#the one store out of the way that only had 1 display window and it was filled with katanas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mesywelch · 4 months

Text

Don't Cry, Baby | College AU | Chapter 2

Paring: Rafe Cameron X Reader

Summary: Growing up in a sheltered family, safe and secure amongst people you could trust was, according to you, heaven, despite how some tend to doubt its consequences. But you did not expect your safe bubble to pop so suddenly when you entered college - the atmosphere so dazzlingly stark, that it was proving to be a difficult challenge to navigate around. Especially when one of the students gets painfully curious about the new girl.

Warnings: Talks about sex, swearing, drugs, possible smut. slowburn (ig ???) Song rec: Pacify Her - Melanie Martinez Chapter 1, Chapter 2

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"You'll be okay if I leave you for a bit, yeah? Little princess won't get too scared?"

"No."

I had given up on my attempts to get Rafe to quit his tone a long time ago, bitterly realising that there was no point. Rafe knew that too, and so I had to face his smirk one more time before he entered the house, almost immediately disappearing into the packed crowd that I could only get a gist of through the french windows. A second later, a wave of cheers erupted from inside, and I imagined Rafe standing at the centre of it, playing the party like it was his personal guitar.

His stubbornness was truly a force to be reckoned with, and glad I didn't have to experience it again till the end of the night, I, too, pushed open the door and joined the masses.

Ruby didn't live in the college dormitories like most of us, but I didn't expect her abode to be, well, practically a mansion. The three-story building sat in a prime location right beside a beautiful view of the beach, and I seriously debated just strolling by the pretty shores after finding out that this was not the kind of party I assumed it to be. Credit for that idea can be given to the stench of alcohol suffocating the atmosphere and the dress-code-breaking outfits people were wearing. Or, more accurately, not wearing. Men were shirtless, women were barely covered by tiny pieces of cloth, and my cheeks were blazing hot upon being forced to witness such a mass display of skin.

I was somewhat grateful that Rafe had convinced me to drop the blue frock in favour of the one currently hanging on my body because I would have looked like a literal child if I hadn't already. Perhaps he knew how intense the party was going to be, and this was his way of giving a heads-up.

As I walked tentatively, my hands held a small gift bag, an even smaller box resting inside it, covered with gorgeous wrapping paper and topped with a perfect bow- technique I had mastered through years of gifting experience with friends. I also got to use my calligraphy skills; stapled to the bag was a little note card containing handwritten birthday wishes carefully written in ink.

Back in his truck, Rafe had stared and scoffed when he noticed me hugging the bag close to my chest as we drove, throwing one of his comments that I didn't bother remembering. But I didn't let it deter me. Who doesn't appreciate a well-wrapped gift?

My excitement was boundless when the necklace had arrived last night in all its intricate glory. Just in time, too. There weren't any good jewellery stores on the island, so instead, I rang up my mum to buy one back at home from a trusted store I regularly visited. As I walked deeper into the fiesta, I was giddy hoping Ruby would like what I chose for her.

But she was nowhere to be seen.

Music boomed from the speakers set up in one corner of the house, but the way it echoed created the impression of it hitting me from all directions. Chatter and conversation accompanied the explicit songs, and I noticed a group of people on the far right dancing to the catchy beats. Finding a cosy position against a wall near the kitchen, I watched them move mindlessly with a hint of a smile despite being slightly dizzy by the sensory overload. The yellow lighting was beautiful, though, and reminded me of home, a place I missed more and more with time.

As I bobbed my head subtly to the pop music in the background (more like foreground), quickly looking away when a couple on the dance floor got a little too handsy, my gaze settled on a weird sight. Between the shadowy, sweaty crowds, a pair of girls stood, their mouths moving obnoxiously as if whisper-shouting to each other. I didn't pay them much mind. But then their gazes—so intense, they felt piercing—landed on me, and I tensed.

They got closer.

Pivoting to my right, I tried to change positions, but a guy with a muscular build bumped into me, and I recoiled, clutching my shoulder in pain- the same one Rafe's fingers had dug into.

"Ow…"

"Hey, you! You okay?" It was the tallest of the two girls, now merely a couple feet away from me. I nodded hesitantly, looking between their faces. The other girl smiled and reached out to take my hand, but I resisted. "We're not gonna hurt you, bunny."

Bunny? My eyebrows furrowed. Was that the impression I gave to people? A pathetic, stupid, little animal that runs away as soon as you approach it? Well… that was exactly what I was about to do….

"I'm Jenny Marlow," said the tall one, tightening her long bleach-blonde ponytail. Jenny had a very sharp-edged look to her—angular jaw, deep-set eyes, pointy eyebrows—and I got the feeling that she didn't really like me. Gesturing to the brunette beside her, she then introduced. "This is Margo. We're Ruby's close friends."

I returned my name.

"Ooo pretty," Said Margo, but Jenny didn't comment, still staring straight at me. It was not a comfortable feeling, being subject to her cold gaze, something I couldn't help but compare to Rafe's. At least his had life behind them.

I still hadn't understood their intentions, so remained quiet; a good enough hint, I hoped, for them to reveal them.

"You looked lonely." Jenny stated blankly, "So we wanted to invite you back to our table."

I was about to reject the offer, but then she mentioned that Ruby will be joining them soon.

"Where is she, by the way?" Margo asked Jenny, taking the words right out of my mouth.

"Still getting ready upstairs. Go fetch her; I'll take the little bunny over here to the others." Oh, so the nickname's gonna stick. Wonderful.

"But—"

Jenny glared at her.

"Fine."

"Let's go." Jenny grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards her as she began walking, confidently striding through the masses, the clicking of her heels audible despite the noise. Her grip was tight—fingers sure to bruise my skin—and her pull was demanding, to the level that I found it hard to stop tripping over nothing. At one point, my gift bag dropped onto the floor, and I bent over to pick it up, tugging at Jenny's hand to signal a stop.

She turned around, her eyebrows knitted with distasteful animosity, and when I stood back straight, I couldn't help but ask nervously, "Why are you being so harsh?"

"You brought her a gift?" She said instead, sneering at the sparkly bag and ignoring my question. She chuckled. "Did you get her a pack of crayons? How cute. You do know she can afford everything, right?"

For a second, I really believed everyone in this place was living in a different universe. In the bag was a birthday gift– what was so wrong with a birthday gift?! Should I have just shown up with nothing?!

"Look at this, guys." Jenny snatched the bag from my hands when we reached a couch, large and semi-circle in shape, jiggling it mockingly away from my grasp. Bottles of alcohol littered the table in front of it—some half-filled, most empty—and food was messily strewn about. At least six people were lounging around it, and, drawn to Jenny's voice, they paused their conversation to scrutinise me, their collective gaze a silent judgement. "This girly over here wrapped this little present all by herself— oh, and what does this say?" She spotted the handwritten card, "'Happy Birthday Ruby! Hope you have a great time turning 20'." The pitch of her voice rose, I assumed, to mimic my own. But that wasn't even how I sounded.

A smattering of weak chuckles erupted from the table, a few aws, and I loathed both.

The thumping of my heart sped up as a sudden wave of sadness washed over me, aligning itself with the pounding beats of the music. The thought that maybe I indeed was out of place—a bunny amongst- amongst… wolves—was frightening. Nothing had ever made me feel this way before. Back at home, no one would even dare to try.

A deep voice cut through the atmosphere. Deep and commanding, somewhat soothing to the ear.

"Leave her alone, Jen." It said, and silence fell.

Grateful at the intervention, I gave the mystery man a quiver of a smile, his dark features draped in a shadow, and retrieved my bag, passing Jenny an unfriendly look instead. Without a single glance my way, she seated herself on the couch, and I followed suit, trying to convince myself that I could put up with this for one night. Everything would go back to normal in the morning when my lectures began.

"More importantly," Started another girl, bringing me out of my wandering thoughts. Sunglasses hanging precariously on the tip of her nose, she waved her palm back and forth as if that would entirely dissipate the established tension, continuing, "Do tell us why we saw you standing on the porch with Rafe motherfucking Cameron by your side."

The silence this time around was merely a poor imitation of suspense. She had delivered the sentence as if it was supposed to hit a nerve, and surveying the curiosity on everyone's faces (even Jenny's), I couldn't understand why they were so fixated on Rafe's presence. Nor did I know why people liked him. Surely, they witnessed the same kind of behaviour that I did. Nevertheless, I fed them an answer.

"His dorm is next to mine. I asked him for a ride."

"You asked Rafe for a ride?" Jenny scoffed, looking me up and down. I could recognise a bitter edge to her tone. "And he gave you one?"

I parted my lips, thinking of a way to reply, but thankfully, something else took up the table's attention before I had to, the silence bursting into a chorus of cheers. I clutched the gift bag close to myself.

"I'm selling 2 for 50, dickheads."

"Don't sell cocaine on my fucking birthday, Rafe!"

In tow with the dialogue entered the birthday girl herself, Rafe's arm draped across her shoulder as they staggered towards us. When Ruby's appearance became clearer, I found myself doing a double take.

Ruby was just so…. objectively, gorgeous. Cherry-red tinted lips, flawless makeup, dark hair cascading down her pale complexion. All tied together in her birthday special: a wine-red silk dress—

Wait, my eyes widened, cocaine?

My gaze snapped to the tall man hanging all over her, only to notice the hint of a subtle mess in Rafe's appearance. His blue eyes were blown out, his forehead glistened with sweat, and his hair was no longer in place, strands of it haphazardly falling over his eyebrows instead. No way….

"If it isn't Kildare king and queen!" Said the mystery man sarcastically, who had quickly introduced himself to me as Ryan when I sat down.

"Or more like boyfriend and girlfriend?" Suggested the sunglasses lady and Rafe laughed, tugging Ruby closer into his chest, who giggled affectionately.

"Shut the fuck up."

I shifted my attention to Ruby when she addressed me, quickly moving on from the gnawing revelation that Rafe had done what he told me he would. And his concerning alleged drug intake. I did not have any reason to care, and so I wouldn't.

"I'm so glad you came!"

I passed her a shy smile, still not over her kind demeanour that was so contrasting to everyone else's. "Happy birthday, Ruby."

Upon following Ruby's gaze, Rafe found himself connecting his eyes with me. He grunted with a twitch of his eyelid. "There you are."

Choking on a random—unsanitised, I added in my head—drink from the wooden surface, he squeezed through the multitude of folded legs and the edge of the table, skipping the empty space beside Jenny (whose first ever friendly smile morphed into a frown) and collapsed beside me, manspreading into my personal space. Ruby had no option but to awkwardly follow him from the other end. I sighed.

"You both know each other?" Ruby questioned as she adjusted her dress, a slight disbelief in her voice, and I returned a dismissive yes, hating being asked variations of the same question over and over again. I was pleased that Rafe didn't bother adding to my response, engaged in… staring at my shoulder? Perplexed, I tilted my head down to see the small, flowy sleeve of my dress sliding off my skin. I hastily pulled it back up, sparing Rafe a wary glance.

As I passed Ruby the gift bag, I hoped for the excitement I harboured from earlier to return and brighten me up again.

"Oh, you didn't have to!"

I waved her off silently, observing Rafe fall back into a lazy grin as he watched Ruby read the card to herself, a flash of recognition sparking in his eyes. Unwrapping his arm from Ruby's waist, he toyed with a colourful piece of tissue I had filled up the bag with, and intensely focused on Ruby's reaction to the necklace, I jolted in my seat when he threw it in my face.

"This is so pretty!"

Ruby's comment of appreciation whizzed right past my head, lost in a one-sided glaring competition with Rafe as he donned an exaggerated smirk, clearly under the influence of something. Let me enjoy the stupid moment, god!

"I'm glad you like it."

When all the girls on the table gave nods of approval too, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the jewellery, I emulated a whimsical grin, bashful at their appraisal. At Least I could win their acceptance in some way. And surprise, surprise! It all went crashing down when Rafe chuckled disparagingly, at the gift itself or at my reaction, I didn't know.

Ruby smacked him in the chest, "You didn't even give me a gift, moron."

"Oh, you want a gift?" He raised his eyebrows, eyes glinting, pivoting his neck that was angled towards me to face Ruby, "Follow me upstairs, and I'll give you the biggest fucking gift of your life."

"Yeah?" Ruby's pale cheeks went red, her eyelashes fluttering. I caught Ryan's eyes from across the table, communicating my confusion, but he merely smiled. What was happening?

"Yeah– baby." My eyes snapped to him, and at his clenching jaw, I could tell he felt my gaze. For some reason, it was odd to hear him use the nickname with someone else and in a manner that wasn't belittling. It made my annoyance at it seem insignificant, silly, because it didn't matter much anyway.

"Get a room. Jesus."

"Let's play spin the bottle. Maybe that'll be a good outlet for this." Added the sunglasses lady smugly.

"Don't tell me it's gonna be crazy like last time." Ruby said, sounding disapproving from the outside, but I could sense a certain anticipation from her. She was still looking at Rafe intently, but he had already moved on.

"Oh, you betcha." Said man tensed beside me. "Everyone's in, right?"

Agreeing nods followed.

"What about you, bunny?" Jenny said, sliding into the conversation after an extended period of silence. And— was I dreaming, or was that a genuine smile?

"Uh–Sure, yeah." I smiled toothily. The game was the last thing on my mind as I replied to her, more fixated on the fact that she may be starting to like me. I didn't want to have to put up with her unsolicited hatred.

Rafe chuckled nervously, a gritty laugh that lacked any humour. He rubbed his nose before bending down, face close to my neck, lips brushing my ear. "… it's not the kind of spin the bottle you probably think it is, princess."

"I don't care."

He grunted. I moved away. He followed. "It's the cock-sucking kind."

I drew a sharp breath. What did that even mean?

"Wha— I- I don't care."

"Oh really?" He turned his body fully towards me this time, leaning forward and getting closer to my face, prompting me to recall a similar image from a couple hours ago. Even though there were people around, my shoulders stiffened, his proximity forcing me to put my eyes right on him despite trying to avert them. "So that whining baby back in your dorm was your twin?"

I didn't deny it. But I had to just stay calm. Just stay calm.

"You know…" His voice fell by an octave. "I can just tell them that you're a virgin, and they'll immediately stop if you're uncomfortable. I know sex is so scary to you." Rafe's tone somehow managed to merge concern with condescension, but the latter trumped in my head. It didn't make sense for him to show concern.

He opened his mouth, going to do exactly what his words suggested, and I grabbed his wrist in a panic, desperation hopefully obvious in my eyes (the tears, not so much). Ryan seemed to like me, Jenny just smiled at me; things were going good. I was slowly blending in with the group, and his announcement would ruin it- it would ruin it all. Like Rafe said. I wasn't ready for that.

"Rafe, please. Don't."

"You're begging now?" He whispered, looking down at where my fingers wrapped right below his intimidatingly larger palm.

"If I have to," I whispered back genuinely, and he smirked, a deep chuckle escaping him. My head gently swayed side to side, so utterly baffled at his reaction. "Do you have something against me?"

"You're adorable."

I gritted my teeth, fighting off tears. Don't cry. Don't make it worse.

"Stop this. Just answer my question straight. You wouldn't be treating me this way if you didn't."

"I'm just teasing you, princess."

"Don't. Let me play this stupid game. Let me be normal—"

"Bunny and Ryan, eh?"

What?

Jenny's voice, coupled with a chorus of unenthusiastic 'ooo's, broke us out of our bubble of back and forths, and when I dragged my gaze away from Rafe, sweeping it towards the crowd that I had forgotten about for a good minute, I saw the head of a glass bottle waver tauntingly. It was pointed towards me.

"I dare you," 'Pleased' couldn't even begin to describe the look on Jenny's face, "To suck off Ryan."

"...."

Rafe's gaze pierced into my profile. My mind blanked.

"Maybe don't scare her off, Jenny." Ryan attempted to interject, sensing the tension. Scare me off—I wanted to cry so badly—like a little bunny.

"Ry, we don't play easy here. You know that."

"You really don't have to, y'know—

"Does everybody do it?" My voice was small.

"Of course they do, they're not pussies."

Staring straight ahead, I stood up, and they all looked at me. Me and my ill-fitting clothes.

"Then I'll do it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait, you're gonna do it?" Rafe suddenly blurted, sitting up in his seat. There was a newfound surprise on his face as if coming out of a trance. As if not expecting me to ever comply.

"Do you even know how?" He spat.

I shook my head no.

"Then what the fuck do you think you're doing? Don't fucking go." Rafe was being anything but subtle now, and I couldn't bear the awkward looks we were getting. He held onto my wrist, right where Jenny had put her mark, and I hissed.

"Rafe? Why are you acting so weirdly? You've never had a problem with the game before."

"Babe, what's going on….?"

Rafe didn't acknowledge Jenny or Ruby, and I didn't acknowledge him.

I snatched my hand away from Rafe, albeit with resistance from both ends. I stood beside Ryan as he got up too, a little confused, a little eager. He led me through the crowd in the hunt for an empty room, placing a hand on my lower waist. I flinched. He hovered his hand instead.

Ryan was saying something, but I could barely focus.

"It's probably just the cocaine." Were the last words that reached me from the group before the loud music, louder when you were in the middle of the party, took over. *ੈ✩‧₊˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

A/N: idk whats going on anymore. but who cares. Once again, feel free to comment your thoughts! Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @angelofcigs

#rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron X female reader #obx #rafe obx #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron X you #college au

173 notes · View notes

its-the-pilot · 7 months

Text

Waves | 3 | Rooster x Reader

| 1 | 2 | Waves Masterlist | Masterlist |

The response to this fic so far has been amazing! Thank you so much to everyone! 😘😘😘

Summary: The first day of TOP GUN has some surprises in store for both of you. (Mav's niece!reader)

Warnings: swearing, adult banter

Length: 2.4k words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Message or comment to join the taglist!

youtube

Chapter Three

The sound of your alarm blaring at 0500 didn't wake you, but it did snap you out of your reverie. You'd spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, wrestling with the idea of skipping work, not wanting to deal with the stares and whispers you were sure you'd get after the display the night before at the Hard Deck. Thoughts of disappearing like Bradley had also crossed your mind, but you pushed them away. Giving up your hard-won position at TOP GUN wasn't an option, and you refused to follow in his footsteps.

You reached for your phone as the first rays of morning sun pierced your window, figuring it was more reasonable to call now than it would have been when you got home last night like you originally wanted to. You selected the contact you had saved, pressed the phone to your ear, and fixed your gaze back on the ceiling, waiting for the voice on the other end to respond. You needed answers, and this was the only way you could think of to get them.

A voice heavy with sleep answered after two rings, his throat clearing before he spoke. "What's wrong, sweetheart? You never call this early." Another voice came from the background, leading to a brief exchange you couldn't quite make out before footsteps could be heard retreating to another room. "Everything okay?"

"You could have warned me, Uncle Ice."

The older man's voice was laced with concern for you, but having just woken up, it took him a second to put the pieces together. "Oh. Bradshaw," he groaned, and you could hear his desk chair creak as he leaned back in it. "Look, hon... it wasn't something I wanted you stressing out over."

You pressed your head into the pillow hard, feeling tears pricking at your eyes again. As upset as you were at him for withholding information, he had only been trying to protect you from spiraling. Iceman understood you well enough to know that you would tackle any challenge head-on, determined never to let anyone down.

He had been a constant in your life since your parents died due to his friendship with Maverick, most often as a voice on the phone or a guest at the occasional Christmas dinner, due to living on opposite coasts. Despite the physical separation, he had been one of few you had been able to count on to watch out for you and more importantly, tell you the truth when you needed to hear it.

There was a long beat of silence. You knew he could hear your sniffles, but mostly you didn't care. He finally spoke again when you didn't reply. "It's been a long time, maybe give him a chance. You know things weren't good between him and Mav when he left. Maybe he's grown up and moved past it."

"It wasn't just Uncle Pete's fault. Bradley didn't have to go. Or he could have taken me with him, I wanted to go with him." You confessed, hearing him sigh into the phone. Suddenly you felt self conscious, never having admitted that to anyone before. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called."

"You can always call, you know that," he promised. He had made that clear to you when you moved out to California with Maverick, often acting as a mediator during rough patches in your relationship. "Just talk to Rooster, okay? You might find out that his side of the story isn't what you thought it was for all these years."

You nodded silently, voice caught in your throat for a minute as you listened to his words. "Okay. Thanks, Uncle Ice," you finally managed, looking toward your alarm clock. 0530. "I have to go, orientation starts at 0700."

"Alright, sweetheart. I'm sorry I didn't tell you." Ice said, his voice calming your frayed nerves. "We'll talk later?"

Another nod. "We'll talk later. Bye." Your phone was tossed onto the bed after you hung up, and there was another minute or so of looking at the ceiling before you forced yourself out of bed.

“Time to pull yourself together,” you thought to yourself, taking a look in the mirror as you undressed for your shower. There were dark circles under your eyes from a lack of sleep, and your hair was a mess from tossing and turning all night. With a sigh you finally turned the water on and stepped into the stream of hot water, determined to put last night behind you and move forward like you always did.

-------------------------

Bradley sat in the back row of the classroom they gathered in for orientation that morning, determined to keep to himself. He ignored the eyes that seemed to bore into him and the hushed whispers of his name that circulated among the other pilots, hoping that it would eventually go away if he didn't give it air.

“So, ever gonna tell us who the girl is, Rooster?” Hangman asked, dropping into the seat beside him, a sly grin on his face. This prompted a few pilots in the row in front of them to turn around, their attention rapt.

He shook his head with a sigh. “None of your business.” It was a straightforward response, and it worked well enough to make a couple of the pilots lose interest, turning back around in their seats. But Hangman wasn't letting it drop.

“C’mon,” he goaded, playfully bumping him in the shoulder. “Ex-girlfriend? Baby momma? I couldn't be lucky enough for it to be a sister. I would definitely have a shot with a sister.”

Bradley's fist clenched, but he managed to hold his tongue. Fortunately, he didn't need to respond as a group of support and training staff filed into the room, lining up against the front wall for introductions. He didn't pay much attention until he saw you walk in, standing behind the TOPGUN Commander. You were dressed in a dark gray blazer and matching pencil skirt with a white blouse, your hair neatly arranged in a bun. He couldn't take his eyes off you.

The fact that you were even on North Island was a surprise in itself, but he never would have guessed that you actually worked for the Navy. It was something that had always given you anxiety when you were younger, fearing that your uncle, like your parents, might never return home.

Hangman snickered when you were introduced as the Aerospace Psychologist they all had to meet with prior to getting in the air. “Doctor Sexy. Today should be interesting,” he whispered, leaning closer to Rooster.

He barely heard him over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, and that was the only thing keeping him from punching the other pilot in the mouth. You were responsible for determining whether or not he would be allowed to continue in the program, and while you didn't think you would leverage your shared history against him like that, he wouldn't blame you if you did.

The remainder of the orientation passed in a blur for Bradley, lost in his own thoughts. When his name was called to pick up his schedule of meetings for the day, he stood and moved toward the exit. His gaze inadvertently drifted over to you, engrossed in conversation with one of the trainers and seemingly oblivious to his presence. When he reached the hallway, he finally looked down at the slip of paper handed to him and sighed. His first appointment of the day was with you, in just five minutes.

“Best to get it over with, I guess,” he mumbled, heading toward your office to wait.

-------------------------

You arrived at your office just in time for your first appointment and found Bradley sitting on the chair outside, wearing his khaki uniform. His presence caused you to falter only briefly before you took a deep breath and forced a smile. He stood as you approached, looking as though he wanted to say something, but you beat him to it.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” you greeted, keeping it professional as you unlocked your door and opened it, allowing him to enter first. Once you were both inside, you closed the door and crossed the room to your desk. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He took a few steps inside and looked around the smallish office, his eyes falling on the plaques and degrees on the wall. He read each one, your accomplishments done without him and his support laid out before him. “You're a PhD, that's amazing,” he said, pride in his voice. “Congratulations.”

You had busied yourself with files and papers on your desk, getting things in order when he spoke, bringing the corner of your mouth up in a small smile. “Thanks,” you replied quietly, finally sitting down and pulling his file out of the stack that had been given to you that morning at the orientation.

Opening it up, you flipped through the pages absently, half watching him as he examined your office, unsure how you felt about him having this much access to your life. Looking back down at the file on your desk, you supposed it was only fair, since you were seeing everything he had been up to for the last fifteen years.

“You still talk to Iceman?” He asked, pointing at a picture of the two of you at your graduation for your PhD four years earlier. There was only one other picture, with your Uncle Pete at the same ceremony. He didn't mention it, but you knew he saw it by the way his body tensed, biceps flexing under his uniform shirt.

“Yeah, we still talk.” You cleared your throat and offered a tight smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. “We should get started.”

Bradley turned to face you, giving a nod. “Right, sorry,” he apologized, moving to sit in the chair in front of your desk and watch you flip through his file. “So, how does this work?”

“You've had psych evals before. It's not any different.” You finally closed the file, looking up at him. His hazel eyes were piercing, confidence oozing out of him as he looked at you the same way he used to. “Uhm…” you hesitated, his gaze leaving you a little flustered. “Everything looks good, honestly. You've never had a mishap, FITREPs are excellent, you're a model Officer. Your parents would be proud.”

He nodded, his back straightening a bit with the praise. He didn't need you to say it to know you were proud as well, and he wouldn't expect you to. He could hear it in your voice. “Thanks. I'd like to think they would be, y’know, despite everything.”

Glancing at your clock, you saw that you had a few minutes left with him before the next pilot arrived so you opened his file again and signed the form necessary, then slid it across the desk, wanting to follow Ice’s earlier advice. “Bradley… what happened?”

It caught him off guard, your question one he hadn't expected given how professional you were trying to be. “You know.”

The words were simple, but they were heavy. Yes, you knew some of what had happened between him and Maverick, that he felt he couldn't stay there any more after he had pulled his papers, but why he left you was still a mystery. “I don't though. Uncle Pete pulled your Academy application, sure, but you're here anyway. You achieved your dreams.”

“Four years late,” he said, the talk of Maverick making him tense again. “It was way harder than it would have been if he had just stayed out of my way.”

You felt for him, hearing the frustration in his voice. It took you right back to those weeks and months before he left, the shouting matches between him and Maverick that you would try to break up. From his file you learned that he had enlisted when he left, later attending UVA between deployments to get his degree so he could become an officer, and eventually an aviator.

“I would have come with you, if you had asked,” you said, forcing yourself to maintain your composure. The last thing you wanted was to cry in your office when you had a whole day’s worth of work ahead of you. “You didn't have to leave the way you did.”

He shifted to the very edge of his chair and leaned forward, reaching to cover your hand with his as it rested on your desk. When you didn't pull away and instead met his eyes, he gave you a warm, yet sad smile. “I know you would have. But you deserved more. A better life than being married to an enlisted man who was gone half the year. You had big dreams, Dimples,” he said, squeezing your hand and taking the risk of using his nickname for you despite how you had reacted to it the night before. “I wanted you to have everything in the world. I still do.”

You swallowed hard, fighting the tears that were starting to prick at your eyes. “Bradley…” you breathed, opening your mouth to say more when there was a sharp knock at your door, indicating your next appointment had arrived. Slowly you pulled your hand away and both of you stood, with you rounding the desk and closing the space between you on your way to the door.

He stopped you when you got close and his hand lifted to stroke your cheek, searching your eyes as another knock came, more impatient this time. “Can I see you again?” He asked, making the bold move with confidence since you had yet to pull away from him.

Nodding, you leaned into his touch briefly before turning back to your desk and scribbling down your phone number, passing it to him. “We still have a lot to talk about, B.”

“I know,” he leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth sweetly, tucking your phone number in his pocket before heading to the door with his file. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” you said, switching back to professional mode as he passed your next appointment in the doorway. You saw him glance back at you as the door closed and you got started with the next interview.

Iceman had been right, you just needed to give him a chance to tell his side. As you flipped through the next file, you made a mental note to thank him and continued with your day, hoping you would hear from Bradley later.

Chapter Four

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic

173 notes · View notes

r3starttt · 3 months

Text

Amoeba

a/n: third part of don’t delete the kisses (lmk if you noticed the Dina x Ellie reference 🤞)

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.4

Warnings: a little bit of angts(? lots of fluff. homophobia. mentions of suicide.

“Between the gasps, I was swimming laps”

Echo chambers inside a neighborhood

In centerfold, humility’s shown

You’re not as good as what your mama’s sewn

Nobody yet everything, a pool to shed your memory

Could you say you’ve been tired? You haven’t called your family twice

I can hope tonight goes differently, but I show up to the party just to leave

The delicious and soft aroma of sweet bread wakes you up. Before you can even open your eyes properly, you feel your stomach growl. How much have you been sleeping for?

The warm of the sun coming from a big window besides you doesn’t help as you try hard to open your eyes. You rub them, yawning and stretching your legs.

It was probably the first time since you moved to this place that you didn’t felt exhausted.

You grabbed your phone to check the time, it was 10:30 am. How on earth could you slept for so long? you usually don’t make it pass 9 am, your body simply wakes you up and once your eye open there’s no way to feel tired enough to go back to sleep.

“Did I wake you up?” Ellie’s voice bring you back to reality, you finally turn around, there’s two plates on top of the kitchens counter with what seemed like hotcakes in them. Your heart felt like melting. “No… did you just cook our breakfast? How long have you been awake?”

Still a little bit sleepy you stood up from the couch you’ve slept in last night. Giving slow dizzy steps towards the counter and sitting on one of the few chair that were along it.

“Not too long, probably an hour” you could only see her back and her messy hair as she looked trough the many cabinets of the kitchen “what’re you looking for?” “The fucking maple syrup! I literally bough it like… three days ago”

“I bet you forgot it at the store” a sleepy chuckle came out of your mouth, already craving the very tasty hotcakes displayed in front of you.

“No I didn’t, I’m not that stupid” just before you could speak back she found it, whispering a ‘yessss’

She turned around and sat next to you, covering her plate with and exaggerated amount of syrup “That’s a lot” “it’s not” “it is”

Probably she was just as hungry as you were because none of you spoke again último both plates were empty, not even a crumb left.

“No, lemme do it” you pushed her away from the sink, she’d already done more than enough by cooking something for both “Why did you wake up so early? Didn’t you say how your day started like…. suuuper late?” with your hands you lifted both sleeves of your sweater, starting to wash the dishes.

“Couldn’t really sleep” she replied, almost too fast “Why?” she stood in silence for some seconds before explaining “It’s gonna sound super cheesy, just forget it”

“Now I really wanna know” you laughed “Did you dream of me? Of us? Did you marry me and started the most pretty cliche life with me?” she groaned

“Actually yeah, but you were so different…. and we were younger too” could it be? “did I have the same name?” you glazed at her quickly, but enough time to see her sudden change of expression “How’d you know?”

“I’ve had the same dreams, I freaked out when I first met you” you could hear the way the chair moved abruptly, her footsteps getting closer to you

“It made me feel nostalgic” her figure finally appeared on the corner of your eye, you were about to finish cleaning the last glass “and you haven’t even got to the best part” the sarcasm on your voice made her feel so confused,

Were you being serious right now? “What does that even mean?” her arms rested on the counter, watching you clean the glass “I’m not gonna spoil you our failed romance, just go to sleep and you’ll see” “You’re fucking with me” her hand slapped your shoulder slightly “I’m not! You’ll see what I mean tonight” all dishes now clean, how convenient.

“Is this what you meant yesterday? Is that why you asked me about-“

“Yes, but you don’t believe in those things, it’s fine”

“We’ve really met before then? Isn’t creepy?”

“Not really, I mean, not literally”

“You think we are soulmates then?”

You shrugged

Wooden floor sounding loudly as you walked to a small coffee table where you’d put all your bags the day before. Everything you’d bought and everything Ellie had insisted on buying you. There were just a few bags, you didn’t want to carry much.

