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ppersonna · 3 years

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out of my league - knj | 01

you were out of my league. got my heartbeat racing. if i die, don't wake me, cause you are more than just a dream - out of my league, fitz and the tantrums

✹ summary- Kim Namjoon was never supposed to find out about your years-long hopeless crush on him. And he most definitely was not supposed to find out about it in front of all your coworkers in a company-wide meeting.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- kim namjoon x reader

✹ word count- 6.6k

✹ genre- angst, smut, comedy

✹ chapter warnings- swearing, descriptions of sex, sexual content, namjoon being a sexy flirt, jungkook being a himbo, awkward conversations, jimin being a protective bff

✹ a/n- hello and welcome to this fic thats lived in my google docs for almost a year now. without @ladyartemesia @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen and @chimoona, i would never have posted it. i truly owe so much of my brainstorming and creativity to their incredible brains and thoughts and ideas. i love them very much! i hope you enjoy this first chapter! please feel free to message me, talk to me abt anything!! im always here to chat. ILY!

MASTERLIST

Kim Namjoon was never supposed to find out this way.

You planned to confess your undying, unerring love for your coworker at a better time, a classier place. You would wear a dress that highlighted your features, hair cascading down your back, makeup done to perfection and spritzed with expensive perfume. You’d confess, he’d confess right back, and you’d live happily ever after.

You’d also dreamt that Kim Namjoon would have the slightest inkling of who you are before he finds out about your year long crush. He might know you as the mousy girl in the office who doesn’t talk and doesn’t contribute much other than some crunched numbers and apparently the best coffee brewer in the office. But you’d prefer he knows you well—your favorite colors and movies and foods, what makes you happy and sad; things future husbands should know.

You very much did not think it would happen in a company wide conference, full of over five hundred suit-wearing executives. You did not think it would be done by the office bully, Chungha, who carefully takes over the mic and speaks the words clearly as she presents awards of recognition.

“Congratulations to Kim Namjoon for 5 years with the company, over $4 million in revenue, and the object of ____’s lust and affection. I’m sure you two will have the happy life she’s written in her journal about. Make sure you celebrate with her today!”

The room is silent, so silent you could have heard a pin drop from a mile away. Your face is cherry red and you wish the earth would open up and swallow you whole. Your heart feels like someone has ripped it in half and you stare in horror at the girl smirking at the front. Is this what it feels like to be backstabbed? Namjoon looks perplexed—confusion written on his face as he gestures around to no one in particular like he��s saying ‘what the fuck was that?’

Awkward coughing and clapping begins and Namjoon stands to receive his award, a fine wooden fountain pen, and chances a glance around the room. He easily spots you, with your wide, frightened face. His look remains passive, not hinting what he’s thinking behind those stormy eyes, before he turns and sits back down at the table with his buddies from his department.

You seriously contemplate quitting your job. You could find a new one easily, right? Just stand up and tell your boss you quit and you’re out of there before Namjoon ever sees you again and you’ll never have to face the mean girl who’s ratting you out.

As much as the idea rolls through your head, you know you won’t do it. You love your job, love the security and finances it provides you, and you love to look at Kim Namjoon, all day every day.

You don’t understand where things went wrong.

( one month ago )

It’s 9:03 am. You finish brewing the coffee in the small staff kitchen and sigh at the aroma of the freshly ground beans. Coffee is your favorite meal, favorite time of day, favorite snack, and preferred beverage. You drink it constantly. You’re known as “coffee girl” at work, mostly because no one really bothers to get to know you beyond that. You drink coffee like it’s a devoted religion. You could drink a cup right before bed and still sleep like a baby. It was, put simply, your drink.

The office workers deem you to be the one to make the pots of coffee every morning, claiming you were the ‘best’. You didn’t mind—you preferred to make your own coffee regardless—but you believe your coworkers are trying to pass off the twenty-minute job to someone lower in the office hierarchy. And you were one step above the interns.

The coffee machine chimes to let you know it’s hot, and it’s ready for you. You eagerly pour a mug, a large one, and smile as the waft of freshly ground beans (by you, of course) fills your senses.

You nearly knock the cup out of your hand as Kim Namjoon strolls into the office, eyes set on the coffee.

You feel your throat swell up, like he’s an allergen and you’re caught without an epi-pen. Butterflies swirl in your stomach and you can’t stop staring at him. He pays you no mind, tired yet determined to pour a cup of coffee and get back to his office.

You stand in the small kitchen, clutching your coffee like a lifeline, and pray to god you don’t do something stupid.

Namjoon pours his mug, and you watch his muscular hands grip the coffee pot. He pours a hefty amount of cream and sugar into his cup—it appears even perfect male specimens have their faults.

Your eyes dance on his face before they tango down his body. You wonder what he looks like in the morning, crawling out of bed with mussed hair and a sleepy smile painted on his face. He’d look at you and tell you you’re the most beautiful girl and kiss you deeply despite morning breath. Maybe he’d take you to the shower to press you against the tile as he fuc-

“Oh!” it startles Namjoon to see you, and the coffee in his hand swishes violently. “Didn’t see you there. Sorry!”

Your heart melts. He’s the picture of kindness and politeness. You recognize it’s been a few seconds and you still haven’t replied.

“It’s fine!”

“Great coffee, by the way,” he smiles. His teeth nearly knock you out cold with their brilliance. “Have a good day.”

He turns and exits the room without so much as a glance back at you. Your knees feel weak.

Kim Namjoon talked to you. He complimented you. He told you to have a good day. It’s the best and most significant conversation you’ve had with your secret crush.

You definitely file that away for another day when you need to reminisce on his compliment, and you scurry out of the kitchen towards your desk.

Park Jimin is waiting dutifully at your desk when you arrive, a smug smile still slapped over your features as you sip at your coffee. Namjoon spoke to you today—how lovely.

Jimin quirks an eyebrow.

“What’s got you so perky this morning?”

You’re normally quiet and passive, avoiding eye contact or any semblance of emotion on your face.

You look up at the blonde bespectacled boy. Park Jimin is the closest thing to a best friend in the company. He’s who you spend time with at lunch, see on weekends, and text often. You suppose he’s the closest thing to a best friend you have in your entire life.

You send him a smirk and lean in close to whisper. “Namjoon said hi to me today!”

Jimin sends you a pitiful look and pats your shoulder. Your best friend is well aware of your secret crush and while he thinks Namjoon is a nice guy, he thinks your crush is a little hopeless. He’s the most popular guy in the office, often has dates lined up every weekend. Jimin hears the way he and his friends talk in the break room. The man is definitely not hurting for female attention.

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, unenthusiastically. “That’s great.” He can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness over how excited you’re getting from a simple ‘hello’ from a coworker.

“I know, right? Anyway, lunch today?” You ask as you settle down into your cubicle.

