over me, but rather than threatening, it felt intimate, careful, almost safe. Like I wanted to be exactly here with exactly him.

Tell me the top five things you hate STAT. (This is the secret to finding out just how bad a person is in case you need it for interviewing future wives or human sacrifices.)

Somewhere along the line, she’d started talking to me like we were friends. As if that moment of honesty in the bar, those emails exchanged, had somehow made us friendly. And while I craved her next confession, I also couldn’t handle the intimacy. I was ripped down the middle. Torn between wanting to know everything there was to know about this woman and wanting to forget she existed.

I hated it when she walked away from me. It always felt like she took the light and heat with her. I added that to my Hate List.

Those blue eyes weren’t cold now. There was a victorious fire burning in them. And I was acutely aware that I was in immediate danger.

My heart was trying to blast its way out of my chest. I didn’t know where the organ had gotten actual sticks of dynamite, but that’s what was happening. My insides had turned to lava… or magma, whichever metaphor was most appropriate.

“Lots of people dance for money. Prima ballerinas, Jane Fonda, Laker Girls, back-up dancers, Rockettes. All women who make money by moving their bodies. There’s nothing remotely shameful about it,” Faith insisted. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. And anyone who tells you that you are is—” “Part of the patriarchy.”

I hoped to God security was up to the challenge tonight. Because if anyone laid a hand on her, one single finger on her, I was going to lose my shit.

I wondered if I was leaving a trail of body glitter behind me like I was a Questionable Life Choices Tinkerbell.

If mystery bothered him so much, this son of a bitch—wait, no. His mother was a lovely human being. This alphahole was going to suffer. I’d make sure of it.

I wanted to believe in my bones that he was doing this as some stupid mind game, that he got off on playing puppet master with my life. But deep down, I was worried that it was something much, much worse. Dominic Russo was trying to take care of me.

I was so pathetically happy that she was speaking to me in multisyllabic words I would have let her slap me across the face with the folder.

I walked back into the room feeling like Cinder-freaking-rella. If Cinderella’s fairy godmother had given her a sexy, skin-hugging gown the color of crimson or, as I liked to think of it, Dominic Russo’s crushed heart.

Everyone was hitting the open bar like it was last call, and those little appetizers were doing nothing to soak up the liquor. It was entertaining, but I had a feeling this is how bad things happened at office Christmas parties. Inhibitions lowered, tongues loosened, and shit went down.

Oh, boy. I’d heard rumors of Drunk Dominic. But they hadn’t prepared me for the reality of him. He was adorable… and in no way capable of functioning as creative director right now. I needed to get him home.

Damn it. My shattered broken heart was trying to knit itself back together just so it could fall for him all over again.

I hooked my pinky around his and tried not to fall in love with the idiot when he pressed his lips to our joined fingers.

Nights like these changed lives and were retold as stories for years to come. But I didn’t know what my story would be. Would it be the time the up-and-coming designer made me temporarily semi-famous? Or would it be the night I finally realized my heart belonged to a man I was never going to be with?

Tacos and home renovation supplies with an entrepreneur, a male exotic dancer, and a drag queen on her day off. Just another glamorous day in the life.

I spent the rest of the day on the couch, which delighted Brownie. We watched the entire first season of The Great British Baking Show and then three episodes of Queer Eye. I was inspired to order and to eat an entire sponge cake from the bakery three blocks over and pondered growing a beard. Then I pondered what Ally thought about beards. And the shame spiral began again.

“I’m not hiding this,” Dom said quietly. “I don’t think I could even if you asked me.” Okay, coming from Dominic Russo, maybe that was kind of a swoony thing to say. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was real. These feelings felt real.

“I don’t need to be saved.” Dalessandra and I blinked at each other as the words came out of both our mouths in unison.

I wanted to take care of her. I wanted to take her worries and concerns and problems and solve every last one of them so she could focus all of her attention on me. And Brownie of course. I wasn’t a completely selfish monster.

I didn’t want her drawing lines when I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to redraw them properly. She would live here. She would have anything and everything she needed. No one would ever take advantage of her or lay a hand on her ever again. End of fucking story. I was her Prince Fucking Charming.

“Dom, of course people are going to talk. Trying to avoid being a topic of conversation is a pretty lame way to live life. Sometimes, accepting the discomfort is how good things are earned.”

It was disconcerting to wake up one day and find myself… well. Here. Making plans for two instead of one. Looking forward to sharing things like beds and weekends and closet space. I’d dated before. But I’d never gotten this deep, this fast. I’d never made space in my home for a woman before. Change was happening, and I didn’t know how I felt about it.

Ally didn’t bitch-slap, but Faith did it like it was an Olympic sport and she was a gold medalist.

“Everyone has baggage, Russo. Most of us are just smart enough not to hurl full-sized suitcases at the people we love.”

But sometimes an inch might as well be a mile. And I didn’t know how to cross it. I didn’t know how to ask him for what I needed. Because I didn’t know what I needed.

#by a thread #lucy score #romance #adult romance #romance books #love #office romance #grumpy boss #enemies to lovers #books #book quotes #quotes #book blog #booklr #book post

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squidbobpops · 5 years

Text

grace Kelly MIKA + talk to me

Part 2 of the grace Kelly squidbob fic

First one in this link!

//////////////////

We zoom in onto the defeated frycook as he trudges home, shoes squeaking against the sandy pavement below, and watch as the current underwater brushes up against the sponge and goes through every single one of his pores, leaving a strange melody flow throughout the sea. We watch as he looks up at the only source of light visible, which is the gentle moons beams shining beautifully against the surface of the water, reflecting and moving with the ocean as to give the illusion of dancing rays of a spotlight. As he continues walking home, he stops in front of the familiar house of Squidward Q. Tentacles. He briefly watches for any signs of movement, or any indication of life, only to be disappointed as the current blows against the seaweed nearby giving the building an atmosphere of emptiness. He feels his eyesight beginning to blur and cold wet tears drip onto his clothes. His eyes still shimmering with tears at the brim, he sighs heavily and proceeeds his sad march home. Once he’s in front of his house he presses a hand to the cool metal door, and shifts the safe like wheel to the right and steps inside. As he enters further into the house he looks around for his beloved snail, only to see that he is as of the moment alone. It fills him with a whirlwind of emotions, such as, anger, disgust, sadness, guilt, confusion, and fear. Oh how he hated being alone, it always made him feel so much smaller to the point of where if he disappeared...no one would even notice. He smiled at the irony of this statement, not a real smile, just a placid, fake smile. As he recalled the events of yesterday.

/////////////////

The end of the day had finally arrived as both employees were tired out. Spongebob made sure to go clean up everything early so that he and squidward could go home faster. As he exited the kitchen he bumped into mr. Krabs who was frowning at a piece of paper he was holding, squidward and spongebob stopped and took a few steps back waiting for an announcement that they weren’t even sure of what it’s contents were. Their boss proceeded to put down the piece paper on a nearby table, and sighed. They watched as he closed his eyes and rubbed at the sides of his head like he was in some kind of pain.

“Mr. Squarepants, Mr. squidward, front and center please.”

“What exactly is this about Eugene? Can’t you see that we just want to go home? It’s getting late and—

“Quiet, Mr. Squidward, this is important.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Boys, I don’t know how to break this to you, but your peformance at the Krusty krab has been...well lackluster at best.”

“What do you mean mr. Krabs?”

“What I mean lad, is that you’re not exactly...well, um..satisfying all of our customers.”

“But, I’ve gotten every single one of their orders right!”

“He’s right about that mr. K, he isn’t ever one to slack on the job.” Squidward protested

“While, I know that mr. Squidward, mr. Squarepants has always had one unsatisfied customer, who is constantly on my back asking for a refund, which we all know that I can’t have. So as much as I hate to say this, maybe you should take some time off lad.”

“B-But Mr. Krabs! I’m sure that I can do better I just—

“Sorry lad, my decision is final, if you come back earlier then I deem necessary, I will be forced to...suspend you for awhile.”

///////////////////////

“Squidward? Is Mr. Krabs right?”

“Look, we’re always going to have at least one customer who isn’t very appreciative of our service Spongebob, it just so happens that this one is a critic so if he isn’t happy, Mr. Krabs will surely lose to him and have to let go of the Krusty krab, along with firing us.”

“Oh...”

“Look, it’s not your fault it just the barnacle head is overly picky.”

“Squidward....is Mr. Krabs going to...fire me?”