“I can’t believe you suddenly believe in all this” you chuckled “well, we both dreamt about it. It’ll be too creepy if it was just a coincidence or something” she was just following you through the apartment, walking behind you whenever you moved.

“Have any plans for today?” you we’re hoping she didn’t, it would’ve been cute to stay all day with her, or maybe go out again. But she nodded, she did have plans for today.

“Gotta go see my parents, family reunion or some shit” you hummed “then I’ll go already, I don’t want you to be late or anything”

“I won’t”

“You know if you bring a girl this is over” Ellie’s mom looked furious. Her dad was just sitting besides her, trying to calm her wife down and trying to convince Ellie to stay a little more to properly talk.

But both of them were so stubborn and easily blinded by anger. No one could really intervene once they started shouting at each other.

“What’s the matter with it? I’ve been a fucking perfect child for this entire family but I’m not allowed to do one thing for myself?” she was so mad, her fists tightening more and more every time her mother spoke back.

“You are, just….not something like this” her mom finally calmed down, sitting besides her husband and staring back at Ellie with the must blank expression ever. it was infuriating.

“We’ll it’s either her or you two, and I’m not gonna quit to my life anymore just to please you” the whole room stood in silence. Everyone could fill the tension but it was completely quiet.

“Then don’t ever dare to come back”

This words made everyone feel disgusted, an unexplainable shiver running trough the ambience, touching every inch of skin of those present.

“No… shit, mom I’m sorry alright? I just” the knot of tears forming on her throat didn’t allow her to speak properly “what am I supposed to do? why can’t you accept it?”

“Get a man Ellie, grow up and start acting like an adult”

“Why not a woman? If it’s about the money, she’s rich alright? She has a great job, she lives in my same building, you know it’s not-“

“She lives there?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“You’ll find another place then. I don’t want you to keep talking about this, I trust you’re gonna do the right thing”

You haven’t heard of Ellie since that day in the morning when you left to your apartment. You could hear her when she came back but decided not to bother.

She’d told you about her parents, how they weren’t so supportive now that she’s an adult. She’d told you how much it overwhelmed her the idea of visiting them or just having any type of contact with them.

And it’s not that you could do much about it either. You’d only have one date and knew her for almost two months so far so you weren’t quite sure about how to help or comfort her, also, you didn’t have the time to go and find out right now.

You were busy placing every new decor you’d bough with her and taking the chance to clean everything.

However you were thinking the whole day about her, well, the old Ellie you’ve met somewhere else. Could she have any effect on your new Ellie? on your new relationship?

It gave you anxiety to think about how she’d react when she knew what had happened, if she ever got to see it.

Would she understand? Would she hate you? Would she just ignore it? Would she even let you know If she knew what happened?

And the most darker and cozy the ambience got the more your anxiety grew, because you feared that night came and Ellie could see something that made things change. That maybe it’ll affect her as much as it did to you when you first saw it all.

You feared that the story could somehow repeat again, maybe as a karma type of thing. You feared that not you or her could handle it.

Because you’d wait her forever, you’d do anything for her. But something you did knew and something you were sure about was that whenever someone hurt her, she’d never forget about it, she won’t forgive, not easily.

10 pm

Weird to not have a single text from Ellie, she always sent you dumb stuff or tried to convince you to go with her to work or eat together.

“You haven’t texted me all day. U good?”

“Can you come over? I feel like shit”

“Wanna talk?”

“Just cuddle, hurry”

She’d been sleeping next to you for almost an hour now.

When you came in she didn’t say anything, her eyes looked puffy, her nose and cheeks were slightly red and her hair was a mess.

You decided not to ask any questions, she’ll tell you everything eventually, when she’s ready to talk about it.

You’d been running your hands trough her hair, caressing her back and arms, hugging her tightly and whispering to her how everything will be fine, how you wouldn’t leave her side ever. Reassuring her that you would stay as long as she needed. Until she fell asleep.

So now you were just cuddling with her. Arms around each other’s warm bodies, the whole apartment in complete silence, just Ellie’s heavy breathing as your hands kept on palming and caressing her back.

She started to cry on her sleep, saying random words and murmurs that made no sense. Whispering a bunch of unfinished phrases and letting out small whimpers.

You assumed maybe it was the stress, or whatever situation her parents had put her in some hours ago.

Until you heard your name. Could she be dreaming about the two of you again? Should you wake her up? Was she experiencing what you feared the most? So fast already? Maybe you-

Her eyes opened abruptly, letting out a loud gasp as if she was out of breath.

“Ellie, hey…. I’m here shhh” small pats on her back as she tried to compose herself. She was breathing extremely heavily “What happened?”.

Her eyes met yours and only there you realized about the tears on them, about the sweat on her face making some of her baby hairs stick on her face.

“You’re here” her body practically jumped to yours, embracing you with her arms, tightly “What is it? did you have a nightmare or something? El?” you could practically hear her heart beat, so loud and unsteady. Almost too fast.

She murmured something, her voice was too shaky and teary to speak properly “I don’t wanna lose you”

Your hands ran trough her hair, trying to not panic and make things worse for her. You leaned on her and kissed her head, gently.

“Good….”

“Why’d you do something like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Leave everyone and everything like that”

“That wasn’t really me, don’t worry ab-“

“Just why? you had so much privilege and fucking friends, I was dating you, we were best friends”

She couldn’t go to sleep after that, she didn’t really tell you about the dream she had but you already knew.

And you thought she’d understand, but maybe you were wrong, maybe she never did and you just convinced yourself about it because you two were in love.

“I felt overwhelmed, I thought you-“

“I feel overwhelmed too but it’ll pass, there no fucking need of killing myself”

Was she being serious? How were you supposed to reply back?

“Is it because of your parents? We don’t need to talk about this if you’re not feeling like”

“No it’s not” it is “and It’s important that we talk about it because that fucking detail just changes everything, how am I supposed to live like this with you knowing you could do it again?”

You’d make her dinner this time, but at this point it wasn’t possible for either of you to even touch the food anymore.

“Did you see what happened after I died?” she nodded, maybe the lack of knowledge was troubling this whole thing. “Is that why you’re mad? I didn’t see it”

You were trying your best to not explode, but you felt like punching her right in the face. How could she speak like this about you? About everything?

How could she be so selfish and stupid right now.

“I’m mad about the whole situation, why’d you leave me and not even talk to me about it? Why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling? Why’d you have to be so selfish? I was left alone after that, your parents moved out of the town.”

So they did take care of her as you’ve asked them to. And she did search for them to have some support as you’ve insisted.

“That was someone else Ellie, things are different here. I won’t leave you, I’m fine”

“How do you know? if we met again is for a reason”

“To actually end together maybe?”

“I don’t think so”

The immediate regret on her face was something you’ve never seen before. But you’re now too focused on your own pain to care.

“You know, the reason of those letters, the reason of why I didn’t died earlier and the reason why I’m here right now, making you fucking dinner Is because I care about you more than I could ever care about myself”

You could feel the salad flavor of tears slowly appearing in your throat. The tears slowly blinding you as rage built in your heart. It was physically painful.

“And it sucks and I know it’s not how any of this should’ve been but it it’s, and we can’t change what we’ve experienced” she stood up from the chair she was eating at, almost running towards you “but I’ve tried over and over again to make us work, and I’m tired of you not understanding. You’re supposed to love me Ellie, why can’t you?”

“I really thought you’d get over it, I really thought you’d understand in this life too. But you always let the anger in you fuck everything”

She tried to hold you, to speak, anything to try and talk and not fuck yo things again. Because you were more than right and she knew it.

“I guess we’ve changed, maybe you’re right snd we are just not meant to be anymore”

“That’s not what I meant! my mom she- they don’t want me to be with you, I’m sorry I’ve been feeling like shit today, please let’s talk Mhm?”

Her hands were on your face, cleaning every tear that ran along your pretty eyes and your pretty nose, along your shaky lips and all the way to your jawline.

But you stopped her, because you didn’t care about any explanation she had now. It was fucking stupid from her to act the way she did and maybe she was right, maybe you two weren’t meant to be.

Maybe it was all an illusion.

“I’m mad at them and you’re right, I let the anger blind me but I’ll promise I’ll control it. Just let’s talk, please” you wouldn’t reply, not verbally or physically and it made her feel so horrible to see you like this.

“She wants me to stay away from you, but I chose you over them. I love you, I really do-“

“I’ll make her a favor then”

Hopefully it was an illusion.

73 notes · View notes

silaslich · 1 month

Text

Where There is Light, a Shadow Appears

Ghoap Hogwarts Professor AU

Part 1/10 - Journeys & Reunions

Wc - 4.5k

Cw - slight gore towards the end

The hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley is exactly how John remembers it.

Teeming with life and noise. Hollering children and chatty witches. Every sense is overwhelmed; theres a street vendor on the corner selling pumpkin pasties and there are owls sitting in cages overhead when John stops outside of the Magical Menagerie for a quick break to give his dodgey knee a rest. The owls hoot and coo at one another loudly - chattering away, some are as white as snow and others as black as the midnight sky, their eyes a medley of bright yellows or burnt oranges.

Every now and then, as he stands observing, Gambol and Japes joke shop explodes with colour. John watches in fond amusement, he deduces there must be some kind of charm within the shops very walls, it explodes like powder fireworks that whir and fizz when activated.

As the man begins to weave his way through the street he spots a lonesome young boy, his nose and palms pressed flatly up against the glass window of a shop. Looking up - John reads the sign above the door, Quality Quidditch Supplies, he guesses the latest broom is out on display. Sure enough as he passes, his eyes catch sight of a magnificent broom; its wood is dark and the design is sleek with silver crossbars and neatly preened bristles. John doesn’t know much about brooms anymore and what makes them good or not, but he can surely agree that it is a handsome broom.

Continuing on his way, he passes another shop. It had been one of his favourites during his youth when he studied at Hogwarts - Flourish and Blotts. Buying textbook after textbook, with whatever bronze knuts and silver sickles his mam could spare, he’d read till his eyes went blurry.

He’d read the entire potioneering section from back to front by the time he was in his Third-year.

John thinks about stopping in, for old times sake, but his level-headedness is in full control today, he’s far too busy to mull around London and shop.

While everything feels so familiar, it still seems very distant in his mind. The layout has been the same for hundreds of years now, albeit some of the shops have moved during John’s lifetime, he still feels a sense of disorientation when it comes to finding the only store he needs. Just when John is about to flag down a sinewy-elderly witch in an emerald cloak to ask her to point him in the right direction - that’s when it hits him.

The smell.

He can smell the foul and putrid stench of the Apothecaries; like bad eggs and rotten cabbages, it drifts over the crowd of witches and wizards and hits him square in the nose.

His eyes follow the direction in which the repulsive smell lingers on the air, he spots the overhead signs quickly as they sway in time with the cool August breeze.

Mr Mulpepper’s Apothecary, alongside Slug & Jiggers.

The wizard is slightly surprised at how little has changed with the two shops over the years, nestled side by side, as competitive as ever with their bright - abundant displays and discount placards hanging in the windows. He remembers how funny it had been back in the day to watch the enchanted placards change every few minutes, depending on what the other corresponding one had written on it. He’d managed to get his hands on a full sized unicorn horn from Mr Mulpepper for a mere seven galleons once, he’d never felt so lucky in all his life, he didn’t even need the bloody unicorn horn.

A little bell jingles above the door when John steps foot inside of Mr Mulpepper’s shop, the wizard smiles, nostalgia seeping in. His eyes rake over the shelves, filled to the brim with glass bottles and vials of varying sizes. Some bubble and some sizzle. Others sit dormant, thick and soupy in viscosity. There are pale powders in jars and plucked feathers and hairs stuffed into cork-stoppered flasks. From floor to ceiling the shelves and units are plentiful, there isn’t a single spare place for anything more. Yet, John notices a cauldron bubbling behind the counter, an earthy - mint-like scent filling the air, coming second only to the obvious smell of a dropped Ashwinder egg. A green smoke plumes from the cauldron and the closer the wizard gets the better he is able to identify it, a Wiggenweld potion is brewing.

John is quick to scan for what he needs, he had memorised his list on the way to London, wanting to be as quick and efficient as possible. He stocks himself up on the essentials, keeping in mind the number of students he’ll be having under his watch.

He purchases more than is necessary, he thinks, but he would rather be prepared.

He picks up a multitude of supplies; flobberworms, pickled murtlap tentacles, valerian root, powdered moonstone, jobberknoll feathers, four ounces worth of dragon liver, lacewing flies and sopophorous beans as well as other lesser important items for his own personal stores for the term.

With his arms full to the point he cannot physically carry anymore, John makes his way over to the counter. The bottles and jars clink as they meet the old wooden surface, chipped and scratched with age. Before he can even ring the small silver bell atop the wooden counter to alert the store owner of his presence, an old wizard peeks from around a corner, his big brown eyes made to look even bigger then they are by his incredibly thick spectacles. The older wizard smiles, “ah- I thought I heard the door go” he says, rounding the corner entirely now and wiping his sullied hands down the front of his apron.

He barely spares John a second glance before he starts eyeing up the jars and bottles, muttering to himself as he tallies up the cost, punching the numbers into an ancient looking register that’s buttons resembled that of a 1900’s typewriter.

The young wizard doesn’t know what to say, watching the man as he counts, noting he loses his place twice and has to start all over again. John bites his tongue.

When the old wizard is finally done totalling up John’s cost and takes his payment, his muddy eyes flit up to John’s very briefly, only to do a double take. His hands still where he had begun wrapping the fragile bottle of doxy eggs in brown paper, he squints his eyes and leans invasively into John’s space. He smacks his dry lips together, “say son-“ he starts, “you look familiar”.

John doesn’t say anything at first, he simply holds the other wizard’s gaze, watching as his eyes focus on John’s left eye specifically, and the scar that runs through it.

Although his jaw is clenched tightly, John retains his composure, feigning any knowledge of what Mr Mullpepper is referring to. He smiles, ever so slightly, “aye I’d hope so, spent enough time in here when I was a lad, spent plenty of sickles too” John tilts his chin up but keeps eye contact with the older wizard, hoping the man’s memory is jogged-back to the image of a lanky-teenage version of John instead of the image of a bloodied-battered and bruised Auror that had been plastered all over the front page of The Daily Prophet just mere months ago.

The older wizard leans even closer, taking in every detail of John’s face with a wry brow, he hums to himself - deep in thought.

He clicks his fingers, “that’s it - knew I recognised you, been a long time since I’ve seen you around here” the man smiles and increases the distance between himself and John, now back to a respectable boundary. It’s unclear if he’s being truthful or if he caught onto John’s want for avoidance on the topic, either way, the younger man is grateful. John’s lips quirk into a half smile, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, “been travelling around for the last few years, it’s my first time back in the England since last year, staying for good this time - I think” he’s giving up more then he probably should, but what could it matter now?

Continuing on with his task of wrapping up the bottles and jars, Mr Mullpepper hums in acknowledgement, focusing on not damaging John’s purchases. “I travelled around myself when I was about your age” he tells, placing the wrapped goods in a bag, “I went as far as Australia mind you, but this place was always in the back of my head, wouldn’t have it any other way now you know” he meets John’s eyes once more with a knowing smile, grey brows raised at him. John nods, flattening his lips, “I felt the same way for a long time, each time I came home to visit I found I didn’t really want to leave again”. Now he really was oversharing, with a sort-of-stranger no less, he’s settling back into civilian life a little too quickly for his liking. “Anyways - that’s enough of my rambling” he cuts off his own train of thought before he gets himself in any deeper, “I better be heading back to Hogwarts” he bites his tongue as soon as the words leave his mouth. Fucks sake.

The old wizard’s eyes practically triple in size at John’s words, the penny drops and John finds himself scrambling on his hands and knees to pick it up. “Hogwarts?” He queries, scratching his chin, “are you teaching there this year?”. As much as he wants to turn on his heel and leave, John knows better, he knows how much he’ll have to rely on this shop from now on and doesn’t want to tarnish this relationship before it’s even started. The younger wizard nods with a smile, “sure am, potions professor” John flicks the bag of goods where it still sits on the counter between the two of them, “if that much wasn’t already obvious”.

For a moment, the older wizard pauses, looking from John’s face to the bag of ingredients on the counter and then back up to meet John’s eyes. “Pardon me for saying this so plainly son, but you’re so young to be a professor” it’s either an insult or a compliment, and at this very moment in time, John can’t decide which it is, but he doesn’t have much time to think it over - he really needs to get back to Hogwarts.

“Not as young as I look I’m afraid” John says, his lips pulled into a thin line, he really should be going.

Mr Mullpepper simply nods, “I could say the same thing about myself” he laughs to himself, scratching his stubbled cheek, “I better let you get off, bet you’ve got lots to do to get ready for the new term next week” he seeks, John wants to sigh but catches himself before he does. He nods, “more than I even have time for, typically” he retrieves his bag and begins to step back, putting the distance between the older wizard and himself. “It was nice seeing you again son, take care now” the older wizard says, finally turning around to stare into the bowl of his cauldron as it bubbles away, the smoke turning from an electric green to a smokey grey. Although he isn’t looking at him, John nods to the old man, “you too, you’ll be seeing me again soon I’m sure of it” the young wizard smiles, the shop owner turns his head to meet John’s gaze and returns the smile. “I’ll look forward to it, you can tell me all about your classes, farewell”.

John uses his spare hand to wave and nods at the man as he leaves, the little bell jingling again as he shuts the door behind himself.

He looks out into the street, the crowds of people move in smooth rhythms and the shops are rammed with last minute school shoppers - they carry books by the arm full and have bags with the uniform shop logo, Madam Malkin’s, etched into it. John thinks back to when that was him, all those years ago, he thinks about how excited he had been to be accepted into Hogwarts; what a path it had put him onto, and it has all led up to this very moment.

He is completely in two minds about all of it.

It’s later on, in the confines of his room at The Leaky Cauldron, that John’s eye begins to burn - seemingly out of nowhere.

He shifts in his bed, it squeaks and groans beneath his weight, but John just can’t seem to get comfortable. With no active wound or injury in itself he can do little more than ride out the pain, his potions would be futile, or at least the ones he has on hand would be.

It feels like there are needles under his skin, poking through and puncturing his flesh, the searing pain is hot to the touch, his fingertips feel as if they’re touching freshly cooked meat - fresh off a skillet and sizzling.

John has felt pain before, pain much worse than this, but it doesn’t make it any easier. His body is tired and his mind seeks rest, but the itch behind his left eye is enough to make him want claw it out of his own head - would the lack of an eye take the pain away?

Who knows? Certainly not John.

When he wakes the next morning, he feels even more tired than he had when he laid his head down for the night. He had been too hot and irritated to sleep, the pain in his head and eye too much to ignore. His muscles feel heavy as he dresses for the day, a crisp three piece suit, purchased for the occasion; it’s a deep navy blue in colour and he pairs it with an indigo tie that has a silky-like finish to it. John feels rigid, too stuffy in all of his layers, as if his necktie is trying to strangle him to death - it’s all a little too formal for his liking.

He knows first impressions mean a great deal, and for that reason and that reason only does he force himself to grin and bear the discomfort. Not only will John be meeting so many new people, most of them faculty, he knows he’ll be back in the presence of some familiar faces, some a damn sight more welcome than others. All the same, he wills himself to hold his tongue and use his manners, he owes it to Price.

John boards the Hogwarts express at ten-to-nine in the morning and is set to arrive at twenty-past-five in the evening.

Yes, he could have used a quicker - more efficient mode of transportation, but he didn’t really want to. It was far too risky to apparate in his current physical condition, the same for riding a broom. He wasn’t the best with the Floo Network systems and he didn’t know of any Portkeys that led directly to Hogwarts, if there even were any.

The long train journey gives John plenty of time to think, maybe too much time, he plays over everything in his head. Rehearsing how he’ll introduce himself, wondering what his living space will be like, weighing up whether or not he’s made the right decision even coming all together.

He tries to ignore the dull pain in his head. It throbs rhythmically, pulsing behind his bad eye, making him blink harshly from the intrusion of pain. He’s hoping it’s his anxieties playing up, that once he’s there and settled that he’ll stop getting the headaches - at least he can brew something stronger there if it doesn’t subside.

The wizard remains productive. Writing up some lesson plans for the first years, coming up with a to-do list for when he actually gets there, already thinking about ways he can keep himself busy until the school year officially starts up. Thanks to the lull of the trains carriage and the lack of other passengers, John manages a few hours of sleep, while not the most comfortable - it definitely does him good to shut his eyes for a little bit.

By the time he’s stirred awake by the jolting of the carriage, the sun has crept down past the horizon and the sky has transformed into a beautiful euphony of buttery-peach and a deep shade of violet. They meld together on the backdrop of the rolling hills, lined with woolly sheep and highland cows, John knows they’re close - he’s made this journey enough times to know.

The train compartment is illuminated in a streaky glow of pale yellow from the lamp that’s fastened to the wall above his head, he’s grateful that it isn’t too bright, it’s just enough for him to read his papers - it’s soothing in a way. It gives him a chance to look over all of his paperwork a final time before he begins to stack it all together neatly, putting it away for safe keeping, making way for a new flurry of nerves that tighten in John’s throat.

By the time he’s departed from Hogsmeade station and is reaching the stretch of a short dirt path that leads toward the school gates, it is already dark enough that John needs to use his wand to cast the lumos charm, the tip of his wand now able guide his way through the evening air. He had sent his tawny owl, Einar, ahead of him; letting him out of the carriage window as they approached the Hogsmeade station, he was sending word to Price of his owners arrival.

Sure enough, as John approaches the Covered Bridge, he’s able to make out the silhouette of a man, one with wide shoulders and sturdy legs. With each step the man takes, the others man’s face is illuminated in a deep amber glow - the familiarity makes John quirk a smile.

“Filthy muggle habit that is” a smile stretches across his lips as he speaks, watching as Price takes a long - final drag of his cigar, shaking his head with the same easy smile John wears. “Shut it you” the older wizard scolds, emptily, stepping forward to greet John with a hand shake - one that leads them to pull each other into one another’s arms, firm hands patting backs as they spare a breathy laugh.

It has been so long, John thinks, he won’t say it out loud, but he’s missed the familiar smell of his old friend - tobacco and fresh parchment, with the sadly recognisable hint of powdered moonstone. Not much has changed at all, he fears.

The two men break away from their embrace and simply look at each other for a few long seconds, despite the years that have passed, nothing but the faint signs of age and wear and tear have changed the two of them. John notices that Price’s eyes linger on his bad eye, a minuscule crease in his old friend’s brow makes John slightly unnerved, but it appears that Price catches himself quickly. Price quirks a slight-smile, “it looks like you’ve healed nicely” he notes, “I was worried when I received word from the Ministry about the incident, as soon as I opened the letter and saw your name my heart fell out of my arse - I can’t lie to you” despite the way Price forces a laugh from his chest, John can tell he is deadly serious.

Price may retain his stone-like composure on the outside, but inside he is probably, if not definitely, the most caring man John has ever met in his entire life.

John smiles, somewhat somber, thinking back to the time in which that letter was sent. “You know me sir, takes a lot more then a severing charm to down me”, John puffs out his chest, a futile attempt to make light of the topic, Price sees straight through him. The statement is true; in part, it would take a damn sight more to deter John Mactavish from something he has firmly set his mind to. He’s had unforgivables hurled at him too many times to count and the amount of dittany that he’s used during his Auror years would put any apothecary to shame, but even so, nothing had stopped him.

Until now, until everything changed.

John knows that Price knows. The physical injury hadn’t been the main detail of the letter, it was merely an afterthought, a by the way. Thats why he’s here now; unfit for fighting, forced into the confines of a classroom to sit behind a desk and drone on and on about the many uses of powdered root of asphodel. He’s grateful, he’s one of the lucky ones, he was able to keep his life, but he had so many more things he planned to do before even thinking about what would come after his career as an Auror.

Price clasps a hand to John’s shoulder, a steady grip as their gazes meet, “how are you feeling?” The older wizard asks, a faint lilt of his scouse accent dripping through his words, he speaks gently.

From the look on John’s face, you’d think he’s been asked to recite a Shakespearian play off by heart, he opens his mouth to answer but takes a moment to reconsider his words.

He thinks deeply, compressing everything that’s happened recently, he’s stacked and folded everything neatly and filed them away in his mind - collecting dust. He’s tried this before, and sooner or later, the filing cabinets overflow and spill, a mess for him to have to clean up. He’s beginning to learn that bottling things up isn’t the right way to deal with things, as much as it is an automatic response for him given his last few years spent in isolation from anyone he felt he could really talk to and open up to, John knows that he’s back in the presence of a man that is there to listen - no matter how big or small the issue seems.

John’s mind seems to come back to him, and with a heavy sigh and closed eyes, he opens his mouth to speak - “not good”.

He opens his eyes and looks toward the dark sky, the delicate blue of his eyes reflecting the fullness of the moon as it sits heavy and round in the sky.

“Not good at all”

It’s dark. So dark that John can’t see his own hands in front of him, it leaves him disoriented, unstable on his feet as he tries to catch his bearings.

He blinks his eyes quickly, willing his eyes to adjust to the dark, he hasn’t got his wand - and he’s never been the best at wandless magic. Too busy of a mind, he was always told.

The sound of his own breathing catches his ears, it’s unsteady, faltering as his heart beats painfully against his ribcage. There’s an uneasy feeling that begins to take root in his chest, spreading throughout his lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe.

His feet patter against the floor, it’s cold and his feet are bare, he’s dazed and confused. The sensations around him feel real, the chill in the air and the way he can feel his breath fog the space before his face, the cold Earth against the bottoms of his feet and the dread that licks its way up his spine. It’s all too vivid to be a dream, a little too real, too close to home.

It’s clumsy, the way John steps forward, arms extended out at his sides to balance himself, to see if there’s anything around him to lean on or anchor himself to. There isn’t. He continues to blink, each time harder than the last, every one of his senses is beyond his reach - not feeling real.

Another step, and then another.

Something warm touches his toes, it makes him still, unsure on whether or not to progress forward. But this is all a dream, there are no consequences here.

He moves ahead, his feet trudging through something warm and wet, viscous in nature.

It’s familiar. It’s foreign. It’s blurred.

John feels dizzy. His head pounds and his eyes sting from strain, the pain feels so real, a little too real. As he takes another step forward, arms still outstretched, his fingers graze something. Something solid. Something real.

For some reason, John’s blood chills, the hairs on his arms and at the nape of his neck stand on end, fight or flight activated.

Suddenly, the darkness evaporates, as if it’s sucked out of the air.

Johns palm flattens against whatever he had bumped into, he can see his hand now, he watches as blood drips between his splayed fingers.

His mouth opens to make a noise but nothing comes out, he’s silenced, unable to cry out for help or mercy.

His eyes quickly trail up, following the blood that drips, directly to the source. From the mangled jaws of a beast; a half man - half creature, sharp blood-coated teeth grind together and John can’t rip his eyes away.

He’s trapped in the pull of it, in the way the creatures chest rattles and the way the stench of copper and decaying flesh fills his nostrils - bile rises in his throat.

John can’t think, he can’t blink, his body isn’t his own. He stares at the beast, looking up, finally realising the creatures eyes are fixed on him, watching with lidded eyes - John knows those eyes.

A hazel tree from somewhere he can’t remember. The way they bleed into a gentle green in the centres. There’s delicate flecks of gold in the brown parts that he remembers, he’d memorised where each fleck was, but it’s out of his reach now.

John screams. He hears it, inside of his head, echoing around him. The beast has its claw in his head, its sharp unguis piercing his eye with a haunting wet squelch.

It’s his bad eye, the one that bears the scars and the curse, the reason for his downfall.

The man can feel the pain, it’s white-hot, it’s agony. It rips through every part of him, the blood and fluid rushes out of his head and down his front, staining his skin. His screams tear from his throat, so much so there is little to no noise anymore, he’s severing his own vocal cords from the strain.

He shuts his remaining eye tightly, he can’t look at the creature any longer, it’s maiming him, it’s killing him.

Then, through the pain and the noise and the darkness, there’s another familiarity that breaks John out of his own mind.

“Johnny?”

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #alternative universe #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #hogwarts au #hogwarts professor au #Ghoap #Ghoap fanfic #Ghoap au fanfic #john soap mactavish #ghoap au #ghoap fic #ghoap angst #call of duty fic #Simon ghost Riley x John soap Mactavish #lichwrites

23 notes · View notes

courtforshort15 · 1 year

Text

Chapter 4

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem reader

Word Count: 5,600

Summary: It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger warning: This one has a fairly graphic description of something towards the end regarding death.

Masterlist

Chapter Index

The small bookstore looks nothing short of a location where a bomb had been detonated.

It hardly resembles the haven you had run into a little less than an hour ago, dust-covered and shaking, head and body increasingly vulnerable with every second that passed by. When you’d entered the building, numerous bookshelves had been standing throughout the floor space, symmetrically and strategically placed for maximum efficiency and exposure, each one bold and welcoming in the face of new and experienced readers. Rows and rows of colorful books had been placed lovingly on the shelves, every single one of them looking ready and eager for someone to pull it out and bring it home. Displays and racks of reading materials ranging from cook books to self-help guides to religious texts, and it was as if each item was a swift and earnest reminder of New York City’s diverse population and their reading needs and enjoyments.

The small shop had likely belonged to a small business owner, their blood, sweat, and tears shed in its foundation, a testament to their love for the written word and the journeys it could take a person on.

And it was just…gone.

“Jesus.”

His response is soft. “I know.”

“If you hadn’t pulled us into the bathroom, then we—”

“Let’s not go there, okay?”

Your heart aches as you take in the scene, and your eyes lock onto the lone bookshelf that had somehow endured the chaos. It’s as if it exists solely to offer some sort of twisted and miserable reminder of the way the shop had stood so proudly only minutes before. Books are strewn across the floor, and though some are relatively unharmed, there are others that are burnt with only the spine and a few pages remaining, nothing left but words that have turned into ashes.

Glass crunches under your shoes as you leave the bathroom and walk slowly into what remains, a soft breeze drifting in from the large hole in the store that had once been wide, clear windows. Heat drifts in, too, the feel of it sweltering, and where it had once been the simple heat of a beautiful spring day, it’s now sticky and bitter and utterly unwelcome.

Matt walks cautiously ahead of you, hand slowly dropping yours as he makes his way to the front of the store, dark head tilting here and there as if focusing intently on something before deciding to move on. He expertly navigates his way around fallen bookshelves, sidestepping piles of books that have fallen and huddled together, and you follow behind slowly, your feet instinctively taking you through the same path he’s seemingly mapped out for you.

When he reaches the space where the windows had once rested, he stops and situates his body so that he’s angled halfway between you and the street, head once again cocked to the side. He lifts a finger to his lips as if encouraging you to be as quiet as possible, but it’s a hard task to accomplish with the way your heels continue to press into the glass, and each step clinks far too loudly. Your shoe catches on something, and you can’t help the swear word that loudly leaves your mouth as you regain your balance.

Somehow you manage to make your way to his side, cringing as you take in the full view of the street. You don’t have words for the destruction, to be honest. A slowly burning car lies on its side up the block from you, the freshly planted trees and flowers across the street are crumbled and smashed into the sidewalk, buildings are torn apart, gaping holes yawning wide with heaps of glass and brick spilling onto the street. The sight is something you’ve never seen before, and each second you spend staring at it, the further it stains and bleeds into your memory.

You guess you’ve joined the millions of people who have witnessed a New York tragedy. It’s a club you hadn’t ever thought you’d have to join, the kind of club that offers memberships with PTSD as the recurring charge, and it rocks you to your core.

“This isn’t…this isn’t something we’ll ever heal from.”