Jimin pushes his glasses up his face and nods. “Of course! That’s why I came by this morning. I wanted to let you know that Jungkook from marketing will join us.”

You make a face, disgust etched in the lines creasing your forehead.

“Why?”

Jungkook is well known in the company. He’s a loudmouth, a player, a clown, and everyone’s favorite comedian. He’s just not your favorite.

“Don’t be rude,” Jimin admonishes at your grimace. “He asked to join and well—he’s cute. I can’t say no to him.”

“Oh Christ, Jimin,” you groan. “Not you too! Don’t tell me you have the hots for the serial fuckboy?”

He blushes lightly and shrugs. “Maybe I do! Be nice to him today or I’ll eat all your chocolate ice cream I know you have at home.”

You stick your tongue out, petulantly. “Fine, now let me get to work or else Seokjin will be up my ass.”

Jimin smiles and kisses your cheek before he scurries away, back to human resources.

It feels as if barely any time has passed. You’re working hard, running calculations and updating spreadsheets. You have an eye for numbers, and losing yourself in an equation is just another day for you. You’re shaken from your cheerful place by a vibration from your phone, and a text alert popping on the lit screen.

jimin 12:01 pm- it’s lunchtime!! you better get your butt out here!

You smile and text back an affirmative reply, then move to grab your lunch from the company fridge. Gliding down the steps leading to the fresh outdoors, you meet Jimin at the lunch tables in the grass.

Jimin is sitting with Jungkook. You can recognize your best friend by his hair and glasses, and Jungkook by his obnoxious laughter.

“Hi,” you murmur as you sit down and open up the brown bag lunch you’ve brought.

“Hi!” Jimin is excited to see you, and just a pinch over eager to be sitting next to Jungkook.

“You know Jungkook, right?” Jimin asks, a harsh look in his eyes that reminds you to be on your best behavior.

You nod as you pull out a bag of grapes. “Oh, yeah, hey,” you smile. “I’ve seen you around.”

Jungkook delivers you a signature smirk and you feel yourself roll your eyes internally. “Yeah, you’re Coffee Girl, right?”

You pout and glare down at your brown bag lunch. Will you ever become more than just Coffee Girl?

“Yeah, I suppose that’s me.”

Jimin clears his throat to dismiss any awkwardness.

“So, Jungkook, I hear you like working out? ___ likes to work out too. She drags me to the gym sometimes. Maybe we could all meet up sometime?” You don’t miss the hopeful lilt in his voice. Jungkook does.

“Oh, yeah?” He narrows a sexy look at you, rather—a look he thinks is sexy that you find off-putting. “What do you do at the gym? Little cardio sets with 5 pound weights?”

What an asshole.

“Sometimes,” you state as you take a bite of the homemade salad you handcrafted last night. “Most of the time I’m lifting heavy. I can bench 275 and deadlift 300.”

Jungkook looks taken back. “What, really?” He sounds breathless. “You lift more than Namjoon-hyung.”

At the sound of the love of your life’s name, you pause. Your face heats quickly and Jungkook smirks. Of course, he recognizes this and not Jimin’s obvious flirting.

“Why are you blushing?” He asks. “Did I say something?”

You’re quick to dismiss things. “Um--no. I just um,” you’re grasping at straws. “I’m hot.”

Jimin is trying not to laugh, hiding his mouth behind a petite hand.

Jungkook tilts his head. “It’s not even sunny today.”

You gulp. “Yeah, I must be hot. With a fever. M-malaria… probably.”

Jungkook snorts.

“You have malaria? Bummer.” He picks at his nails. “I thought for a moment you had a thing for Namjoon.”

“No!” The retort is quick, too quick for normal conversation, and it gives you away.

“Aha!” Jungkook points an accusing finger at you. “You have the hots for him, don’t you?”

Your features melt, and Jimin tries to assuage the situation. “Jungkook, please don’t tell anyone,” he pleads.

Jungkook smiles at you. “That’s so cute. It’s like a little nerdy freshman crushing on the senior class president.”

You bury your head in your hands, suddenly unable to stomach any food.

“Jungkook,” Jimin’s tone becomes more firm, authoritative. “I’m asking you this as a friend. Please, don’t say anything.”

Jungkook holds his hands up to prove his innocence and waves his proverbial white flag.

“Secret is safe with me,” he promises. “But it’s cute. I know him really well, you know. I could try to hook you two up.”

You blanch, unsure if you want Jungkook saying anything about you to the man of your dreams.

“I’m good, but thanks,” you offer meekly. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head back to work, okay?”

Jimin frowns, knowing you’re feeling like a cornered animal, and nods. “Feel better, babe,” he sighs.

Jungkook watches as you leave and turns to Jimin. “Man, he’s way out of her league.”

Jimin slaps the boy in the chest. “Be nice, asshole, that’s my best friend.”

Jungkook promises to be nice, and Jimin is blissfully unaware that others are listening and that the man beside him is easy to persuade.

( present day )

The company-wide meeting adjourns soon after what is likely to be the most embarrassing moment you’ve ever lived through.

You’re grabbing at your things and trying to run out of the room, desperate to get out before anyone sees you or talks to you or laughs at you.

A hand grabs at the coattails of your suit jacket and you’re pulled backwards with a yelp. You turn to seek your captor and find the concerned face of your best friend, Jimin.

“Are you okay? What the fuck just happened?”

Jimin’s concern makes it all real. Until now you could pretend you were in a fugue state, totally dissociated from reality. Now, you realize that everyone in the entire company is aware of your crush on Kim Namjoon.

You can feel your bottom lip wobble, tears threatening to spill. Jimin murmurs an ‘oh shit’ and drags you out of the large room and into the nearest bathroom. He pushes you to sit against the sink and passes you toilet paper to dab at your eyes.

“I don’t know how she found out!” you cry. “God, I feel so stupid and embarrassed.”

It incenses Jimin. He’s holding it back to ensure you’re okay, but in reality, it’s an HR nightmare waiting to happen. He’ll find who did it and punish them accordingly.

They will suffer.

“It’s okay, babe,” he pulls you into a hug. “Everyone will forget about it soon. They’ll think it’s just a lame office joke, okay?”

You nod, feeling the slightest bit comforted by his words.

“How could she find out, Jiminie?” You ask with a sniffle. “You’re the only person who knows.”

Jimin sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know, but they’re dead. I haven’t told any-... oh, my god,” Jimin stops suddenly. You look up at him to catch what he’s thinking.

He growls and balls his fists.

“Jungkook knew.”

You let out a sob and bawl your eyes out into the tissue you’re holding. Jimin holds you tighter while he conjures up a hundred different ways to hurt someone and make it look like an accident.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin sighs, trying to comfort both you and himself. “I’m HR. I have to handle this. I’ll make sure they get what they deserve.”