“I would hope not considering the last time he fired you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

/////////////////////

“Meow?”

“Not now Gary, I’m tired.”

Thoughts kept going on and on, the voices got louder telling him he wasn’t worthy, until he decided to shut them up. For good.

“Nobody will miss me too much, besides I’m just a nobody anyway.”

///////////////////

Poor spongebob, maybe I should go over there and check up on him..not that I care or anything I just..I just don’t want him to be taking Mr. Krabs words the wrong way.

Squidward knocked once, then twice, then thrice, he finally got anxious and opened the door.

“Spongebob?”

He raced upstairs since everywhere else seemed dead. He slowly approaches his room and—

/////////////////////////////

Spongebob shook his head, of the memory, trying to tune out the static and noise that swirled through his head, grimacing. He sat down at the door where he had previously entered and sighed in defeat. Why was he such a failure? He never seemed to please anyone..he pressed his back against the cold metal door, and looked around his dark house. “Is this what depression is? Who cares... I’m just a good for nothing idiot boy, a simple sponge....a kid.” He finished bitterly, biting his bottom lip tightly and clenching his fists. Trying not to cry, he repeated in his head “I’m no hero...”

Squidward watched from his darkened window as spongebob stopped and examined his house, only to sigh and drag himself back to his own home. He felt bad for the little urchin and proceeded to go towards spongebob’s house, into the cold night air, his tentacles squishing as he walked. He went to the metal door ready to knock, only to hear a sad sigh on the other side. He listened quietly, to hear sobs from the other side. The cephalopod sat down against the metal door and felt his heart ache, god he hated it when spongebob would cry. Especially if he was the one who caused it. The poor fella didn’t even deserve it, and so with that final thought, squidward knocked against the door.

The sobbing had stopped instantly showing spongebob was in fact aware of his precense, he listened as the sponge scooted closer to the door from the other side and smiled.

“You don't have to be a hero to save the world” squidward started as he paused waiting to see if the sponge would join in.

“It doesn't make you a narcissist to love yourself..” came a short reply afterwards.

“It feels like nothing is easy it'll never be” squidward continued, reassuring his friend as much as he could

“That's alright, let it out, talk to me” He smoothly replied

“You don't have to be a prodigy to be unique” said spongebob hesitantly

“You don't have to know what to say or what to think” the octopus eagerly urged.

“You don't have to be anybody you can never be” the frycook continued, feeling himself give a small smile.

“That's alright, let it out, talk to me” squidward pressed on.

“Anxiety tossing turning in your sleep” spongebob continued confidently, while still gentle

“Even if you run away you still see them in your dreams” squidward encouraged

“It's so dark tonight but you'll survive certainly” spongebob sang feeling himself blush slightly at surprise of squidward’s company.

“It's alright, come outside, and talk to me.” Squidward gently pleaded

“We can talk here on the sand” the older employee declared as he rubbed his tentacles against the sandy seabed

“On the phone, if you prefer” the younger of the pair chimed in

“I'll be here until you're okay” he reasoned as he felt himself smiling

“Let your words release your pain” he stated

“You and I will share the weight..” spongebob said as he got up slightly and wiped his tears away.

“Growing stronger day by day” squidward follows along feeling himself growing tears eyed as his heart swells. He looks at the ocean to see it’s midnight.

“It's so dark outside tonight” spongebob says as he opens his door to his neighbor’s surprise.

“Build a fire warm and bright” they sing together

“And the wind it howls and bites” squidward says as he grins

“Bite it back with all your might” spongebob giggles as his eyes shine

“Anxiety tossing turning in your sleep” squidward says as he squeezes spongebob’s hand gently.

“Even if you run away you still see them in your dreams” the sponge said as he leaned in closer,

“It's so dark tonight” the cephalopod continues leaning in as well.

“It looks nice, fall asleep” they say as they stare into each others eyes, with small smiles on their faces.

“It's alright, come inside, and talk to me” squidward finishes as he closes the distance between him and spongebob.

Sighing in content he pulls away, seeing spongebob lean into his hand blushing and staring innocently at him. Squidward laughs and goes inside with spongebob, while still holding his hand and his reciprocating.

#spongebob #squidbob #squidward #fanfic

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whatdoyouexpectthistime · 4 years

Text

Blood Spatter - Part 1

It’s the shrill and frantic screaming of a phone that abruptly interrupts the dreamless dark of my sleep. Thundering jackhammers valiantly try to drown out the sound with blinding pain in my head.

“Fuck, shut the fuck up,” I growl, pawing around wildly for the location of my phone until I somehow coincidentally manage to hit the answer button. “What?”

“Miho?” comes an urgent male voice that makes me cringe for more than one reason.

“Jesus Sebastian, stop yelling,” I hiss, covering my eyes with my forearm though the room is already dark.

“Maybe if you answered your phone when I call you, I wouldn’t have to,” Sebastian argues, his tone a blend of relief, worry and scorn. “Where the hell are you?”

For a moment I ponder this answer – I should be more concerned that I have to think about it.

“Home,” I finally determine.

“Are you sick?” he pursues. “Mieke, Kara and I opened the club without you, but that’s never happened.”

“Oh shit,” I curse, sitting up far too suddenly for the likes of my migraine. “Mmph, um… I’m sorry, I’ll…”

“Are you sick?” he repeats more seriously.

“No, I… um…”

I… um… struggling to answer that question – why am I struggling to answer that question?

“Some guy nearly hit me with his car,” I respond finally, the memory hazy. “I hit my head when I stumbled.”

“I’d ask if you’re all right, but clearly you’re not; I’m coming over,” he states, leaving no room for argument.

“Fine, you can drive me to work,” I conclude, pushing back the duvet and wriggling into a sitting position.

“We can discuss it when I arrive,” he grumbles. “Don’t do anything crazy in the meantime.”

Pfft, like I ever do anything crazy.

There is nothing interesting about my getting ready for work routine, except that my headache wanes a little. Still, I’m sloshing some aspirin around in a glass when he buzzes my intercom.

For a few seconds I look at him on the LCD screen, admiring the strong line of his jaw, the faint hint of stubble and the fall of several dark strands of hair that constantly fall across his forehead.

I’d be lying if I didn’t think there might be a better – more fun – way to get rid of my headache’s remnants.

“Are you going to let me in?” I hear his voice through the speaker, and I break from my lascivious reverie.

“Sorry,” I apologise, though he can’t even hear me, and in what seems like a far too short time, he’s travelled up several floors and is knocking on my door.

“I’m angry with you,” are the first words from his mouth, and though he’s frowning, he’s looking me up and down with an analytical eye.

“Thanks, Dad,” I mock, turning to get my handbag, but Sebastian takes my wrist and slowly forces me to straighten.

“I’m not done checking you over yet,” he grumbles, and there’s a pout in his voice though his expression remains stern.

His hands begin on my cheeks, large hands I always feel could crush my head and yet are so incredibly gentle as they graze my skin.

“Sebastian,” I whisper in complaint – but the downward intonation of his name, and the tilt of my head against his palm, betrays my alternate agenda.

“Don’t you ‘Sebastian’ me,” he huffs, sliding his hands deliberately down my throat as he leans closer to examine a contusion on my left cheek. “You’re never late, never sick, never out of touch, and with… well…”

His sentence trails off, but I know exactly where it was going.

“I was afraid,” he admits, and I actually think he’s being serious.

This guy, who I feel has never been afraid of anything in his life, his brow is now creased, and my reflection in his sometimes-animalistic brown eyes wavers with genuine unease.

“I was afraid something had happened to you too,” he adds, shifting his weight, and when I cannot help but form a slight smile, I think I see him faintly blushing.

“As if,” I snort, slapping his chest with the back of my hand before scooping up my handbag. “I was an assassin in a past life.”

It takes a little more convincing to get Sebastian to allow me out of my apartment, but eventually he drives me to the club – on the provision I let him drive me home after closing. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this. Though he’s come home with me plenty of times, our relationship has never been more than a mutually agreeable meeting of flesh and pleasure. The depth of his disquiet is surprising, and I’m not sure how to take it.

“Where the hell have you been?” Mieke glares, the moment we enter Pale’s foyer.

“Easy, tiger,” Sebastian grunts in Mieke’s direction, then heads off to do the rounds.

“Overslept,” I tell her sheepishly, and it’s not really a lie.

“Oh yeah? Well I didn’t – I got here three hours early because Seb’s losing his shit about you not answering your phone,” she huffs, but I can tell she’s not actually mad at me. “Kara’s already doing rounds in the basement.”