Though he only says it in a barely-there whisper, the tone that manages to seep in is solemn and grave. “No. No, it’s not.”

Utterly sick to your stomach, you turn your head to face Matt, needing to see something besides the trauma seeping out onto the road. The cut above his hairline is still bleeding, leaving a small line of red trailing down the side of his forehead, and in this lighting it seems to be more severe than you had maybe thought it was. With a wince, your hand twitches at your side as if you want to wipe it off, but you force yourself to remain still. He had seemed surprised when you’d tried to help earlier, and you don’t want to throw him out of whatever he’s focusing on.

Your eyes shift back to the street reluctantly, and you note that, for some reason, you’ve been instinctively waiting on his go-ahead to begin the arduous journey to the subway station. Opening your mouth, you start to ask him what he’s waiting for, but he interrupts you.

“I think we’re good to go,” he says as his head snaps back towards yours. His mouth is twisted in a grimace, and you can see the glimmer of fear that flashes over a face that’s just as weary and exhausted as yours. “I don’t hear anything nearby.”

You nod immediately, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay. Which way?”

His head swings to the side. “The subway station is a few blocks north and two blocks west, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Matt blows out a loud breath, and you watch as he steels his spine in front of you. “Then we need to go right.”

You don’t question how he knows, instead choosing to gather your strength and wits for a journey that would normally be considered a short walk. But four blocks feels like a marathon away, feels like you’re making the walk between the Shire and Mordor, the trek likely to contain danger and trauma and fire lying in wait at every twist and turn.

The whisper of your name pulls you back to the bookstore, and the tone conveys a softness that is at an extreme clash with everything going on around you. Your head turns so that you’re facing him head on, his body seemingly undaunted and thrumming with an energy you haven’t yet seen on him. It’s almost like he’s taken all the chaos around him and suddenly focused it into something even stronger, something more determined than the things flying around the city like they own it.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice shockingly calm for someone who is about to leave behind the only semblance of shelter he’s had since this all began.

It’s your last chance to back out, but you wave it swiftly aside. “Yes.”

His nod is almost curt in its movement, the jerk of his head brusque and determined. Without a single second wasted, he steps over the small wall of brick that had once held up the glass, only a foot or so in height, dress shoes making their way from the carpet of the bookstore to the concrete of the sidewalk easily. He turns back to you before he’s even finished stepping outside, wordlessly offering his hands to you to help you clear the brick as well, fingers grasping yours tightly to help you maintain balance.

Matt lets go of your left hand once you’re settled next to him and swiftly takes a right, pulling you along behind him for a few seconds as if to make sure you’re still by his side, before releasing contact altogether.

You can’t run, not without risking a major fall or sprained ankle, but you trail after him as fast as you can, walking briskly and jogging at random moments to keep up with him. He notices pretty quickly that you’re unable to keep the pace he has set and immediately slows, keeping himself just a few steps ahead of you. He’s somehow able to dip and avoid large pieces of fallen debris that litter the sidewalk, and you once again follow the path he’s all but laid out for you.

His coordination and agility is far beyond what you had anticipated, even far beyond what you would expect from someone who has perfect vision, and you’re left feeling both confused and grateful for his navigation through the wreckage.

There’s a haze that’s settled over the city, one filled with ash and dust that’s been both kicked up from the normally filthy streets and created through the destruction of concrete. You do your best to breathe through it, do your best to see through it, grateful that the lenses of your glasses offer some sort of protection from something getting into your eyes.

You try your hardest to focus on the mission, focus on the goal of finding shelter, but you can’t help the sheer horror and sadness that hits you whenever you look up long enough to see the level of devastation present. Your heels feel more unstable than ever as you walk, and each step you take is clouded in fear and anxiety, even as you move as swiftly as possible with every ounce of determination you can drag up.

“You with me?”

“Yes,” you quickly reply, fleetingly puzzled, because surely he can hear your heels scraping along the concrete and the way you’d stuttered out the word fuck when a distant crash startled you. It only takes a split second to realize he hadn’t been asking if you were behind him, but rather checking in on you to see how you were doing.

What strikes you, perhaps the most, is how deserted the streets are. Or, at least how deserted these specific blocks are, though, to be fair, you aren't super close to the hole in the sky. It could be a completely different story closer to Stark Tower, which sits a few blocks south and a few blocks east, and you're exceedingly grateful that your little slice of Hell's Kitchen is just far enough away from the main action. But still, even once you turn the corner, there’s no one. You’re not quite sure how it's possible. The island of Manhattan is home to over one million people alone, and the number of people around the city doubles during the work day. It’s a place where people flood into and recede from daily, like some sort of tide that washes up and retreats.

You leave your answer at the yes you had responded with, figuring it’s easier to leave it there rather than explain the way your heart continues to drop with every step you take. You don’t expect to get to the subway station unscathed, there’s too much going on around you, and far too much out there that can cause you harm.

It’s the city that never sleeps, but even with the crashing and the explosions and the police sirens, it’s never felt more quiet.

Where the fuck is everyone?

You guess, you hope, that people have found shelter. The opening of whatever portal had appeared over Stark Tower had caused widespread panic, people fleeing for their lives, crashing into and around each other in an effort to get away and get inside. But it doesn’t explain why New York suddenly feels like a ghost town.

He may not be able to see the streets, but you’re completely positive he can feel the emptiness of them.

You suppose the invasion, if that’s what this should be called (how could one word ever begin to accurately describe the chaos?), had first happened approximately forty five minutes ago, give or take, plenty of time for people to find somewhere to go to wait out the shit storm that’s reigning down. For a quick moment, it makes you suddenly second guess your decision to head towards the subway station when everyone else is staying indoors, and you briefly wonder if Matt is feeling the same way.

But you don’t know how long this is going to last, and while the bookstore had been a temporary solution, it certainly had not been a sustainable one, and right now the focus needs to be on finding something that could outlast the onslaught for as long as possible.

The first crosswalk lies not too far ahead, and some part of you slows as you would at any other normal instance, but he keeps moving swiftly, clearly aware that there’s no need to pause for traffic. Cars and vans and trucks have been abandoned and left for fate to decide what will happen to them, many of them already damaged beyond any hope for repair. Most have their driver side doors open, as if the drivers barely had time to exit their vehicles, much less worry about closing the doors. Some vehicles have crashed into others, and you’ll never know if it was purposefully as someone tried to escape, or if cars were thrown into each other from the force of various explosions and blasts.

But all vehicles, or at least the ones you can see, are empty of people. You’re grateful for that, at least, knowing it means that the people on this particular block were able to find relative safety.

It’s a pretty straight shot from one street corner to the one across the intersection, and Matt makes his way across briskly, you hot on his heels, doing your best to keep the pace despite the way your feet are throbbing with each and every step. He’s extremely patient even in the urgency of the moment, somehow knowing every time your foot catches on something, quickly turning around and placing a hand on your arm for balance.

It happens more often than you care to admit, knowing that each tiny tumble, however miniscule, is delaying the progress to the subway station.

You’re not too far past the intersection, crossing in front of an alleyway, when he turns abruptly on his heel and pushes you into the gap between the two buildings.

“What–”

But he’s shoving the two of you down behind a giant green dumpster before you can finish your question, and his body twists slightly over yours. You cling to his suit jacket for balance with one hand, and place your wrapped up hand on the brick of the wall for additional support, your quads burning slightly as you hunch over. His form may be covering you slightly, but your face is still turned towards the entrance of the alley, and your eyes are wide as they stare over his shoulder, waiting to see whatever had spooked him. Nothing happens, not for a few seconds at least, and it rattles your nerves, your body already anticipating another round of terror.

Matt abruptly shifts, moving as if to cover you more completely, and it momentarily pulls your attention from the mouth of the alley. But you don’t think his movement succeeds in his goal, largely because your head is still completely exposed, and it certainly doesn’t stop your eyes from suddenly tracking the things that fly past the gap of the buildings, some sixty or so feet above the ground.

They come out of nowhere, sliding into your vision as quickly as they leave, too far away and too fast for you to get a clear glimpse, but you’re one hundred percent certain that it’s one of the things that had been standing outside of the bookstore when the glass had shattered, stalking down the street looking for people to kill in cold blood, no remorse or empathy for the humans who call Earth home.

“They’re too fast,” he mutters, the sound harsh even in its low volume. “I can’t–I hear them coming, but they get too close way too soon. Not a lot of time to hide.”

“Fucking hell,” you hiss under your breath, twisting your head so that you can see better over Matt’s shoulder. “They’re everywhere.”

Your eyes shift to the face that’s mere inches from yours. “You can hear–? How far away can you hear them from?”

He hesitates for just a brief moment. “Far,” he says before taking a large, shuddering breath. It almost sounds painful, as if his lungs are protesting the sudden intake of oxygen. “But like I said, they’re too fast. I hear them and suddenly they’re right on top of us.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I…yeah. That about sums it up.”

Matt stands up slowly, bracing his hand against the wall as he reaches up to his full height. You follow the motion, not bothering to cover the quiet groan that escapes you. Your body has been turned and twisted into far too many uncomfortable positions today, and you find yourself internally grumbling about the lack of effort you’ve put into exercise lately. Every muscle in your body hates you right now, and you don’t want to think about how sore you’ll be once the adrenaline has left your system.

“Are they gone?”

Head facing away from you, Matt takes a small step forward, his focus on something you can’t see or hear. You stay where you are, ready to duck back down the dumpster if needed. The ground is filthy, the pieces of trash that hadn’t made it into the dumpster littering the concrete, and you can’t help but allow yourself a moment of disgust.

“It’s hard to tell” he finally says with a sigh as turns back to face you. His face is hard in its frustration. “They’re–they’re everywhere. Moving too fast to track sometimes, especially with so many of them. I can’t quite…I can’t be completely positive of where they’re at or where they’re going.”

Swallowing, you nod your head as if you understand, but you really don’t. “And you’re–you’re relying on your hearing to tell you where they are? From blocks away?”

“Yes,” he responds simply as he rolls his shoulders. The look he sends your way is as dry as it is nonchalant. “It’s not like I can use my eyes, so…”

You flush. “Right. Stupid question.”

Matt waves it off without much thought and places his hands on his hips. A loud bang sounds off from somewhere in the distance, far too close for your taste, and he flinches at the sound before straightening his shoulders.

“So,” you say, resting back against the brick wall. Your voice is shaking, just a tiny bit, but the two of you don’t acknowledge it. “I don’t think the coast is ever going to be completely clear.”

He grimaces. “Agreed.”

“And we’re definitely worse off right here than we were at the bookstore. But we’re still a few blocks away. Do you think….? Should we just find somewhere else to go inside?”

“Then we keep heading north,” you confirm with a quick and decisive nod of your head. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your face and you hastily wipe it away. “But we need to keep sticking to the side of the buildings. The alleys can help hide us if something comes our way.”

Shaking his head, Matt immediately rejects the idea. “There’s too much glass. And everything–everything seems so vulnerable here. They’re crumbling buildings so easily. We're so lucky that the one we were in didn't collapse completely when that thing landed on it. I still...I really think it’s safest to be underground.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably the best we can do right now.”

“Right. Ok. Let’s go.” You pass by Matt and make your way to the front of the alley entrance fully intending on taking a step back out onto the sidewalk, ready for this to be over and dreading every inch you’ll be walking. He walks up quietly behind you and appears at your shoulder, but somehow he must sense your reluctance because he doesn’t exit the alley.

The frown on his lips isn’t as severe as you’ve seen it so far, but it's definitely pronounced. “You’re hesitating.”

You deny the comment with a shake of your head, even though he’s partly correct. “No, I’m ready. It’s just…it’s a ghost town out here,” you remark almost helplessly, motioning towards the empty streets that he can’t see but can surely hear. “I haven’t seen a single person since we entered the book store. Where is everyone? Where did they go?”

Head cocking slightly, Matt’s quiet for a moment before answering a question that had been kind of rhetorical. “There’s people in the surrounding buildings.”

“What?”

“Yes, everyone has run inside at this point, I think.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but he stops himself. Running an aggravated hand through his hair, he sighs and appears to give into what he was about to say. “But I…I think the glass makes them too vulnerable. People are standing too close to the windows, makes them too much of a target.”

“It’s a long story,” he tells you, and you watch as he sort of folds in on himself as if he’s let go of some sort of large secret he’s still not sure he should have revealed. But it only lasts a moment before he’s standing up tall again, head tilted up and mouth set in determination. “And I…I promise to tell you when we get through this. Alright?”

“How do you even know that?”

When.

There were so many things to live for, so many things to keep fighting for as hell continues to break loose around you, but you’d be lying if you said that the thought of this man sharing something with you hadn’t just become one of them. You have a feeling it’s not something he’s shared with many, and you have the weird inkling that maybe he needs to tell you just as much as you need to hear it, if only to hold on to the thought that there could possibly be life after whatever the hell is going on in the city.

Not if.

You stare straight at him, taking in the way he’s somehow managed to expose a vulnerability while also demonstrating his strength and determination. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

The smile he sends you is hesitant, clouded by the heaviness of the situation, but it’s there, and it’s beautiful.

“Deal.”

Things continue to boom and shake, sirens continue to blare, but you follow Matt out of the alley way without question, once again allowing him to navigate and lead you through the piles of debris. He stays a few steps ahead of you, black suit jacket covered in dust and tiny tears that must have been a result of the windows that had shattered. His hands are clenched fists at his side, and the haze that has fallen over the city does its best to pull him in, but you refuse to lose and be lost by him.

The sun is still bright up ahead, even through the smoke and the fear, and the sight of it leads you forward, wanting nothing more than to have the opportunity to live and feel it heat your skin on a day that’s not shrouded by terror.

This block is just as eerie, just as desolate, as the one you’ve already walked down, nothing but random empty cars and scorched pavement, likely from the blast of whatever sort of weaponry these things are firing around with little care as to who or what would be in its path. It reminds you of a post-apocalyptic movie, the kind where there’s nothing left to save except the gas from a gas station or non-perishables from a corner store.

You do your best to stare straight ahead at Matt’s back rather than the disaster that’s been painted around you, but you can’t help but glance up and down, left and right, mind still struggling to link the peaceful Wednesday afternoon to where you are now. You’re in a constraint state of disbelief, some part of you still on that street corner with your iced coffee in your hand, lip curled as you send Brenda’s call to voicemail, nothing on your mind but your painful shoes, unfinished spreadsheets, and the warmth of a sunny spring day.

The loud screech and following crash from a few blocks over pulls you back into your body with a jolt, and it leaves you feeling bitter and broken. Your skin feels itchy with the dust, your feet throb with every step you take, but you’re here, and you’re alive, and you—

Out of the blue, Matt falters.

He’s not facing you directly, but you can see that his face has lost its color.

You almost crash straight into him, the speed of your body nearly too fast to avoid running into his back, but you’re able to swerve at the last moment, coming to a stop just slightly ahead of him. He hadn’t tripped on something on the sidewalk, but he had stumbled, his body briefly losing his coordination as his focus shifted elsewhere.

“Matt?” you immediately question, alarmed at how pale he’s gone. His name leaving your lips is half a started yelp and half a demand for an explanation.

He whips his head toward yours, seemingly startled at your presence, and you take a quick step forward to rest one of your hands on his shoulders. Shuddering, he leans slightly into the contact, face still far too pale for your liking, and you don’t hesitate to take another step into his space.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, lips open and dragging in a panicked breath. “At the next intersection,” he begins, throat bobbing dramatically, and it sounds like he’s forcing the words out. You wince in pain for him, because whatever he’s trying to say doesn’t sound like it’s coming easily. “Not the one we’re about to cross, but the next one…don’t…don’t look left.”

Confusion floods through you, and your eyes can’t help but narrow. “What? Why not?”

Matt’s mouth opens and closes twice before he speaks again, body once again shuddering even as he tries to reel himself back together in front of you. “You shouldn’t–it’s not…” He swallows, and the motion almost looks painful. The sun hits his glasses just right, and from this angle and distance, you can see the eyes that shift and dance over your face and beyond your shoulder rapidly. “Just try not to look left, if you can help it. Okay?”

You frown, unable to stop the expression. “I’ll try.”

And you’re not lying when you tell him you’d try not to look left at the intersection, but in all honestly, you wish you’d tried harder.

The bus is turned over on its side just a quarter of the way down the block when you take your first few steps into the intersection, and its hulking mass out of the corner of your eye catches your attention unconsciously. Before you’ve even thought it through, before Matt’s suggestion has a chance to repeat itself in your head, your head is turning to look at it.

You shouldn't have.

You really shouldn’t have.

It's definitely not the only vehicle in the street, definitely not the only one that's been completely destroyed by the disaster, but it stands out, for obvious reasons. The whole thing is covered in flame, dark smoke weaving its ways out of the pores left often by the shattered glass of the windows, twisting higher and higher into the sky. A giant hole is torn into it, leaving parts of the metal hanging by mere scraps, the tires sagging even without the weight of the bus riding on them.

But the worst part is the sight of the bodies burning inside. Broken, shredded, diminishing.

There’s a scream tearing itself out of your throat, the force of it as scalding as the fire that’s burning not half a block from you, and it’s a sound that belongs in horror movies.

Matt is immediately moving in front of where you’re turned, effectively blocking your view. But it’s too late, the damage is done, and the scene is something that will be in the back of your head for the rest of your life. “I told you not to look left,” he says in your ear, his voice every bit as broken as yours, layered with the same levels of fear and grief as yours. “You shouldn’t have—”

But you’re pushing past him before he finishes speaking, your mind suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that someone could be in there, someone could be alive, someone could need help, and–

It’s primal, this feeling of urgency to get there, this feeling of urgency to pry apart metal if you need to, scalding your hands until they bled if it meant that you could help someone. But it’s also irrational, because even in the back of your head, you’re completely aware that there’s no one who could have possibly survived whatever ball of fire had been thrown at the bus.

The bus had been full of people on their way to work, teenagers skipping school, men and women on their lunch breaks. It had never stood a chance, not when something had locked on to its location and found it to be a suitable destination for its rage and need to destroy. Something that had once been so full of life was now nothing more than a pile of metal, heat, and burning flesh.

Before you can get more than five steps away, Matt’s pulling you back into him, body once again coming between you and the scene. You try to step around him again, but he blocks you, his own frame shaky and full of horror as he wraps his hands around your upper arms to keep you from moving forward.

It fills you with a sense of panic, his attempt to keep you from helping those poor innocent people, so you struggle in his hold, ripping your body left and right to help loosen his hands. But he’s far stronger than you, and so even while he keeps his hands loose enough as to not cause any pain, his grip is still firm and you’re unable to move more than a few inches in either direction. “Let me go, Matt.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” he tells you quickly, and the words seem hazy in your mind, as if your head can’t process and believe he’s telling you to walk away. “We need to leave.”

“What? No! No, there might be people in there, we can’t leave.”

Matt shakes his head rapidly, and the slow, single tear that trails down his face alarms you as it cuts a severe line through the thin layer of dust that has collected on sweat-soaked skin. “There’s not anyone to…there’s no one we can help.”

“How do you know?” you wail, voice high-pitched and panicked, still trying to pull away. “We have to—”

“Hey,” he says, stepping closer into your space, hand dropping one of your arms and instead coming up to rest on your cheek. The other hand soon follows, completely cupping your face between hands that are every bit as nicked and cut as yours. “Hey, look at me.” Your eyes move from the plume of smoke that continues to rise over his shoulder back to his face. “There’s no one to help. I promise.”

“But–”

“I promise,” he repeats slowly, gently, and the words are so full of sadness that you almost need to take a step back. “There’s no one in there that we can save, sweetheart.”

The name doesn’t even register, but the rest of the words do, the clear image of death settling over you, even as gently as they’re said. You bury your head in your hands, the frames of your glasses digging into the skin of your right palm and the tie wrapped around your left, the shock too vicious and blinding even for tears.

Choking back a dry sob, you squeeze your eyes tightly shut, flinching when the sound of something exploding blocks away reverberates through the city. The sound is startling enough to make you jerk your head out of your hands, and the danger you’re in by simply standing in the middle of the street, nothing hiding you from view and covering your head, sets back in. You take it as some sort of terrifying sign to finally move, nodding your head in a jerky motion and doing your best to compose yourself.

Even so, you can’t help the hiccup that escapes your mouth. “You’re…you’re sure? That there’s no one–”

His head falls forward slightly, his face displaying a sense of devastation that’s no doubt shared by all of the city. “I’m sure.”

Your eyes flutter shut as a shudder of grief wracks your entire body. “Okay,” you whisper in acceptance. It’s a painful acceptance, and a part of you still wants to run to the bus and check for yourself. “Then we need to–”

“Yes,” he immediately agrees.

“Okay.” You take a deep breath, one that scalds your lungs as the air moves in and out. You take a shaky step away from him and start walking, suddenly desperate to put as much distance between yourself and the bus that has already imprinted itself harshly in your head, forever scalded into your long term memory. You can’t let yourself stay here, you need to focus on what’s going on ahead of you and keep going, however anguished you feel about it. It wretches at your heart to leave those people so callously behind, knowing they deserve more than someone turning their back on them in their first moments of death.

But you also know that you need to keep moving if you want to make sure you’re not added to the growing list of casualties, guilty of nothing more than choosing to live in the concrete jungle of New York. There will be a time for mourning, a time to scream and cry and wallow in a misery so large it would swallow you whole, but now is not that time.

And so, with one last look at the twisted kaleidoscope of reds and yellows and oranges bursting up from the overturned vehicle, you finish crossing the street, Matt just a few steps behind you.

#matt murdock #Daredevil #human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #battle of new york #tw: death

193 notes · View notes

bucci-cookies · 1 year

Text

A Trip To Naples - Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

Here is a commission piece I did where the reader goes on a trip to Italy and falls in love with a lovely stranger :)

Naples: the birthplace of pizza, home of the famous Amalfi Coast and, of course, the destination of your impulsive getaway. With the stress of work pushing down on your shoulders, you needed some sort of break; those winning tickets couldn’t have come at a better time. Three weeks living in the bustling Campanian city in an all-expenses paid hotel was a perfect way to spend your annual vacation time.

One of the highlights of Naples was its colourful markets: picturesque stalls and shops lining the cobblestoned streets selling various trinkets, clothing and flowers. You found yourself in the Market of Antignano, deep in the centre of Vomero. The jovial sellers beckoned you over to look at the various slippers, cosmetics and linen sitting on the displays, eager to squeeze some money out of you before lunch. An elderly woman with thick black hair selling keyrings waved at you, shaking one of them in her hand. It was a cute little thing, a brown plastic bear holding a red heart between its paws, all connected to the metal ring. You figured that you might as well replace your old worn-out one with a new souvenir.

“Questo è perfetto per voi zucca!” She smiled, placing the ring in your hand. To your knowledge, she said it was perfect for you.

“Il mio Italiano…non è buono” You laughed awkwardly. The only fault in this seemingly perfect holiday was that you only had very little knowledge of the language. You could say enough to scrape by, but in this case, you found it easier to say you don’t know the language well.

“Ah! You speak English, zucca?” The woman asked, not phased by your inability to speak her Italian.

You sighed loudly, thankful that you could converse in a language you understood. “Yes, I do. Sorry, this is my first time in Italy.”

“Oh? How lovely!” She beamed, giving you a toothy grin. She looked down at her watch, 1 pm, almost time to close up for today. "Have you got somewhere to go for lunch?"

"Nowhere, in particular. I'll just walk around and see what looks nice." You had researched local places to eat earlier. Most of them were within the same vicinity so you planned to go to whatever seemed less busy to avoid long queues.

"Zucca, you must go to Libeccio!" She shook your hand, almost like her life depended on you going there. "It's marvellous, oh you'll love it!" She squealed. "Plus," She said with a smirk, "it's owned by such a sweet young man, Bucciarati. He's so graceful and kind, you’ll love him!”

You remember searching up Libeccio - it was a beautiful restaurant, though you were worried it was a little out of your price range. It screamed expensive from the pictures you saw online. Well, you were on holiday, you might as well allow a little bit of luxury. You paid for the keyring, placing it in the side pocket of your bag before waving the kind woman off as she packed up her stall for the day.

Libeccio was about a ten-minute walk away, allowing you to explore parts of the region a bit more. You took note of some stylish boutiques along the way, thinking about how your wardrobe could do with a revamp. As well as some grocery stores for if you ever needed a snack.

Libeccio, unsurprisingly, was an Italianate-style building. Bay windows with pink and shamrock-like decorative window trims along both stories of the tawny-coloured building. The inside had half-cream half-dark oak walls, and a soft crimson carpet covering the entire dining area. It was a little intimidating to see so many well-dressed people sitting together. Eating meals you probably couldn’t pronounce and drinking wines you had never heard of. You felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb. You swallowed the lump in your throat and made your way to the waiting table where one of the floor workers stood, writing some notes in a large black book. He greeted you with a wide smile as his hazel eyes and tanned skin shone under the bright lights that reflected off his silver name badge that read ‘Alejandro’. He held up a finger, presumably asking you if you were the only diner, to which you nodded. Before you could get a word in, he placed you on a two-seater table near one of the windows with a menu and a glass of water to get you started.

You opened the sleek black booklet, revealing extensive lists of appetisers, starters, mains and desserts, all in clean, fancy, Italian writing. The best thing you could do was whip out Google and try to search for all these meals. You tried to note what sounded best, whittling down the list as best as you could, but you barely scratched the surface of the menu when the waiter returned, asking if you would like to order. With an embarrassed blush, you tried to explain how you were struggling to read the menu. But it seemed like he couldn’t understand you, especially over the noisy restaurant.

You didn’t notice that this interaction had caught the attention of a group of men who sat a couple of tables down from yours. “Scusi.” A sultry voice said. You looked up to see a tall man with darker skin standing next to the waiter. The mas w `A`1as dressed in a cropped sweater and sleek black jeans, offering a perfect view of his toned abdomen. His hair was thick and curly, framing his roundish face and drawing attention to his dark eyes. The man whispered something to the waiter, making him run off, before pulling a chair next to you.

“Buongiorno signora. Are you having trouble with your menu? I see you switching between it and your phone.” Before you could begin to question who this man was and how he knew you would speak English, he took the menu from your hands and began flicking through the pages before tapping one of the options. “This is gravlax bella, it's just cured salmon, comes in thin slices.” He turned over the page. “Ah and capricciosa! You’ve got mushroom, artichokes, baked ham, olives, my absolute favourite!” He said with gusto as he scooched a little closer to you. Truth be told, you didn’t feel too comfortable in this situation, a strange man in a strange country acting so familiar with you made you uneasy. And the way he so easily managed to get rid of the waiter rubbed you the wrong way, who knows what his intentions were? You simply tucked your lips in and nodded at his rambling about the menu, thankful that you at least had some options to order.

You avoided eye contact with the strange man until suddenly his voice stopped. You looked over to see another man standing behind him, one with lighter skin and short black hair. “Mista,” He sighed, his voice a smooth baritone, “la stai mettendo a disagio.” He whispered with a smile, squeezing the man’s shoulder. Instantly he looked back at you, bowing his head.

“I’m so sorry signora, I’ll get out of your way!” He dropped the menu back on the table and walked back to his original seat. He was met with the disapproving headshakes of the third man on the table. The new man moved the chair back to its original place opposite you before holding out a hand.

“Bruno Bucciarati, I’m the owner.” He shot you a dazzling smile. Thankful that he was at least affiliated with the restaurant and not another stranger, you calmly shook his hand. You had to admit, the woman from the market was right, he was handsome. His frame was tall and lean and he had a certain youthful essence in his speech and gestures. His hair was cut to his shoulders, neatly styled to form bangs that reached his thin black eyebrows. His eyes were the most noticeable feature on his face, soft blue ones surrounded by long lashes. If you had to guess, he was probably in his mid 20s. Part of you wondered how a young man like him could own such a lavish restaurant. “You’ll have to forgive my friend, he was only trying to help and he got a bit carried away.” Bruno turned around to face the man you now know to be Mista, presumably staring him down, before facing you again and rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward laugh.

“It’s fine, thank you for clarifying.” You smiled back. “I’m really glad we can speak in English, my Italian isn’t good at all.”

He cocked his head to the side, thin eyebrows furrowed. “You weren’t able to request a menu in English?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, realising this could have been resolved if you simply asked for a different menu. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know I could!” You pressed your hands against your cheeks in shame.

Bruno laughed gently, his shoulder relaxing, grateful that this wasn’t a staff complaint in the works. “It’s okay, I’m glad you know for next time, I will go get you one.” He came back shortly with an identical menu, this time with everything in English. “We get a lot of tourists here, so we print a couple menus in different languages, mainly English and French.”

“Thank you so much sir, it helps a lot.” You waved him goodbye as you flicked through the new one, picking up all of the meals you had missed out on earlier. You decided to give Mista’s suggestion a go, after all, he was just trying to be nice. A different waiter met you this time, a woman with her hair tied back in a long, blonde ponytail and an exuberant expression across on her face, ready to take your order: the capricciosa pizza, and a slice of chocolate cake with gelato for dessert.

By now the restaurant had more customers, different groups of people huddled around the tables, filling the room with the smell of their meals and another layer of noise above the soft music in the background. Couples, families and friends chuckled and chatted together, enjoying the lively mood that the Naples summer put into them as they shared glasses of wine and scrumptious desserts. It didn’t take long for your waitress to return with a piping hot thin crust pizza on a large round plate with a rich cheesy and meaty aroma exuding from it as she placed it in front of your nose. She refilled your glass of water, adding a few blocks of ice to cool you down as the weather had begun to increase, before leaving you to enjoy your meal.

You took a bite from one of the slices, enjoying how the base crunched in your mouth and sighed, it was incredible. The meat was perfectly seasoned and paired wonderfully with the assortment of vegetables. This particular version had an additional drizzle of olive oil, but to your delight, it didn’t make the dish greasy at all. You had never had a pizza as wonderful as this, you saw why that nice old lady recommended Libeccio to you, as well as why Naples is known as the pizza hotspot. It’s like the meal had some sort of hold on you, its smell wrapped around your body, making you focus on the rich ham and savoury sauce. You ordered one of the smaller sizes, making sure you had enough space for dessert, which was just as delightful. The cool vanilla gelato was a perfect pair for the thick, warm chocolate cake. You always tried to limit your sugar intake, not wanting to sacrifice your health for a few treats, but it didn’t take long for your sweet tooth to activate and completely devour the rich cake.

“Did you enjoy your meal?” Mr Bucciarati returned once your plates had been cleared, sitting on the chair opposite you. “I hope everything was to your taste?” He placed his elbow on the table, resting his head on his hand.

While wiping your lips with a napkin, you nodded enthusiastically. “I did! I guess your friend was right about the capricciosa, it’s really amazing!” You definitely planned to return to Libeccio soon, especially since it wasn’t as expensive as you thought it would be.

His cerulean eyes lit up as a toothy grin formed. Libeccio had been his favourite restaurant since he was young. When he bought the establishment from the previous owner, he spared no expense to continue to do its name justice, not wanting to cut any corners regarding the quality of service or food as some would do. “Well I’m glad you liked it, it’s one of my favourites too.” He leaned in a little towards you, clearing his throat. “Can I ask, is this your first time in Italy?”

You paused a little before replying. “Yes. I never travel much, it’s far too expensive these days. I actually won these tickets in a lottery.”

He gave an understanding nod before switching to another beaming smile. “Ahh well that’s lucky, Naples is one of the best cities here. Call me biased since I grew up here, but I thoroughly prefer it to cities up north.” He folded his arms against his chest with a jokingly smug expression on his face. To Bruno, no amount of glitz and glam in Florence or Milan could match the warm pleasure that Naples made in his heart.

“Well, I’m glad I’m in the right place.” You smiled, turning to face him a little more.