You feel a sting of pain for Jimin. He’s been hopelessly doting on the man who spilled the beans for a few months now, even got to take him on a few dates. It was still nothing serious, but Jimin was clearly smitten.

“I’m sorry you have to do that, Chim,” you whisper. “I know how you feel about him.”

“Yeah, well,” he swallows thickly. “You’re more important than any asshole.”

Jimin holds you tight for a few minutes longer, before you clean yourself up and steel yourself. Ignore everyone, Jimin encourages. Just get to work, he says. Then you can go home and we’ll drink wine and forget about it all, he promises.

You replay his words in his head like a prayer as you walk down the corridors and towards your office. Everyone in the hallways stops to stare at you. They lean towards their friends and whisper. You hear snippets of their gossip, like “Namjoon” and “out of her league”. It drives the sharp blade lodged in your chest even further. It threatens to collapse your lungs and break your ribs.

You make it to your desk safe and sound and bury yourself in work and forcibly ignore the gawking and the stares.

Just make it home. Just get through the day. You’re almost there.

You could do this.

You nearly make it the entire day before running into the one person you didn’t want to see, Kim Namjoon.

At the end of the day, you’re taking the stairs down to the parking garage instead of the elevator. The elevator is too busy, too many people, and you’re trying to avoid the stares and giggles at your expense. The stairs are always deserted and you figure it’s your safest bet.

You can nearly hear the wine calling your name at home. A delicate glass of Sauvignon Blanc and some chocolate ice cream and a good cry—it sounds like the best and only way to unwind after the worst day you’ve ever had in your life.

The chanting of your name gets louder and you wonder if you’ve finally lost your mind—if you’re actually hearing your wine bottles all the way at home talking to you.

No, wait. The voice is real, and coming from behind you. You turn around to face who’s calling you and nearly faint at the sight.

Kim Namjoon stands on the landing above you, one strip of stairs between you.

“Hey!” He seems glad he’s caught you. “I’ve been calling your name for a minute.”

You swallow and search for an answer.

“Sorry, I’m-.. I guess I’m just a little out of it today.”

Namjoon grimaces.

“Yeah, about that…” he begins as he takes the steps down to be on equal ground as you. Your heart is spinning wildly. He’s so close to you. He’s talking to you. On any other day you’d be erupting towards the sky like a firework. But today isn’t any other day.

“I feel like I should apologize,” he states. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t plan it or anything.”

Damn him and his kindness. Damn him and his cute, awkward smile.

“No, no,” you assure. “I know you didn’t. You don’t have to apologize.”

It’s hard to make eye contact with the man. You want to, know it’s important in intense conversations like this, but the thought of him seeing you—really seeing you makes you ache inside.

“It was a really shitty prank,” he begins. “I’m sure you don’t even know who I am, let alone have a crush on me.”

For the millionth time that day, your face heats to a near boil. You stammer and you’re sure you’ve blown any chance at even thinking about a date with Namjoon.

“Oh, uh, right,” you seek an answer, beg your brain to pick something to say that doesn’t make you sound stupid. “I do.”

“You do what?” He’s confused and you widen your eyes at what just left your mouth.

“I do know you! I mean, I do have a crush on you! Oh, fuck,” you shove your face into your hands. “Please, ignore that. I need to go. Sorry!” You don’t give him a chance to reply, you book it out of the stairway as fast as your heels will take you.

Today was the worst day you’ve suffered through in your life.

The next few days aren’t much better.

Not only are you “coffee girl”, you’re now also sarcastically called “Namjoon’s girl”. As much as you hate your initial title, you’d prefer it to the new one they throw at you as you walk by.

Jimin rats out Jungkook and Chungha to the bosses. They get two weeks probation and they have to write you apology letters if they wish to keep their permanent files clean of any reprimands. It’s a slap on the wrist, and everyone involved knows it. Jimin is furious and wants the boss to reconsider. You tell him not to push it. You’d rather this be over and everyone to forget it even happened. Jimin unwillingly agrees.

You’re working at your desk, earphones shoved in your ears to diffuse the gossip in the room, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn and are greeted with the face of Judas Iscariot himself, Jeon Jungkook.

“Hi,” he sounds sheepish, cheeks reddening.

You narrow your eyes at him, sharper than steel. “What the fuck do you want?”

He winces, knowing he deserved that. “Well, I just wanted to apologize. I know they told me to write you a letter, but it seems too impersonal…”.

You can’t believe Jungkook is sucking his ego up and actually coming to you to apologize. You thought he’d for sure be the one to cop out and send a shitty letter.

He continues.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry that all went down. I didn’t mean to tell her. She got me drunk and said she saw me eating lunch with you and Jimin. I think she was jealous or something and it slipped out. I know that’s not an excuse. I fucked up your trust and Jimin’s trust. But I just wanted you to know I didn’t do it to be an asshole. She sort of duped me.”

You pause as you take in the man’s apology. He didn’t have to come to you in person. He could have easily taken the shitty route and half-assed a letter to you. But he didn't, and he owned up to his mistake. God dammit.

“I appreciate your apology, Jungkook,” you sigh and you see his body visibly relax. “I’m still mad, but I guess the anger is at her for doing it in the first place. I’m sorry she tricked you.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and kneels down beside you. “I’m really happy you believe me. I was worried you were going to kick me in the nuts.

“I won’t lie, I thought about it.”

He smiles with you, and you feel like this is the restart of a friendship. “I definitely deserved it.”

You shrug and smile. “Jimin would kill me for hurting you. He might even kill me for thinking about hurting you.”

Jungkook’s smile drops at the name of your best friend. Yikes. Looks like there’s still trouble in paradise.

“I think you’d be in similar company with Jimin right now. He’s not speaking to me.”

You let out a breath through your nose. “Yeah, he’s a little protective of me.”

“For good reason,” he admits. “You’re like a cute little flower. A cute nerdy flower.”

“Jungkook,” you warn. “I just forgave you after I was humiliated in front of the entire company. I’d be careful with calling me nerdy right now.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

It’s hard to stay mad at the boy, no matter how much you dislike his reputation around the office. The fact that he humbled himself enough to seek you out and apologize is proof enough to you of his character.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. I forgive you,” you smile. “Thank you for apologizing.”

He rubs the back of his neck anxiously as his cheeks flare red.

“Yeah, it felt pretty shitty to just… do anything else. Plus, you seem really cool.”

“You seem great, too, Jungkook.”

He smiles and pulls you in for a hug, catching you off guard. For the fuckboy type, he’s surprisingly sensitive and soft. You like that about him.

“I’ll see you around, okay?” He says as he pulls away from you.

“Maybe you should apologize to Jimin, too?”

His smile drops, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, maybe I’ll go find him now.”

“Good luck,” you offer with a pat on his shoulder.

With a sad smile, he turns and heads down the hallway towards the HR department. You pray Jimin shows mercy to the handsome boy.