“Sorry, I’ll get to work, Boss,” I smirk.

“You might want to start with Mr. Lambert in the lounge,” she suggests, and I know she sees the way I’m suddenly more focused. “Thought that’d get your attention,” she sniffs. “And tonight, believe it or not, he’s alone.”

“That’s weird,” I agree. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without a harem.”

“Right?” Mieke nods. “Go and take advantage.”

No harm in buttering up a VIP.

The man is an immaculate specimen, the kind who conveys so much with his mere presence alone. His suit is easily worth as much as the entire contents of my wardrobe, clearly custom tailored to emphasise his best physical features: and god damn, those features. They’re a sonnet of masculinity, a rousing canticle of sculpted muscle in perfect proportion.

Intimidation is not something I’m used to submitting to, but every time I’ve had cause to interact with Kiril Lambert – billionaire CEO of KeepsGuard Risk Management and Insurance – I’ve had to struggle against a tide of uncertainty and doubt.

He makes me feel small: I hate it, but affix my best smile as I approach, and bury the instinct to act meekly behind a fortified wall of self-confidence.

“With compliments of the house,” I smile, placing the tray down on Kiril’s table, before taking the uncorked bottle of very old and expensive whiskey in hand.

“It’s my understanding, you are the house,” Kiril points out blithely as he adjusts his silk tie slightly, but for a few seconds I find myself enchanted by the nonchalant motion of his hand. “So it’s you I have to thank. Join me.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, but for some reason, I don’t feel offended by his assumption; I am no stranger to this type of attention in my club – without being arrogant - but in this instance, I shock myself by acting completely out of character.

Compliant.

I put it down to my headache and try to cover a grimace with graciousness.

“It’s my policy not to mix business and pleasure, Mr. Lambert,” I tell him casually, but slip into the booth opposite him nonetheless, “but since you’re Pale’s resident celebrity, I’ll make an exception.”

“Is that the only reason?” he enquires, eyes fixed on my fingertips, apparently fascinated by the way they dig into the wax sealing the amber liquid behind crystal and begin to peel it away.

“What would you like me to say?” I ask, pouring carefully into his glass before pushing it toward him.

I sense my quip is a dangerous one, but simply can’t help playing his game.

“That you’ve finally given in to your burning desire for me,” he replies: so blasé, it almost doesn’t sound like the words of a consummate playboy.

Here is a creature blessed – sublimely handsome, connected and wealthy – oh he never wants for companions.

Normally, I would scowl at such a line, but he drops it so effortlessly I actually laugh.

Then regret it.

Grimacing, I resist the urge to rub at my temples and straighten my back.

“Something wrong?” he queries, slowly coiling his fingers around the whisky tumbler.

It’s such a simple gesture and yet I find it so incredibly sexy I nearly forget my pain.

The unusual green of his gaze pierces through my attempts to appear unaffected, and though I have reassurances on my tongue, I find myself barely able to inhale, let alone form words.

“Ah, it’s just a headache,” I finally manage, and frown at how breathless I sound.

“Late night?”

At this I scoff.

“I run a club, I’m practically nocturnal,” I point out, but thinking about the night previous makes the pain increase threefold.

“A woman after my own heart,” he chuckles, “but that doesn’t explain your obvious discomfort.”

“I had a run in with… with a…” I begin, then cringe when it feels as if my brain is expanding, threatening to burst from my eye sockets.

“You look like you’re in need of a medicinal dram,” he declares, turning his glass slowly by the rim, casually observing my growing distress.

“Hm, if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be from the top shelf,” I murmur, trying to blink away the stars sparkling across my field of vision.

“Then please,” he beseeches, though the two words again sound more like an instruction, “allow me to make you feel a little better.”

Men like that don’t beg.

Ever.

Used to being propositioned in my own club by drunken idiots, I totally take it in my stride – though I find my answer uncharacteristically more flirty than is routine.

“And how might you achieve that, Mr. Lambert?” I question, tweaking a crooked smile despite the continuation of heavy drums in my head.

Before his lips even part, his eyes flicker somehow more brightly, and again I find myself transfixed by the way emerald flames seem to dance within their depths.

“Kiril,” he corrects, “and I have myriad ways.”

His voice low – the brush of velvet across my skin, and that alone seems to dull the war raging between my ears.

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for me to call one of London’s most successful CEOs by his first name,” I point out, not that I believe in elitism.

“This successful CEO is offering it to you,” he shrugs, it being his first name, not the lewd other it that suddenly invades my mind’s eye. “But for now…”

His fingertips are cool, smooth, as he turns my right wrist over onto his palm, and I flinch at the unexpected contact.

“Close your eyes,” he orders firmly, and before the thought can even register, I’m smothered in the darkness beneath my lids. “Just breathe,” he whispers, a breath I can almost feel against my cheek though I know he is still across the table.

A shudder ripples through me, tingling that begins at the stroke of his thumb against the pale underside of my wrist, and gathers momentum up my arm.

“And that’s just my thumb, Sparrow,” I hear him say, see his lips moving and the hungry blaze of his stare though my own eyes remain closed.

But did he even speak? I can’t tell, but I respond anyway.

“Oh really?” I sniff, wanting to smirk at the boldness of his allusion, but the deepening pressure of his thumb into my skin, the tendons, warns me not to.

“Shh,” he soothes, pressing against one point that for several seconds makes me feel dizzy.

Then the clattering discomfort of the marching band parading through my brain is silenced.

Everything falls silent.

The sweet jazz piano.

The quiet chatter of staff and other nearby patrons.

The clink of glassware.

Until a new rhythm emerges – faster and faster and faster, until the pounding of my heart is almost unbearable.

“How did you…” I exhale, finally opening my eyes.

Pain free, I meet him halfway, though the intensity of those penetrating meres threatens to cause my calm to crumble.

“Magic,” he smiles confidently, continuing to gently caress from my wrist, along the lifeline of my palm.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I struggle to the surface, swimming valiantly out of a verdant ocean to break eye contact and reclaim my hand.

“What the hell is going on?” I wonder, for I can feel him crawling across my skin, sliding to places hidden beneath my clothes.

I have seen him in Pale plenty of times, and while I’ve acknowledged his inexplicable beauty, always pausing in my rounds to perve discreetly, I now feel an almost overwhelming magnetism that sticks me to my seat.

But there is someone else observing us; I can feel Sebastian’s scorn as surely as if he was waggling his finger disapprovingly in my face.

“Looks like your boyfriend doesn’t like me touching his property,” Kiril snickers, taking my other hand when I look in Sebastian’s direction. “Not one to share I take it.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, but I should…” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Stay,” he commands quickly, a word from his mouth before he even thinks it over; he surprises even himself, as much written in the sudden – though fleeting – change in his countenance.

Because that makes it so much better.

“Excuse me?” I snap, and whatever hold he’d had on me shatters. “Pardon me, Mr. Lambert, I should resume my duties. Please enjoy your drink.”

He lets me go, regaining his air of self-importance, but I hear him as I walk away – am sure I am supposed to.

“I think I would, very much.”

“Fraternising with customers now?” Sebastian almost accuses, the moment I am within earshot, and I feel myself souring further.

“Any issues?” I redirect, but Sebastian has me caught in a purposeful gaze.

“Miho,” he levels. “Kiril Lambert is not someone you want to get involved with.”

“Oh yes?” I sniff, undaunted by the seriousness of his expression. “Successful, influential, wealthy, and not shy about spending his money here,” I add.

I leave off how hot Kiril is – no sense in provoking Sebastian.

Working his jaw, Sebastian stares at me, attempting maybe to transmit his disdain via telepathy.

“It’s already not my night,” I sigh, finally heading for the stairs. “Please don’t make it worse.”

Surprisingly he doesn’t follow to my office, which is just as well.

Still, it means I’m alone as I flop down behind my desk, and beyond, Jazz’s empty workstation screams out her conspicuous absence.

It just doesn’t feel right without her, and it’s not just about the physical space she should be taking up – she means so much more to me than that. Her absence is like a hole, carved right through my perception of everything; we’re sisters in all but blood, and the only family either of us have left.

“What did he do to you?” I hiss to the room, but further ponderance of Konstantin’s involvement in Jazz’s disappearance is brutally shoved away by the feeling of someone driving an ice-pick through my skull.

But that isn’t the only sensation.

Against the lacquered wood I ball my fists, leaning forward like it might make the pain less severe, but my mind is tugged in the direction of a solid collision.