“May I ask where you’re from?”

With slight hesitation, you revealed your home country to the kind stranger, watching his eyes light up at your words.

He leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. “Oh? I hear how beautiful it is there, especially in the Spring. I have an old friend who moved to,” He snapped his fingers as he tried to recall the name. “It’s escaped me now, but you know the small town in the south, the one with all the mountains and forests? I had a friend who moved there when we were younger. We would send each other postcards when we were little.” Bruno didn’t have many friends his age, especially as he grew up in a quieter area with an older population. This meant he cherished the few he had greatly. When his friend Mikhail moved away due to his father getting a job abroad, they vowed to always send each other letters and postcards. Sadly, this was cut short when he was twelve. You were familiar with the town he was referring to having visited there several times. It was a gorgeous area, filled with a lively artistic and historical culture, as well as being one of the largest cities from your home.

“Were you given any sort of activity list? Things to do here?” Bruno asked, fiddling with his fingers.

You shook your head. “Nothing, in particular, I don’t really know where to start.” You simply planned to rely on whatever the Internet suggested.

“If you would like anyone to go with you or show you some nice places, I’d be more than happy to show you around.”

“Oh no that’s completely fine! I don’t want to intrude on your schedule.” You grit your teeth, not wanting to inconvenience the lovely owner.

He scoffed with a light-hearted tone, shaking his head. “No, it's fine! You won’t be interrupting anything, I promise.” He paused, briefly before pulling a pen out of his shirt pocket and writing something on a napkin. “Here, this is my number. If you would like to go anywhere or need an idea, I would be more than willing to help.” He neatly folded it and handed it to you. “You don’t have to agree, this is just a suggestion! I know that being in a new country can be hard and sometimes daunting.” He quickly explained, holding his hands up as if to prove that this was just an innocent suggestion. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel as overwhelmed by a stranger as you did when Mista approached you.

You took the napkin from him, placing it in your purse. “Thank you Mr Bucciarati.” There was something about him that made it easy to talk to him: maybe it was his calm body language or his soft facial expressions, but it felt nice talking to him. In your gut, he seemed like a good guy. Besides, it would be nice to have a native speaker around to guide you.

“You can just call me Bruno by the way.” Usually, he was fine with being referred to as Bucciarati, but something in him felt like being less formal with you. “What can I call you?”

“y/n.”

He smiled and tilted his head to the side, causing his hair to fall slightly as he slowly repeated your name. “That’s such a beautiful name.”

**************************************************

It had been two days since you visited Libeccio, and still, the kind man’s napkin sat in your bag, stuffed underneath your purse. Bruno did seem nice, and at least he was the well-known owner of Libeccio, so he wasn’t a completely random stranger. It would be nice to have a personal tour guide, especially someone native to the area, it would also make your trip a lot less lonely. You pulled out the napkin and used the hotel phone to call him. After two rings, he picked up.

“Salve, Bucciarati parla.” He said, his voice was deep and groggy like he had just woken up and you could hear the sizzling of a frying pan in the background.

“Mr Bucciarati - Bruno?” You cleared your throat. “It’s y/n, I hope I didn’t call at a bad time.” You heard ceramic plates clanging against each other as well as the opening and closing of wooden drawers.

Bruno yawned before replying, rubbing his neck, soothing it after an uncomfortable night’s rest. “From Libeccio right?” His voice sounded a little chippier as he placed some bread in the toaster. He couldn’t deny that he was hoping you would call, at least this was something pleasant to start off his otherwise boring day.

“Mhm…I’m sorry I responded so late I-”

“It’s fine, it was a bold move on my part.” He cut you off with a light chuckle as he spread some butter on a crisp slice of toast. He was never usually so forward, especially with new people, the last thing he wanted was to make you feel pressured or preyed on. “Does this mean that you’ve decided to take up my offer?”

“Yes.” You nodded, perching on the end of your double bed.

He was thankful that you couldn’t see the wide grin that spread across his face. “How do you feel about pasta making?” The kettle whistled in the background, steam bursting out of the spout before settling. “There’s a place in the Spanish Quarter, they do pasta-making sessions for pretty much anyone, they’re supposedly quite fun.” Bruno poured himself his usual morning drink, a cup of coffee with a little milk and a dash of honey. He had visited his area several times before, though never to attend a class.

The opportunity to be taught how to make a true Italian pizza did sound intriguing, and a public session would be a safe option to go with a stranger. You concluded that this would be a decent idea. “That sounds great! How much does it cost?” You eyed your purse, knowing that you put yourself on a reasonably tight budget.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll cover you.” He said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his warm coffee.

“No no, I can’t just let you pay for me!”

Bruno let out another soft chuckle as took his usual seat on the sofa. “Don’t worry, the owner owes me anyways. So how does this afternoon sound?” He asked before taking a bite out of the soft buttered bread.

You turned to face the clock on the nightstand. “I can do two o’clock if that’s okay.”

“Meet me at Libeccio then.”

Bruno sat on a long wooden bench just outside the restaurant, arms resting on the back with his head tilted backwards. He wore a blue button-up shirt, opting to leave the top few buttons, exposing the top of his toned chest. Today was a lot warmer than the rest of the week, hence the cool lemonade sitting next to him with already melted ice cubes.

“Sorry I’m late!” You waved shyly, placing a hand on the bench. “I took a wrong turn and ended up at a marketplace.” An awkward laugh left your lips as Bruno sat up to face you, holding a hand above his eyes to avoid the glare of the Sun.

“No problem, the next bus will be here in a few minutes.” He smiled, looking down at his watch. You took a seat next to him, crossing your legs as you waited for the next bus to arrive. Libeccio was even busier than the last time you were there, the chatter from inside the restaurant poured out into the busy streets. This particular street seemed to be the centre of food service in the area, with cafes, bakeries and restaurants lining the road. Across from you was a small coffee shop with outdoor seating, while a dessert parlour with a white and lilac interior sat beside it. Through the window, you could see a group of kids and adults sitting in a booth enjoying an array of ice-creams and milkshakes, the perfect treat for such a hot day.

“That place does incredible cheesecakes,” Bruno’s voice caught your attention. “Probably the best you can get in Naples.” He pointed to the dessert place you were staring at.

“Do you go there often?” You asked, turning to face the man as he sipped his drink.

“Sometimes, when I have the chance. You should try it one day!” He gave you an enthusiastic grin. Libeccio only had limited dessert options, mainly a couple variations of cake with a simple scoop of vanilla gelato, but that wasn’t enough to soothe his sweet tooth. His usual order was a chocolate milkshake with a slice of either cheesecake or a brownie. The positions of Libeccio and Più Golosi (Sweet Tooth) complimented each other well, a savoury and sweet place just across the street from each other, a perfect, tempting pair for customers.

Before you could respond, the small yellow bus pulled up to the stop, stuffed to the brim with a flood of travellers. The double doors swung open, releasing a swarm of people as they rushed to jump off the stuffy vehicle. As Libeccio was in the city centre, the majority of the travellers were ending their journeys here, leaving the bus nice and spacious for the two of you. Bruno led you to a seat in the middle of the bus, slightly behind a group of teenagers chatting away about whatever trip they were on. The bus drove slowly along the street, giving you a chance to gaze at the array of bright and beautiful buildings lining the road. Naples really was a gorgeous city, decorated in bright buildings of various styles: gothic, classical, italiante, modern. Its proximity to the water not only guaranteed you a few nice days at the beautiful beach, but it also meant that you would get some of the best seafood around. As schools were closed for the holidays, you weren’t surprised to see so many kids and teens walking around. Some were in swimwear, most likely from the aforementioned beach, while others were in various summer wear, laughing with friends over smoothies as they moved from shop to shop.

It didn’t take long to reach the place, a large stone building with several cars parked in front. Near one of the entrances was a tall man with cropped black hair, treating himself to a smoke break. “Cardinale.” Bruno waved at the man, causing him to look up from his lighter. On closer inspection, the man, Cardinale, had a large tattoo on his forearm reading “Frederica.”

“Bucciarati.” Cardinale nodded with a smile, walking towards the two of you. “Oh, you brought a friend?” He faced you, looking you up and down before reaching out a hand towards you. “Cardinale, as you have heard.”

You took his hand, noting his strong grip on your hand. “Y/n, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Lovely to meet you too,” He let go of your hand, looking down at his watch. “If you’re here for a class, the next one is in about five minutes, Angelica is leading. Just put on an apron and wait in the hall with the rest of the group.” He pointed you in the direction of the large entrance next to him. “Don’t worry about a fee.” He took a puff of his cigarette as he waved the two of you off.

Contrary to its rustic exterior, the inside of the culinary school was extremely modern and polished. In the long hallway stood a group of about ten people, presumably the other people joining the class, chatting amongst themselves. Along the wall was a line of aprons, well, what would have been a line of aprons if they hadn’t been taken by the rest of the group, you and Bruno helped yourselves to the last two.

The wooden door at the end of the hall swung open, revealing a young woman with thick curly hair, beckoning everyone in. “Welcome welcome! Come inside!” She held the door open for everyone, greeting each member as they entered the pristine kitchen. She was quite tall, with dark skin and hazel eyes, all complimenting the friendly smile spread across her face, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. “Two people to a bench, please wash your hands before you touch anything.”

By default, you and Bruno stayed as a pair, choosing one of the benches near the large arched windows. The woman introduced herself as Angelica, explaining that she was a final-year culinary student and would be leading this session. She took you through all the steps, from making the dough, to forming the various shapes and preparing the sauce. Bruno seemed to be a master already, calmly forming little portions of perfect gnocchi, enough to get some praise from Angelica as she walked around the benches. At first, you were dreading this, worried that you would be the only one to mess up the shapes. The first few pieces of garganelli came out rather flat or irregularly folded, but after the fourth one, you started to get the hang of it. You decided to mix it up with some gemelli, they were much easier than the radiatori which Bruno made.

“You’re so good at this.” You laughed awkwardly, eyeing the array of styles Bruno had made.

He scoffed in return. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, trust me when I say that I was worse than you when I first started.” He tutted loudly, realising he had squashed the riccioli in his hands. “As you can see, I still make mistakes.”

“I don’t think I’ll even attempt the ruote or the spighe.” Angelica had a camera set up at her station, it projected a birds-eye view of her work onto the screen slightly to the left of her. On her board were roughly thirty different types of pasta she made on the spot, ready to be cooked. They were all perfectly shaped with no sign of imperfections.

“Well, maybe when you return from your holiday you can continue practising. Being able to make pasta from home can save a lot of money sometimes.”

“Do you make all of yours from scratch then?” You asked, using the pasta machine to flatten out a new section of dough.

“I try to if I have the time.”

You shook your head. “Owning a restaurant must take a lot of your time, I can’t imagine how much work goes into it.” You began sectioning out the dough for a batch of casarecce.

“Well yes…sort of.” Owning a restaurant was time-consuming, Bruno wouldn’t deny it. But it wasn’t the only thing that limited his time and availability. His position with Passione didn’t concern you, after all, you were a tourist and a stranger. Before the conversation could continue any further, Angelica called everyone’s attention to the front where she took everyone through the sauce.

It was a simple cream sauce with bacon, parmesan and swiss cheese, a perfect match for the pasta. While the food simmered in the separate posts, the opportunity arose for the group members to mingle with each other, only for a few minutes. You ended up conversing with the couple behind you, a pair of 19-year-old university students on a date. The four of you talked about the summer, they shared their plans to travel around Naples before returning to Rome for their studies. While you and Bruno explained that you were also on holiday here and he was showing you around.

Once everything was cooked and plated to Angelica’s standards, everyone made their way to the dining area just down the hall from the kitchen. You both sat by a round wooden table situated by a window, helping yourselves to the freshly squeezed juice offered. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the worst as you took a bite of your dish. To your surprise it was delightful! The thick creamy sauce paired wonderfully with the light pasta, and the bacon gave an extra savoury crunch to the dish.

“See, I knew you weren’t as bad as you thought.” Bruno asked, topping up his glass of juice.

“I surprised myself honestly.” You laughed, collecting another forkful of food. “How is yours?” You noticed that he had already eaten half of his plate.

“As you can see, I thoroughly enjoyed it, it was lovely if I do say so myself.” He smirked proudly, his expression making you giggle. “Though I think I’ll add more vegetables to it if I remake it.” He ate another forkful.

The two of you conversed a little more as you cleaned up your plates and washed them up. Bruno was a real gentleman, even with the smallest things like holding the door open for you, he was a good listener and showed genuine interest in your stories about back home. There was something about him that made you very comfortable, he genuinely seemed like a friend to you, despite how little time you had known him for.

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” You said as you walked towards the bus stop. “I’m very grateful that you did this.” You rubbed the back of your neck shyly.

Bruno gave you a smile as he dug his hands into his pocket, “It’s no problem.” The bus back to Libeccio arrived and you both got on board. It was just as empty as it was when you got on it earlier, allowing the two of you to speak openly. “Y/n? While I enjoy your company and would love to show you more interesting places, I just hope you don’t pressured to meet with me. I know that being in a new country can be daunting and I don’t want you to feel unsafe around me.” Bruno said, squeezing the fabric of his trousers.

“Well, I’m thankful that you appreciate boundaries. I’d like to think I can trust you, I would like to see more places, its better than travelling all alone. You replied, resting your back against the window so you faced him.

The corners of his lips upturned lightly. “I would like that too.” He cocked his head to the side. “Just give me a call whenever you feel like meeting again.”

**************************************************

Today marked two weeks of your trip, and of those fourteen days, ten of them had been spent with Mr Bruno Bucciarati. After the success of the pasta-making class, you met up the next day to try out that dessert place you were looking at, Più Golosi. He treated you to an ice cream sundae with a fluffy waffle, while he had a tall glass of hot chocolate with a slice of carrot cake. The day after that, he took you through the underground world of the Napoli Sotteranea, through the ancient labyrinth of aqueducts, passages and cisterns, weaving through the narrow passages by candlelight. Later you visited some of the other marketplaces, trying out some of the local street food like cuoppo and graffa. Graffa was a kind of fried fluffy, potato-based doughnut covered with sugar. Cuoppo came in land and sea variations, with the land version consisting of potato crocché stuffed with cheese and ham, pasta zeppole, zucchini flowers, ricotta and scagliuozz, arancini rice and more. With the sea version contains squid and shrimp rings, seaweed fritters and fried fravaglietti. You both shared a love for music and art and expressed these through trips to the Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte and the busy busking-rich streets where guitarists and pianists were often found entertaining crowds dotting the area.

You and Bruno had grown closer over time, sharing more intimate sides of you over cups of coffee and walks through the shopping centres. You ended up meeting some of his friends, Giorno, Fugo and Mista. The latter you had already met through the awkward encounter in Libeccio, but you were thankful that now you had a more pleasant encounter with him. Mista was quite the comedian, loud and unhinged, while Giorno and Fugo were more mellow and casual like Bruno. You hit it off with them immediately, you bounced off each other quite well. You learnt about his childhood, how his parents were separated and he bought Libeccio just a couple of years ago; while letting him in on details of your life back in your home country. Bruno never pried into your personal affairs, always tiptoeing around anything that could seem intrusive (he didn’t even know which hotel you were staying at), respecting the boundaries set as new companions while remaining amicable. That little connection you felt to him when you first met had increased over time, and something inside you wanted to see him more and more. Maybe it was just a silly little crush, after all, having a handsome Italian gentleman showing you around the city would make anyone blush. And besides, you were on holiday, maybe the new scenery had changed you in a way. Regardless, you were not going to act on anything, you’d had enough bad luck with past relationships, no need to cripple yourself with a fantasy-like ordeal with a strange man in another country, and it’s not like you knew if Bruno felt the same.

Today you were at the beach again, for the third time this trip, basking in the Sun and soaking up a nice tan.

“Fancy a drink?” You pulled off your sunglasses, looking up at Bruno as he stood beside you, holding out a chilled can of Coca-Cola. You thanked him for the beverage and cracked it open, enjoying the refreshing drink. “I have to leave soon, a friend is coming to pick me up in a few minutes.” He said with an apologetic tone as he packed up his belongings. “We can drop you off at Libeccio if you would like us to?” He folded his towel, placing it in his small travel bag.

You had grown a little tired of today’s beach trip anyways, with it being a Saturday, more families were free to visit the beach making it more crowded and louder than normal. “If you could that would be great.” You began packing up your own items, making sure to not leave anything behind like your water bottle or sunscreen. The two of you walked over to the parking lot after changing, where a black Honda sat with the driver resting his head on the open window.

“Who’s that.” The man looked up, pointing to you.

“She’s a friend, y/n, I need you to drop her off at Libeccio.” Bruno opened the back door for you to get in, before making his way to the front passenger seat.

“I’m not your personal driver Bucciarati.” The man scowled, starting the car and pulling out of the parking space. Bruno scoffed and leaned on the window.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve done a lot more favours for you Abbacchio,” He turned around you face you, “don’t mind him, he’s just bitter for no reason.” He gave you a reassuring smile before facing forward once more.

The journey was short, just a few minutes of driving with very little traffic. Bruno and Abbacchio talked for most of the journey, presumably about something important as they only spoke in Italian, despite them speaking in English earlier. The man Bruno was with looked about your age with pale skin, long greyish hair tied back and a few bruises on the back of his hands. You assumed this was just a friend, or maybe someone he worked with at Libeccio. They dropped you off outside of the restaurant and Bruno waved you goodbye as the car drove off.

“So are we not going to address her?” Abbacchio asked, a sly smile creeping onto his face. “I didn’t know you liked picking up foreign girls, I guess this is the person you show around.”

Bruno rolled his eyes at the teasing, refusing to let it get to him.

“Oh? Trying to act like the bigger man now?” Leone turned into the next street. “I thought you’d given up on dating after Ambra? Or Esta? Or even Genevieve?” He looked at Bruno through the corner of his eye. He picked up on the way Bruno’s jaw clenched slightly after hearing his exes' names brought into the conversation. Despite what many people would assume, Bruno Bucciarati never had any luck with girlfriends. Yes he was sweet, outgoing, polite, a great cook, loving, he checked most if not all boxes on the typical ‘perfect boyfriend’ list; but his involvement with Passione was enough to render his pros useless. Ambra and Genevieve were both frightened by this connection, cutting the relationship short and eventually just ending communication with him as a whole, while Esta ended up using him for his money, despite knowing that Bruno was in love with her. These three relationships were enough to crush his spirit and deter him from dating as a whole, not wanting to have his heart shattered by anyone else. His coping mechanisms were focussing more on Passione and buying a restaurant close to his heart, Libeccio.

“She is just a friend, that’s all.” Bruno shrugged, eyes focused on the traffic lights up ahead.

“Ha! That’s rich!” Leone snorted, stopping for the red light, he paused, considering his words before saying them. “Does she know you’re in Passione?” Abbacchio had known Bruno through two of his relationships, and as one of his closest friends, he could also tell that Bruno was already interested in you and he didn’t want him to make another mistake.

“No, she doesn’t.”

Leone sighed, his skepticism growing. “Why not?”

“Because she doesn’t need to know.” Bruno snapped, winding down the window slightly for air. In his gut, he was sure that Leone knew his feelings for you, he was good at reading people. But still, Bruno was stubborn and would rather avoid such an intrusive conversation.

They had reached their destination, an old motel on the outskirts of the city. “It’s very clear that you like her Bucciarati, she’s the one you’ve been touring the city with right?” Leone sighed, knowing that he would be treading on an uncomfortable, but necessary conversation. “How do you know she’s not using you? Taking advantage of a rich guy to improve her time here, how much have you spent on her?”

“Not much.” This was technically true, anytime Bruno paid for anything, you paid him back or simply split the fee.

Abbacchio grunted, stepping out of the car and making his way to the motel room with Bruno right behind him. “Jeez, you never learn do you?” He scoffed, trying to find the right key for the room. “Don’t give me any of that ‘I don’t like her’ crap, you know you do that’s why you spent all your time with her.” He managed to unlock the door. “Just don’t let her break your heart again, I can’t say I’m expecting anything good from this.”

**************************************************

“Do you know the Amalfi Coast?” Bruno asked, poking you lightly.

You tapped your chin. “I’ve seen a few pictures, it looks beautiful.” You turned back to your plate of lasagne, cutting another piece of the dish and piling some salad on top.

Bruno cleared his throat, poking his carbonara as he tried to figure out how to word his next comment. His words were stuck in his throat leading him to continue tiptoeing around the topic as he had before. “There’s a very nice hotel that I go to sometimes, its so close to the water.” He looked up at you, trying to gauge your interest. You simply nodded and sipped your water, humming in response. “I think it's the kind of place to go with someone.” His voice upturned slightly, almost like he was asking a question. You still didn’t react much as you sipped your lemonade. Bruno huffed and placed his fork down, leaning towards you. “Y/n, I’m asking if you would like to join me.” He blurted out, making your eyes widen.

“Oh.” That was all you said as your hands paused in the middle of loading another forkful. There was an awkward pause and the air grew thicker. A bead of sweat trailed down the back of Bruno’s neck as the regret pooled at the bottom of his stomach. How could he think you would even agree to this? You had only known each other for just over two weeks, him suddenly inviting you to a hotel in another area just made him look like a creep. Now you knew he had some sort of interest in you and there was no backtracking.

‘I just want to curl up in a ball and-’

“I would love to go with you Bruno.” You said, cutting off his thoughts. You folded your lips in, fiddling with your thumbs as you stared at your plate bashfully. With such close proximity, Bruno could see the slight redness of your cheeks. So it looked like you both shared similar feelings towards each other, Bruno wondered how long the two of you had been in this state without knowing.

“I’ll drive us there tomorrow then.” He smiled, refilling his mocktail.

It felt like forever for Saturday morning to arrive, you spent hours fretting over what to wear. You hadn’t been on a date in a while (was this a date?), even longer since you went on a trip with someone you were interested in, and that most certainly didn’t end well. But you felt like Bruno was different. Despite his classy sense of style or his popularity among the locals, he never came across as judgemental or arrogant and that made it easier to get ready for the trip.

At 10 am, Bruno arrived at your hotel. This was the first time you ever told him where you were staying and you would rather he picked you up than you took a suitcase with you to meet at Libeccio. This was also the first time you ever saw his car. It looked expensive, a shiny black convertible that people kept looking at as they walked in and out of the hotel’s front doors. He wore a plain white t-shirt and had a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses on his head. He shot you a confident smile as he waved at you, getting out to help you put your suitcase in the back.

The journey was a little longer than expected, around three and a half hours with the traffic that clogged the highway. Bruno had a designated travel playlist, burned onto a CD which he played for any long journey. It was a mix of American and Italian songs, mainly different variations of jazz or romantic songs, he made sure to sing along to most of them, even when he fumbled the lyrics. Bruno had a very smooth singing voice, his baritone voice made every word sound like honey as he sang, you could listen to it for hours.

You and Bruno conversed for a while, passing the time as you sat in traffic once more between Trecase and Torre Annunziata. Bruno told you how Mista and Giorno had asked about you, hoping to see you again before you leave, carefully excluding how they teased him for planning this trip to Amalfi, well aware of your shared interest in each other. Abbacchio was still skeptical, this spontaneous trip to Amalfi, which was completely covered by Bruno, didn’t help his gut feeling about you using him. But seeing how the two of you acted around the rest of the group made him a little more optimistic about the situation. He just hoped you wouldn’t run back home and block his number instantly.

“We’re here!” Bruno pulled up in front of a grand hotel, ‘’. It was a large classical building with pillars along the front, all coated in bright white. The inside was a soft gold colour with a gorgeous chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Being here was breathtaking, you always thought your hotel in Naples was fabulous, but this was extraordinary, does Bruno really make so much money to afford this just through restaurant owning?

After Bruno checked you in, he handed you the key to your room. You and Bruno were staying in separate large rooms next to each other on the sixth floor which gave you the perfect view of the water. After a couple hours of settling in, you took a tour around the coast. Amalfi was an interesting place, it was made up of thirteen towns, all clinging to the cliffs, reaching all the way down to the beautiful shore. Tourists traipsed up and down the area, some hiking on the Path of the Gods, while others explored the Blue Grotto caves in Capri. Bruno told you that when he was younger, he assisted his father with his duties as a fisherman: from gathering bait, to fishing, to following him on deliveries to the local fishmongers. He arranged a boat for recreational fishing just off the coast of Postiano, but for the sake of preserving the natural ecosystem, participants were asked to just catch and release.

The small boat rocked slowly on the water as Bruno guided you through fishing, holding your hands in the right position to be able to reel the fish in properly. It took a couple of tries, but you managed to catch a few small sardines.

That evening, Bruno had arranged dinner at a small restaurant near the hotel.

**************************************************

La Galleria was a cosy little place specialising in seafood from the local fishing ports. Your table was on the roof with a breathtaking view of the water below as the cooler evening breeze hit the back of your neck. You wore a simple red dress, while Bruno wore a red turtleneck with a black blazer. You both had bowls of chicken caesar salad, drizzled in a rich sauce, followed by a miso-glazed black cod on white rice for Bruno, and shrimp scampi with pasta for you. As the soft jazz from below wafted up to the roof, you and Bruno reminisced on your time together these past couple weeks, from strangers in Libeccio to sharing a meal in Amalfi. Your knee brushed against Bruno’s innocently as you talked, the close proximity making your heart race. Bruno was so handsome, and even though you told yourself that you wouldn’t let a crush grow to anything more, you couldn't help but feel the urge to have his muscular arms wrapped around you or run your fingers through his soft black hair made your stomach twist. You could listen to his voice for hours on end, enjoying his cute hand gestures and his rich accent. He was so kind to you too, planning so many trips, including paying for this one. He was way too generous to you and the last thing you wanted was to come across as a golddigger of some sort, Bruno was a genuinely nice guy, so patient and attentive.

Bruno’s heart was racing too, worried he would trip on his words or forget how to say something in English as he had before when talking to you. You always looked so beautiful to him, no matter what, you always took his breath away. He couldn’t imagine the last time he had felt so at ease around someone, much less a stranger he met a couple of weeks ago.

“Thank you so much Bruno, for tonight, for everything.” You said, your fingers lightly brushing against his on the table. He wanted to hold your hand badly, to kiss it again like he had before and tell you how much you meant to him.

“You’re welcome bella, I’ve really enjoyed these past-” He was cut off by the ringing of his phone, “please excuse me.” He got up immediately, excusing himself downstairs in a rush. You didn’t see the caller ID, but usually, Bruno was fine with answering calls around you, but his behaviour made you worry. The call was short and Bruno returned within a few minutes, facing his meal as if nothing happened. Ordinarily this would be normal, but it seemed like something was on his mind, like his mood was suddenly soured. You noticed how the space between you had grown slightly bigger than before, you were no longer lightly brushing against his knuckles, and nor were your knees connected.

“Bruno, is everything okay?” You mustered up the courage to ask, worried that you would be prying too much into private affairs. You hoped he would just tell you everything was fine, that it wasn’t anything serious, but you knew it must have been.

“Y/n…” He sighed, biting on his bottom lip, “there’s something I need to tell you. I haven’t been completely honest about myself.” He avoided making eye contact with you, which was more than enough to elevate your worry. Your stomach dropped, a million possibilities racing through your head. Maybe he didn’t really like you, maybe he was using you for attention, reeling you in with a charming persona? Maybe he had a partner and was using you to cheat?

Bruno turned to face you, clutching your hand in his as he looked earnestly into your eyes. “I’m still Bruno, bella, I’m still the same person who owns Libeccio, and likes fishing. And I do like you, so much, but I can’t keep hiding this from you and I understand if this means you don’t want to be around me anymore.” His breathing was rapid as he squeezed your hand tightly. His mind was prepared for the worst scenario, he was ready for you to scream or run away from him, locking yourself in your room and finding your way back to Naples without him. He was ready for you to get angry or upset at him for not telling you sooner. Part of him regretted bringing it up already, feeling like he had thwarted his best attempt at love, but it wouldn’t be fair to keep you in the dark if he genuinely cared.

“Y/n, do you know what Passione is?”

You exhaled deeply, yes, you had heard of Passione, a hub for organised crime in the south of Italy. Was Bruno really part of them? When you think of mafiosi you imagine much older men, using laundered money for drugs, weapons, and exploiting women, at least that is the stereotype, was Bruno really one of them? Sweet, kind, generous, optimistic Bruno who you adored being around? The same Bruno who always helped anyone he saw? Who showed the utmost respect for all the older citizens and acted with integrity? You 100% believed that not everyone involved in crime is inherently bad, many people fall into it at low points of their lives, you knew that Bruno was a good man, regardless of his affiliation with the group.

When you didn’t respond, Bruno let go of you. “I knew this was a mistake, I should have just listened to Abbacchio and stopp-”

“Bruno,” You placed a hand on his, making him lose his train of thought, “I’m not upset that you’re in Passione.” You whispered, interlocking your fingers with his. “I don’t think less of you for it, I know that people can be put in situations that make them choose that path,” your eyes darted to the side, “but I believe you’re a good person Bruno, I really do. I’m not exactly in the safest position as a woman in a foreign country, but I feel so safe with you Bruno, regardless of Passione.” You meant everything you said, keeping your eyes locked on him to show your sincerity. “I-”

Before you could speak, Bruno’s lips were on yours.

His hand remained holding yours, though squeezing slightly tighter now, while his free hand held the side of your face. His lips were soft against yours as his thumb pressed against your cheekbone. Slowly he pulled away, rubbing his nose against yours slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise, really.” You squeezed his hand gently.

Bruno’s hand found itself fitting perfectly in the curve of your waist. “I want to be with you y/n, not just for this trip.” His voice was shaky, he tried his best to not push too hard. “It’s okay for you to say no, it is.”

“I want to be with you too Bruno, I really do.” Without thinking, your hand moved up to hold the side of his neck, feeling the heat radiating off him before moving down to his shoulder. “Can I ask, Bruno…why are you with them?”

He took a deep breath, already regretting what he was about to say. Bruno never liked talking about this incident, he never told anyone this story, not even his old girlfriends. “My father was in an accident when he was 12. He was in the hospital and one night some people tried to…to kill him.” The sympathetic look in your eyes made it easier for him to talk. “He wasn’t in a gang or anything, he was just an ordinary person. I was in the room when they snuck in, two men, I-” His words got trapped in his throat. “I killed them.” He could tell from the small changes in your breathing, your posture, the glint in your eyes, that despite keeping an open mind about Passione, you couldn’t fully wrap your head around him being tied to murder. “If I didn’t they would have killed my father and come after me, there was nothing else I could do.” He begged, pleading for you to at least hear him out, scared that you would leave him after such a confession. “I had to go underground, I can’t do anything with something like that on my record.” The silence that followed was deafening, the sound of his heartbeat rang through his ears as his chest heaved slowly.

“It’s okay Bruno…it really is.” You whispered, “You’re the first person to know this and not run away or use me.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, I’ve had my fair share of bad relationships. You’re the first person I’ve been able to actually feel happy with, Bruno, the first person to actually make me feel like you care.”

“Of course, I care about you bella, you mean the most to me. I hate that people have treated you that way, you deserve everything I could possibly give you and more…everything.”

The rest of dinner carried on smoothly, with Bruno’s seat much closer to yours and his hand resting on your knee. His eyes were more focused on you than the delicious food in front of him. His heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest as your leg brushed up against him and your perfume wafted into his nose. Bruno really did think you were beautiful, the way your dark hair fell to your shoulders, contrasting your crimson dress. How your cheeks turned rosy when you laughed, or your tendency to fiddle with the hem of your clothing when you were tired. There had always been something in him that knew he had feelings towards you, but kissing you, even though it was brief, solidified his feelings.

Neither of you pushed any further about the kiss, nor did you talk about your beat-around-the-bush confessions. Instead, once dinner was over, you made your way back to the hotel silently.