A few weeks go by, and you’re sure that everyone has forgotten about you and your most embarrassing moment to date. You make the coffee, you calculate the numbers, everyone ignores you. Things return to relative normalcy.

Until it doesn't. The moment you think you're safe is the moment your guard comes down and everything falls apart around you.

It's when you're in the staff kitchen, grinding fresh beans to brew a second pot of coffee, that it happens.

The kitchen is fuller than usual. You normally try to wait until the lunchtime crowd dwindles and leaves to make your second pot, but you're so desperate for the caffeine that you can't find it in you to care.

You trudge into the kitchen with your handy coffee mug clutched in your tired hands and head towards the cupboards to grind up the beans.

There's a few groups of coworkers lingering in the room, and as your grinder whirs the beans around into a powder, you chance a look around to see who's among the crowd.

Your eyes flick immediately to where a hearty laugh erupts. It makes your heart still in your throat. Namjoon sits with his usual crowd of friends, hand gripping a homemade sandwich while the other assists him in telling his story to his friends. He pays you no mind—why would he?—and you can't help but stare at the way his dark brown hair lays perfectly against his forehead, and his eyes crinkle so cutely at the edges when he smiles.

You nearly forget about the coffee grounds—you're snapped out of your Namjoon-induced trance when suddenly a woman's laugh echoes around the room.

"Look at her," the voice states.

You peer up and see a girl you vaguely recognize. Is she from Marketing? Or perhaps Sales? You’re not sure, but she’s staring at you with a sneer.

“She’s so weirdly obsessed with Namjoon. It’s so creepy.”

Your face turns cherry red and you’re sure your lungs stop functioning. The air your body needs to breathe freezes and your chest aches.

Namjoon turns to look at the girl before he looks and sees you grasping your coffee grounds tightly.

“Chungha was right—it’s so weird. Namjoon, you should talk to HR about this!”

Namjoon turns back to the gossiping coworker and frowns. “Can you leave it alone? She wasn’t even doing anything.”

The girl huffs and crosses her arms over her chest and looks back at Namjoon.

“How can you stand to be in the same room as her? She clearly thinks she has a chance with you.”

Her words come out like a bite. She punctuates her point with a harsh laugh and the group around her mumbles and chuckles in agreement.

You’re desperately grabbing at anything you can, wanting to leave as quickly as possible before you’re embarrassed further.

“Well, she does!” Namjoon replies loudly, annoyance written in his features. “I was actually going to ask her to dinner this weekend in private, but since everyone is so fucking interested in my love life, I have to do it publicly.”

The room falls silent, and your favorite mug falls out from your hands and shatters on the floor. All sets of eyes stare at you while yours widen with disbelief—you don't even care that you’re standing in a pool of old coffee and shattered ceramic.

Namjoon stands and heads over to you, bending down to pick up the shards of your coffee mug. You take a few stunted breaths to kneel and help.

His eyes peer into yours. They’re warm—a chocolate brown color that makes you feel safe.

“What do you say?” He asks with a smile so gentle it nearly breaks your heart. “Will you let me take you out this weekend?”

You’re gaping like a fish and the surrounding room is silent—bated breath waiting for your reply.

“Yes, I would l-love that.”

His smile turns even brighter, and he stands to throw the broken mug away.

“I’ll email you the details, okay?”

Your head nods dumbly without thinking. His eyes sparkle as he smiles at you, and he extends his hand down to you to assist you off the floor. As your hand slips into his, you can’t help but feel how soft and strong he feels. You wonder what his hand would feel like caressing your face, smoothing down the expanse of your bare back, running down the length of your body.

The thoughts shake out of you as he winks and kisses your hand gently, causing the gossiping coworker to grunt her disapproval and for murmurs of shock to echo around the room.

“I’ll talk to you later, doll.” Namjoon winks at you before he grabs his sandwich and leaves the room, gesturing to his crew to follow along.

The place on your hand felt warm where his lips once lingered. You no longer cared about the angry glares from the rest of your coworkers. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, and you leave the kitchen nearly floating on cloud nine.

Email from: Kim Namjoon

Sent: 3:06 pm

Subject: Hey good lookin ;)

Hey!

Just wanted to see how you are! I’m sorry about what happened at lunchtime. That was super petty and uncalled for. I really wanted to ask you out, and I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much by doing it in front of everyone.

I was wondering if you’d like to go out this Friday night after work? Say around 7? If you send me your address, I’ll pick you up.

Let me know!

Xoxo, Joon

You’re sure if you weren’t sitting in your tiny cubicle, you’d be screaming your lungs out.

The second the notification of the email came through, direct from the man of your desires himself, your body froze.

You re-read the message, over and over and over.

The winky emoji, the xoxo, the nickname ‘joon’. It’s all so much and makes the grin on your face threaten to split your lips in half.

Your fingers press the “FWD” button and you quickly send the message to Jimin, before you stand demurely, attempting to give off an air of professional confidence. You need to talk to Jimin, now.

As soon as you’re out of the eyesight of suspicious coworkers, you bolt down the hallway towards Human Resources. Your high heels click loudly on the tiled floor, but the sound doesn’t even register in your mind. All you can think about is Namjoon, the email, the press of his lips on your hand, the way his smile made you feel as if you could fly.

The door to HR swings open with your tight grip around the doorknob, and you open your mouth to call to Jimin, the lone employee, when you’re startled by the sight ahead of you.

Jimin sits on the edge of his expansive desk with his arms thrown around Jungkook’s neck and is clearly engaged in a deep, sensual kiss. At the sound of the door opening, they quickly break apart, with matching cherry red blushes on their cheeks and mused hair.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp.

The men are silent and you can’t help but giggle after a moment passes. “I’ll take it you two made up?”

Jungkook flashes you a dopey grin, one that gives you an answer, while Jimin smirks haughtily.

“Jungkook and I were just discussing, umm… his 401k.”

Jungkook looks at the blonde boy for a moment, confused, before he gets it. “Yeah! Totally. Retirement. Love to t-talk about it?”

You laugh out loud and walk towards the couple.

“I’m sure it was a titillating discussion,” you tease. “I have good news though, if it’s okay to interrupt this retirement planning session.”

Jimin nods and Jungkook rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I guess I should leave?”

“It’s okay,” you smile. “I trust you.”

Jungkook smiles as if he’s just won the lottery. He looks between you and Jimin, face pure and excited like a puppy.

“What’s up?” Jimin asks as he moves to sit down at his desk.

“I forwarded you an email. Read it.”

Jimin nods and logs on to his posh computer, scrolling and clicking before narrowing his eyes and reading.

“Oh, my god.” Jimin’s face is shocked—it's written all over his features. “Namjoon asked you out?!”

Jungkook’s child-like grin turns into one of shock himself. He runs around to stand behind Jimin, eyes seeking over the words of the email.

“Well, hot damn,” Jungkook whistles. “He asked her out.”