The ground.

Wet under my body.

In the darkness, afraid, and barely clinging to consciousness.

Vaguely I hear a question and a name.

“Alex?”

Groaning, I blink away the vision, and through clenched teeth I breathe moist patterns against the desktop. The images, the sensations, the emotions all feel so real.

Then it’s Kiril Lambert who floats into my mind; the gentle touch of refreshingly cool skin against the flush of mine lulls some of my present affliction. Desperately I want him to caress me again, and I realise it’s not just because of the way he so easily chased away my resurging migraine.

“And that’s just my thumb, Sparrow,” I hear him purr again, and though I hate the diminutive, I cannot deny the growing knot in my stomach and the tingling warmth in places I’d like to experience his other fingers.

Resisting the urge to allow my own hands to wander, I settle for some more aspirin and paracetamol, before heading back downstairs to work.

Adding to my pre-existing irritation, the sensitive throb of my nethers doesn’t fade as the night wears on, any more than my headache. Crossing the basement nightclub dance floor, nodding to Kara as I go, I’m afforded the occasional, incidental bump in the right spot and it sends a shudder of pleasure through my body – and though Sebastian and I have enjoyed each other’s company many times since he came to work at the club, it’s Kiril Lambert who flashes into my mind.

Avoiding him is suddenly not so easy when my feet seem to have a will of their own, but I stop in my tracks on the far side of the lounge, when I find he is now not alone.

“Of course he’s not,” I chide myself. “Come to the club and just sit there for hours alone? Him?”

No indeed. He’s surrounded by his typical entourage of slender beauties, who stroke down his lapel, touch his skin, murmur against it.

Perhaps he feels my gaze as it lingers too long, because he looks through his company at me; they don’t seem to notice he is no longer with them, as surely as if he’d gotten up and walked away.

“Feeling lonely, Sparrow?” he smirks, I see the question glow in those green pools that penetrate me so thoroughly.

And I don’t even think I mind, not that I’d ever admit it aloud.

”Ah, not lonely, something else?”

His smile grows wider with certainly as his gaze wanders down my body.

“Am I actually hearing him in my head?” I scoff at myself. “You have bigger issues to worry about than your libido.”

“Speaking of bigger things…” I hear him grin, as I turn away and force myself to shift toward the lounge bar.

Which is just as well considering the insolent flick of my hair causes a chandelier to drop and brain me: not literally, obviously, but that is certainly how it feels.

Clutching the edge of the bar, I lean against it heavily with my eyes tightly shut, and Morris the bartender is quick to show his concern – and he is not alone.

Faintly, I hear a woman yelp, then the touch of a hand against the small of my back.

“Still broken, Sparrow?” Kiril whispers into my ear, leaning a little over my shoulder.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I gasp out, trembling and unable to open my eyes.

Though Morris puts a glass of water in front of me, I don’t notice, too busy shaking, too busy glaring into the face of someone I vaguely recognise and the way his teeth are bared threateningly.

“Where is she?” I hiss, losing my legs to slump back into Kiril’s arms, whimpering pathetically.

“What did you do?” Sebastian barks, and his voice rings in my ears as he rushes up to pull Kiril away by the shoulder.

Kiril’s response is to slap Sebastian’s hand away, but he neither confirms or denies his involvement in my debilitated state.

Had I not been just about ready to empty my stomach on any available pair of shoes, I might have wondered at the ferocity of their accusatory glares, that, and the origin of the prevailing notion in my mind – both a source of agony and truth.

“Alex knows where Jazz is!” I exclaim breathlessly, but the moment the sentence is from my mouth I want to curl into a ball. “Fuck me…”

“Another night, perhaps,” I vaguely hear Kiril murmur.

“Back up,” Sebastian commands savagely, and I feel his arms close in around me.

So warm, but there is something I suddenly miss about delightful prickle of cool skin, and from Sebastian’s embrace I blink away tears to fix my watery gaze upon Kiril once more.

“Where’s Alex?” I hiss, but my body is suddenly exhausted, and I collapse against Sebastian’s chest.

To this I get no answer, not that I could actually process it if I had.

All I want is for the evening to swallow me completely, to wrap me in darkness that steals away the terrible vortex of torment tearing my brain to shreds.

__________

With refined detachment, Kiril watched Sebastian easily sweep Miho into a princess carry, but he found himself captivated by the limp swing of her arm when the other man stepped away. Crushing a surprisingly tenacious desire to snatch Miho away like a jealous dog over a bone, he instead watched Pale’s head of security disappear with his prize, without stirring further.

He was by no means oblivious to Miho’s amateur – though by no means insignificant - investigation into the disappearance of her business partner; he was aware she’d ruffled many feathers by shouting out the name Konstantin in places she was sure she’d be heard.

Oh, she’d been heard.

Smirking, Kiril didn’t even bid farewell to his vacuous company, and left Pale without a fuss, pressing his phone lightly to his ear.

“Ah cousin dear,” he drawled, his free hand in his pocket as he strolled down the street. “I love what you’ve done with that problem from last night.”

There was a short silence, before a female voice responded.

“Are you following up?” she queried and didn’t sound especially impressed about it. “You?”

“Pure happenstance,” he shrugged, even though his cousin could obviously not see him. “I heard the girl nearly got herself killed by one of Konstantin’s fanboys.”

“What’s your angle, Kiril?” she asked suspiciously. “Why the interest?”

“We both know full well she’s hunting for Konstantin because he’s abducted her friend,” he responded – because abduction was no big deal. “What I don’t know, Narumi, is why you didn’t erase her desire to find him.”

“You don’t think her sudden disinterest in the location of her business partner and best friend would be a little suspicious?” Narumi volleyed, and Kiril could tell she was annoyed – just as she always became annoyed when he challenged her. “Especially to the likes of Sebastian Ross.”

“Oh yes, and he is very interested in her, a real knight in shining armour,” Kiril chuckled, stopping at an intersection to wait for traffic.

“Don’t provoke him, Kiril; I don’t need the headache,” Narumi sighed, and Kiril got the impression of her rubbing her temples. “For once it’s Konstantin causing a stir, and unless you want Konrad on the warpath, just stay out of this and let me handle it.”

The mention of Konrad caused Kiril’s top lip to peel back in a sneer.

“Where is Konstantin and his little friend?” he grated between his teeth, stepping – no, stalking – across the road.

“I haven’t located them yet,” Narumi admitted. “He’s doing a remarkable job of concealing himself.”

“Remarkable, isn’t that him just all over,” Kiril huffed, abruptly taking the hand of a passing woman.

She looked at him quizzically, before smiling and staring wordlessly: starry-eyed.

“If you find him before I do,” he continued into his phone, leading the woman along with him, “tell him I said hi.”

“Just stay out of this,” Narumi warned. “I mean i…”

But Kiril hung up and tucked his phone away, focusing on his present company.

“Hungry?”

__________

In the darkness of my apartment, I’m alone again with Sebastian. Murmuring a mixture of concern and how much trouble I am, he helps me to the bedroom and sits me down on the end of the bed.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says in a low voice, his hand still resting on my shoulder. “Think you can get undressed by yourself?”

There is nothing untoward about his question, not even a hinting undercurrent of lust; he could take advantage, but he doesn’t – that’s the kind of man he is.

“It’s not so bad anymore,” I reply, slowly sliding the jacket from my shoulders.

No sudden moves just the same.

“I’d say you’re working too hard, but I know that’s in your nature, so, what’s going on?” he questions, and though it’s dim I can see him frowning. “In the year and a half I’ve known you, you’ve never had so much as a sniffle.”

“There is the whole best friend missing and nearly getting run over thing,” I point out a little snappishly, but it’s a measure of my low tolerance levels rather than any actual anger I have toward him. “I’m sorry, Sebastian, I don’t know – I just have this terrible feeling something horrible has happened Jazz, that I’m so close to finding her but she’s just beyond me reach.”

Blinking, I find my cheeks wet again, and Sebastian gently wipes his thumbs across my cheeks.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks, and though he’s a seriously impressive looking man, this inquiry leaves his lips unsure, tentative.

If I was able to think more clearly, I would certainly challenge him; though we care for one another as friends, he made it clear very early on our relationship beyond that was just physical: a way for us to relieve some of the tension in our lives without romantic entanglements and all the obligations that come with. He has never stayed and never asked to, always leaving when we’re both satisfied.