“I guess I will see you in the morning then?” Bruno asked, letting out a soft laugh as you stood in front of your respective doors.

“Yeah, I guess I will.” You smiled as you waved each other goodbye. It wasn’t until you had both returned to your rooms that you were able to release the tension in your body. The kiss still lingered on your lips as you pulled your night shirt over your head and you could feel your face get warmer. You couldn’t deny that the idea of him kissing you was something buried in the back of your mind, especially when he would hold you in close embraces and his natural scent would waft into your nose. There was a part of you that wanted to continue, that wanted to go to his room and lie with him on this warm evening in Amalfi. To feel what it would be like for him to hold you in his arms as more than just a friend. You shook your head, feeling like a young teenager having their first kiss.

With a heavy sigh, you turned your attention to the TV opposite your bed and flicked through the channels, landing on what looked like a random soap opera. By your bed was a small menu with all the items available for room service and decided on a jug of lemonade to cool you down. When there was a knock just two minutes later, you were a little surprised by the speed of service. You were even more surprised by seeing Bruno standing by your door.

Bruno had been standing outside your door for the past five minutes, contemplating knocking on your door. Would he be intruding? Jumping to conclusions over a simple kiss?

Ah, but it wasn’t a simple kiss was it, you had confessed your feelings to each other.

But you only had three more days in Naples, maybe this was your way of getting some sort of closure, getting your feelings out on the table before you disappear and never cross paths again. Even on the off chance that anything came from this, it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be weird for him to approach you like this.

While Bruno reasoned this in his head, his body had other plans. It wasn’t until you swung the door open that he realised he had already knocked.

“Hi,” He swallowed, awkwardly placing his hands behind his back. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

You shook your head as you opened the door wider, welcoming him into your room. “No no, I just haven’t been able to sleep.”

“Me neither.” He perched on the edge of the desk, watching the television next to it. “What are you watching?”

“I have no idea, I couldn’t figure out how to put it in English.” The silence from both of you overpowered the noise from the TV. Usually you would bounce off each other better, but the events at dinner seemed to leave you both somewhat shy. Deep down, you both wanted more, but neither of you had the confidence to make the first move.

Bruno walked over to you, sitting next to you on your bed, knee brushing against yours.

“Y/n…” He started, taking your hand in his, “I meant everything I said earlier, about how I feel about you.” His slender fingers traced the lines of your palm slowly. “In a perfect world, I’d want you to be with you, properly. But I know that you have to go back home soon, I understand if this has to end here.”

“It doesn’t have to.” The words spilt out of your mouth before you could even process them properly. “I mean…I can always come back, maybe sometimes you can visit me.” A long-distance relationship wasn’t something you ever really thought you would find yourself pursuing, but you couldn’t miss this opportunity with Bruno.

“I like that idea.” Bruno smiled, interlocking his fingers with yours before ducked down for another kiss, this one was shorter and sweeter, the type that gives you a warm feeling in yout gut. It was like a bridge had formed between the two of you and any worries about intimacy had been crossed out. “Out of curiosity, when are you next free?” His enthusiasm made you giggle.

You tapped your chin, recalling what you discussed with your boss before you left for Italy. “I have to use up my holidays within the next three months, maybe I can come back before they’re over.” You grinned widely, enjoying the way he his face softened at your words.

“Can’t you stay a little longer? Use up your holidays now?” He pulled you onto his lap, kissing all over your face. His demeanour had suddenly changed, knowing that he might only have to wait a couple of months to see the woman he cared so much about. You giggled as you held his broad shoulders, squeezing them lightly as you tried to pull him away from your face. He ducked down to nibble where your neck connected to your head, trying to coax you into staying.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “I can’t afford it Bruno, and besides, I signed papers with my boss saying I would be back to work next week.” You felt him sigh against your neck.

“How much more time do you have left to use on holidays?”

“10 days I think.”

“I’ll book you a flight.”

“Bruno!” You pulled away, pinching his soft cheek “Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I do bella, but I just think it’s easier to book now that the prices are cheaper.” He wrapped his arms tighter around your form. It didn’t take long for his lips to fall back on yours, moving between them and your neck, only to be broken by a knock on your door.

“So sorry for the wait signorina, the machine wasn’t working.” The waiter apologised profusely as he placed your lemonade on the table.

“It’s no problem, thank you.” You smiled, closing the door behind him. You both shared a few glasses of the cool drink, talking more about the possibility of you coming back to Naples. Despite his earlier energetic behaviour, Bruno was quite understanding of the situation. He knew that compromises would have to be made and that things may not always work out, but regardless, he chose to be optimistic about the situation.

Once the jug’s contents had been thoroughly depleted, you found yourselves tucked under your bedsheets. You didn’t realise how tired you were until you fell asleep so quickly against his soft t-shirt, to the sound of his heartbeat. Cool air blew through the window, making you press up against him in your sleep as his hands moved down to hold your waist. Bruno’s heart was pounding like it wanted to leap right out of his ribcage. Being here, holding you, this was all he wanted. For the first time in so long, he felt like he was happy again, like you were the one for him. He gave up on this feeling ages ago, not wanting to risk another heartbreak, but now he couldn’t resist it.

He was in love.

**************************************************

Sunday was quite simple. Breakfast at a lovely little cafe, a bike ride through Sorrento and lunch back at the hotel. This was certainly not the first time you and Bruno had gone out together, but this time was different. The way he held your hand, your waist, hugged you, everything felt different now, a good type of different.

This “good different” continued to Monday and Tuesday, with Bruno being even more of a gentleman to you. He made sure to cherish every moment with you like he was making up for lost time.

The sun peeked through the window, highlighting your body as you hummed in your sleep. Bruno had been awake for a while now, the lump in his throat and the twists in his stomach making it harder to enjoy the warm summer morning.

Today was your last day, the last time he would be able to see you for who knows how long. He always knew you would leave, Naples wasn’t your home after all, and there is a chance it may never be. But now that the dreaded day had come, it just made his chest ache to the point where it made his head spin.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your back was pressed against him, allowing him to nuzzle into your neck. You groaned quietly, fidgeting in your sleep before settling once more. Bruno used this as an opportunity to place a kiss on your neck, enjoying the sweet natural scent emanating from your body. He slid his other arm under your body, hugging you properly as your legs tangled together under his sheets.

“Bruno…” You grinned, feeling the pressure of his body against you as he had you in a tight embrace. “I need my sleep you know?” You patted the side of his face lightly, enjoying the warmth emanating from his soft cheek.

His heart hurt even more hearing your voice, knowing this would be the last time he would hear it in person. “y/n…” He whispered, holding your hand gently in his, bringing it down to the soft mattress and interlocking your fingers with his. “When is your flight?” He mumbled into your neck, eyes locked on his thumb stroking your skin.

You inhaled sharply, realising why his tone had been so mellow this morning. “6 pm, there’s been a car arranged.” You bit your bottom lip, feeling Bruno lean away from you with a deep sigh. His arms left your body cold air hit your back.

“I’ll come with you, I’ll see you off at security.” Bruno said, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You turned around to face him, watching the sun highlight the lower half of his face and chest, coating them in a pale yellow glaze. His lips were downturned slightly, forming an involuntary frown as his eyebrows furrowed. His expression made your heart sink to your stomach, you knew you would miss him so much.

You scooched closer, resting a head on his flattened shoulder as your fingers traced his chest gently. “I’ll come back Bruno,” You dragged your fingers down to his navel. “I promise.” You looked up at him, catching how his eyes shifted from you as soon as you made eye contact, realising that you caught him staring. His cheekbones were softly dusted with pink as he cleared his throat.

“I know you will, and I’ll find time to visit you.” He cupped the side of your face, “but you can’t blame me for being a little upset that you’re leaving.”

“I know, I am too.” You gave a half-smile, holding his wrist. Seeing you frown made his heart sink even more, it wasn’t his intention to dampen the mood so early in the morning.

“Y/n, why don’t we go to Libeccio? For your last meal here?” Bruno asked. Ending the trip with the place you met seemed perfect. It also gave Bruno the opportunity to make sure you received the best service possible.

“I’d love to.”

You both laid in bed for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth until noon when you finally got up for lunch. You wore a simple sundress with a red flower pattern along it, something that Bruno absolutely adored on you. Hand in hand, you left his home for the restaurant, deciding to have one last walk through the streets you grew to love. Libeccio was slightly quieter than usual, what with it being lunchtime on a Wednesday, this at least made it easier to talk to each other.

“Oh? If it isn’t the two lovebirds!” A familiar voice called, you looked up to see Mista leaning on the back of Bruno’s chair, much to his dismay, poking his nose into his menu. Bruno had made the mistake of being open to the group about his feelings for you, this ultimately left him vulnerable to childish teasing which would surely get worse when you weren’t around. “Y/n, Bucciarati says you’re leaving today?”

“Mhm, I need to leave for the airport in a few hours.”

“Ah, this one will certainly miss you,” He nudged Bruno with his elbow, “he goes on and on about you all the time anyways.” He scoffed.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Bruno asked, not bothering to look up from the menu.

“I actually came to collect an order,” He lifted up the black bag in his hand, that explained the sudden smell of shrimp. “But I might as well give Y/n a goodbye hug.” Mista walked towards you, pulling you out of your seat and hugging you tightly. Bruno knew what Mista was doing by pressing his palms on your lower back and hugging you for much longer than what was needed. But it was in his nature to tease people like that, after all, you and Mista grew to be quite good friends, and you both knew he was playing around. “Make sure to come back soon!” Mista waved as he left the restaurant.

Bruno turned back to you to see a smirk across your lips. “What?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Your face when Mista hugged me, I didn’t think it would get to you.” You laughed, flicking through the calzones section of the menu.

“Can you blame me for being a little jealous?” Bruno sighed, closing his menu and placing it on the table. He waved at one of the waiters, a tall, slender young man with long wavy hair, eager to take your orders.

Over lunch, you discussed plans for when you went back home: how to fit your schedules around each other, the possibility of sending each other gifts, and Bruno travelling to visit you. The thoughts alone brought butterflies to your stomach, the idea of Bruno being in your home, visiting your favourite places, your family and friends even. You already had a list of things to do with him buried at the back of your mind.

Once the plates were cleared and the bill was paid, you found yourselves in a small park, wandering along the footpaths that weaved along the luscious green grass, between the thick oak trees.

“Y/n…we need to get to the airport soon.” Bruno whispered, pulling your waist towards him as he sandwiched you between him and an old tree.

“Mhm.” You rest your head on his shoulder in a warm embrace, his rich cologne flooding your nose with a scent you would soon miss.

“Y/n…mi bella.” The pet name made your heart well up. “I know we haven’t been together for a long time but…the feelings I have for you, it’s like I-”

“I know what you mean Bruno.” You cut him off quietly, tugging his soft cotton shirt. You felt the same way Bruno did, the tingles you got when he held your hand, the way your body perfectly moulded into his, how your stomach twisted and turned anytime he looked you in the eye. Somehow, somewhere, along the line, you realised that you had fallen in love with the kind mafioso that swept you off your feet.

“So you love me too bella?” Bruno asked, a teasing tone to his words as his lips met your forehead.

You rolled your eyes playfully, enjoying how his soft lips felt against your skin. “Well if I have to put it in words, then yes.”

Bruno’s heart pounded in his chest, he could feel the shakiness in his breathing from the relief of knowing that you felt the same way he did. It was almost laughable how quickly the chains around his heart loosened when you appeared. How his vows to never give in to another person were discarded as he got closer and closer to you. You were perfect to him, everything he wanted and more, and he knew he couldn’t just let you leave without letting you know how much power you had over him and his weak heart.

“Bella, I love you so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Please remember that, always, even if I’m not there with you.”

“I love you too Bruno, truly I do. I haven’t felt this way with anyone in so long I-” Bruno’s lips pressed gently against yours, stealing your breath away.

“I’m sorry to cut you off but you just look so cute, why do you have to leave today bella, stay here with me a little longer.” He groaned, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, knowing how much he would miss this.

“Believe me, I want that more than anything, but I have to go back, Bruno.” The thought of not being able to hold him like this, to not stroke his soft black hair or look into his warm eyes, ate away at you.

“We should probably head to the airport soon then.”

Within the hour, you were at the airport, waiting in the busy queue to check in your luggage, while Bruno held you from behind, chin resting on your head. You ended up with one extra bag, filled with gifts for your friends and family: trinkets, snacks, clothing, as well as things that Bruno bought you.

“When you land, let me know okay?” Bruno hugged you one last time, his hands memorising the curve of your body, ingraining everything from your scent to the softness of your skin in his memory. His lips moved to kiss your forehead gently, “Y/n…I won’t pretend like I’m not going to miss you every day. I want us to work out bella, I’ll take time to visit you whenever I can okay?” The slight sniffles and breaks in his voice made your heart sink. Bruno loved you so much, more than he could contain, and you felt the same way about him as you inhaled his rich cologne.

“Bruno, I’ll miss you just as much, if not, more.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll call you as soon as I get back mi amore.” Hearing you use that name on him made his stomach twist and turn. Being called that, by you, in your voice that soothed his soul made his heart beat even faster. At that point, he just had to steal another kiss from you, a passionate one that stuck on your lips even after you pulled away.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, letting you cross the barrier to find your gate, and with tears welling in both of your eyes, you waved each other goodbye, thankful for this spontaneous trip that brought the two of you together.

#bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno buccellati x reader #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #fluff #romance #holiday #reader insert #jojo x reader #jjba x reader #leone abbacchio #abbacchio

188 notes · View notes

wardenparker · 1 year

Text

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex - ch 8

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Marcus unexpectedly runs into his ex-wife he is plunged into a world of complications where rekindled attraction and deep-seated insecurities reign. Unfortunately for him, it is also a world where his ex-wife is not the only ‘ex’ around, as a new case crosses his desk that will require all hands on deck. ✨💖Inspired by and based upon absurdthirst’s Tequila. 💖✨

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always18+ Word Count: 9.7k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this series include: divorce, break ups, collegiate Greek life, underage drinking, food/alcohol consumption.** Some graphic flirting. Mentions of cannibalism and pregnancy. I promise it’s not in the same paragraph. Summary: An important shopping trip, a break in the case, a dinner with the Janes, and plans interrupted make for a very eventful day. Notes: All I’m saying, is that if I were Angie, I would have so much trouble keeping my mouth shut.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

You’re starting to go cross-eyed with Marcus’s case. And probably also from being a little tired, if you’re honest. Every night after work the two of you go to the apartment to pack boxes and then pick up dinner on your way back to the house to crash in each other’s arms after dinner. You wake up in the morning to espressos and shower sex like you’ve been doing it every day for years. Everything in your relationship is going well, and you’ve been communicating clearly and honestly about everything as you go. Except for one thing. Today you begged off of your normal lunch in the office with Marcus under the claim that Angie asked you for some girl time. In reality, Angie is meeting you downtown to do some shopping. It’s time to start looking for Marcus’s engagement ring.

For days Marcus has poured over websites to try to find the perfect ring for you. Except, it’s not the same as looking at it in person, holding it. When you beg off of lunch, he finds himself looking forward to the time alone so he can browse some jewelry stores. Knowing that he wants to get you a new ring when he proposes, he grabs his keys about ten minutes after you call him and heads out.

Angie promised to meet you on New York Avenue at noon sharp and she’s as good as her word. When you park your little car and hop out to find your best friend waiting for you, it gives you an extra boost of confidence that you didn’t know you needed. “Okay.” You Throw your arms around her and hug her tight. “I’ve got an hour before I have to get back to the lab and I don’t care about actually eating lunch. This is way more important.”

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Her hug back to you is equally as fierce and she looks at you over the rim of her Gucci sunglasses. “Lingerie?” She wiggles her brows playfully. “Toys?”

“Not quite.” Glancing behind her, you bite your lip and point to the elegantly simple storefront windows with glittering jewelry and signature blue logos on display. “We’re jewelry shopping.”

“Jewelry shopping?” Angie’s eyes narrow slightly. “I know that man is not making you get your own ring.” It’s very off brand for Marcus but she would ring his neck if he was trying to pull a stunt like this with you.

“Oh god no.” You shake your head vehemently and nudge her toward the store. “I decided…I’m going to propose to him this time. Ring and all.” Since first having the thought, it had stuck to you like glue. There is nothing in the world that could convince you otherwise at this point, short of Marcus himself beating you to the punch. “When we were in college…do you remember me telling you about the night around a month after he proposed when he kept drunkenly apologizing for not being able to get me the best ring and me not having any clue what he was talking about?” It had been a whole confusing night and few days afterward, especially since you had loved the engagement ring that he did give you. “He meant he wished he could have afforded a Tiffany ring. Like his Dad got for his Mom. That’s what he considered the best. So…this time he’s going to get the best.”

“So you’re going to buy him a ring from Tiffany’s?” Angie could melt right here on the street. There has always been something so fucking loving and adorable about your relationship with Marcus and she’s glad to see that it’s back to that state again. “Moving in, proposing, next you’re going to be popping out babies.”

“Fastest pregnancy in human history.” Is the joke you make, knowing that to anyone on the outside the pace of your relationship seemed insane the first time and it does all over again. “I’ve been sneaking looks at their website and they just released a line of men’s engagement rings. So I need you to help me stay on track and not just get him something insane because it’s pretty.”

“I mean— it’s a man’s engagement ring.” She grins, looping her arm through yours to eagerly move towards the double doors. “They are all going to be insane.”

The gentleman who offers to help you once you’re inside the store is probably twice your age and extremely kind, probably assuming you’ve come in to choose a gift or to spoil yourself somehow. When you tell him that you want to pick out a ring for your boyfriend he nearly melts. You and Angie are ushered to a case across the store and given chairs to sit in so you can talk through your ideas with the salesman. Up front, all you really know is that you want Marcus to feel spectacularly spoiled. You want to make a fuss.

******

Marcus starts with some other jewelry stores, just to give them a chance. He's picked out other jewelry from the chains and it's been wonderful. He's just always dreamed of getting you a ring from Tiffany's like his father had with his mother. Her ring was probably her most prized possession, not in an unhealthy or greedy way, but the sentimental 'I'll wear it always' kind of way. Still, the practical side of him makes him stop into the other stores along the way and browse.

Tucked away in your corner with Angie and the kind salesman, you never even notice the front door of the store open again and you definitely don’t see Marcus step inside. You’re politely chattering away, beginning to look at the new collection of engagement rings just for men, and deeply in your own little world.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A young woman standing behind one of the front cases offers him a smile. “What can we help you with today?”

“Yes, I—” His eyes widen when he spots you across the showroom floor. “Uh, yes—” he quickly points to a case on the opposite side of the room where he will have to have his back to you. “Show me whatever’s in that case.”

“Certainly.” It’s an odd way to make a request, but she wears a professional smile and ushers him over to a collection of ladies’ rings. “Were you looking for a gift for someone special today?” She asks, trying to get a read on him.

“I am, but I also just realized the woman I am shopping for is in your store.” He knows he came off as odd when he insisted on coming over to this case. Turning his head, he sneaks a look at you over his shoulder. Wondering if you are dream shopping with Angie. The thought makes him smile.

“I see.” She smiles, a little bemused. “Would you like to proceed anyway? Or come back another time?” It is definitely the first time she’s been in this position, but she’s not afraid of a challenge in the least. “Perhaps I can go and have a subtle look at what she is browsing to give you ideas if you need them?”

“I—” he bites his lip, almost tempted to have the associate look, but he doesn’t want to do that. “No.” He decides. “I want her to dream and hope that I get something she will love.”

“Alright.” She smiles, seeing the clear determination and softness in this man’s face. He’s unmistakably in love, and proud. It’s an encouraging combination. “We won’t spy.” She asks the usual questions about ring size and metal preference, please when he knows both pieces of information. “And have you ever shopped with us before?”

“Window shopped.” Marcus admits. “My father shopped here a lot for my mother, but I’ve never purchased anything.”

“Well maybe we can change that today.” It’s not hard to be nice to this man, and her sunny smile for once isn’t forced. “What do you think she would like?”

“Something classic.” Marcus smiles. “Asscher or Emerald cut. Maybe a solitaire, or just a few stones on the band. Nothing too overwhelming. Something she can wear with jeans or for a formal night.”

“We can customize anything you like, of course.” He knows what he’s looking for, and that speaks to care. “Both cuts stack beautifully, as well, so you would have plenty of options for wedding and anniversary bands down the line.”

******

“I want it to be special,” you explain to the man helping you and Angie. “I know that sounds silly since it will be special just for existing, but…something a little out of the ordinary? His first wedding band was so simple because it’s all we could afford then.”

“It’s not silly, it’s charming.” Angie insists, smiling at how excited you are for this. She glances around and freezes when she sees a very familiar back across the store. The only reason it’s familiar is because she had just had dinner with him two days ago. “Marcus.” She murmurs, catching herself when you turn towards her. “Will love it.” She gushes.

“You think so?” You know that this is something that you want to do but it is unconventional, so encouragement helps.

“Yes.” She nods eagerly and glances back over at Marcus, just in time to catch his eye as he glances over his shoulder. Grinning, she winks at him and gives a small nod, promising to keep his secret.

“Okay.” Blowing out a steadying breath and reaching for your best friend’s hand, you rally your confidence and give your salesman a smile. “There was one I saw on your website which I’m curious to see in person.”

******

Back at the office, Marcus bites his lip as he looks down at the file. Of course he would nearly run into you and Angie. Curiosity has him wondering what had you so excited but he will try to get some answers out of your friend. See if it aligns with the ring he has fallen in love with.

Trying to keep from smiling too hard while you look at evidence for a murder case is not something you ever thought you would have to deal with, but here you are. Through a vast series of lucky accidents, the salesman at Tiffany had been able to help you find the perfect ring for Marcus and found it in stock in the store at that very moment. Angie and her infinite good taste had agreed it was perfect, so it is now burning a hole at the bottom of your purse in its signature blue box inside the matching blue shopping bag. Marcus would never guess in a thousand years what you had done and that made it all the better. You only needed to figure out where and when to ask.

“Hey.” He couldn’t stay away for the day, knocking on your doorframe and smiling when you look up from your work. “Brought you an afternoon pick me up.” He holds up the coffee tray with two drinks on it.

“Hey.” He is an absolute sight for sore eyes after staring at prints and lists for hours after getting back from your lunch break. “How’s your day been, love?”

“It’s been good.” Marcus comes into your office and plucks a cup out of the tray to hand to you. “How was your lunch with Angie?”

“It was good!” For a split second you almost sound too excited and you have to reel yourself back in. “There was a new place she wanted to try out.” Yep. Certainly not any place you’ve been before. “What did you end up having?”

“I stopped and grabbed a sandwich.” He shrugs his shoulders as if he hadn’t been picking out a life changing thing for you today, all while you were giggling in the corner.

“How about Indian take out tonight? Something kind of different? Special?” The cup he brought for you is your regular coffee order with just a little something different added to it and you hum happily when you take your first sip. “Ooo, that’s tasty!” Alright, maybe you’re not doing too great at playing it cool…

Marcus nods, knowing that he can’t just propose over some fancy dinner. It would ruin the surprise. Plus, he does want to wait until the case is over. Get the Jane’s out of D.C. “That sounds good to me. I could go for a curry.”

“Perfect.” The hall bordering your office is deserted so you lean over to give him a kiss, savoring the short show of affection. “Any progress on your end of the case?”

“A couple of leads that I actually wanted to follow up with you on.” Bringing you coffee hadn’t been completely selfless. He sets the tray down and digs out his notebook. “Does this make any sense to you?” He asks, handing it to you.

“Let’s see.” His notes are lists of names organized by family, with numbers beside each one – 1, 2, 3, 4, or an X. Beside each X is what appears to be a date, all in 1846 or 1847. All in the winter months between 1846 and 1847. “Where did these names come from?” You ask him, starting to pull file after file containing every printed image of the daguerreotypes you have out and laying them out in the top of your desk. It covers the entire surface but it’s worth it. “Was it a journal? A travel manifest?” It’s a thorough listing of a very large group of people.

Eighty-seven in total.

“I—I might…I recognize some of these names from a book I read…” And if you’re right, this isn’t just important to the case, it’s important to American history.

“It came from a family journal? Didn’t know those were a thing.” Marcus hadn’t fed it into the system yet, he couldn’t quite place it but it felt like important times in history.

“They weren’t always a thing.” You clear off your keyboard and start typing frantically, then pull up one of the images that was most clearly marked with numbers that Teresa - because you were now on a first name basis - considered likely to be location coordinates. Plugging the coordinates into your computer pulls up the Google Maps page for Donner Lake in California, and you sink back into your desk chair with awe on your face. “It’s the Donner Party.” You tell Marcus, wondering if that name even registers with him. He likes history, but not always the macabre stuff. And this is definitely macabre.

“The Donner Party….” He frowns, unable to place it but he’s heard of it. “It’s— I know that it was taught in history class on high school. But, I’m drawing a blank.”

“My brother-in-law gave me a bunch of nonfiction books for my birthday last year,” you explain, as if Marcus isn’t used to you pulling random facts out of thin air. He used to call it your X-Man power. “One of them was this book called The Indifferent Stars Above which was all about this particular journey west.” Rambling is a side effect of getting excited, but he’ll understand why you’re getting so worked up in a second. “In 1846, eighty-seven people including sixteen members of a family called Donner set out for California from Missouri. It’s one of the most disastrous, tragic tales in American history because…” All of a sudden you’re not thinking about dinner anymore. “The survivors had to turn to cannibalism to survive the brutal weather and traveling conditions they got stuck in.”

“Shit.” Marcus winces and shuffles uncomfortably. He’s never liked thinking about choices like that. The sheer desperation it would take to resort to cannibalism.

“Yeah.” That’s putting it mildly, and you nod your head. “The thing is…the settlement they were heading toward? I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it right away.” If you had, this might have been days of investigating instead of weeks, but there’s no use in dwelling on that right now. “Was Johnson’s Ranch, California. It doesn’t exist anymore, but it was right at the foot of the Sierra Nevadas back then. These coordinates…these pictures…whoever took the daguerreotypes and wrote that journal? They must have been on the journey.”

“So why would this be worth killing over?” Marcus frowns as he looks down at the information again. “There’s, what? Buried treasure?”

“Kind of? Maybe?” You look down at all the images and list of names again and can feel your head swimming. “The book said that families brought everything they had with them on the journey. That included assets, and in those days assets would have been not just paper money but actual silver and gold. Like bars of it. I think one of the families had it built into their wagon so it couldn’t be stolen. It was everything these people had. And there were multiple rescue missions. The last rescue mission was going out there for the last survivors, yes, but also for everybody’s stuff. It’s not impossible that this survivor, whoever they were, was hoarding or hiding or burying the wealth of some of the dead and made themself a map in photographs.”

“Now that might be worth killing to some.” Marcus’s eyes light up. “Do you think now that we have a location, we can pinpoint the area?” He asks you.

“I mean I’m no cartographer but the search area is a hell of a lot smaller now. We just need to remember that the terrain has changed in the last almost two hundred years.” He looks so excited and relieved, and you grab his hand to squeeze instead of giving him a hug because people are outside your door again. “Do you think people are going to have to go out there and dig? To see if they can find something?”

“It might be a possibility.” Marcus admits. “But that’s not up to me.” He grins. “That would be up to Agent Jane, back in Texas.”

“Let it never be said that the Smithsonian was not a friend of the FBI.” The way he lights up at your - and his - special involvement in the case so suddenly coming to a close has you grinning. “Do you think this is enough help that they can continue the case from Austin?”

“I can’t imagine why they would need to stay.” It’s been nearly three weeks of Patrick and Teresa being camped out in his office and conference room and he cannot wait for them to get on a plane. No hard feelings, but space is needed. Plus, it felt like Teresa was going to pop any day now.

“The sooner she’s back in Austin, the better for the baby,” you nearly read his mind as you sit back in your desk chair.

“Exactly.” Marcus sighs. “The last thing I want is for my ex to deliver her baby in my office.”

"She's not that far along." Even so, you can't help but laugh. "But they've been here for a while already, and I have to imagine she'll be more comfortable at home. A hotel bed is never as good as your own." It's a lot to process, the idea that this case will hopefully be out of his hands again soon, and you push back from your desk. "Do you want me to come with you to deliver the news? I'm still the FBI's official consultant until the case leaves Washington, so it's your call."

“Of course you can come with me.” Marcus knows that you and Teresa are on fairly good terms. “We can tell them, pick up food and then lock ourselves in our house in our comfortable bed.”

“Oo, are we skipping packing tonight? What a splurge.” There isn’t that much left to do at the apartment, but it’s at least an entire weekend’s worth of dedicated work. “How positively indulgent of us.”

“If you want to give up a long, luxurious soak in the bath with a large glass of wine to celebrate the end of our assistance on this case and instead go pack boxes, I won’t stop you.” Marcus teases.

Sticking your tongue out at your boyfriend is exactly the kind of mature behavior he expects, and Marcus laughs as you turn off your computer and tidy your desk. Last thing is having purse and coffee in hand to follow him out of your office as you wonder if popping the question tonight would be a little too eager.

“Maybe we can be done with this before the traffic gets bad.” He offers eagerly. Completely unconcerned with ducking out a little early today, considering how many man hours he had put into a case that wasn’t his.

“Look who’s got so much pep in his step now that we have a good lead.” He’s positively giddy, a fact that makes you grin.

“I’m imagining my office empty.” He moans. “Void of one particular person. Of course I’m happy.” Things had been better since he had left Patrick with the bill at the club, but the man still sets his teeth on edge at times.

“You’re going to sit in silence the whole first day after they leave, aren’t you?” The sight of Marcus Pike is familiar in your office now and a few people wave or say hello as you pass through the halls and head for the stairwell. “Beautiful, glorious silence. I don’t know how Teresa does it. He’s always talking.”

“Blissful silence.” Marcus agrees, hand on your back even though you know the office better than he does. He still likes to touch you as you’re walking. “If I start talking that much, stuff something in my mouth.”

There are a half dozen dirty comebacks on your lips but you just chuckle under your breath and promise him that you will. “My usual paperwork and grant work will feel positively boring compared to helping in an FBI case.”

“Well now that I know what good work you do, I’m sure I will come up with other ways for you to help us out.” He teases.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur under your breath, making sure to flutter your eyelashes at him for good measure.

“You are such a brat.” He huffs, knowing that you know what that does to him. You’re doing it on purpose.

“Maybe a little.” With your tongue firmly planted in your cheek, you head out the front door of your office building with Marcus and pop through the parking lot to find his car parked beside yours. “I’ll follow you to your office so we don’t have to come back for my car later.” Normally you drive together, but lunch with Angie had meant needing your own car today.

“That works.” He can’t help but kiss you again, leaning against the car as he presses his lips to yours. “I love you baby.” He murmurs softly.

"I love you, too." The butterflies in your stomach are giddy, screaming for you to whip out the ring right now just so you can see him wearing it, but you tamp the feeling down and just enjoy kissing him back. Soon enough, you tell yourself. Soon enough.

Marcus opens your door for you, smirking when you roll your eyes at him playfully before he climbs behind the wheel of his own car. Pulling out of the spot and starting towards his offices to kick Patrick Jane out of his life for the foreseeable future.

******

"Ah! Our leader has returned!" Patrick Jane sits up from his reclining position in one of the rolling chairs in the conference room with his signature lazy smirk scrolled across his face. He's toned down his behaviour at his wife's request, but only slightly. "And with his lady. How lucky we are."

“How lucky indeed.” Not even that smug smirk can dampen Marcus’s buoyed mood. “Especially considering my lady has discovered the lead to send you on your way to solve the case.” It’s also a point of pride that you discovered things that the amazing Patrick Jane couldn’t. Call him petty, but it was exceedingly poignant for him.