Jimin exchanges a look with Jungkook, one that you’re not sure you can read. It quickly slips your mind, however, as you’re more focused on the task at hand.

“Can you come over tonight after work and help me pick out something to wear?” You ask excitedly.

Jimin smiles at you, a touch of sadness in his eyes, before he nods.

“Of course, babe,” he assures. “We’ll make sure you look nice and hot for the date with Mr. Kim.”

“Thank you!” You squeal as you wrap your arms around your best friend. He hugs you back before you scurry out of the office and back to your cubicle, itching to reply to the message.

Jimin sighs as the door to his office closes behind you.

“Kook, please don’t tell me he’s going to break her heart. He’s asking her out to make himself feel better about this, isn’t he?”

Jungkook slips his hand into Jimin’s and squeezes.

“I’ll find out, baby.”

Jimin smiles and nods appreciatively at the boy, before leaning up and kissing him.

Jungkook smiles against his lips, and is determined to ensure the young HR specialist never hates him again, even if he has to go behind his hyung’s back to ensure his new boyfriend’s happiness.

Jungkook has one mission now, and that’s ensuring Namjoon takes you on the greatest date known to man.

He grills Jimin with questions about what you like over dinner one night. Jimin finds it endearing that Jungkook is so eager to rectify his mistakes, but he still can’t help but worry that Namjoon is doing this to save face—not because he actually likes you.

“So, what does she like doing?” Jungkook asks as he spins his pasta around his chopsticks idly.

Jimin smiles as he takes a bite of the ramen Jungkook has thoughtfully prepared for their stay-at-home date.

“I’ve told you already! She’s easy to figure out.” Jimin pats Jungkook’s hand gently. “She loves cooking and baking, working out, daydreaming about Namjoon.”

“Cooking, hm,” Jungkook looks thoughtful as he takes a bite. “I think Namjoon can work with that. I’ll let him know!”

Jimin tries to hide the anxiety brewing in his stomach. He’s had to plaster on a fake smile for you while you tried on different outfits, wondering which will be the one to finally convince Namjoon he is the one for you. It’s hard to fake it around his boyfriend, too—but something tugs in his stomach that flares the cynical side of him.

Namjoon went from not knowing of your existence, to watching you get publicly embarrassed in a matter of minutes. While Namjoon isn’t a terrible guy, Jimin knows he doesn’t like anything to tarnish the gentleman reputation he’s built in the office. And as much as Jimin likes him, and surely likes his friend Jungkook, he can’t help but feel skeptical.

Jungkook hurriedly pulls out his phone and types away, letting his elder friend know of what he’s found out. Jimin swallows his food, and his pride, and hopes to god his growing cynicism is wrong.

Friday comes slower than you’d like. You wake up every day during the week, one day closer, and your eagerness hits peak levels. Namjoon sees you in the hallways during the week and winks at you, hands shoved in his tight slacks that make you salivate.

He emails you again Thursday afternoon, confirming things and getting your address. You reply in nanoseconds, uncaring how overeager you come off.

By the time your alarm clock rings on Friday morning, you’ve already been awake for 4 hours.

All you can do is daydream about the date, the way his hand fits into yours, the warmth of his eyes when he smiles at you.

It’s what fuels you through work.

You hope to god the numbers you’re attempting to work during the day come out right, because your mind is elsewhere for more than most of the day. There isn’t enough coffee in the world, but also your body feels as if you’ve overdosed on caffeine already.

The clock eeks towards 5:00 pm and you’re bolting out the door at 4:56 to head home and get ready for your date.

Jimin attempts to meet you before you leave, but your desk is cold and empty by the time he gets there.

He sighs and heads back towards his office to gather his things, waving bye to various coworkers as they file out of the corporate building.

He turns the corner towards his office but stops in his tracks as he sees Namjoon’s back to him, phone pressed to his ear.

“Baby, I’ll come over later tonight, okay?” Namjoon speaks into the phone.

Jimin feels his heart fall into the pit of his stomach. He retreats and hides behind a wall, ear carefully peeled to listen to the tall man’s conversation.

“I’m going on this date with that chick from work,” he sighs. “It won’t last more than a few hours. Poor girl has a crush on me and you know the usual assholes won’t leave her alone.”

Jimin bites his lip and clenches his fist. Namjoon thinks he means well, but he knows his suspicions have been confirmed, and he’s torn inside. He wants to tell you, to warn you not to get too invested in the man, but he also has no interest in popping the bubble you’ve been in since the day he asked you out.

Jimin lets it simmer for now. He decides he’ll monitor Namjoon and cut things off if it appears the man strings you along for fun.

Namjoon finishes his phone call with a promise to see whoever is on the other end of the phone later that night, and Jimin quickly pulls out his phone and fakes a conversation with no one when he hears the man approach.

“Oh, Kookie,” Jimin giggles, leaning against the wall casually. “I can’t wait to see you tonight, either, babe.”

Namjoon walks towards Jimin and makes eye contact with the HR specialist.

“Bye, Kook! See you tonight, baby.” Jimin finishes up the fake phone call as Namjoon arrives next to him, and he plasters on his best fake smile.

“Congrats on you and Jungkook,” he speaks sincerely.

Jimin hates how nice he is, hates that he’s a nice guy who gets too wrapped up in his own good looks and reputation.

“Thanks, Namjoon,” Jimin smiles uneasily. “You too! Have fun on your date tonight.”

Namjoon’s face lights up and Jimin desperately wishes he could go back in time to 30 seconds ago, before he heard the conversation, and believe that Namjoon truly wanted to date you.

“Thanks, should be fun, huh?” He winks and nudges Jimin, before he waves a goodbye and continues out the door.

Jimin pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials the number of his boyfriend.

“Hey, baby. We’ve got a problem.”

tag list! - @jimidol @aretha170 @dearbambideer

#kim namjoon smut #kim namjoon #bts smut #bts fics #namjoon smut #out of my league #knj #knj smut #rap monster smut #JOOOOOOOOOONie

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divine-mistake · 3 years

Text

it's messy inside, let me take your coat

Summary: “I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Characters: Bucky Barnes/Plus-sized (f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut, female nudity), strong language, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of fluff, soft and nervous Bucky Barnes, original female character friends, one-night stand, body insecurity, anxiety

Word Count: 8723

A/N: This story was written for @eurynome827 and her 2k follower challenge with the prompt "Mimosas and Bloody Marys at brunch." Thank you for hosting and congrats again on your milestone!

main masterlist | AO3

“Cheers!”

The flutes clink together, orange juice sloshing and spilling and dripping down the glasses and onto the table as your giggles fade into the background noise of the café’s patio. You tip your head back as you drink, mimosas bubbly in your throat like your own happiness, threatening to pour out of you and dribble onto your shirt, already tipsy.

“God,” Carissa says, throwing herself back into the metal chair, “I cannot wait to have his babies.”