Saying yes might lead to something I don’t need, but I know right now I don’t want to be alone.

My chin drops forward before lifting again, and the warmth of his palm cupping one cheek is a reassurance I’m grateful for.

“Okay,” he smiles simply, crouching a moment to unzip my boots and slide them away. “Hop into bed, I’ll get you that water and be right back.”

Sighing, I undress to my panties and slip a t-shirt on – normally Sebastian wouldn’t get to see such a thing, the Miho ‘home-body’ in her unflattering night clothes, but it’s not something I worry about.

What I want is to be held, and stroked, and told everything will be okay – that I’ll wake up tomorrow and Jazz will be back, no harm done, and this blasted headache will be long gone.

Wordlessly upon his return, Sebastian strips down to his underwear and joins me beneath the duvet, leaving me no time to appreciate the stirring cut of his physique. Instead, I settle for the strong coil of his arms around me, and snuggle against his firm chest, inhaling slowly.

“Just close your eyes,” he whispers into my hair, but it’s not his voice I hear.

Kiril Lambert.

His are the fingers weaving softly through my hair, his breath against the side of my head, his ankles entwined with mine. Just as it had, sitting across from him in the booth with my wrist in his grip, the pain my skull abates, and I am left with a slowly growing ball of tension in my stomach.

“You okay?” Sebastian queries, leaning his head back.

My answer is to kiss him, a slow and searching notion, probing for interest.

The tense of his body and then the smooth of his hands down to the small of my back is his response, but he ends the dance of our tongues.

“I don’t think this is what you need right now,” he tells me, but his body is already telling me what he needs.

“I don’t want to think,” I hiss, my voice a little hoarse, and his response to the trail of my fingers to the band of his boxer briefs and beneath is to clench his jaw. “So get naked and fuck me.”

These words are the kind of vulgar imperative I might use in a moment of passion to provoke him, not the kind of thing one says while vulnerable; but I can’t help it, I suddenly need it.

Also surprised he hesitates, but not for long when I palm him firmly and bite into his lower lip, at which point Kiril takes hold of the hem of my t-shirt and tears it all the way to my throat.

Yep.

It’s Kiril Lambert’s weight I feel pressing over me, and into me not long after, his shoulder-blades I’m digging my fingernails into and his hips my legs are wrapped around. Gentle at first, I feel he doesn’t want to hurt me but is definitely holding back – he needs encouragement, and my teeth sinking into the taut flesh of his shoulder and the arch of my body to deepen our contact provides this.

The night is a heavy blanket that hides us from each other’s sight, but through the fierce thrust and grab, and the heady thickness of panting breaths and desirous moans, I can clearly see the ravenous depths of Kiril’s gaze by which I am willingly consumed.

PART 2

#Miho Fujiwara #Jazz Mann #Kiril Lambert #Konstantin Lambert #OC #Vampire #Vampire fiction #original fiction

5 notes · View notes

delta-roseblr · 5 years

Note

Hey Delta, I was wondering if you might write something about Dean working and Felix seeing him and thinking he's hot (Felix has to get a book or get something for/with his father for the garden?). And then later kissing the hell out of Dean (in 2nd senario = because it got him hot and bothered to see Dean working (muscular) and he thinks about it all day).

Hello,

So I took my own twist on this scenario (I feel like I always say that). It was a really fun idea to play with.

This takes place pretty soon after Felix and Dean got back together.

I hope you enjoy!

______________________________________________________________

“This is so fucking stupid,” Felixexclaimed as he climbed out of his dad’s SUV. He was in a fucking mood to startthat day. He had gotten up early to drive his mom and sister to the airport,and he was sweating his fucking ass off because it was fucking hot as hell.Getting dragged out to this dinner was only making it fucking worse.

“Felix,” his dad sighed as he got out ofthe car too. He had been doing that a lot lately, sighing like Felix was themost exhausting thing in the universe. If that was supposed to make Felix feelguilty about his behavior, it failed miserably. Felix took it as a point ofpride that he was a source of continuing disappointment for his father. Leonardwasn’t someone Felix cared about making proud. He honestly didn’t think Leonardreally gave a fuck either except to keep up appearances, which was probably whythey were going to dinner. He needed to make sure the neighbors saw him being agood dad. “Why do we have to keep talking about your cursing?”

“Because you keep bringing it the fuck up,”Felix replied dismissively.

“It’s impolite,” his father informed withundue emphasis.

Felix smirked as he looked over the hood ofthe car. “That’s the fucking point,” he admitted happily. At this point, he wasjust being purposefully difficult which was improving his mood at least alittle.

“Felix,” Leonard pressed a hand on thehood of the car. “Could you please not, just for one night?” He still soundedexasperated, but there was a hard edge there as well. That was a newer thingthat had started around the time that he had found out about Dean. It had onlybeen a week, and that shit was already getting beyond old.

“Whatever you fucking say, I guess,” Felixdeclared with a heavy eye roll as he turned away from the car. “You’re theboss, right?” He called over his shoulder before starting out of the parkinglot.

Felix was so fucking sick and tired ofhearing about how Leonard was the boss, and that under his house it was hisrules. It had been kind of fun to watch his mom put her foot down when it cameto Leonard’s rules. Felix got his phone back, and he could leave the house now,as long as he told his dad where he was going and was home by 8 pm. There wasstill a laundry list of stupid fucking rules like he wasn’t allowed to haveDean over if his dad wasn’t at the house, but it was a start.

“I’m not trying to start a fight,” his dadinformed as he jogged to catch up with him. Want to see something truly tragic?Watch a middle-aged man jog. Felix rolled his eyes and kept walking. WhenLeonard caught up Felix heard him sigh, or maybe he was just out of fuckingbreath. “I just want to have a nice meal where we could talk.”

Felix reached the sidewalk and snorted. “Yeah,sure you want to talk,” he dismissed. Maybe he wanted to lecture. He could tellFelix more about how he needed to make “good” choices because he wouldn’t wantto regret things later or how it is important for Felix to think of his future.It was all just Leonard’s PC way for his dad to tell him to not be gay.

Fuckhim.

“I do,” Leonard stated insistently. Felixhad to admit his dad sounded almost believable, which was rather impressive.Felix still didn’t buy it because he wasn’t a fucking idiot. He wasn’t surewhat had inspired the whole father of the year act. It could have been his momvisiting or it could have been Naomi dumping his ass. Felix didn’t know, and hedidn’t fucking care. His dad could lay it on thick all he wanted. Felix wasn’tbuying it. “I feel like I don’t know you anymore,” his father added soundingalmost sad.

Well, that put it over the fucking top,Felix thought to himself. “When did you know me?” He questioned dismissively.Most of his memories of his childhood involved his father either leaving afamily event for work or just not being there. He was pretty sure his dad hadnever come to any of his soccer or lacrosse games, and he knew that he hadnever gone to any of Alley’s dance recitals. His mom hadn’t been great aboutthat stuff either, but she had at least been better. And the shit Felix hadgotten away with when he had lived in Vermont had been beyond fucking insane.He was pretty sure if his dad had an idea of half the shit he had done he wouldhave fucking died. But yeah, now he didn’t know Felix. Sure. “Like ever?”

Leonard sighed so heavily, Felix was sureit was fake. Was he not supposed to call his dad out on his bullshit? Aftercalling Dean a bad influence and then later threatening to have him arrested,Felix couldn’t do that.

He just continued in his path toward theirdestination with a newfound determination to just get the whole thing overwith. “Well, at least I know I warrant the best restaurant in town,” hecommented as he turned a corner and started down the town’s main street, “Ohwait, it is the only restaurant in town.”

Leonard didn’t have a retort for that one,and Felix really hoped that was the start of a new trend for the evening. Withschool officially out for summer, there seemed to be more activity around town.The local teens seemed to swarm the few attractions like bees. Felix noticed afew kids from his grade, and he didn’t pay any of them any attention.

Felix heard someone talking in thedistance, and it was just barely audible, but it still immediately caught hisattention. “Dean, thank you again for helping out,” Felix heard a man statesounding genuinely gracious.

At the mention of Dean, Felix stopped andlooked around. With Leonard’s freak out he really hadn’t been able to see Deanall that much. That didn’t mean he wasn’t able to spot Dean almost immediately.He was standing outside of the used bookstore where he sometimes worked, whichwas just across the street from where Felix was standing.