"You found something?" Teresa looks up from her pages upon pages of notes with her eyebrows nearly hitting her hairline.

"That list of names." You nod, shutting the conference room door behind you and coming up to the table to look at the scans of the actual pages that had been sent from the Austin office. "I think if we fact check it, we'll find that the dates are death dates and the numbers one through four correspond to the four rescue teams that brought the stranded members of the Donner Party out across the mountains in the winter of 1847." Moving one of the pages in front of the Janes, you point to the list of names written out. "Look. Donner, and then the names of every member of the family that was on the journey to California."

Marcus is just petty enough to enjoy the astonishment on Patrick Jane’s face as he digests the information. Possibly wallowing in the fact that he hadn’t thought of it. “Huh.” He all he manages, sitting back and looking like the wind has been blown out of his sails.

"The first settlement on the California side of the Sierra Nevadas at the time was called Johnson's Ranch." The name that had been stumping you for weeks finally makes sense, and Teresa nearly facepalms when you say it. "I think the daguerreotypes might be clues that one of the members of the party took for himself to remember the location of hidden valuables. So many people died on the journey, it would have been easy to take and hideaway some of their belongings."

"And didn't go back for it." Teresa reasons. "So the wealth stayed buried and became a family legend."

“It does seem to lead that way.” It’s a completely extraordinary situation of that is what happened, but that will be what the Jane’s are left to figure out over the course of the rest of the case. Your part - helping to decipher the secrets in those daguerreotypes - has turned up much more than just some analyzed images.

“Huh.” Patrick leans back in his chair and sends you a look that is both shocked and intrigued that you wrapped it up so neatly into history.

“Of course,” you smile demurely, not even looking at Marcus so that you won’t laugh. “I’m no investigator. I’m sure there will be more of the mystery for you to unravel.”

“So I guess that means we should go home.” Patrick smirks knowingly, his eyes floating between you and Marcus, knowing you want him gone.

“Austin office will be thrilled to hear it.” Teresa has been the only one fielding phone calls from their superiors in Texas wondering what the holdup is, not Patrick. “Thank you for everything you’ve done to help. I know that this has been an…unconventional situation.”

Marcus shoves his hands into his pockets and nods. “Happy to be able to assist.” He offers, wondering if they will update him on the outcome but not wanting to ask.

“I imagine they’ll have us on the first flight home in the morning.” Living in a perpetual state of one-hand-on-belly, Teresa unconsciously soothes that hand over where the baby is currently sitting and leans back. “I don’t suppose you two would be up for a victory dinner tonight? Our treat.” The last is said definitely, giving her husband no room to make noise about the offer.

There’s no good way to politely decline the invitation and both of them know it. The plans for the night twirl down the drain as Marcus turns towards you, eyes on yours in silent communication.

Marcus’s expression would be unreadable to anyone else, but you can see the disappointment in the tightness of his smile. One more night with the Janes seems to be the sacrifice you’ll make together. Oh well – at least there’s no danger of you becoming overwhelmed with emotion and proposing at dinner now. “That would be nice,” you put on a smile. Teresa really isn’t so bad. You’ll just talk to her and block out her husband.

“Great!” Patrick leaps up out of his seat and moves over to where Teresa is rubbing her belly. “One last evening with ‘frenemies’.” He jokes, grinning at Marcus even though his hands on Teresa’s shoulders are soothing and supportive.

“I’ll find someplace nice.” Teresa decides, looking at the three of you before moving her eyes back to the table again. “It will take us a while to pack everything up and be ready to go. We’ll file the paperwork we need to before we leave DC, and I’ll make us a reservation.”

“Okay.” Marcus will have to make this up to you, but at least it’s only dinner and then they will be on their way back to Texas tomorrow. “Let us know. We’ve got some things to wrap up so I’ll give you my office to take care of things.”

You and Marcus beat a hasty retreat, leaving the conference room before Patrick can make a smart remark about whatever you may or may not be wrapping. “We’ll do Indian this weekend,” you murmur, reaching to briefly squeeze his hand.

“What’s one more night?” Marcus reassures you with a small smile. It will be ever better giving you what he bought when there’s no Patrick Jane to immediately needle you about it.

“Nothing we can’t handle.” After all, if you’ve survived nearly three weeks of it, one more night will be a cinch. “We’ll eat, we’ll suffer through one more awkward conversation, and we’ll come home to a relaxing hot bath. How does that sound?”

“A bottle of wine too?” Marcus asks with a grin. “Or tequila? Either one is good with me.”

“We’ve got that bottle of Prosecco that Angie’s husband recommended.” Marcus has been so excited about the recommendation that he’d popped out the next day and gotten a bottle to try. “Two days in the fridge is enough time to chill, right? We can have bubbly and a bath.”

“That sounds like the perfect way to end our adventure on this case.” Marcus smirks, imagining proposing to you in a bubble bath with bubbly.

"That is what we'll do, then." It sounds perfectly romantic, and if it just so happens to be a celebration of more than just your involvement in the case ending, then so be it.

“We can go to the apartment and grab a load to take over to the house if you want?” Marcus offers. “Or we can go home a little early and have sex so we are in a good mood at dinner.”

“I really don’t think you understand how to give choices,” you tease, knowing that it’s completely obvious which one you’ll choose. “There’s no contest there. At all.”

“I don’t know.” Marcus rolls his eyes playfully. “You might be all sexed out.” You’ve rarely had a night where sex didn’t happen. Only when one of you had put in long hours and where exhausted. He doesn’t want you to think sex is all he thinks about.

“Maybe someday.” A little shake of your head and a grin tucked up in the corner of your mouth tell him that it’s not likely, though. “Definitely not today.”

“At least we’ll be mellowed out for dinner.” He chuckles, looking forward to getting it over with.

“Let’s go home for a little bit.” You nod toward the elevators and offer him your hand. “Relax. Mentally stay ourselves for dinner.”

******

“Well, at least it’s not McDonald’s.” Marcus jokes as the two of you pull up to the valet station. “I didn’t expect anything this nice when they said dinner, but I’m sure Teresa is proving a point to her husband.”

"Either that or she's got a craving." The steakhouse has an exceptional reputation and you're not upset for one second about having a very nice dinner before what you're going to do when you go home. You had excused yourself to the bathroom right before leaving the house and used the time to choose a bath bomb with dried rose petals and a gorgeous rose-jasmine scent for when you get home again. Two of your big, fluffy luxury towels sit on the edge of the counter with the bath bomb on top. It sits right beside a little box of chocolate covered strawberries that you also picked up on the way back to the office from your lunch break - and the little Tiffany box all tied up in silver ribbon. When you follow Marcus into the bathroom for your wine soaked bath, the ring will be right in front of him. And hopefully you'll have timed it right, so that you'll be standing in front of him with the bottle of prosecco in hand when he turns around. You've never been so nervous in your entire fucking life.

“A craving, huh?” Marcus smirks as he slides his hand around your body to rest on your lower back after handing the keys over. “I guess that’s acceptable. It’s pretty much whatever you want when you’re growing a human.”

"Do you think there's a way you can preprogram your cravings?" You muse, scrunching up your nose as you grin at him and let him lead you into the restaurant. "Spending nine months craving steak or chocolate or fresh fruit sounds great."

“Whatever you crave, you’ll get it.” Marcus promises indulgently, smirking as he imagines you whining for something specific and he’s running to the store. “Has to be local though. I can’t fly to France for pastries every week.”

"If the craving turns out to be French pastries, I know a bakery on Wisconsin Avenue." And it is definitely a place you visit at least once a month like clockwork, so you can see your cravings tending that way easily. "I promise I won't make you get on an airplane for a snack."

“I would.” He admits that easily, grinning as he walks up to the host stand and gives the name. Not rolling his eyes when giving the name ‘Jane’.

“Oh yes, the other two members of your party arrived just a few minutes ago.” The well-put-together young woman smiles dreamily, either entirely taken in by Patrick Jane’s false charm or mooning over the pregnant Agent Jane as you had seen others do over the last few weeks. “Right this way.”

Marcus lets you walk in front of him, making sure that he does watch where he’s going in addition to staring at your ass. Taken to a table that is off to the side, the overall atmosphere screams intimate and if the menu is good, he might have to bring you back here.

“How lovely.” Patrick Jane lays it on thick when he sees the hostess walking you toward the table. He stands and pulls out your chair as though he were actually a gentleman and you can see the tick of displeasure in Marcus’s jaw but say nothing. “You both look divine. Find the place okay?”

“Perfectly.” Marcus nods towards Patrick and flashes a slightly warmer look towards Teresa before he is sitting down beside you. “This is very kind of you. And unnecessary.” He adds.

“A little something to show our appreciation.” Teresa contends. “You cracked the case today. That deserves celebrating.”

“Hopefully the rest of the case will be easy.” Marcus offers. “Might be your last one before the baby comes.”

“The last big one, I think.” Teresa has that otherworldly glow always associated with pregnant women and she sighs happily as she settles back in her seat. “Although we all know I’ll be playing armchair detective on maternity leave. No rest for the wicked.”

“Well, if I remember correctly, you had a hell of a team behind you.” Marcus’s Austin team had been good, although they were a little green on the field ops side. But Teresa’s department was much more hands on.

“She just can’t stand to be idle.” Patrick smiles at her like it’s the biggest compliment in the world and flags the nearest passing waiter to ask for a wine list.

Marcus raises his brows slightly and glances over at you. He wouldn’t order wine while you were pregnant, but that was just him.

“Just because I can’t, doesn’t mean you all shouldn’t.” Teresa shrugs, as if reading the silence at the table were that easy.

“How about a spritzer?” Marcus suggests. “Wine can be added on, but you can have the spritzer with us to celebrate?”

“Perfect.” It shouldn’t have been down to Marcus to be thoughtful of the situation, but you squeeze his leg under the table in quiet pride. He is always going to be the person to think of others’ comfort in any situation. It’s one of the things you love about him.

Patrick grins, obviously about to say something but the waiter comes to the table to take the drink orders.

Drink service is quick here, apparently, and it's apparent fairly quickly that the choice of restaurant was due to Teresa's cravings. Seafood appetizers are her top mouthwatering options and Patrick sits back, encouraging her to order as much as will please her for the whole table to share in the offerings. It's nice to see them actually be a little playful together, you can't deny that at all.

It’s amazing that Marcus doesn’t feel the sting of loss like he might have before. He doesn’t wish that it was him with her when Patrick rubs her belly or leans over to kiss her. Instead, he finds himself tangling his fingers with yours under the table and bringing them up to kiss your hand, thinking about the day when that’s you heavy with his child.

"So how is the moving going?" Teresa asks, deciding on a topic that should be solely happy.

Marcus looks over at you with a grin. “Surprisingly quick.” He admits. “I honestly was a little skeptical, considering she had lived in her apartment for so long, but we are blending things together very nicely.”

"The house is perfect." And even though some people might think it should bother you that he had bought it with Teresa in mind, it was never her home so the thought barely ever enters your mind. "I think we'll be ready to hire a truck for the furniture and the end of the boxes very soon." Fitting your lives together has been as easy as breathing, and you're just praying that the next step goes just as well.

“It’s a lovely home.” Teresa offers, having seen it when Patrick insisting on showing up one night to talk about the case. Of course he had snooped and a tour had been given. “We are looking for bigger than my apartment. The cabin isn’t practical for every day.”

"I'm sure you'll find something fantastic. Austin is a beautiful city." The one time you had been there was a flight layover, but you'd left the airport to meet a colleague for lunch and what you saw of the area was vibrant and lively.

Marcus nods in agreement. “It is, plus the school system is actually pretty good, so there’s that.” He might have looked into it before he was offered the position in D.C. He had never been shy about wanting a family, but he’s happy that it’s now going to be with the first woman he ever imagined having kids with.

“Already planning for it?” Patrick smirks as though he hasn’t eavesdropped on every morsel of information he could get from the two of you. It’s like catnip to him.

Marcus just glances over at you and squeezes your hand. “One day. If she wants.” He wants kids, never made that a secret, but it was and will always be your decision to have them. Or to decide how many you wanted to have.

“So one day soon, then.” It eases Teresa’s guilt in a way that she’s not terribly proud of, to know that Marcus has found someone - or found someone back again - who wants a family as badly as he does. When Marcus looks at you curiously, you shrug a little with feigned innocence. “I may have been picking Teresa’s brain about pregnancy,” you admit with a grin.

“You always did get giggly around pregnant women.” Marcus hums, remembering all the times you would coo over ladies out in public. It had helped feed that perfect image of how life would go, and made it devastating when it was ripped away.

“Well, I figured it would be nice to get a more comprehensive image of pregnancy.” Gathering information is an essential step in decision making, as you’ve discussed with your therapist, and it’s helped you not jump to conclusions as much in your adult life. “Teresa’s had a slightly different experience than my sister and it’s been really fun to talk about.” Under the table, you gently squeeze Marcus’s leg again to tell him everything is okay.

“I’m sure every woman has a slightly different experience.” Marcus flashes you a smile. “At least it’s not us carrying the babies, as much as we whine when we’re sick? The species would be doomed.”

“Nah, you’d be a champ.” Even though Marcus hates to be sick and would pitifully beg you to make him tea with too much honey whenever he has so much as a sniffle, you know he would be so proud to carry his children if that were the case. “I do have to wonder what men’s maternity suits would look like though. Do wide lapels compliment a baby bump?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll gain those sympathy pounds with you.” He jokes, patting his stomach. “Wouldn’t take much to convince me to stop running.”

“Actually,” Teresa chuckles, finding the whole calmness of this dinner very therapeutic. “We talked a little about exercise routines and low impact workouts. So you might switch from running to walking once you’re expecting.”

You tilt your head at Marcus and send him a smirk as you reach for your drink. “Exercise is important for fertility, too.”

“I think I’m getting plenty of exercise.” Marcus smirks back at you and sends you a subtle wink. “But if working out more is what is needed, then….” He shrugs playfully.

That has you almost choking on a sip of your drink, and Teresa nearly snorts as Patrick snickers under his breath. Yes, you are four very mature adults. “It’s good to know you’re enthusiastic, baby,” you laugh, shaking your head slightly at everyone’s reactions.

Marcus grins and picks up his own glass. “So is this one the only baby? Or have you talked about more?” He asks the other couple, showing an interest in the workings of their relationship now that the awkwardness of it all had firmly been buried.

“We’re thinking so.” The habitually soothing hand that Teresa has on her stomach is nice, but some other aspects of the pregnancy have been less than ideal.

“Just our little prince.” Patrick boasts, puffing up like he somehow consciously influenced the fact that the baby is a boy.

Marcus understands, and he nods towards Patrick seriously. Having a daughter would probably terrify the man after losing his first in such a shockingly violent way. “Well, I hope everything goes smoothly.”

******

Without the tension of the case and with the promise of soon being separated, dinner isn’t the arduous task that you had feared it might be. Patrick only got on Marcus’s nerves lightly and Teresa’s good mood seemed to buoy her husband, so by the time you’re standing from the table to go leave with bellies full of steak and seafood, everyone is still smiling. Of anyone you’re probably the most off kilter, but that is only because the ticking clock on one of the most important moments of your life has hit the eleventh hour. As soon as you get home, you’ll hopefully have a whole new reason to celebrate.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Marcus can feel the tension dripping off of you as the four of you start to wind your way through the restaurant to say your final goodbyes. The two of you trail behind Patrick and Teresa slightly and Marcus keeps his voice down to not alert Patrick to any potential issues.

“I’m okay.” As much as you hate technically fibbing to him, you flash Marcus a sideways smile as you walk. “I think I’m just sleepy from having a full belly. Maybe…when we get home, do you want to have that bath?”

"That sounds perfect." He relaxes slightly, just on edge for any sign of unhappiness now that a second ring for you is waiting in drawer in the bathroom. He hadn't been able to open the small safe without you noticing and he didn't want to draw attention to himself before leaving for dinner.

You say your last goodbyes at the valet stand, giving Teresa a careful hug and shaking Patrick’s hand out of an abundance of manners, and watching as they pull away in their rental car. “That’s it,” you laugh as the next car to pull up to the curb is Marcus’s. “We’re free.”

“We are free.” Marcus can share your relief and chuckles. “Is it safe to admit now that I’m so fucking happy I didn’t end up with Teresa?” He confesses as he opens the door for you. “I’d much rather be with you and not put up with Patrick Jane intruding on my life every opportunity he gets.”

“I don’t think you would have to deal with him for that long, honey.” The expression on your face is cheeky as you get into the car and you’re still smirking when he gets in beside you and buckles his seatbelt. “You’d either be in prison or a mental health facility for going crazy and killing him.”

Marcus barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “You’re right.” He laughs, looking over at you. “I’d be howling at the moon.”

“I’m glad you didn’t end up with Teresa, too.” You lean over the center console to kiss him before he can turn the engine over. “But that’s purely selfish.”

“Selfish on my part too.” Marcus admits, grinning at you. “You like liquor licked off your body. And I like that.”

“Teresa wasn’t into body shots?” Helpfully, your mind conjures the idea of him drinking bubbly off you in the bath.

“No.” It’s not badmouthing his ex, but he doesn’t elaborate beyond that. “You are though. You love me licking anything off your body.”

"Your love of whipped cream had nothing to do with the actual cream." You giggle, sitting back and tangling your hand in his as he pulls out into traffic. The drive home won't take long at your heart is pounding just a little bit harder with every passing minute.

“Of course.” Marcus smirks and looks over at you with a lecherous grin. “But would you have it any other way?”

"Never." After just a second of deliberation, you pick up his hand in yours and bring it to your lips, grinning evilly as you press a kiss to his palm before slipping his middle finger into your mouth to swirl your tongue around the digit in perfect imitation of the way he likes his cock licked. It's too good to not tease him.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” Marcus groans, cock twitching and he wishes he could just snap his fingers and have the two of you home and naked. “That’s mean.”

"It's not mean," you're giggling again as you kiss the back of his hand again. "It's a preview."

“It is mean.” Marcus pouts. “Because we aren’t home.”

"Don't be sad, baby." The dramatic frown on his face and the big, puppy eyes he aims your way at the stop light make you pout right back at him. "I'd offer to give you road head but I don't think we could escape DC traffic without getting noticed or even pulled over."

“I have a badge.” Marcus argues, although he would never let you do that. The word would get out and he won’t risk your reputation.

"We'll take a long drive through the Virginia countryside some weekend and find a nice place to fuck on a picnic blanket, how about that?" A favourite date of yours back in the early days could enjoy a very nice revival now, as long as you find the right place to do it. "Road head, too." You promise with a giggle. "It'll be very romantic."

“Road head is romantic, huh?” Marcus laughs and shakes his head. “We should find a little place to park. More room in the back of the SUV than my old college car.”

"Sounds like fun. I guess we know what we're doing next weekend, huh?" Sitting back, you watch the streets go by as it starts to drizzle rain and allow yourself a soft, contented sigh. "I love you, baby."

“I love you too.” He promises with a full heart. Your relationship, while not glossing over the past, was even better than it had been back then. Both of you knowing where you stand and what you want out of life.

******

By the time he pulls into the garage beside your little Mini Cooper, your heart is pounding. Optimistically you have maybe five minutes until he walks into that bathroom upstairs and you ask the most important question of your life. Not that you aren't ninety-nine percent sure that you know what his answer will be, but the anticipation is still nerve-wracking.

As soon as Marcus hits the button for the garage door to close, his phone starts to ring. “God, I hope this isn’t my parents.” He groans, although he’s fairly certain it isn’t. It’s too late for his parents.

Whoever he thought it might be, he definitely didn't expect to see the caller ID for the INTERPOL Paris office splashed across his phone, and Marcus shoots you an apologetic look when he answers the phone. "Director Pike?" The man on the other end of the line has a thick Parisian accent but speaks perfect English, thought his voice is very obviously agitated. "René Ducasse, INTERPOL cultural heritage unit. I apologize for the hour, monsieur, but things are moving quickly here."

“Monsieur Ducasse, how may I help you?” Marcus’s tone takes on a professional edge, polite yet brimming with authority. He frowns, calculating the time in Paris and blanching when he realizes it would be four-thirty in the morning.

"There has been a break in the case concerning the pair of missing Cassatt paintings that your Federal Bureau of Investigation has been searching for." Ducasse is a gum chewer as a form of nervous habit, and Marcus can hear him unwrap a piece on the other end of the phone. "We have less than forty-eight hours to prepare the sting, and hoped you might be interested in having the operation be a collaboration between our offices. We would send you in undercover to participate in the auction, as your face is far less well known here." He chuckles under his breath, knowing the cover is an easy one. "A wealthy American throwing their money around, you know?"

Marcus’s brain is rapidly processing this situation and he nods, shaking his wrist to look at his watch. “We should be able to catch a flight tonight.” He knows it might be tight, but he grins. “I will call you back with my itinerary.”

"Merci, Director Pike, I will watch for your call." The relief in Ducasse's voice is audible, along with the first smack of bubble gum being chewed. "And I will brief you myself when you arrive."

“Thank you.” Marcus ends the call and looks at you with both apology and excitement in his eyes. “So, um…I have to go to Paris. For a case. Do you want to come with me?”

"Seriously?" You're starting to not believe what he had told you about his job being less exciting than other FBI offices, especially if impromptu trips to France are a real-life possibility. "Yeah. Absolutely. I'll use a vacation day for tomorrow. Unless..." The nearly giddy look on his face makes you laugh. "Am I being asked to consult on this case as well, sir?"

Marcus opens his mouth and then closes it. “Actually…” he tilts his head thoughtfully. “This is about a pair of missing Cassatt paintings. A Smithsonian director would be useful on the team.” It might be a slight misappropriation of your title, but it would work.

"I suddenly feel very fancy and very lucky." And very much like you want to sprint up to the bathroom immediately to grab his ring and stash it away before he can see it - if you have a chance to propose to Marcus in Paris? Oh yeah, you're absolutely going to take it. "Why don't you tell me what you can of the case while we're packing and I'll send an e-mail to my boss with an update before we take off." Sometimes the convenience of a cell phone for things like big last-minute events is very helpful. "But first." You lean over the center console in the car and peck a kiss on his cheek. "I really need to pee, so I'm going to run upstairs."

“Okay. I’m going to book us some flights.” He’ll also make a call to his boss, getting the go ahead to bring you so there aren’t any issues with that later on, but he doubts there will be.

"Okay." One more quick kiss and you bolt into the house and straight upstairs. The stack of towels and bath things you had set up on the counter are still sitting there proudly along with the candles that you had pulled out, and you snatch up the little Tiffany box with a relieved sigh - like a part of you was something worried that it wouldn't be there when you got home. Without knowing what to expect, the first things you can do are wipe off your make up from dinner and pack up your toiletries. Luckily you had used your two suitcases to bring over clothing from the apartment last week and now you use the smaller one to start packing up some professional yet fashionable clothing and one really beautiful cocktail dress for a nice dinner out. Even if you're going there for work, you will take time for at least one dinner with Marcus in the city. You want to show him your old neighborhood in Montmartre and have drinks at Harry's. Sort of a greatest hits tour of your years there as a graduate student.

It takes about twenty minutes to get everything settled and flights booked before Marcus is bounding up the stairs. “Sorry. I know we had plans tonight but I upgraded our tickets to first class.” He offers, shooting you a grin. “Didn’t cost an arm and a leg when I just have to pay the difference between what the bureau would have booked.”

"We had plans for a bath." You're carefully folding the dress you selected from your shared closet when he comes upstairs, and you shake your head at him for the little extra of upgrading your tickets. It's good thinking, you'll both sleep much better on the flight. "We can have a bath in the hotel in Paris tomorrow and it will be just as romantic."

“I don’t know if I could ever get more romantic than a bath in Paris.” Marcus snorts. “That’s prime romance. Especially since we are going to be posing as a wealthy couple so our room is the Versailles Suite at Le Meurice.”

"It is not." The way your jaw nearly unhinges in surprise makes your voice drop and you gasp. "What the hell kind of cover are we supposed to have, royalty?" He's told you what he can of other undercover jobs he's done before, but nothing had sounded as opulent as this. "I better rethink what I'm packing if you want us to pass for ultra wealthy. Office clothes don't scream opulence."

“We can buy what we need and expense it out.” Marcus informs you with a grin, sending you a small wink. “So leave room to bring clothes home.”

"Do you have any idea how long we'll be there?" Not that you have any objection to staying just as long as the FBI could possibly need. It's a welcome working vacation. To go to France right after the Janes leave is like a gift from the universe.

“According to Monsieur Ducasse, it will be at least forty-eight hours, possibly a week to wrap up.” Marcus theorizes. “We are to pose as wealthy Americans attending a black-market art auction.”

"Living out my caper movie dreams." You flash him a grin as you scoop up all the responsible workwear trousers and blouses that you had chosen and plop them back in the dresser to replace with dresses. "Do we get to come up with our own cover?" Okay, you might be a little excited about this...

“We will have some guidelines to work inside, but details of the background are normally created by the people going undercover based on what they can keep straight.” Marcus explains, pulling out his own clothes to pack.

"That makes sense." The two of you talk through things while you pack, with Marcus outlining the standard way that operations like this are normally run and giving you a little background on his INTERPOL colleague that has called him in. By the time you're toting your suitcases downstairs to get back in the car, you have enough information to fire off an e-mail to your boss and to start thinking about places you might want to be when you bring out that ring again. This won't be pure vacation - you're not naive enough to believe that - but you're determined to find a moment to make special.

“Shit.” Marcus realizes that he’s almost fucked up. “Let me run back inside.” He tells you after closing the trunk. “Just stay here.” He bolts for the door, cursing himself for almost forgetting to grab your ring.

What better time to propose than in Paris?

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101

tCIGtDYE: @missmarmaladeth @afro-hispwriter @rosmarinus @mythrielofsolitude @jxvipike @avaleineandafryingpan @hnt-escape @supernaturalgirl20 @scorpio-marionette @bobafvcker @midnightevermore @dinoflower @pearl-aqua-tears @itsbaehyungbitch @pepperminticedcoffee @anticipayosbot @girlofchaos @speedynana @loveslide @noisynaia @just-here-for-the-moment @goodgriefitsawildworld @curiouskeyboard @iarellanouus @mymistery09-blog @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thenightdreamsballad @pondsofravenclaw @sherlock221b114679797 @pimmyxyone @theredwritingwitch @ghostinhours @timpletance @strawberryjamcheesecake @amb11 @a-little-shade-of-kiki @wildemaven @tuquoquebrute @supernaturalgirl @ellenmunn @iceclaw101 @toxicfrankenstein @catsandgeekyandnerd @missmarmaladeth @theincredibleinkspitter @agiroflee98 @lyonessofnarnia @we-could-have-been @totostits @scorpio-marionette @kikis-writing-world @trappistmonksofthefuture @danichz @88dragon06 @scorpionerd @myrealmofchaos @movievillainess721 @firekissed13 @qseomik @acollectionofcells1 @captain-of-my-game1992 @alician87 @lovesbiggerthanpride @justgonewild @hiyorinatsuki @pinkrosethorne @apocalypticwafflekitten @groovycass @rebel-fanfare @d0cthunder @gooddaykate @purplerain04 @astridflowers @frasmotic @dornish-queen

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Agent Marcus Pike #marcus pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #Mentalist fanfic #ex wife reader

136 notes · View notes

jeongjaebae · 1 year

Text

1 plus 1

Pairing: Eric x reader Genre: fluff, fake dating Word count: 3.1k

While looking for an outfit for the party, you can't help but notice all the couples' BOGO sales going on. What better way to get free stuff than to pretend you're dating your best friend?

This has got to be the worst predicament you've been in this year. Forget walking into the wrong lab or tripping in front of the entire student body on campus, nothing has made you filled with such apprehension as the situation in front of you.

It's all Changmin's fault, really. He's the one who convinced you that pretending to be dating your best friend would be a good idea, but now, you don't even know if you're going to make it through this day. If you somehow actually go to his party, you're going to kill him, that scheming little—

"Y/N?" Eric's soft voice interrupts your violent thoughts. He's stopped a few steps ahead, holding out a hand as he waits for you to catch up, and that tiny smile on his lips is enough to wipe the rest of the complaints from your mind. Changmin who? The only thing on your mind is the way your palms start to heat up at the thought of having to hold his hand.

It all started a few weeks ago, at the beginning of the holiday season.

As per tradition, Changmin and Chanhee would be hosting another one of their infamous parties for the holidays this year. You received an invite from Changmin himself, perks of being his classmate or whatever it was he said; you hadn't been paying much attention when you were too busy thinking of the perfect excuse to not go. From the stories you'd heard about past events, this isn't something you particularly wanted to partake in.

But before you could spit out an excuse about your cousin's friend's sister's pet needing your full attention that weekend, Changmin was already telling you about the one plus one sales for couples that occurred during this time of year. Because Eric loves them, of course. And just imagine all the free stuff the two of you could get if you pretended to be a couple when you took him shopping to find an outfit for the party.

Simple enough, right?

When you first brought it up to Eric, you didn't think he would take it too seriously. Because, well, in your head, it should've been enough to show up together and look like a couple to participate in all those BOGO sales. The two of you standing side by side, the same awkward smiles pasted on your faces. That's why it never occurred to you that he would want to go further than the bare minimum and actually put on an act as if this was a role back in a high school drama class.

Now you'd have to live with knowing how soft his hands are and how well they seem to fit with yours as he intertwines your fingers together, but that this is only for the sake of getting a free hot chocolate. You'd know that the way his eyes soften and fill with fondness every time he looks at you is actually a look that's meant to be directed at that skincare package instead.

Once again, you curse at Changmin in your mind as you quickly catch up to Eric and slip your hand in his.

"Hey, let's go see what's over there?" he asks with a smile.

You nod, smiling back at him and ignoring the hard kick your heart does. Looks like your ulterior motive came back to bite you.

And so, the rest of the day is spent wandering from store to store and taking in all the eye-catching signs and colourful objects displayed in shop windows. You know how to play the part well and try to do an even better job than he does, almost one-upping him in a way. Eric might pull you towards him and gaze at you lovingly, but you go even further to lean in and brush away that eyelash that had fallen beneath his eye. He might take your hand in his or chain his arm with yours, but you move his arm to your waist instead so that you're nestled against his side.

It should be easy for the sake of free items, right? At least that's what you remind yourself. The truth is that this is easy because it's a role you've played all too many times in your head, having imagined this exact sequence of events. In a different context of course.

"This looks pretty cool." Eric points over in the distance and when you follow his gaze, you can see another big event going on right by the giant Christmas tree at the center of the mall.

The thought of doing any more pretending sends your stomach into a frenzy, but seeing the excitement in his eyes, you can't bring yourself to say anything. "Sure," you put on a smile and give his hand a squeeze, "let's go check it out."

The event isn't a buy one get one free sale, but rather a raffle. A bunch of prizes are lined up on the counter, with everything from cool kitchen appliances to gift cards to makeup sets and everything in between. Though raffles were never your forte, you actually consider entering this one when you see how Eric takes in the scene in front of him, eyes twinkling. You'd do it for him.

Or at least you thought you would until you get to the front of the crowd and hear the instructions for entering this raffle.

"Just take a picture of your kiss under the mistletoe," the lady says cheerfully, pointing you in the direction of the set. You follow her gaze and see it: there's a small Christmas tree, fake snow, even some reindeer figures set up.

Yes, it'd be a cute set up. It's just that you would think it's for kids' mall pictures with Santa, and not whatever the heck this is! This freaking kiss!

Before you get a chance to turn to Eric and voice your concerns, the two of you somehow get tangled up in the sea of people walking over, slowly pushing you along with them until you're right in front of the photo spot.

"You know... we, um, don't have to do this." You force on an air of nonchalance to hide your panic. At least no one else is paying you any attention; all these couples are too busy in their own world. "We probably won't win anything anyway."