Beside her, Kora claps. “I can’t wait to be an aunt! I’m going to spoil them all so rotten you’re going to want to throttle me by the end of it.”

“Spoil them all you want, I’m having eight of ‘em.”

At that, you go ahead and polish off your drink, carbonation stinging your throat, and while you set the empty glass down your hand goes up in the air, signaling the waiter for another.

Sara points at you. “I’m with her.” She makes a face at Carissa. “If you have eight kids I will make like your dad and bounce.”

Kora slaps her on the knee but the four of you descend into laughter anyway, and it’s easy and light and beautiful, like always. Washington D.C. can be pretty in this way—iron-wrought fencing and fancy metal tables and red patio tiling. Good food, better mimosas, best friends. There’s a breeze in the air that’s calling for autumn, scattering cloth napkins sitting in laps and spreading the scent of fresh baked bread.

The bags at your feet carrying your new shoes for the winter wedding that’s approaching rustle. That feeling isn’t just D.C. It’s excitement and love and adoration, too.

Carissa, bride to be, catches you in her gaze. “When are you going to finally settle down, huh?” She gestures across the table at you with her half-filled mimosa. Everyone else looks at you too, waiting for your response.

You shrug. “You’re having plenty of babies, I don’t need any.”

“I don’t mean babies,” she says. “I mean a human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment.”

“You need—no, you deserve—someone to take care of you!” Kora adds. “You’re always taking care of everyone. Don’t you want someone to, y’know, take care of you?”

“I have plenty of vibrators in my empty apartment.”

Sara snorts, covering her mouth. The waiter delivers another round, thank god.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask, sighing. “You’re just bothering me ‘cause it’s wedding season and you want to set me up with your weird—”

“He’s not weird,” Carissa interrupts. “He’s tall and he’s mysterious which is exactly your type.”

“She’ll find someone when the time is right,” Sara says. “Just ‘cause we’re happy with our boyfriends doesn’t mean she needs one to be happy.”

“Thank you, Sara, my one-true-best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world.” You force your glass against hers in a loud clank, turning the heads of all the patrons on the café’s patio before taking a gulp. Your face is already getting a little hot, the alcohol hitting you. This is why you aren’t allowed to pregame before you go to brunch anymore.

“We’re not trying to force you,” Kora starts, but her mouth is pulled into a concerned frown. “We really do just want you to be as happy as we are, that’s all.”

You smile at her. “I know.”

And you do know. You understand. It’s been years now since you’ve had anything real—anything worthwhile, to be specific. At some point, the relationships slowed down. Boyfriends became friends with benefits when you were working on your masters. Friends with benefits became ignored booty calls at two in the morning when you started your dissertation, on the road to get your doctorate. Now, you’re lucky to go home with someone from the bar, and they never, ever, come home with you.

It’s okay. You aren’t lonely. The right person just hasn’t landed in your lap, and maybe that’s kind of because it’s not open, but it’s just ‘cause you’re busy. You’re busy. Passionate. Need to change the world.

Love can wait.

The next mimosa is finished and you’re feeling a little fuzzy.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell Carissa. “I’m happy for all of you, and I’m happy with my life, and I’m happy that we’re all together and we’re celebrating and I’m happy that you all care about me enough to worry but I’m perfectly fine with how things are.”

Carissa smiles, but it’s got too much teeth. “I could set you up with Kie—”

“No, no setting me up with Kieran or Harry or Josh or anyone. But especially not Kieran.”

You’d already fucked him once and it wasn’t worth the experience.

“Fine! Fine.” Carissa busies herself with her drink. “No setting you up with Kieran.”

“Good. Now let’s talk about the reception!” You pull out your phone and open the planning spreadsheet, smiling. “So I called the venue for you about the tables…”

This is easier. Planning Carissa’s wedding, helping support her, being excited for her—that’s easier than talking about your love life. If anything, this is your love life. Taking care of the people you love, your best friends, having fun and being together and romanticizing the time you spend with them. It’s not just mimosas over brunch and a green spreadsheet for wedding planning. With them, it’s the wind in your hair and the sun making your eyes sparkle and the alcohol making all your insides feel effervescent.

It’s love. It’s perfection. It’s your own brand of happiness.

And sure, maybe it’s a little defensive, but this is easier than loving someone and trying to make them love you. It’s easier.

“Whose dress are we still waiting on?” Carissa asks a little later, mouth full of avocado and bacon and looking very un-bridely.

“Mine,” Kora says, a little guiltily. “It’s at the tailor getting taken in—again.”

“I have mine,” you pipe up, wiping your mouth of jam. “And god, do I look like a full course Michelin star meal in that piece. Like, we’re talking ass for days, legs for days, tits for—”

“Excuse me, ma’am, excuse me.” A man, towering over the café table makes himself known, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a look on his visage that you can’t name.

“—days,” you finish, swallowing hard.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he says with a smile, “but I’m raising money for uh, breast cancer awareness, and I was hoping you would donate and sign up for uh, a marathon we’re doing.”

You blink. “Sorry,” you tell him, “but we don’t carry cash on us.” With a small smile, you nod at him, your eyes passing over your friends and looking around the café to see if any of the other patrons have noticed what’s going on. None of them look bothered.

“Not even for breast cancer awareness? C’mon, girl.”

“We don’t carry cash,” Sara repeats with a deadpan, but her eyes don’t meet his.

He doesn’t look at her either, content to stare at you, and your skin crawls.

“What about signing up for the marathon?”

“Fine,” you snap. Anything to get him to leave you all alone. “How do I sign up?”

“You give me your phone number and I’ll text you the details.” His grin is a little wider now, edging a little closer to where you sit at the table. You’re regretting that third mimosa. You aren’t on your game. The panic running through you is covered in a champagne haze.

You scoff. “No way.” Immediately you grab your purse, digging through it, and you slam a handful of loose change onto the table in front of him. “Here—a donation. Now please leave.”

His face twists into a scowl, but he scoops the money off the table and pockets it.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” he suddenly says, and anger courses through you until you shoot up from your seat, chair skidding behind you. He’s tall—much taller than your short stature. But, fuck it, the alcohol’s dimming the fear and fueling the need for you to protect your friends.

When you glance over, Carissa is already gathering the bags, eyes wide. Kora has her arms wrapped around her middle, trying to make herself smaller, ready to run. Sara’s phone is in her hand, 9-1-1 already dialed.

And still, no one in the café is doing a goddamn thing.

“Excuse me?” You glare up at the man.

“I just wanted your number, you fat bitch.” He sneers. “No wonder you’ve got an attitude, you obviously don’t get laid.”

Really, you can sit there and say it isn’t the fat comment. It’s not the insult. You’re used to that, with your overly-generous curves and your soft jawline and the fact that you’re wearing a skirt showing off the cellulite running through your thighs like a creek and a crop top that lets everyone peek at your stretch marks. You’re used to it.