“Felix?” his father questioned catchingFelix’s attention. He turned to look at his father who had kept walking a fewfeet before realizing that Felix was no longer with him and stopped. He waslooking back at Felix confused but then he turned his head in the directionFelix had been looking. When he turned back Felix couldn’t figure out if helooked disappointed or frustrated or a mix of the two. “No,” he stated firmly,“Absolutely not.”

Felix had actually been on the fence aboutcrossing the street and trying to get Dean’s attention. Dean was obviouslyworking, and Felix didn’t want to get in the way of that or anything. Themoment his dad looked at him like that and told him no Felix was dead set to doit just to spite Leonard.

He turned and jogged across the streetheading toward where Dean was standing with an older man. He was halfway acrossthe street when he called out, “Dean!?!”

Dean heard him, that much was immediatelyobvious because he perked up and looked around for a few seconds. When hespotted Felix, he smiled and waved in Felix’s direction before turning back tothe older man he had been speaking to.

By the time Felix managed to cross thestreet, the older man Dean had been talking to had walked back into the store,so Dean was standing alone. He looked really….rugged, like more than normal notthat Dean normally looked particularly rugged. Actually, Dean normally lookedpretty clean-cut but in like a grunge sort of way (if that makes any sense).His clothes were always well-worn but clean. That day however Dean was standingthere in cargo shorts and a black tank top. He had definitely been working andnot just stocking books if the dirt on his clothes and in his hair was any indication.His hair was messier than usual, and he was covered with a sheen layer ofsweat.

Felix wasn’t the type to be into beingthrown around or anything like that. He might have been the more regular bottomin the relationship, but that didn’t mean he was submissive or into beingdominated. Still, seeing Dean looking all dirty and sweaty and generallymasculine brought images of those sorts of things to mind, and it turned Felixon more than he would have ever expected.

“Hey,” Dean greeted with a smile and a wave.He was clearly completely unaware of the level of sexual frustration his veryexistence in his present state was causing Felix. “What are you doing here?” hequestioned sounding a mix of surprised and excited.

“I have to have dinner with my dad,” Felixadmitted, and he hoped he made it clear just how unenthusiastic he was aboutthat idea.

Dean looked so dirty and sweaty, and Felixcouldn’t stop thinking about it. He wanted Dean to make him dirty and sweatytoo, and it was really distracting. He might have pointed back at where his dadmight have been, but Felix honestly couldn’t be sure because he was too busystaring at Dean’s sweaty and dirty arms.

Fuck!

“Oh,” Dean exclaimed with a nervous lookaround Felix and then gave the world’s most awkward wave ever. “Hi, Mr. Jackson,”Dean called. He clearly was trying to sound friendly or excited, but he failedso fucking badly. Dean could tell he failed too if his expression was anyindication. It wasn’t Dean’s fault. Leonard was the one that had been acomplete and utter dick about everything. Dean was just the type that wanted tobe liked and felt like he needed to keep trying.

“Um,” Felix hummed. He was still trying notto think about how hot Dean looked, and he definitely didn’t want to thinkabout his dad. “What are you doing?” he questioned.

Dean shrugged, and it was probably just anillusion, like a trick of the light or some shit, but the little motion madethe muscles on his arms ripple. “Working,” he answered completely unaware thathe was literally killing Felix with his rugged manliness.

To make matters worse his dad hadofficially caught up with him and was standing next to him. Felix didn’t haveto look at him to know that he was probably looking a mix of inpatient anduncomfortable. Felix didn’t actually give a fuck, but it still made the wholesituation more complicated somehow. Maybe it was the juxtaposition of havingsomeone he wanted so fucking bad (Dean) and someone he couldn’t stand (his dad)so close together.

“Well, I figured,” Felix stated before hisdad could jump in and say something stupid or offensive or both, “But shouldn’tyou be like putting books on a shelf or something?” He knew Dean had workedwith landscaping before during the summers, but he was standing outside of thebookstore (which was his favorite summer job ever) so it didn’t seem to match.“Not all….” Felix paused and almost involuntarily looked Dean over, “Dirty.”

Fuck, Dean looked sofucking good. Just looking at him was short-circuiting Felix’s brain. He wassurprised he was managing words at all.

“Mr. Campbell has an old shoulder injury,”Dean explained still apparently oblivious to the effect he was having on Felixjust by existing in his sweaty and dirty state. He pointed back toward thebookstore where the older man had disappeared before. Felix guessed the olderman had been Mr. Campbell, not that that mattered at the moment, especiallywhen Dean was so sweaty. “So, I help with the planters at the start of thesummer.”

“How responsible of you,” Felix’s dadstated. His voice was so strained Felix could tell that it was killing him tosay something nice to Dean. “We should probably let you get back to work,” hedeclared and then had the actual nerve to grab Felix’s arm. It wasn’t hard or anything,but it was enough to send the message that it was time for them to move along.“Felix-”

Felix shrugged Leonard’s hand off his armand shot him a look. He was tempted to tell him to go fuck himself, but he hada feeling that might get in the way of his new goal for the night, so the glarehad to do. It lasted less than a second before Felix turned back to Dean whowas still a sweaty, dirty Adonis and questioned, “So, is this like an all-nightthing or…?”

“Nah,” Dean answered with a shrug. HowDean was managing to make shrugging look so fucking sexy Felix hadn’t a clue,but he was, and it was not fair. “I only have a couple of planters left, so Ishould be done in an hour or so.”

“Maybe we could hang out after?” Felixquestioned, “Ya know, when I’m done with dinner and all that shit.”

Dean immediately grinned ear to ear at thequestion. “Yeah, I would love that,” he answered with what sounded like genuineexcitement. Leonard, of-fucking-course, coughed and ruined the fucking moment.Dean’s smile faltered, and he shot a nervous look in Leonard’s direction. “Um,”he hummed nervously, “If that’s okay with you, Mr. Jackson.”

Oh, that was just the moment Leonard waswaiting for, and he was quick to jump on it. “I don’t think-”

“He’ll deal,” Felix declared cutting hisfather off before he could say no. “I’ll text you,” he promised before grabbinghis dad’s arm and started pulling him away. Come hell or high water he wasgoing to see Dean that night, that much Felix was sure. The real challenge wasgoing to be getting through dinner without thinking about him being all sweaty,dirty, and hot.

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mrsbarnes32557038 · 4 years

Text

Spectrum - Part 5

Happy Hogan

Warnings - Cursing

Word Count - 1,944

2010 – Stark’s Malibu Home

“You look like crap.” Happy declares scrutinizing the disheveled Tony as he makes his way towards him in the workshop.

“Thanks Happy.” Tony murmurs.

“He hasn't slept in...” you look at the clock on the wall from the stool you are occupying in the kitchenette “going on thirty something hours.”

Happy jumps at your unexpected voice. Leaning over to Tony “You’re letting your, erm, ladies down here now?” he remarks quietly.

“Ugh.” Tony and you respond in unison.

“Ugh?!” Tony inquires feigning offense.

You think for a moment. “You’re right. You are a handsome man and I am not disgusted by the insinuation of a romantic relationship with you. Just the thought of it.”

Happy snickers at your comment.

Tony shakes his head and grins at you “Don't you have some work to do?”

Hopping off your stool you walk towards the two men and extend your hand to Happy, offering a genuine smile “It is nice to meet you Mr. Hogan.” You start to head upstairs “I'll be in the kitchen if either of you would like anything.”

“Who is that?” Happy asks Tony once you've gone.

“Y/N, my personal chef.” Tony answers still tinkering on his project.

“Wait. What!?” Happy says incredulously.

“He is an old friend and since he is my bodyguard he feels he should have been involved in the hiring process.” Tony explains leaning on the kitchen counter watching you prepare lunch.

You arch an eyebrow at him in amusement “Bodyguard?”

“Yes. So if you could just indulge him I’d really appreciate it.” Tony responded.

With a smile and a nod you reply “Sure thing boss. Whatever you need me to do.”

The next day you take a seat at the kitchen table. You sit on one side and across from you on the other are Tony and Happy. Happy looks very serious while Tony is just barely hiding his amusement about the whole situation.

“Thank you for joining us Miss…” Happy looks over your resume and eyes you over the top of the barren sheet of paper. “You didn't list your last name.”

Tony kicks his feet up on the table and leans back in his chair getting ready to enjoy the show.

“Correct.” you respond simply.

“I'll need your full name for security reasons, paperwork, and the like.”

“Y/N.”

“Yes, but what is your last name?”

“I don't have one.”

“You don't have one? Everyone has one.”