So it really wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to pretend you never encountered this event and just walk away.

"Would you be okay with it?" Eric asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

"With what? Not entering the raffle?" Of course I'd be okay with it, Eric, you think. Not an ounce of your hesitation is about the raffle or the prizes, and heck, there is no chance you'd win anything anyway.

"No," he says, shaking his head. There's a hint of a smile on his lips but his voice is quiet, perhaps hesitant like yours. "With kissing me."

You're almost sure you heard wrong.

"W-what?" you sputter, mind reeling over everything. Of all things you expected for today, kissing Eric was not one of them. It's not in the realm of imaginable things at all, and you have to force yourself to calm down when you answer. "Yeah," you croak, "um, yes. I'd be fine with that."

And for whatever reason, in the seconds upon hearing your answer, Eric's smile lights up his whole face and his eyes soften instantly. "Yeah?" He takes a step closer to you. "Okay. Good."

Everything in your mind seems to blur together as he slowly closes the distance. You're afraid, nervous, terrified that your lips are chapped, or your breath isn't pleasant. Or that your teeth might clack against his, assuming that your nose doesn't get in the way first. And no matter how well your best friend already knows you, you're not sure if he'll want to know you in this kind of way.

"Are you sure?" he whispers at the last second, breath grazing your lips. There are just millimeters between you now and he could've easily closed the distance, but he waits, searching for an answer in your eyes.

So you answer.

The second his lips meet yours, it's like all your thoughts disappear. This isn't like a first kiss, one that you always imagined might happen between the two of you, but rather a kiss of two lovers, already familiar with each other and unafraid to express their want. The unspoken 'I love you' is written through his gentle touch on your cheeks and at your jaw, and through your fingers between the strands of his soft hair.

And in this moment, it doesn't matter if this thing is for a raffle and if it's not real at all. Because none of it matters when you're kissing the one person you've been in love with for so long, when it might be enough to simply close your eyes, lean into the warmth of his every touch, and pretend.

Eric pulls back slightly and breaks the kiss first, but the way the two of you linger so closely together makes you feel like it was going to happen again.

Like it was somehow too real to be just acting.

"Oh, right," you say, quickly stepping back and ending the moment. "Um, I think we got it. Yeah?" You nod at the phone he's still holding out in front of the two of you in the selfie position. That's what quickly pulls you back to reality; you have to tell yourself it was for the selfie since it was all too easy to forget.

Eric quickly takes the phone and swipes across the screen a couple of times, away from your field of view. "Yeah, we got it."

So much for being a mediocre actor, you think bitterly. You don't know how he did it, but he has to be some sort of expert if he was able to fake something like this. Maybe he's thinking of someone else when he's doing all of this, someone who's not you.

And perhaps this is the worst part of today. Knowing how gentle the caress of his hands against your face could be, knowing the warmth of his mouth and how he tastes on your tongue.

Knowing that none of it is for you.

Eric calls you again, beckoning you over to where he's finished filling out the info for the raffle ticket, and then the two of you are off to the next spot as if nothing even happened.

In the end you don't win the raffle, but it never mattered anyway. It especially doesn't when it feels like you've won the lottery and then lost your ticket.

As the two of you continue exploring the mall, Eric gradually gets quieter and quieter. At first you don't notice it since he's been on the quieter side today, opting to walk silently next to you when he's not excitedly dragging you off to stores. But when you walk past one of those giant "1 plus 1" signs at the entrance of a store and he gives no reaction whatsoever, and he doesn't even seem to see the cats in the window of the cat cafe, that's when you realize something isn't right.

Sure, you could be overthinking it and he could merely be tired after a long day of walking around, but this is Eric. You knowyour best friend wouldn't be one to pass up any sales like this, especially since they're what you came here for today after all.

The drive home is mostly silent too, relying on the holiday tunes on the radio to fill the gaps. It's silent until he walks to you to the entrance of your house, and then he finally speaks.

"I—I have something to tell you," Eric says softly, only briefly meeting your eyes before looking at the ground.

This is it, you think. This is why he fully retreated into his head for the latter half of your outing—it must've been from the kiss. You weren't able to hide your feelings while doing all this today, and he had to have realized what a mistake everything was. Now, it might just be the downfall of your entire friendship.

"Y/N, I'm sorry."

"Why are you saying that?" You let a note of casualness slip into your voice and hope it'll conceal your concern a bit. All you want to do is to play dumb, to pretend like there's nothing wrong at all. "For what?"

Eric sighs, slumping against your front door. He looks thoroughly torn and this is probably the most stressed you've ever seen him. It has to be something big if this is a reaction even exam season couldn't get out of him, and it makes you all the more nervous too.

Because it can't mean anything good.

"Well, we didn't even end up finding you an outfit today."

"Oh. Right." You're not sure how to react to that, suddenly unsure if this should be considered good news or bad news. What you know is that it's certainly not something worth being upset over. "That's fine, don't worry about it. Honestly, I don't think I'll go to the party anymore."

A look of confusion creeps onto Eric's face. "What, why? I thought you wanted to go."

"Meh, it's not that important and like, Changmin is kind of weird." You shrug. "But that's not what you wanted to tell me, is it?"

"N-no." He briefly looks startled, and you wonder if he was about to chicken out of saying anything at all if you hadn't prompted him. You wonder if you should've just let him. "It's about... today.

"Today."

"Yeah," he says and doesn't make a move to continue.

You can see the gears turning in his mind but it's clear that neither of you want to breach the topic of how your friendship will never be the same again after everything that happened today.

"Today when we were pretending—um, how do I say this?" Eric pauses and runs a hand through his hair, then takes a deep breath. "Okay, I'll just go ahead and say it."

You have to mentally brace yourself as you await the final blow. He'll say that the two of you shouldn't have done it, that he was so focused on the sales that he never realized it'd be a mistake. Then you'd have to put on your best poker face and agree and pretend like each time you see him—if you ever see him again—you're not reminded of the fond smiles he's shown you, or how his every breath sounds when his lips are against yours.

"What we did today," he drags out slowly. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but if you were, or you just hated all of it... Sorry, I didn't mean to get so carried away." His eyes flicker to yours before looking away as the words tumble out of his mouth all at once. "I would never risk our friendship over something so trivial, Y/N. The ice cream wasn't great and hell, I wasn't even interested in that raffle."

"No, it's fine," you mutter automatically and let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. At least he doesn't want to stop being friends with you entirely. But then your mind processes his words, and you realize exactly what you heard. "Wait, did you just say you weren't interested in the raffle?"

"Yeah, I mean, the prizes weren't very good—" Eric stops abruptly. His eyes widen when they meet yours, turning impossibly big as his mouth opens slightly in realization. "I—well, I mean..."

He continues to struggle with coming up with what to say, going as far as turning away from you completely. You might've chosen to fill the silence before, but this time your heart is beating so loudly that you can hardly speak either.

Having no excuse left, Eric finally turns back to face you and sighs. "I know what we did today was supposed to be fake, but that's not how I saw it. It was real to me, Y/N. I wanted to believe that it was more than just acting. That maybe... you might feel the same way."

You can't believe what you're hearing. The kiss may have been the least expected part of your day before, but this is something straight out of a dream. It's so surreal that it has you searching Eric's face for any hint that this is some kind of joke or a prank, but the way he avoids your gaze and focuses on the ground in front of him proves otherwise.

"You... you—what?" is the only thing you can get out in this moment. You stare at him, and he stares back.

"Well, um." He blinks, licks his lips. Looks everywhere except at you. "Actually, you know what, just forget I ever said anything. If you never want to see me again, I get it."

"No, Eric." You shake your head, trying to snap out of your thoughts. "I'm just a bit in disbelief right now because I was supposed to be the one telling you that, not the other way around."

It's his turn to be frozen in shock. "What?"

"It was all real to me too." Something tells you to reach for his hand just as you'd done many times throughout the day, but this time you're tentative. This time you're hesitating at the last second like you can't believe this is really happening, that it's really okay to do when no longer under the guise of those sales, and it isn't until Eric reaches out for you that you realize it's okay. It's all real. "I've felt this way for a while and I don't know if I was ever going to tell you, but then this came up. Actually—Changmin was the one who gave me the idea of using the outfit shopping excuse to go and check out those one-plus-one sales because you like them."

Eric furrows his brows. "Changmin gave you the idea?"

"Yeah. I didn't really want to go to the party but he kind of blackmailed me with this."

"No way." His jaw drops a little. "Because Chanhee was the one who gave me the idea. I just thought it was a coincidence when you brought it up first that day."

You've heard stuff about Chanhee and Changmin's parties before but never realized that maybe this is what people meant. And now, you're not even sure if you should be mad about it. A minute ago, you were picturing the worst that could happen after today's events, but it seems like you actually got the best possible outcome, one that you hadn't even dared to hope for.

Eric gives your hand a squeeze, and when you meet his eyes, he's smiling. "So if I go to the party, will you be my plus one?"

#eric sohn fic #eric sohn x reader #eric sohn scenarios #eric sohn fluff #tbz fluff #tbz scenarios #tbz fic #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fluff #my fic #another one in the holiday party series yall #just some writing practice #will admit this one fit the original character better #bc of his love for 1 plus 1 sales :')#but this is aight too

273 notes · View notes

marrowlyavoideddisaster · 3 months

Text

hey. hey. you should read my fan fiction.

here's the link

and the first chapter is under the cut

You've always loved working with costumes and props. You were fascinated to no end by how movies could turn lifeless sculptures and empty costumes into living, breathing characters.

It's no wonder that you ended up working as a preservation artist for the special effect exhibits featured in the local pop culture museum. You really do love your work, but sometimes you question your career choice when you're up before sunrise, (not that impressive, given the short winter days) waiting at a bus stop under the misting clouds.

Now what you might find yourself asking is: why you, a perfectly sane and reasonable night owl would be up at this hour? The answer is clear. All the blame falls on the movie industry. This might seem strange, or perhaps even illogical. "Surely movie producers don't expect anyone to need their costumes after filming," and "Nobody in the film industry actively antagonizes art preservationists, least of all one lowly museum worker," but that would simply be wrong.

For you see, anyone that refuses to make props and costumes even remotely capable of holding up against the inexorable march of time is automatically an inconvenience and mortal enemy to you in particular.

One of the older, more fragile and decaying costumes had a piece broken off of it after closing. Nobody actually touched it as all the pieces are either trapped inside glass display boxes, or hiding several feet behind a crowd-control rope.

It just happens that whatever artists decided to make that particular suit chose a type of foam that starts disintegrating after 15 or so years of soft, indirect light and low-to-moderate humidity like some sort of rich lady’s over-pampered, over-engineered purse dog with 17 different diseases. And so, you've been called over at too-fucking-early o'clock to deal with it before opening.

As you vacantly stare into the distance, something strange catches your eye. Across the street, a row of stores sit. They're the same ones you see every day you take this route, but at this time of day the windows are dark, still not opening time.

Your eyes settle on a dingy, narrow alleyway, concrete ground muddied from rain. It's nestled between an unlabeled building with only a sliding garage door on its front, and a small dance school with unlit dance floors and mirrors visible through the darkened second floor window.

In the alleyway there are two oval shapes, glistening with a distinctive glassy glint. They're shifting slightly, with a sparkly graininess that you're not sure is actually there, or is just due to the faint lighting creating static. They look like they’re part of a larger silhouette behind them, enshrouded in shadows that the weak light that creeps out from the street just can’t seem to kill.

You wouldn't really know how to describe it. Under the dim halos of yellow street lamps, you want to say it's a figure, but that might just be the sleepiness talking, because the proportions are way off to be human.

You check the time and see that your bus won't be here for another 15 or so minutes, so you decide to investigate. Crossing the street, you can make out a little bit more detail.

It does appear to be some sort of figure, slumped over and propped up against a stack of discarded wooden pallets that had been left leaning against the wall.

You walk up to the entrance of the alleyway and stare at the figure some more while you stand under the dance studio's little overhang to avoid the slight drizzle. The first detail that sticks out to you is its absurdly long nose and plasticky white skin.

Correct in your assumptions that it wasn't human, you relax a little bit. You're glad that you aren't being nosy about some poor person just sleeping in an alleyway. Instead, you're being nosy about some strange abandoned doll, which is much more within your scope.

You realize that the strange, staticky shapes you first noticed are glasses. You assume that there's some sort of color-shifting material glued behind the glasses to create that static effect, you wonder where you could buy some for your own projects.

Weighing your curiosity against the risks, you step over to crouch down in front of the doll to examine it more closely. You work with a fair amount of dummies, mannequins, dolls and puppets, so you're decently familiar with common practices in the crafts. You often need to be able to look at a project and know from a glance what steps need to be taken to preserve it. In spite of this, you're having a hard time figuring out the make of this specific doll.

It looks fancy enough to be custom-made, based on the unique face and considerable size. Standing up, it would probably land just around your mid-chest, in comparison. Then again, somebody clearly left it just sitting out like trash out here, not even properly sheltered from rain under the awning. You decide to test the articulation in the arms.

To your delight, you find ball joints that roll smoothly when you move them. Gently setting back down the arms, you grab its head with both your hands and lift it up for a better look. It has little red dots on its exaggerated cheeks and greasy black hair swept up in a mullet.

To your trepidation, the strange doll has a ventriloquist dummy's jaw as well. You've always been freaked out by their weird, detached jaws. It's ironic considering that working with puppets and strange costumes is your literal job .

Now, that isn't to say you're afraid of puppets in general! You're quite fond of marionettes and stop-motion figurines, but ventriloquist dummies in particular have always spooked you way worse than any of the horror movie props you work on. Something about those jaws with their unmoving lips and jerky way they moved always set you on edge. The image of fake teeth biting down and crunching through skin and flesh unwillingly flashes through your mind.

Nevertheless, you'll be as thorough as possible. You pick the puppet up and feel around the back for the jaw's control mechanism, but you don't find anything. Maybe it's just for aesthetics?

The hands of the puppet are the most intricate, all ivory-white hinges and telescoping, layered articulation that can fold over itself and move with the same fluidity as human hands. It's beautiful craftsmanship. Part of you wants to figure out how to take them apart so you can study the mechanisms and improve your own technique, but the preservation worker in you screams about fragile parts and lack of replacement pieces.

In any manner, this puppet seems to be abandoned and unwanted… and it is your job to preserve and repair things like this. Your workplace doesn't mind if you use their space for your own projects so long as it doesn't get in the way of actual work and you're in between personal projects right now, so you think you'll just take this thing with you to your job. Then once you're done with work, you can start on fixing up and modifying this new plaything of yours.

Looking at the time again, you hastily sling the puppet over your shoulder, its limp head rolling as you manhandle it. You rush to get back to the bus stop. It's only a few minutes until it's meant to arrive.

Nobody on the bus minds your extra passenger. It isn't the first time you've proudly dragged some unwieldy contraption or elaborate costume onto public transport, nor will it be the last. The middle-aged bus driver with big, colorful earrings just gives you a tired look of recognition: she's used to your antics by now.

The trip goes by quickly, with you entertaining yourself on the last stretch of walking from the bus stop to your museum with the stares and weird looks you receive from the handful of people up and moving this early.

Now you've made it through the building and into your little backstage workshop, complete with bins of craft supplies and jerry-rigged tools.

You clear off a space on your personal workbench affectionately named 'the operation table,' for being made of dull stainless steel and having remarkably similar proportions to a twin-size bed, or per the namesake: operating table. Not that you've ever seen one in person. A surgical table, that is.

#spamton g spamton #spamton #fanfiction #my stuff #marrow talks

22 notes · View notes

thnxforknowingme · 4 months

Text

Christmas Eves (1/21)

Summary: Blaine makes a quick trip to Ohio to see his parents over Christmas. He certainly doesn't expect to run into his ex-boyfriend Kurt, or to reexamine every aspect of his life, but this Christmas Eve is full of surprises.

Rating: Let's say T? G or T.

Notes: I desperately wanted to participate in the December Klaine Fanworks Challenge this year, but have had no time for writing. This weekend I had a dedicated writing session with some friends and managed to complete chapters for 9 of the prompt words, so I think I have the momentum to actually write the whole story. Will it be done by December 21st, or even by Christmas? Almost certainly not. My quasi-reasonable goal is to get it all written and posted by the new year. Anyway, enough of my rambling - I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Plead

Blaine slept in on Christmas Eve, groggy from travel and still accustomed to Pacific time. He woke up with the winter sun streaming through the window of his former bedroom, long turned into a generic guest room since he moved West for college. His mother had a passion for redecorating, and the room currently had a nautical theme - everything in shades of blue or white, boat motifs abundant, and a sign above the closet door proclaiming that You cannot control the wind, you can only adjust your sail.

He glanced at his phone, the calendar widget reminding him it was Christmas Eve, forecasting Christmas tomorrow and his scheduled flight back to LAX on the 26th. It was a short, perfunctory trip home for the holiday.

There was a knock on the door. “Blaine, honey!” His mother called. “Are you up yet? I need to run out for a few things, I’d love if you came along!”

Blaine dropped his phone onto the bedspread and squeezed his eyes shut, little starbursts appearing behind his eyelids.

“Just a minute!” he replied, and then rolled out of bed.

“Oh, this is nice,” Pam said, pausing by a display of velvety bathrobes in the department store they were exiting the mall through. “But I’ve already gotten you something cozy.”

Blaine resisted the urge to squeeze the cup of to-go coffee in his hand. His mother’s quick errands had turned into a trip to the mall, which was complete chaos as desperate shoppers searched for last-minute gifts and bedraggled parents lined up for hours to get their kids’ photos with Santa. Blaine was already nursing a headache and his mother’s words set off his internal alarm bells. “Please tell me you didn’t get me pajamas,” he said.

“It’s a tradition,” she replied simply, feeling the lapel on one of the robes and then continuing forward.

“Mom,” Blaine pleaded as they walked outside. “I told you this last year - I don’t need them. I don’t wear pajamas, and flannel is way too warm for Los Angeles anyway.”

His mother paused on the sidewalk curb, turning back to face him with an unconcerned smile. “Darling,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek, “Let me have this, okay?”

Blaine took a deep breath. Arguing was apparently futile. “Fine,” he muttered, and set off towards the car.

Christmas Eve dinner was an elegant affair, but small. The next day they’d make the 40-minute drive to Blaine’s grandparents’ house, where other extended family would congregate, but tonight just he and his parents gathered around the dining table.

After saying grace and passing around dishes and complimenting the food, Blaine’s dad turned to his favorite topic of conversation - the importance of networking.

“Did I tell you my old classmate Andrew is going to be in LA next month?”

“Yes,” Blaine replied, “You copied me on an email to him.”

“Have you reached out to try and set something up? He owns a rental property somewhere out there so he might know someone useful in the industry. And he’d be a good connection for you to cultivate even if he doesn’t know anyone in film, if you were ever interested in changing directions.”

The only direction Blaine felt like going in now was far, far away from this conversation. He put on a polite smile and said, “I’ve been busy with the holidays, but I’ll make sure to reach out once I get back.”

“Good,” his father said. “Andrew was in my fraternity, we lived together my junior year. Have I told you the story about the Michigan game that year?”

Blaine had heard the story multiple times before, but he let his dad tell it again anyway, making sure to laugh and gasp in the right places. He had the wry thought that at least he was getting some acting practice, playing the role of an engaged, doting son.

At 10pm, Blaine grabbed his mother’s keys from the hook by the door and drove her car into town, parking outside the Watering Hole.

Blaine had never gone to bars much in Ohio - he’d moved away before he was 21, and had visited infrequently since. Sam had taken him to this place over a Thanksgiving break in college, and it seemed the kind of bar that would still be open on Christmas Eve. He just needed to be out of his childhood home, away from his parents and their expectations for an hour or two.

He went in and found it unexpectedly busy. Not crowded, but far from deserted. He ordered a beer and perched at an open table against one wall, where he could people-watch or stare at the TV behind the bar.

“Excuse me?”

Blaine turned towards the voice, and when he saw the man standing behind him, he felt like he’d taken a punch to the chest. It wasn’t pain so much as shock, the air temporarily knocked out of his lungs as he beheld the older - but definitely very recognizable - form of none other than Kurt Hummel.

#december klaine challenge 2023 #plead #my fic #fic: christmas eves #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction

23 notes · View notes

rehfan · 1 year

Text

Chapter 7 begins...

The Hat Shop Girl

Inexperienced!Ralph Penbury X Fem!Reader/AFAB!Reader

Summary: You were working as a clerk in a hat shop when Ralph Penbury walked into your life. Nothing was ever the same.

Tags: meet-cute, eventual smut, slow build, angst with a happy ending, class differences, fantasizing, implied/referenced drug use, non-consensual touching, sexual inexperience, first kiss, kissing, first French kiss, neck kissing, sexual education, angst, emotional hurt, handjob, vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal sex, first time, blow job, cream pie, fluff and smut,.

Warnings: 18+ and over only please. Eventual smutty smut - NOT for children! Non-consensual touching, implied/referenced drug use.

PLEASE DO NOT POST MY WORK TO ANY OTHER SITE. MY WORK IS MINE. PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

If you want to read this and my other stuff, find this work on AO3

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10

*********************************

CHAPTER 7: The Flower Shop Girl

You allowed yourself two days to wallow in self-pity before finally taking yourself out for a walk into the city. You passed a fruit stand and bought an apple and chewed your way through your problem. You needed an income and fast. The end of the week was coming and you only had enough money to see you through the next seven days before you’d have to write to your parents for financial help. Of course, they weren’t made of money, so they would write back that they would expect you on the next train and send you the exact amount to make your way to them.

You didn’t want to go home. You had your pride - what was left of it anyway. Two days of weeping and talking to the dark corners at night, arguing your way through situations that were long over and done with proved situationally useless but emotionally cathartic. The sun came through the window on that third morning and the stubborn in you rose up with a roar. Enough was enough.

So you got up, washed and dressed, and headed out with your change purse, your best smile, and a few precious calling cards that you could hand out to businesses in the area seeking a hard worker for their shops. Two streets down from where you lived you handed one to a butcher. Three more streets and a storefront bakery received another. Idly you wondered if the candlestick maker was next when you found yourself in a florist you hadn’t seen before.

They had opened their doors a month back and were overrun with orders. A “Help Wanted” sign was in the front display window and you found yourself drawn to the lovely colors and scents. Wandering among the blooms, you smiled at the harried woman behind the counter and presented your card. She heard you out as you told her of your attributes and your job history. You mentioned Lord Ralph Penbury as a reference - you were certain he wouldn’t mind.

She lit up. “How soon can you start?” You liked her immediately.

The shop owner, Mrs. Randolph, presented the terms: your hours, what the job entailed, and best of all, the pay. It was a bit better than what you had made at the hat shop by three extra shillings. You asked her how you could help today and she smiled, relieved. The six customers in the store watched the entire exchange fascinated by how quickly it all transpired.

Mrs. Randolph handed you an apron, a pad of chits, and a pencil. You began writing everything down for each order as she instructed. By the end of the day, you felt you could handle any basic order. You thanked her profusely and she gave you a book on flower arranging to borrow so that you could learn the trade.

You went home walking on air. But that evening, the dark corners were still there. The dark of his eyes when he saw you in the blue dress. The dark of his eyes as he kissed you for the first time. The dark of them when he touched you for the first time. The dark of them as he watched you walk away.

You pulled your blanket to your chin and rolled away from the dark corners, willing yourself to sleep.

Six weeks came and went. Each day became easier at work; you took to the job with gusto, intent on making your good first impression last weeks on end. Mrs. Randolph let you take on more and more of the load once she had discovered you had an artistic talent for not only the arrangements, but possessed the forethought and knowledge of the meaning of flowers.

Each night became less bearable. He hadn’t left you, not entirely. He was still there most nights. You had hoped his face and voice would become less and less frequent, but your memories wouldn’t leave you alone. During the scant idle moments in the day when you had time for a tea break, you wondered where he was and what he was doing. You hoped he was happy. You hoped he found someone who would take the time to appreciate him. You hoped you had done the right thing. Otherwise what were you suffering through this heartache for?

You were making your way to the shop one morning, having been haunted by another night full of dreams about him. It was a particularly bad set of dreams: Ralph was still the butt of all the jokes, still abused, still treated badly and you couldn’t help him. No one could hear you. No one could see you, not even Ralph who seemed to spiral down and down and down into silence and loss. The light died in his eyes. You woke up crying.

The whole thing left you exhausted. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself and turned the corner at the end of your street and willed the thoughts of him to stop, but it was as if your brain lived to torture you. It was even leaking into your waking moments. On the air you heard him call your name.

“Oh God,” you muttered, “Stop it stop it stop it.”

Footsteps on the run came from behind you and his voice was even louder.

No. It couldn't be.

And yet…. You turned- and yes! There he was. Like a mirage. Like a dream. And then he was standing before you, beaming at you, his cheeks ruddy with exertion, his shoulders heaving with the effort to catch his breath. It was dizzying staring at him. He couldn’t be here. There was no reason for him to be.

“You are a sight for sore eyes! And mine have been sore for ages,” he said. “Will you come with me, darling? I have something to show you and I think you’ll be quite pleased.” He was bouncing on his toes. There, after all these weeks, was the boy made of sunshine.

You couldn’t stop the tears.

And then he was holding you, hands gently cupping your elbows, occupying your space, eyes full of a multitude of emotions, the chief of which was worry. The familiar scent of his cologne met you, warmed you. You put your hands to his chest once more, a thing you never thought you’d do again, pressed your forehead to him, and let the tears come.

“Darling,” he whispered, “what is it? What’s wrong? Tell me what is distressing you? I’ve done something wrong, haven’t I? Tell me what it is and I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything!” He offered his handkerchief.

“I- I’ve missed you so terribly. I never expected to see you again.” You took the pressed cloth from him and dabbed at your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“You never got my letters?”

Your heart sank. “Letters? What letters?” You stared at him in disbelief.

“The letters I wrote to you! Sheets and sheets of letters!”

“N-no, Ralph,” you said, recovering slowly. “You mailed me letters?”

“With a few guineas in each, yes!” he declared.

You groaned and winced. Your unscrupulous landlady had been parading around in new shoes and a few new dresses. You thought the old widow had found herself a fancy man, but now you knew better.

“My landlady receives all the post and distributes it to the tenants,” you said. “I don’t suppose that you put the seal of your family or the crest or something on the envelopes?”

“As a matter of fact, the envelopes are printed and embossed and we always seal with wax. Why?”

You nodded knowingly. “It’s alright, Ralph. Just let me know what was in the letters.”

Ralph looked around at the passers-by on the street around you and back to you. “I’m afraid the contents were rather… intimate, my dear,” he said, as his ears turned a delightful pink. “But my last letter would have explained everything!”

“But you don’t belong here, Ralph,” you said. “I left you for a reason. You don’t need me around. I should never have come into your life. I’ve only complicated your life while I was in it.”

“Nonsense! How can you say that?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“I shouldn’t have come with you when I left Elvira’s shop,” you said, shaking your head.

“And what would you have done?” he asked. “Would you have considered staying just to allow that woman to take a strip off of you and possibly suffer fiduciary damages as well? Why, she could have docked your pay! No no no! What kind of a man allows a good honest person such as yourself to suffer just for doing the right thing? And then, after we left the shop, was I then supposed to leave you on the concrete to sort out your next occupational prospect? It would have been unthinkable!”

“But if I had merely taken up your offer to introduce me to your man at Selfridges somewhere in town instead of at the party….” you suggested.

“Yes, well,” he conceded, “we would have both not been placed in this situation, it’s true. But that first day had been such a delight. And,” he added, his voice growing soft, “and that last evening - despite the ending… My darling, I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.”

Your vision swam with the tears that filled your eyes again and you allowed his arms to close about you. He let you cry as he held you and swayed slightly, soothingly. All other concern drifted away in that brief moment: the passing traffic, the other pedestrians, the noise, all of it went away in the warmth of his embrace. You didn’t care why he was there. It was enough that he appeared and wasn’t angry or forlorn. He was filled with the same joy and vigor you remembered from the first day you met him. He was restored to you somehow and you thanked whatever angels were above you that he led you here. Your despair slowly fizzled away and you found yourself nuzzling into his chest, gliding your hands up and down his sides.

He murmured your name into your hair. “Yes?” you asked and turned your face up to him.

“May I show you what I’ve been working on?” he asked, his eyes searching your face. “I had thought you’d be ready and excited today, but as you didn’t get my letters, you had no way of knowing.”

“What is it, then?” you asked him. He beamed at you.

“Only the most wonderful thing to happen to a shop girl!” he said.

And then you remembered: Mrs. Randolph, your current employer. “Oh damn it!” you shouted, checking your watch. “Oh Ralph! Help me! I’m so late!”

“Late?” he said, echoing your panic. “Late for what?”

“My job! Oh Ralph! I’m so very late, please help!”

He held you out at arm’s length by your shoulders. “Fear not! Stay here! I’ll be right back!” He turned and ran around the last corner. You heard a shrill whistle and soon his Rolls Royce was coming around the corner and scooping you up, carrying you off in the direction you were originally traveling in. You gave the driver quick instruction and when the shop was in sight, you hopped out, waving Ralph to follow.

“Oh Mrs. Randolph! I’m so very sorry. I bumped into an old friend and-“

“Nevermind, girl,” she said and fairly threw your work apron at you. “We have the Griffith wedding to prepare for. All arrangements have to be at the church by noon and the truck will be brought ‘round at eleven. We have to move, girl!”

“May I be of some assistance?” Ralph piped up. “I adore weddings!”

Mrs. Randolph blinked at him. “Who’s your friend?”

“Um, well. This is Lord Ralph Penbury,” you said. Ralph, who had removed his hat upon entering the shop, took a small bow. “He and I met some weeks ago at my former place of employment. He was-“

“-nevermind that, girl,” Mrs. Randolph interrupted. She turned on Ralph, her eyes wide. “You, a Lord, want to work in my shop?”

“Oh, allow me to assure you, madam, that I have no intention of accepting any remuneration. I would simply like to assist you in what appears to be a great endeavor. May I?” Ralph beamed from ear to ear.

Ralph, you don’t have to-“

“Nonsense!” he said. “Let it never be said that a Penbury didn’t assist a damsel in distress. Or two, in this case.”

Shaking your head, you gave Mrs. Randolph a shrug. “Right,” she said, “You get the heavy lifting then. Come and get the big sprays we did last night and set them by the back door.”

The church was a bustle of activity when you arrived. Ralph dutifully following Mrs. Randlph’s direction in his shirtsleeves. You had never seen him dressed so informally. No coat, just a plain tan waistcoat and matching trousers with his white shirt rolled up at the sleeves exposing his forearms. With a bit of perspiration on his brow, well-earned by physical work, he had never looked more handsome.

When you got the chance you simply admired his diligence and the way his pink tongue would stick out in concentration when he stood back to make sure the spray he set down against the altar was evenly spaced with the others. He was rather good at all this, you thought. Too bad his titled society friends and family would never allow him to step out of their stratosphere long enough to live with the rest of the mortals on earth.

By quarter to one, everything was set in place. Mrs. Randolph was busting her buttons, she was so pleased. “Oh, everything looks lovely,” she said. “And that one,” she whispered to you about Ralph who was helping the truck driver sweep out the back of his vehicle, “that one deserves a good woman. Is he married, do you think?”

“He’s not,” you said, feeling the blush creep up your neck and into your cheeks.

“Ah,” she said. “So he’s the reason you’ve not been sleeping well.”

“What?” you said, now truly embarrassed.