And, really, you could handle this better. You certainly have before ‘cause this isn’t the first time you’ve been hustled or the first time some creep has hit on you. Old men have been slapping your ass in public since you were sixteen. You’re hot, you get it. If you saw yourself on the street you’d want a piece of your own goddamn ass, too. It comes with the territory, but it’s gross. And it’s sad but you’re used to it. So it’s not him calling you a fat bitch.

It’s the comment about getting laid. It’s sore as fuck.

You grab your would-be fourth mimosa and drench him in it, the glass slipping from your fingers and shattering upon the patio’s tiled floor in an instant.

“Slut!” The man lunges for you and you jump away, bumping into the table and losing your footing. You fall to the ground as glass comes crashing down around you, spilling sweet-smelling alcohol all over you. Ouch. Your friends scream, but you can’t take your eyes off him.

And then a gleam of black and gold blurs past you and grabs the creep by his neck, throwing him down. Now, a tall, wide body dressed in a dark hoodie is blocking you, guarding you, sheltering you.

“Try it,” Mystery Savior says.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Carissa chants, calling your name.

Your hand is sticky when you wave her away. “Get out of here, I’m fine. Just go. I’ll meet you—meet you at Kora’s.”

“We’re not leaving you!” Sara shouts, but something, maybe adrenaline or fear or fucking champagne, is running through your blood vessels at high speed.

“Just go!” you scream back at her. “I’m not fucking kidding, go!”

Because if there is one redeemable thing about you, it’s the length you’ll go to keep the people you love safe. And Mystery Savior might have just choked a creep out for you, but he also choked a creep out for you, and that’s enough to get your heart pounding in your ears. You don’t know who the good guy is—if there even is a good guy here.

“Fuck,” the creep curses, but it comes out raspy as he grasps at his quickly bruising neck. “You’re a—” he wheezes, “—you’re a murderer!”

Mystery Savior holds up his hands, and that’s when you see it. The black and gold of a vibranium arm just peeking out of the sleeve of his hoodie.

This isn’t a murderer. Not a Mystery Savior either. This is James Bucky Barnes, the Avenger, holy shit. Definitely good guy. Probably. He’s reformed, the news talks about it.

“Caught me,” he says, voice monotone. “What are you gonna do about it?”

If you weren’t currently sprawled on the ground, covered in mimosa, and panicking wildly about whatever is unfolding right in front of you, the very buzzed part of your brain would really appreciate the smoothness of Bucky’s voice when he said that, the cool, calm, collected delivery.

You’ll file it in the back of your mind for when you go back to your empty apartment.

“That fat ass ain’t worth it,” the creep chokes out, scrambling to get up. As soon as he’s on his feet, poised to take off, Bucky moves faster than you could have imagined and grabs the guy by his shirt.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” You can’t see his face, but you think Bucky might be smiling.

A portly man, a little shorter than Bucky, pushes through the gathering crowd, eyes wide and panicked, face red, already sweating. When you glance at his golden nametag, it reads: Jason, Manager. Cool that the manager showed up this late. If Bucky hadn’t stepped in, you’d probably be in a pile of limbs on the ground by now. Also—is he going to comp your bill? ‘Cause at this point, you’re starting to think you deserve it.

Okay, not a good time to be distracted.

“Thank you for getting him, sir,” the manager says, a little breathless. “Winter Soldier, sir.”

“It’s Bucky,” he says, and then he shoves the creep toward the manager. “Not sure why you didn’t step in before he got violent.”

Exactly! Why did everyone just stand around and do nothing as some six-foot man hustled the four women sitting beside the street? You glance around again, seeing your friends have disappeared and now, both the wait staff and other café patrons, are crowded around your table. It’s a little unsettling how no one cared to even look at you until everything escalated.

As the manager grabs the creep and hauls him off toward the street to wait for the cops, Bucky Barnes relaxes his shoulders and turns toward you slowly, and it’s—well, for lack of a better word—it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

He looks nothing like the superhero in the pictures. Here, with the D.C. sun hitting him unabashedly, his slate eyes like glass marbles, the lines surrounding them wrinkled in concern, his tongue darting between his lips to wet the skin where his teeth bite down, a habitual sore, his short locks ruffled by the breeze or maybe the fight or maybe he just wakes up perfectly rumpled, here he looks like a man.

“You okay?” he asks, somehow nonchalant and still worried, and he holds out a calloused hand to you.

Or, well, maybe Bucky had been watching. And maybe that’s enough.

God, you don’t even know this man outside of his Avenger persona, the headlines you read on the news, the pictures you see on social media, but there’s just something about him that makes you want to trust him. Like he guarantees safety, and you know that no one, least of all an Avenger, can guarantee safety. Even if that’s their job.

Stop feeling safe around him.

But you take his hand anyway, his long, thick fingers folding over your own like he means to swallow them, and Bucky pulls you up as though you weigh nothing. In fact, he does it so easily that you crash straight into him with a yelp and his arms instantly slide around your waist to catch you as your knees go weak, buckling beneath you.

When you look up at him, your hands trying to find purchase in the material of his hoodie, he’s staring down at you with the hint of a smile.

“Thanks,” you say, quiet and a little stunned.

His lips crack a little wider. “No problem.”

For a few seconds longer than deemed socially appropriate, you stare at Bucky, captured by the changing color of his blue-gray eyes. And then, as if god is slapping you on the back of your head, you blink and remember that you are covered in alcohol and currently pressed against the chest of a superhero, and your eyes go wide as you quickly push away from him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I’m disgusting—you probably have orange juice all over you now, fuck.”

“Hey,” he says, his flesh hand wrapping around your upper arm to steady you, “it’s okay. Seriously though, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to say something and then shut it again when you realize nothing sounds like the right answer. Bucky waits patiently though, peering down at you, his grip a little more grounding than you wish it was.

“Yes?” you say, but it sounds like a question. “I mean, maybe? I’m—It’s not like I’m not used to this happening. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky frowns. “Used to it?”

You shrug. “Not all men are superheroes. Most don’t have good intentions. And I’m not even that pretty, can you imagine what other women deal with?”

It slips out before you realize it, the self-hatred you keep at bay.

“Not pretty?” Bucky’s face twists into something confused. “That guy assaulted you just to get your number. I’m not saying it’s right, but if you think you aren’t pretty, well that’s just wrong.”

Oh god, what are you supposed to say now? So stupid. If you had just kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have forced an Avenger—a really fucking hot Avenger—to give you an awkward compliment and now you have to scramble to figure out what to say. If you deny the compliment, you’ll look ungrateful. If you accept the compliment, that’s too egotistical. Too into yourself.

You’ve backed yourself into a corner here, and Bucky’s on the other side of the ring.