You think on Happy’s words for a moment. “You’re right. I probably do have one, I just do not remember it.”

“How can you not remember your last name?” he begins suspiciously. “Oh, do you have amnesia or some medical thing that affects your memory?” his demeanor softens a bit.

“Other than an unexplained heart murmur the doctor said I was the epitome of health. I do not know why I do not remember.” you offer a slight shrug.

Tony interjects “You didn't tell me about the heart murmur.”

“You’ve never asked about my medical status.” you commented.

“Okay… This says you worked at a diner for a few years, what did you do before that?” Happy tries to get back on track.

“I don't know.”

Happy sighs “I sense a pattern…”

“Get used to it.” Tony quips.

“Mr. Hogan I realize that my resume is sparse, however I listed what I could and I assure you it is all truthful.”

“Well sure, there isn't enough here to lie about.” he chuckles.

“I never lie.” you state honestly.

He looks at you doubtfully “Never?”

“Unless a promise she has previously made will be broken or someone’s safety would be compromised.” Tony elaborated.

Happy just stares at you trying to size you up. He stands, gesturing at himself “Does this suit make me look fat?”

Tony grins ear to ear at Happy’s tactic.

You look him up and down to assess the garment “No. It is tailored very nicely and a black suit is always a nice choice.”

“Says the woman always clad in head to toe black.” Tony proclaimed.

“Thank you. You know I got it the other day and wasn’t sure. I wanted a woman's opinion.” Happy smiles at you, ignoring Tony, and taking a seat once again.

“No, It looks great!” you cheerily acknowledge.

“Alright.” Happy clears his throat “If you are always honest then lets cut to the chase.”

“Chase what?” you ask.

Tony just laughs thoroughly enjoying this spectacle.

Happy continues to look you dead in the eyes “I need to know if you are a threat to Mr. Stark.”

You gently rest a hand on top of one of Happy’s, arcs of light travel from your hand to his but from this angle they are undetectable. “Mr. Hogan I assure you that I am no danger to Mr. Stark, I may be a little lost in this life but I desire to harm no one.” Happy's posture relaxes as you speak to him, his breathing slows, eyes glaze a bit, purely at ease. “Will that be all? I need to get to work on this week's menu and go to the market.” You pat the top of his hand before you remove your own.

“Yes. I mean, no.” Happy murmured “Your badge.” He removed the badge from his jacket pocket and slide it across the table to you.

You picked it up and ran your fingers over it. “This is for me?” you gushed softly. “I've never had a badge before.” you look to Tony with excitement in your eyes “It has my name on it and everything!”

“At least someone appreciates my badges. What a nice girl…” Happy mutters calmly as you walk away towards the kitchen.

When you get back from the market with what you'll need for the next couple of days you are greeted by Tony waiting for you in the kitchen.

Leaning against the counter snacking on some blueberries he says casually “That was impressive.”

You walk past him and start placing groceries in the refrigerator. “What was impressive?”

“Whatever you did to Happy. He went from suspicious to a drooling idiot in a split second.”

You continued your task as you listened to Tony speak. “I don't think he is an idiot.”

“He isn't. However you had him disarmed just like that.” Tony snapped his fingers. “How did you do it?”

You turned to Tony “Maybe he just trusted the honesty of my words.”

He stares at you with those soulful deep brown eyes. You know he wants more from you, a real explanation. “Maybe.” He just keeps looking right into your eyes.

You sigh, close your eyes and shake your head. “I was uncomfortable with the questions he was asking about my past. He wanted to know that I wasn't a threat. I'm not. I simply helped him understand that.” Tony stayed silent, waiting for more. You know this time he won't drop it. He let you into his life, his home, let you get close to the people who matter most to him. You owe him the truth. You also feel oddly at ease with him. Maybe telling him the truth wont be so bad. You trust him, you don't trust many people as much as you do Tony. You held up your hands and let arcs of various colors dance between your fingers, you watch as the lights reflect in Tony’s eyes. “I have an unique ability. I can manipulate people’s emotions, it works sort of like electricity as far as I can tell.” You take a breath, stop the arcs and lower your hands. “I need direct skin to skin contact but it can also travel through conductive materials.”

“Is that how you saved me?” he inquires.

“Yes. I can control the amount of energy I give off. A little like I gave Happy helped him trust me and relax. A little more like I gave you helped jumpstart your arc reactor. A lot more could kill a person…”

“Interesting. Interesting.” Tony mutters lost in his thoughts.

“I'm sorry that I wasn't fully upfront with you Tony but I just… This isn't something I want to advertise. If the wrong person got control of me I could do a lot of damage… Not that I think you are that type of person! I actually really trust you which is unusual for me…”

Tony interjects your ramble “I get it kid. I do. So… what kind of damage could you do? What are we talking about here?”

“I could influence elections, a confidence boost right before a big speech or the opposite, an uncontrollable nervousness, can sway voters opinions. I can fill a person with so much rage that they would do unspeakable things to the people they care for most. I can literally scare someone to death. These are just one on one interactions… Given the right circumstances I can affect a whole crowd of people.” You look away from him feeling a sadness wash over you. Tony nods his head in thought while listening to you. “I can be very persuasive, as you saw with Happy. I can make a complete stranger trust me, I could infiltrate secure locations with ease. I could topple regimes, start wars, destroy countries. Hurt innocent people…”

“I see.” was all Tony said as he continued looking down in thought.

He can't even look at me. I'm a monster. “I'll… I'll grab my things and be out of here shortly.” you quickly head out of the kitchen towards your room. Your blood is pumping so fast it is all you can hear, you were happy here with Tony and Jarvis and now… I'm never going to belong anywhere… Tears are stinging your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. You reach your room and head straight for your bag in the corner, you grab your charger from the nearby outlet and toss it in the bag. You feel a hand on your shoulder “No! Don't touch me!” you cautioned as you spun around.

Tony was gripping his hand, staring at you, trying to breath through what he was feeling. “What? What was that?!” he panted out “I feel… I don't know what I'm feeling.”

“I'm so sorry Tony! I wasn’t expecting you to… I was feeling overwhelmed and my emotions got the best of me. I'm so sorry.”

The look in your eyes broke his heart. “This” he motioned at himself “is what you are feeling?” he didn't wait for an answer before pulling you into a tight hug. “I'm sorry.” he whispered “I didn't mean to make you feel this. I was just taking in everything you told me, I don't want you to go anywhere. I never did. In fact I think being here is the safest thing for you.” He releases you from his bear hug and looks around your room confused. “Where is all your stuff?”

You hold up your bag with your clothing and essentials in it.

“That's it? You've been here for weeks. You don't even have a bed in here!” He spins around motioning at the empty room “Don’t I pay you enough to furnish this room?”

“You pay me too much.”

He shakes his head at you “You don't tell your boss that they pay you too much.”

“But you do!”

He just keeps looking at the empty room “Is this why my couch cushions are missing sometimes? This isn't going to work.”

“It's fine. I don't need…” he holds his finger up to you telling you to stop talking and pulls out his phone.

“Pepper, yeah I need your help with something.”

Spectrum Masterlist

#marvel fanfiction #spectrum #original character #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #platonic tony x reader

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magiciaa · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Magicia chapter 8: A Losing Battle

((I’ve been having a bit of art block recently, but at least I’m finally on the chapter I’ve been waiting to write for a while))

“Alright, Lu, we’re going to have to figure out a disguise for you” Kat shuffled through her closet “since you don’t exactly look like a magical girl”

“Is this really necessary?” Lu asked

“Yup, ah, found it, try this on” Kat took a purple and black outfit from her closet and handing it to Lu before leaving the room

Lu looked at himself in the mirror, and he immediately hated it. Although, the outfit fit him almost perfectly, except for the sleeves on the jacket being slightly too long

“Thanks, I hate it.” Lu slammed open the door

“Looks great, now let’s go, the others are waiting for us” Kat transformed and grabbed Lu by the wrist and dragged him out the door “see you losers later, we’re going to go defeat the mafia”

“Just don’t die” Cleo didn’t look up from her book “that would be inconvenient to explain to your teachers”

“Have fun” Zapp shouted out the door

Ace sprinted out the door towards the park, with Lu and King following not far behind. When they arrived, there were so many magical girls walking around that it was hard to find her friends.