“You think an old widow like me doesn’t understand what it is to long for someone?” She leveled a look at you that held more truth in it than you were ready for. “I know you’re a widow too, and you know what it is to grieve the dead. But to grieve the living? The loss of a love that could be but isn’t? That’s worse than death. At least with death, you have your end. But with the love that’s alive and well? That goes on until death comes for you yourself.” She put a hand on your shoulder and a finger up to your face. “Trust me, girl. And mark my words: if love’s garment is here today, you don’t wear it tomorrow.”

Ralph hopped out of the back of the truck and sent a beautiful smile your way. He picked up his jacket from where he had left it in the truck’s cab and doffed his hat at Mrs. Randoph before donning it. “That was a wonderful experience! I wonder if they’ll let us observe the ceremony. Do you think they would?”

You laughed. “We’re hardly in any condition or dress for the occasion, Ralph.”

He looked at his clothing and then at yours. “I take your point.”

“So what caused you to visit with this young lady today, your Lordship?” asked Mrs. Randolph.

“Well! Oh! Well! I had quite forgotten!” He looked between the two of you and finally addressed your employer. “Will you be needing my lady-friend for the rest of the day? I hadn’t any idea she was employed with you when the morning began and I did want to tear her away to show her something I have been working on in the city. May I steal her from you? Or did you need her?”

She smiled at you knowingly. “Oh go on then. Off you pop.”

Thanking her, you turned to Ralph who held out his arm to you. The Rolls driver had been instructed to meet you at the church, so you hopped in and drove to the place Ralph had wanted to take you ever since the day began.

By the time you pulled up to the kerb, Ralph was practically coming unglued with excitement. “Close your eyes,” he said. “Close them tightly. I will lead you up the street to what I want you to see. Come! Come!”

You did as commanded, a strange sensation of butterflies swimming in your stomach traveled with you as you moved. You could feel your pulse racing. “What is it, Ralph?”

“Just keep your eyes closed,” he said, maneuvering you carefully along the concrete. “Almost there. Almost there…And now… we’re there!” You felt him grip you gently at the shoulders, give you a quarter turn, then back you up a pace. “Open!”

It was the shop where you met, but it looked closed up. There was a curtain drawn in the gigantic display window and there were no items to be seen. You looked at Ralph, totally confused. “What is this?” you asked him. “Did you get me my old job back or something?”

“Better,” he said. “Look at the door.”

You came around to the alcove where the front door was set and in the door’s full window, instead of reading “Hats and Haberdashery by Elvira”, the glass had painted on it: “Moxie Creations” in chic stylized art deco script and underneath in a banner: “Bespoke Haberdashery”. At the very bottom of the window your name appeared listed as “proprietress”.

You were flummoxed. “Ralph, what did you do?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “I bought the shop outright. Kicked the odious woman out. Now the shop is all yours.” He held a set of keys out to you. “It includes the flat above as well. You can move in as soon as you wish.”

“But I-“ you began, but you couldn’t finish. Finally, you said: “Pinch me. I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not!” said Ralph, adding teasingly: “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like you to let me in. I’m in need of a new chapeau, madam proprietor.”

As you stepped into the space, you marveled at how different everything looked. The shelves were empty. Walls were bare. The shade over the main display window muted the light and you came around to find Ralph hovering near the door watching you carefully. “Of course, I wanted you to start from scratch, only purchasing from vendors that you thought appealing, so that you could design your own hats with materials you thought suited your artistic tastes. Please let me know whatever it is you may need. I’ll gladly make sure all is in your hands before you open.”

“You purchased all this with your money,” you said. He nodded. “But,” you asked slowly, “you’re not planning on being here day after day to manage every penny spent?”

“Oh goodness no. I don’t know the first thing about shops - other than how to buy things from them! I’d only be the silent partner,” he explained. “You’d run the show. This is your shop. Completely. And up those stairs,” he pointed behind you at the familiar structure with a chain that ran across the space, a small sign that read “PRIVATE” dangling from the center, “as you know, they lead to the flat above. Four rooms. Not a lot of space, but for one person…”

You must have been silent for too long, because he stepped forward into the shadows with you and took your hand. “Of course, if you don’t want it…”

“I don’t know, Ralph,” you said. Your heart was really racing now. “What if I can’t make the rent? This place has to turn a profit. You can’t just keep pouring your money into a bottomless pit.”

“The rent is covered,” he said.

“What?”

“Well,” he said reluctantly, “the terrible woman wouldn’t sell at first, so I did the next best thing.”

“And that was?”

“I bought the building,” he said. Reluctantly adding: “And then I raised her rent.”

“Ralph!”

“Oh I know it wasn’t right, but neither was cheating a man out of nearly two pounds for a straw hat he already owned!”

You howled with laughter. When you finally caught your breath, there were tears in your eyes. “Fair do’s,” you managed.

“So you’re not upset?” he asked, squeezing your hand.

“This is the grandest gesture anyone’s ever made for me,” you said, looking around. “I can barely believe my eyes.”

“I had to fix things,” he said, bowing his head. His voice was barely above a whisper when he added: “I couldn’t let you leave my life either. You’re simply wonderful and I-“

You kissed him. You had to or your heart would have burst on the spot. As you let up for air, the startled look on Ralph’s face was priceless. “Oh you sweet wonderful man. How can I ever thank you? This has got to be the single most terrifying and exhilarating moment of my life!”

Breaking away from him, you spun around the space, the picture of utter delight. You wandered to the back of the showroom, mentally planning on where everything was going to go. You deconstructed Elvira’s structure for the store as you wandered about, deciding on displays here and there. She had had everything in a mish-mosh. It might be beneficial to divide the room into male and female spaces. Perhaps you should hire on a male clerk who had an eye for fashion to assist the men? You knew you wanted hats, but you had your mind set on handkerchiefs for the men and kerchiefs for the women. Perhaps cravats for the men as well? Definitely bow ties. Cufflinks. Handbags. All bespoke. You would have to hire on some serious talent.

Had you not been so busy wandering around, staring at the walls, pondering all of these things and deciding whom you could partner with for vendors, you might have noticed a helplessly lost Ralph holding his hat in nervous hands standing in the gloom of the center of your new shop waiting politely for you to notice that his heart was full yet broken, but despite that, or perhaps because of it, he was very much desperately in love with you.

Of course, he could never tell you that.

******************

MASTERLIST LINK

Tagged readers: @h-ness1944 / @eddie-is-a-god / emma77645 / @hahahafucku / @paranoidmunson / @honey-eyed-munson / @mystars123 / @bl4ckt00thgr1n / @live-love-be-unique / @ becca-alexa / @aysheashea / @bohemianrhapsody86 / @luvrsbian / @etherealglimmer / @ladybug0095 / @pollenallergie / @iyagikkun / @vladersira / @nightonblogmountain / @quinnsmunson / @aysheashea

TAG REQUESTS ARE OPEN! IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED, COMMENT OR DM ME (ASK BOX OPEN). THANKS FOR READING!

#ralph penbury #ralph x reader #ralph timewasters #writing #fanfic #the hat shop girl #THSG #joe quinn #joseph quinn #AO3 #ao3 writer

90 notes · View notes

why4anne · 2 years

Text

The blue dress

Pairing: Billionaire! Jack Hughes x reader

Word count: 1,1k

Category: Fluff

Part: 1/?

Summary: While shopping with your best friend you meet a charming boy while trying on a dress.

Warnings: none

Requested: Yes/No

Note: So this is the start of my new au which I will be writing blurbs and maybe even start a series with. Please send in blurb ideas or request for this series. I hope you like it!

Masterlist

Au masterlist

You knew you shouldn't have let Nina convince you to go into the boutique with her. She claimed that you would only take a quick look but that plan flew out the window the moment you saw the most beautiful blue dress on display.

“Just try it on, it won’t hurt anyone.” Nina tried coaxing you when she saw you stare at the beautiful garment.

“It’s so expensive though.” You argued half heartedly. The price of this dress was more than you made in an entire month with the part time job you had beside school. There is no way you could buy it even if you wanted to.

“You know I won’t take no for an answer. Now c’mon.” She insisted and started dragging you towards the dressing rooms. You knew there was no point in arguing with her. Nina is stubborn but it’s a feature about her you’ve grown to love through the years of friendship you’ve shared.

“Now try it on!” She commanded when you reached the dressing room area. To your surprise it was empty.

“Alright, I will.” You held your hands up in playful defeat and walked into the changing room.

“I’ll just go and look some more. I'll be back in a minute.” Nina called out and you could hear the sound of her steps getting further away as she walked back into the main store.

You quickly started to change out of your own clothes and into the dress. The moment you put it on you fell in love with it. It fit you like a glove and brought out all of your best features. The color made your eyes pop and your skin glow and the fit of the dress hugged you in all the right places.

You continued to admire yourself in the mirror when you were suddenly pulled out of your thoughts by footsteps approaching.

“Well what do you think?” You ask as you pull back the curtain. You expected to be met with Nina's face so to say you were confused to be met with the face of a cute boy would be an understatement.

“You’re not Nina” You stated, feeling heat rising to your cheeks and a blush found its way onto your face. The longer you looked at this boy the more shy you felt. He was gorgeous to say the least. His fluffy, light brown hair framed his face perfectly and made his blue eyes look even more intense then they already were. From just looking at him you assumed he was around your age.

“No, I guess I’m not” He smiles at you and you could feel butterflies erupt in your stomach. My god was that smile beautiful. It made you wonder if he worked as a model or something because with looks like that you wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were my friend, she said she would be back .” You rush to explain yourself but he cuts you off.

“It’s okay, really,” He says. “That dress looks gorgeous on you by the way, you should get it.”

“Thank you so much! I was just window shopping though.” You tried to keep a happy tone but even you could hear disappointment sipping through your voice.

“I’ll get it for you then.” He offered with a laid back tone as if it didn’t cost more than your car.

“It’s more than six thousand dollars. I can't let you buy it for me, it’s too expensive.” You exclaimed. You honestly couldn’t believe the words that just came out of his mouth. You can't just buy a dress for thousands of dollars, especially just to give it to a stranger afterwards.

“If you say so.” He shrugged in defeat. He ran one of his hands through his hair, you noticed a shiny silver watch sitting on his wrist but you were quickly distracted by how good his hair looked after he messed it up.

You were about to speak again when Nina came into the dressing room area once again.

“Are you done?” She asked you, not even acknowledging the cute boy.

“Yes, just let me change out of this and then we can leave.” You answered her.

“No, I want to look at the handbags too.” She said as she sat down on one of the sofas to rest her feet.

“Alright, I’ll be out in a minute.” You spoke over your shoulder as you turned towards the changing room. It didn’t take too long to change back to your normal clothes and when you were done you walked back out and hung the dress on the rack before you turned to the boy again.

“Have a good day.” You said to him and walked out of the dressing room.

“You too.” He smiled one last time. You found Nina waiting by the bag section

“Who was that?” She was quick to ask. Obviously curious about who this cute boy was.

“No idea.” You confessed. “He offered to buy the dress but I denied him.”

“What? Why would you say no to that?” Nina sounded dumbfounded as to why you wouldn’t agree to an offer like that.

“It was a lot of money, it just didn’t feel right to accept.” You shrugged. For once Nina didn’t try to force an answer out of you. Instead she turned her attention to the bags.

After a couple of minutes you decided to leave the store. Just as you had walked out the door you felt a hand grab yours. At first you were startled but then you turned around and saw the boy from earlier.

“I thought you should have this.” He handed you a bag. You looked inside it and saw the blue dress you’d tried on.

“No, I can’t accept this.” You tried to give it back but he started walking away backwards, still keeping eye contact with you.

“Too bad because I don’t want it.” He said back to you.

“I’m Jack by the way.” He smirked at you

“I’m Y/N” You blurted out, still in shock.

“Pretty name. I’ll see you around Y/N.” He stated before turning around and disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there blinking, trying to understand what just happened when you felt Nina rummage through the bag and take the dress out to look at it. She held it up and a note fell out. You bent down and picked it up to see what it said.

‘Wear this on our date on Friday, love Jack.’ Below it was a phone number. You just giggled and shook your head lightly. Whoever this Jack was he sure knew how to woo a girl.

Part 2

#billionaire! Jack Hughes #jack hughes x reader #Jack Hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes imagines #billionaire! Jack Hughes au #jack hughes au #nhl fic #nhl writing #nhl blurb #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey imagines

278 notes · View notes

unrefinedmusings · 2 years

Text

Between the Shelves - Part 2

Hi again! Thank you for the positive feedback on the first chapter 🥰 Hope you enjoy this next part!

Stephen Strange x Bookstore Owner! Reader

Part 1 Part 3

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, explicit language

— — —

Reader POV

Despite achieving an above average number of orgasms over the last three nights, you still awoke from a dream about the very reason why that many releases was even necessary.

Doctor Strange.

You were ashamed at how the fifteen minutes the man spent in your presence wouldn’t leave your mind. Determined to push away thoughts of baby blue eyes and a cocky grin, you got out of bed and started getting ready for the day. Leaving your building in a floral cream sundress with a tote bag and a travel mug full of coffee, you headed off to your store.

Unfortunately, you only made it through the subway ride and the beginning of the short walk to your livelihood before your interaction with the wizard was on your mind again.

He’s probably just a flirt. He is a cocky son of a bitch, it would make sense. Think on the bright side, it was a fun (albeit sexually frustrating) conversation. It doesn’t matter that you won’t meet again, and it definitely doesn’t matter that he called you sweetheart. This can just be a fun story to tell your girlfriends on a night out after too many drinks. Maybe they have their own thirsty Avenger stories.

As you turned the corner, the self placating thoughts came to a halt when your eyes fell to your storefront. You had never been proven wrong so quickly because there Stephen was, the morning light gracing his attractive face. He wore jeans and a black button down, with two takeout coffee cups in his hands…or so it seemed. As you approached, you realized he wasn’t holding the cups but rather suspending them in the air next to him. You bit back a smile and rolled your eyes.

Show off.

“What are you doing here?”, you questioned once you had arrived in front of him.

“Good morning to you too. You should mind your manners, sweetness,” he quipped with a raised brow.

“Sweetness?”, you challenged back while trying to ignore how much you liked that name and being scolded by him. He only shrugged and bit back a smile of his own in response.

“My friend was very pleased with his gift, so I wanted to say thank you for your help,” he said to answer your initial query, pausing when he saw the mug in your hands. “Although, maybe I should have just gotten you a gift card.”

You plucked one of the cups from the air with a free hand, and replied, “I always appreciate more caffeine in my life, but you already said thank you the other day and you didn’t have to get me anything. You were looking for a book in my store. It was a very pleasant business transaction.”

“Pleasant enough for a repeat?”

“Another gift?”

“Well, a gift to myself.”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Something romantic,” he said while taking a step closer, dangerously close to invading your personal space. You stifled a giggle at his comment, leaving you unable to come up with a response. Instead, you made your way around him and to the shop’s door to open for the day.

— — —

Stephen POV

As you opened the shop and busied yourself getting settled in, Stephen observed your movements in silence. You opened the blinds on the door and windows, pulled some things out of your tote, and gathered up a stack of books behind the counter.

“Give me a few minutes to finish some things, and then we can start looking for your next read,” you said.

“No rush, I’ve got time,” Stephen replied.

While you worked, Stephen noticed a book you had pulled out of your bag along with your laptop. He could tell it was a favorite as the binding was worn and there were small red sticky tabs coming out of the pages. He turned it over to see the cover.

A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller

“May I?”, he asked as you were placing some books on the “Picks of the Month” display table. You looked up from your task to see what he referring to. The doctor observed a blush make its way up your neck to the apples of your cheeks.

“S-Sure,” you said, your voice quivering ever so slightly.

He smirked and picked up the book, eager to read the contents that made your face flush like that. He perused the pages, especially the ones you bookmarked, and decided to take his flirtation with you to the next level.

Oh I am going to enjoy this.

Finding just the right line, he recited, “I adored you.”

You breath hitched loud enough for him to hear. Stephen knew you weren’t expecting him to read aloud. He didn’t look up from the page, a satisfied smirk on his face as he went on, “You were so soft, so diabolically angelic looking.”

The Avenger would have continued, had he not heard several loud thuds come from your direction. Setting his gaze on you, he saw you looking down at a pile of books that had fallen off the table.

“Sorry!”, you blurted out while bending down to clean up the mess. However, before you could grab a single book, they were levitating off the floor and to their proper places.

“Thanks,” you remarked with a sheepish smile.

“No problem, now you can help me faster,” he said.

“I thought you said you weren’t in a rush.”

“Not in a rush to leave, but I’m in a big hurry to talk to you again,” he explained with a playful wink.

You made your way over to him and plucked the book out of his hands. Stephen teased you with a pout on his full lips and remarked, “I was still looking through that.”

“Follow me, please,” you announced, ignoring his comment. He obliged and the two of you debated options for his next read, until choosing Anna Karenina. You turned away from him to head back to the front, but he quickly grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“One more thing, do you have a copy of that collection of letters for sale?”, he questioned.

You nodded, smiling up at him.

— — —

Reader POV

Over the next few weeks, Stephen had stopped by your establishment several times.

During each visit, the two of you would discuss his previous purchases and choose something new at your recommendation.

With every conversation, you learned more about the man behind the cape cloak. He was not only intelligent, but insightful and curious. Funny, too. He had made you giggle, snort, and throw your head back in amusement more times than you’d like to admit. And despite the cocky attitude (not that you didn’t find it sexy), the sorcerer treated you with a warmth that was quickly making you fall for him.

As the two of you became more familiar with one another, the flirtation only grew bolder. The both of you were determined to rile the other up.

By the third time he had patronized your store, he overtly let his azure eyes look your body up and down before greeting you with an appreciative smile and a low “Hello, sweetness.”

You responded by wearing shorter hemlines from that day on.

On another occasion, you had baked and brought a few brownies as part of your lunch. After offering some to Stephen, he decided to thank you by wiping away a trace of chocolate from the corner of your mouth with his calloused thumb. To make matters (and the ache between your legs) worse, he proceeded to place the aforementioned digit in his mouth.

Not backing down from what was the most sexually charged challenge of your life, you decided to reach out and ever so gently run your fingers through the side of his hair. You were pleased with the reaction you elicited when he froze and his eyes went wide.

“Just brushing away a little dust,” you offered with an innocent expression that was completely incongruent with how provocative you were feeling. You added on, “Although, maybe it was just the gray hairs,” and pulled back your hand with a wink of your own for once.

Overall, things had been escalating. You had feelings for Stephen and wanted to believe he reciprocated. He was definitely hitting on you, but with an undercurrent of such kindness that made you believe he wanted more. Unfortunately, it had officially been five days since your last encounter, the longest he’d gone without stopping by since you’d met.

He’s an Avenger! There are more important things for him to do than talk to you about Steinbeck and reach for the books on the top shelf so you don’t have to go grab the step stool. Even if he doesn’t come back, it’s a crush. You’re a grown woman, not a schoolgirl. Your heart will ache for a little while and then you will move the fuck on.

You had four hours until closing and were determined on keeping that damn magician off your mind. Luckily it was an especially busy Friday afternoon so every time your thoughts drifted to a woodsy musk and a low baritone voice, another customer came in.

At 4:45, a quarter hour before closing, you found yourself alone once again. Fifteen minutes before it would be six days without him. Sighing loudly to the shop, you picked up a stack of new inventory to be shelved. Most of these were on the bottom so you were about to kneel down by the bookcase until you heard the bell chime. You were in close view of the door and snapped your head up at the sound. Your eyes met blue.

Okay, so maybe…I overreacted. Debatable though.

— — —

Stephen POV

Stephen was agitated. The past few days had been subpar at best as the Avengers mission he embarked on at the start of the week took a day longer than planned, which was followed by an emergency at the London Sanctum. He was exhausted upon arriving back in New York, but couldn’t resist the urge to see you after so many days apart. He glanced at one of the clocks in the Sanctum foyer and realized how near your closing time was.

Shit.

Transforming his robes to civilian clothing, he quickly made a portal to the front stoop of the store. Rushing through the portal and through the door, his eyes immediately found yours. They brightened at the sight of him, but widened when they saw what was just outside. Stephen turned and saw the portal was still open. He closed it, turning back to you and explaining in a hurried tone, “I have had a really busy week and I saw it was so close to closing. I just wanted to get here fast.”

He would’ve felt slightly embarrassed by his admission and lack of composure…had it not been for the beaming smile that graced your face.

“I’m just shelving these, but when I’m done we can find you a weekend read,” you offered in a cheerful tone.

“No no, you were about to close up. I just wanted to stop in, but I don’t want to prolong your day or—”

“Stephen,” you interrupted, “I want to. I like your company.”

As a doctor he knew it was impossible, but in this moment he felt like his heart was ready to beat right out of his chest. Stephen made his way over to the shelf where you had started your task, leaning with his back against it. The two of you fell back into the easy banter you usually shared. This lasted for a few minutes until you were through with the stack of books once next to you. In his peripheral vision, he saw you make a move to get up and turned in your direction. Once again, your gazes were drawn to one another.

Oh fuck.

Stephen realized he was looking down at you…because you were on your knees…directly in front of him…eye level with his crotch. He watched your eyes enlarge once more as you made the same realization. Neither of you said a word, barely even breathed.

In a move he didn’t realize he was making, the doctor brought his hand from his side to cup your face with a shaky and almost feather light touch. He let his fingers graze you hair and, feeling bold, brushed a few strands behind your ear. You leaned into his touch, your mouth starting to fall op—

A buzzing startled the two of you from your shared trance, and Stephen pulled his hand back.

— — —

Reader POV

Looking around for the origin of what was now your least favorite sound in the entire fucking universe, you saw it was your own phone vibrating a few feet next to you on the hardwood floor. You were getting a call.

Grabbing your phone and standing up, you avoided Stephen’s eyes. “Uh one second, I-I have to take this,” you mumbled, too flustered to say anything else before making your way to the backroom to answer your phone. After finishing your call, which ended up just being your landlord informing you new security cameras were going to be installed outside, you took a few deep breaths. When you felt calm enough, you walked out of the backroom and right past where Stephen was standing.

You closed the front window’s blinds. Then you walked around the counter and to the door, shuttering the blinds there as well. The sound of heavy footsteps coming closer confirmed the doctor was on the same page as you.

You turned the lock. Click.

Stephen’s hands grasped your waist and pulled you close, your back against his front. You let out a gasp at the sudden action. His hands drifted lower, squeezing your hips, while he moved his lips close to your ear.

— — —

Stephen POV

There were many things Stephen used his photographic memory for. However, he couldn’t think of a better application than to recall his favorite passage from one of your favorite works, and whisper those sweet words to you right now.

“I don’t hear your words: your voice reverberates against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. I have no power over your voice, it comes straight from you into me, I could stuff my ears and it would find its way into my blood and make it rise.”

With your back still pressed tight against him, he heard and felt you let out a shuddering breath. Before he could even process it, you turned in his arms and grabbed him by the front of his shirt to meet you in a burning kiss. He was quick to respond by licking at your lips until they parted for him. Weeks of not just flirtation, but longing and need were finally being unleashed.

Stephen moved his hands up your back to bring your body taut against his own, soft curves meeting his muscular frame. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your hands quickly found purchase in his hair. You broke the kiss to catch your breath, but Stephen was undeterred. He angled your head to give him easier access to your neck, and began to kiss and nibble at the skin there. Your moans only spurred him on and when your hand came down to palm his cock through his trousers, he bit down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Stephen,” you rasped, “I want you so bad.”

In another assertive display, you maneuvered your bodies until Stephen stood with his back against the counter. The sorcerer could only watch as you sank down to your knees and gently tugged on the front of his pants. You looked up at him with big wide eyes and asked, “Can I?”

Fuck yes.

“Fuck yes,” he breathed.

An impish grin crossed your face before turning your attention to his belt buckle. Once you got his zipper down, Stephen choked as you started mouthing and licking at his member through the fabric of his boxers. Finally, your fingers hooked in the waistband to bring them down and his thick, hard cock sprang up.

Stephen’s ego swelled when your eyes widened, knowing it was because of his size. The shock was a precursor to desire as he saw your pupils dilate. You began leaving kitten licks at the tip, then moved down the shaft to make long languid swipes of your tongue there.

The doctor lost his patience and fisted his hand in your hair, tugging your head back. He warned, “Sweetness, Daddy doesn’t like to be teased.”

“Sorry, daddy,” you replied without hesitation, a mischievous glint in your eye. Taking him into your mouth, you began sucking on the head of his cock. Stephen’s head fell back, his hand still in your hair with a looser grip now. You were bobbing your head up and down his length, taking more of the sorcerer in your mouth each time. He looked down to see red lipstick smeared along his cock, lipstick he knew you wore to drive him crazy.

— — —

Reader POV

Desperate to make one of the most powerful men in the world come undone for you, you put your neck into it and sped up your motions.

“You’re taking my cock so well, such a good girl,” he praised, his ragged voice betraying how lost in pleasure he was. The rough hand in your hair tightened, sending another gush of wetness to your already ruined underwear. You brought one of the hands that was braced on his thighs to rub your clit through the material, making you moan around his length.

“Fuck yes sweetness, I’m gonna cum,” he grunted through clenched teeth. Stephen held your head in place, making you take him to the hilt and choke around him before his hot cum spilled into your mouth and down your throat.

When he slipped his cock out, a few drops landed on your bottom lip. You made sure to make direct eye contact while licking it off, turning the dazed look in his eyes to one of pure lust. He pulled you up off the floor into another searing kiss, gripping the backs of your thighs tight in order to lift you onto the counter.

“Lay back,” he whispered against your lips before dropping to his knees.

His hands rested on your thighs before slowly sliding underneath your skirt. Bringing his head to follow his hands, Stephen began to suck and nip at the insides of each of your thighs. Just as you were about to complain about his teasing, he swiped a finger over your clothed slit. You cried out and used one hand to grasp at the thick head of hair between your legs.

“Such a needy girl, you’re just gushing for me aren’t you,” he mocked, his digits feeling how soaked you were through the lace.

You whimper and whine in response, “Please touch me daddy! I’m so wet for you.”

In an act of mercy, he tugged your panties down your thighs and exposed your pussy to his hungry eyes. Stephen licked a line up from your entrance to your clit, making your back arch against the counter.

He pulled back slightly to meet your gaze and said with a smirk, “And you questioned me when I called you sweetness,” before burying his face against your wet cunt.

The sorcerer started licking and circling your clit, before plunging his tongue in your core. Your thighs clamped around him and your body writhed, each motion sending ripples of pleasure through you. The hand not tugging at his gray streaks shot up to muffle your loud moans, but his firm grip was on your wrist before you knew it.

“I’ve been dreaming of what you sound like when you cum. I bet you scream when it finally hits you,” he said while pulling your arm back down. “Now get loud and prove Daddy right.”

He resumed at a faster pace, lapping at your clit in quick strokes. Your orgasm was quickly approaching when Stephen thrust two rough fingers inside your pussy. He set a harsh rhythm that had your thighs shaking and your walls tightening around his digits.

“That’s it, be a good girl and cum on my face,” he said with his face pressed into your cunt, his baritone voice sending vibrations through you.

Then the Avenger curls his fingers just right, pressing on that sweet spot inside you, and you see stars. The interiors of your livelihood become a blur before your eyes as you fall apart on his skilled tongue.

“YES DADDY! RIGHT THERE!!! I’M CUMMING,” you screeched, your legs practically choking him with how tight they were wrapped around his head. Unbothered, he carried you through your orgasm and the aftershocks, licking up the length of you in broad strokes of his tongue and placing messy kisses on your clit.

Well...that definitely proved he was right.

While you were basking in the afterglow of one of your fantasies coming true, Stephen stayed between your legs to gently place kisses on your inner thighs and lick up the slick that dripped down from your pussy. His lips moved down your legs, leaving one final caress on your knee, before standing up. His hair was a mess after you used those locks as a lifeline to cling to while falling off the edge earlier, and his goatee was glistening with your release.

Fuck, he has never looked better.

You smiled deliriously up at him and giggled when he smiled back. Lifting yourself up, you rested on your hands while he bent down to meet you halfway for a sweet kiss. You tasted yourself on his mouth and whimpered. It was too hot, and you pulled away from his lips to lick and sloppily kiss your cum off his chin. He groaned but wasn’t able to retaliate as another buzzing interrupted you two, this time muffled by his pants pocket.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and rested your head against his chest while he pulled out his phone.

“Goddamnit,” he grumbled.

“Is there a problem,” you queried, looking up at him.

“It’s a reminder about an Avengers briefing in ten minutes. I am supposed to be there. Although…I’ve made a lot of excuses in the past to ditch these. One more won’t hurt,” he reasoned and proceeded to put his lips on your neck. You knew it wouldn’t be long for things to get too charged to stop.

“Absolutely not,” you began with a laugh, placing your hands on his chest to push him away. “I am not going to be the reason you ignore official superhero business. Besides, what if they don’t believe you and come looking for you?”

He sighed, “Fine, but on one condition. We do this again. In your bed. Preferably after dinner.”

“A date?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Someone’s eager,” you teased.

“Well, we are being interrupted right now and I don’t like leaving things unfinished for long. Plus if we go out tomorrow night, you’ll have the next morning off,” he argued, unashamed of knowing your shop’s schedule by heart.

“To sleep in?”, you questioned mockingly.

“Sort of, we’ll definitely be in bed.”

“I don’t know, I have a feeling you are going to be a big fan of my dining table. Nice and sturdy.”

His eyes darkened, and he nearly pulled you in for another kiss before you said, “No! Go be responsible.”

He rolled his eyes and replied, “Fine, but one more thing.”

With a flourish of his hand, a white business card appeared on the counter beside you. It was plain, save for ten digits and his name. You looked up when you heard sizzling and saw Stephen opening a portal. He gave you a small smile as he stepped through and you waved back as it closed.

After giving yourself a few minutes to cool down, you cleaned up and packed your things to head home. You were almost out the door before noticing you were still commando. Looking around, it hit you.

That asshole took my panties!

— — —

Stephen POV

Stephen stepped through the portal into an empty bathroom in the Avengers facility. He took a look at the state of himself in the mirror. You had done a number on his hair and while he had no complaints, his colleagues would have questions. Invasive questions.

Once he was looking less disheveled, he made his way out into the hall and walked to the conference room. Most had arrived already but luckily, the meeting hadn’t started yet. Stephen wouldn’t draw any attention by being late. He slipped inside as inconspicuous as he could manage, taking a seat near the back with Wong and Dr. Banner. Mordo was leading classes at Kamar-Taj today and therefore absent.

“You actually came this time,” Wong remarked from beside him. Stephen pulled a face.

I would’ve cum a lot if it weren’t for this stupid meeting.

Before either sorcerer could get a word in, Director Fury stood and began speaking at the front of the room. Stephen did his best to pay attention, but a slight vibration from his phone broke his focus within a few minutes. Discreetly, he looked at it and bit back a smile. Despite not recognizing the number, the doctor could tell it was you from the message. He replied with one hand, the other having gone to his pocket to feel the lacy and still damp material of your underwear.

Y/N: You took my panties.

S: So? They were soaked through.

Y/N: And whose fault was that?

S: I took full responsibility by getting you out of the mess I made ;)

Y/N: And you had to take them…why?

S: What were you going to do with them?

Y/N: Take them home and wash them???

S: Sounds like a waste of water, just go without.

— — —

A/N: Yes I wrote 4k+ words to share a quote I love. Also I didn't want to write it because I got lazy with the shifting POVs, but the books fell because the reader was clumsy cuz she's falling in love - Fergie

P.S. how are we feeling about the POV switches?

Taglist: @strangesweetheart @kentucky-criedfricken @kimxlysm @sherlocksgirl91

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange x you #stephen strange x you #stephen strange #dr strange #dr stephen strange #doctor strange #stephen strange fanfiction #stephen strange smut #doctor strange smut #doctor strange fanfiction

206 notes · View notes