“Hey! Ace! Lu! Over here!” Fern yelled, startling several nearby magical girls

“Sup, dudes, you guys ready?” Ace asked

“Ready as we’re going to be” Nightmare got up and brushed some dirt off her dress “hope this plan works”

A short, orange and yellow magical girl with white cat ears stepped onstage and adjusted the microphone before speaking in the fakest customer service voice ever “Welcome to the MG348 audition, please line up at the stairs if you think you have what it takes to join us”

The magical girls all stopped chatting amongst themselves and lined up, Lu and Nightmare nervously joining them. The rest of the group sat in the audience a couple rows behind four magical girls, a wolf dressed all in black, some kind of elf dressed in blue with a large pink bow in her hair, a bug with white hair in a long green cloak, and a cat wearing a lot of pink and rainbows.

“We just wait for the audition to be over, and then we follow them back to the base” Doc whispered, sitting down on the bleachers with the rest of the group

“You, fish, state your name and power, and give an example of your performance” Bronze commanded

A blue fish magical girl stepped onstage and spoke extremely quietly into the microphone “Aquamarine, water manipulation”

One of MG348’s songs played on the speakers, and Aquamarine perfectly mimicked Bronze’s dance from the performances

“Impressive, Next!” Bronze shouted.

Aquamarine sat down in the audience next to Doc as the audition continued “There’s something suspicious about Bronze, I just have to figure out what it is” she whispered to herself

“I happen to know what’s up with her” Doc whispered “MG348 isn’t what it seems to be, do you want to join us in taking them down?”

Aquamarine nodded and scribbled something in a notepad. It read “I’m in. I’m not the biggest fan of talking, so I hope this is fine”

Doc nodded and gave Aquamarine a thumbs up “welcome to the Idiot Squad, name not final”

Lu was next in line, he was unreasonably nervous, considering that he didn’t even want to be there. King was floating around Lu’s shoulders, causing a couple magical girls to stare

“alright, bat, your turn” Bronze commanded

Lu stepped up to the microphone “Lu, shadow manipulation” and began to sing some anime song that Ace showed him a couple days back, which was the only thing he could think to do on the spot

“Unorthodox song choice, but not terrible. Next!” Bronze announced, as Nightmare stepped onstage and Lu joined the rest of the Idiot Squad in the audience.

Nightmare stood in front of the microphone “Nightmare Wonderland, sleep arrows and stopping time” and began to sing and dance to the cutesiest j-pop song that you would never expect someone like her knowing

Bronze stood there shocked for a second before continuing “unexpected, I like it. Next!”

Nightmare sat down with the rest of the idiot squad to watch the rest of the performances. The magical girl in the green cape kept turning around to look at the Idiot Squad in between watching the performances.

The sun was beginning to set, as the last magical girl completed her performance. Bronze stepped up to the microphone to announce who was going to join the idol group. She announced a long list of names, but towards the end of the list, announced that Lu, Aquamarine and Nightmare were selected to join the idol group.

“If you have been selected, please follow me” Bronze announced, summoning a glowing wand and holding it in the air while she walked off of the stage.

A crowd of magical girls excitedly followed behind Bronze, with Lu, Nightmare and Aquamarine near the back. The Idiot Squad followed stealthily behind, mostly by hiding in bushes and on top of trees and buildings, until Bronze stopped in front of the large abandoned school building across the street from the park, and on the same street as Ace’s house.

“You’re telling me that we could’ve just busted into the old school building” Ace whisper-shouted to Doc.

“Never mind that, look” Doc replied.

Bronze went inside the building, and the crowd of magical girls followed.

“Perfect” Doc whispered to herself and ran toward the door with the Idiot Squad not far behind.

Doc kicked down the doors, sending one flying and hitting Bronze in the face mid-sentence “Bronze” she pointed dramatically

“Kitten,” Bronze grinned madly “let’s show these newbies what we’re really about, kill them”

“Aye Aye, Nya~” the cat magical girl unsheathed her claws and charged towards the Idiot Squad

“NO!” Nightmare yelled, instantly appearing in front of Kitten “You’re not hurting Sprinkles”

“Mewve out of the way before I murder you too nya~” Kitten’s voice instantly changed “ugh, I can’t stand doing that neko girl voice, it just pisses me off to no end, now scram before I slice you into little pieces”

“I don’t care if you have to kill me, but just don’t hurt Sprinkles” Nightmare declared

Kitten thrust her paw forward, impaling Nightmare in the chest, and shattering the black gem on her bow. Nightmare went limp and fell to the ground, black blood spreading onto the floor

“You BITCH” Sprinkles cried, running to Nightmare’s side as her body dissolved into gray sparkles “Lynn… she’s dead… no… she can’t be…” Sprinkles grabbed the shards of Nightmare’s transformation device off of the ground

“So what, she got in my way, and you’re next” Kitten was inspecting her paw, stained black from Nightmare’s blood

“I’m not going down that easily” Sprinkles dried her tears and summoned her axe, dashing behind Sprinkles and snapping her neck with the handle, knocking her out “she’s not dead, I just bought us some time while she regenerates”

“GUARDS!” Bronze screamed.

The tall wolf magical girl in all black came to Bronze’s side “what do you need, boss”

“Treble Wolf, kill the spider and her troublesome friends” Bronze commanded

“As you wish” Treble bowed slightly and summoned a battle axe fashioned after an electric guitar before charging forward

Ace blocked the strike with her scythe, but Treble’s axe was too strong and snapped the scythe in half, dissolving it into red sparkles

Lu wandered to the elevator at the back of the room, and went to the basement. When he arrived, the atmosphere was far different than what was upstairs, the metal walls were rusted, and there were stains of magical girl blood splattered everywhere.

“Is someone there?” a timid voice rang out among the empty room “can you help me?”

“Who’s there” Lu answered “this place is seriously creepy”

“Go to the door on the left of the main room” the voice instructed

“Alright, what do you need help with- JESUS PE- FUCK” Lu phased through the door and got a sight of a ton of magical girl corpses, with a half corrupted ghost floating above them

“Welcome to the Rainbow Room, help me get out of here, and I’ll help you” the ghost said “I’m Reaper, by the way, even though we’ve met before, I never actually introduced myself”

“Lu” Lu replied “you can get these off?”

“yup” Reaper removed the power limiters off of Lu’s wrists “there you go, sorry about that, by the way, you scared me”

Lu grabbed Reaper’s hand and pulled her back through the wall “now watch this, King! Now!”

Lu changed into a giant monster, a Soul Beast known as The Prince, and went onto all fours. “get… on…” the Soul Beast struggled to speak

Reaper got on, and held on tightly as The Prince flew through the ceiling and landed in the main room.

Ace was clutching her right eye, which was bleeding profusely as Doc fought Treble Wolf

Doc was trying to dodge Treble’s attacks, although the tank of goo on her back was almost empty, she continued shooting. Doc narrowly avoided a swing from Treble’s axe, but when she tried to attack, her guns just clicked, she was out of ammo. She switched to her melee weapons, two Wolverine-like claws on each hand, originally designed as lightning rods, but makes a good emergency weapon if needed.

Treble Wolf swung downward with her axe, and Doc raised her left arm to block it with her claws, but she overextended her arm, and Treble’s axe went straight through. Neon green blood was spilling everywhere, and Treble Wolf was completely unfazed, so she couldn’t use Sora’s trick from the night before. Suddenly, Televii jumped in to restrain Treble wolf, with his arms wrapped several times around her neck and Sora pointing a gun at her

“You’re not hurting anyone anymore” Sora threatened “these are kids. they don’t deserve to be killed by the likes of you”

“I didn’t think I’d have to do this, but firefly, get rid of them” Bronze yelled to the green caped magical girl

“No.” the magical girl grabbed Bronze by the neck with giant thorny plant arms “I don’t think I will, and the name is Sock”

“Well you’re all so annoying, I might as well get you out of my hair forever!” Bronze cackled crazily and summoned her wand “ERASE!”

“RUN!” Doc shouted “QUICKLY!”

Sock threw Bronze aside, Televii headbutted Treble Wolf and knocked her out, and the Idiot Squad plus Sock ran for the door, slamming it behind them

“Wait- we forgot PJ!” Doc remembered what they were originally there for

The Prince busted through the wall, carrying Reaper and a red chef magical girl on his back

“Doc?” the red magical girl jumped off of The Prince and tackle-hugged Doc

“PJ!” Doc hugged PJ to the best of her ability

“My lab! Now!” Sora announced, pointing in the direction of her house

The Idiot Squad ran to Sora’s lab and immediately collapsed inside.

#my writing #welcome to magicia #long post #tw: swearing

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