“Look,” he interrupts your inner monologuing, running a hand through his hair and glancing away, “if you don’t mind me saying it, you’re—well—you’re gorgeous. I hope you know that.”

Your mouth falls open and you stare at him, nervous energy radiating off him, and when his eyes shift back to yours he coughs.

“I mean, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not—I’m not trying to hit on you after what just happened, I promise.” His eyes go wide, then, and he throws his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “That’s not to say I’m not! Not hitting on you. I mean, shit, I just think you’ve gotta be the most beautiful dame—woman, sorry—that I’ve seen in years.”

There’s something soft about it, something sweetly suffocating, like buttercream frosting in the back of your throat, about his nervousness. The gentle panic, the way his eyes go back and forth from the ground at your feet to your eyes like he’s checking to make sure he hasn’t said the wrong thing, but he just keeps putting his foot in his mouth like it’s a magnet to metal. It’s endearing. It’s real.

“Do you want to get a drink with me?” you blurt out, and Bucky blanches. “I know it’s only, like, noon but I need a drink. And I owe you. For saving me.”

He relaxes at this, another one of those small smiles easing its way onto his face, and his shoves his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t just panicking two seconds ago about calling you a dame, which if anyone else had done, you would have socked them in the mouth, but he’s like one-hundred-and-six or something and you kinda get it.

“The drinks you’re wearing ain’t enough, doll?”

A laugh breaks from your mouth and he lights up, grinning.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You can’t help the smile splitting your own lips. “Sure, make fun of the girl who just got hustled, easy prey.”

The way he looks at you is burning.

“I’m Bucky,” he says. “James Bucky Barnes.”

“I know,” you say with a laugh. When you give him your name, he almost looks like he wants to try it out, but he keeps it on his tongue like he’s tasting it instead.

“So, a drink?” he asks, a little cautiously.

“I’d like that.” Then, you look down and curse. “But I’m gross. I really need to go home and change.”

Bucky nods, but a look of disappointment crosses his face, there and then gone again, just enough to make your heart tighten into a painful brick weight atop your chest. Everything in your brain is saying no, don’t do it, don’t do it. But your heart hurts and it hurts for him, a man you’ve only met in news articles and awkward interviews until now, when he’s saved you from being slapped around by some creep or worse, and god, you have such a soft heart sometimes and it’s gotten you in trouble before but you can’t just ignore it.

“Do you like Bloody Marys?”

His eyes meet yours again and you’re drawn into the storm that swirls in his irises once again.

“Never had one,” he admits. “They don’t look much like a drink.”

“Well, if you’re interested, I have the stuff to make a really good one at home. And then I could change and clean up a little and still y’know, thank you for saving my life? I mean it’s not much, but—”

“Yes,” he says, his voice as sure and steady as it was earlier when he was in hero mode. “That sounds great.”

Oh, you’re fucked. You’re so fucked.

The walk back to your apartment isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s not easy. Bucky walks beside you like a forcefield, using his body to guide you through the throng of people walking along the streets without even touching you. He reminds you of a sheepdog. The thought almost makes you laugh more than a few times during your stroll.

He walks with his hands in his pockets most of the way, especially his metal one. And he isn’t much of a talker, not that you mind as long as he keeps answering the questions you’re asking him, like what kind of food he likes and what he thinks about sphynx cats and if he likes memes—of which his answers consist of anything, what the hell is that and why is it naked, and a resounding yes.

Bucky asks some of his own questions, though they are few and far between and a lot more cohesive and meaningful than your own. He asks about how long you’ve lived in Washington D.C., about what you do for a living, and about your friends.

“Why did they leave you there?” He’s staring at you when he asks, brows sharp and furrowed.

“Because I told them to,” you answer. “I didn’t want them to get hurt or anything. And I’m kind of the person that if I’m yelling, you better listen ‘cause I’m usually yelling for a good reason.”

He nods like he understands, but his lips are pressed flat. “They shouldn’t have left you.”

You shrug. “I wanted them to. I would’ve been more pissed if they hadn’t run off and gotten tangled up in the middle of everything.”

“You’re a good person,” he says, still looking at you. His face is softer, that hint of a curve in his mouth the only sign that anything’s changed.

You give him your own smile. “Maybe.”

It’s only once you get to the front door of your apartment that things shift and your stomach rolls, heavy and fluttering light all at once, a not-so-familiar-anymore anxiety chilling your skin. The keys in your hand jingle and you aren’t sure if it's because your fingers are shaking or not.

“It’s not much,” you say, beckoning him inside, “but y’know, it’s enough for me.”

Bucky steps through the door with a reverence, a caution, a carefulness that strikes you right in the heart. He looks out of place for a minute, like he’s never entered an apartment before. And then, as you kick off your shoes, losing the extra inch of height, smiling and gesturing for him to do the same, there’s something in him that snaps and bends and his shoulders fall, relaxed.

He toes off his boots, leaving them by the door, and suddenly there’s a different air in the apartment. Almost intimate. Comfortable.

Stop it. You don’t even know him.

“Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything? A glass of water or something?”

Bucky shakes his head as he follows behind you, slowly, his eyes roaming over your space. It’s really not much, you know that. A little more than a box with a bathroom and a bedroom attached, what with the living room and the kitchen being “open-concept,” a word you’re pretty sure was invented to sell tiny apartments for more money. You don’t even have a table to sit at—just a couch to plunk down on while you’re eating.

“I’m alright, doll,” he says, running a hand over the soft cushions of said couch. “You go change, I’m fine.”

As soon as you disappear into your bedroom, the door locked behind you, you lean against the wood and let out a sigh. This is awkward. What the fuck were you thinking? Asking an Avenger—Bucky Barnes—back to your apartment for a drink? A bloody mary? Who are you trying to kid?

It’s been years, literal years since you’ve invited anyone back to your apartment. In fact, you don’t think anyone besides your friends has even stepped foot inside. Maybe they haven’t even made it to the door.

Why would you invite him here?

In frustration, you strip your dirty shirt off and throw it onto the floor, shimmy-ing out of your skirt and kicking it toward the hamper just as well. You sort through your drawers, looking for something comfortable to throw on. Or maybe you should wear something nice? Something that looks similar to what you wore to brunch. But Bucky’s dressed in jeans and a hoodie. But he also looks like a modern god in just that.

Fuck. You are fucked. Why did you ask him back to your place for a drink? What did you think would happen?

You throw an old band t-shirt over your head and pull a black pair of loose shorts up over your hips, cursing when you realize they don’t even hit mid-thigh. Does that seem suggestive? Is Bucky going to think you want to fuck him if you walk out in these?

Do you want to fuck Bucky?

No. No. This is not what this is about. You invited him over because you owed him a drink and because you needed to change and because he seemed so damn sad when you said you couldn’t go out for a drink. So you asked him to come home with you. Oh, god, that’s so complicated. What have you gotten yourself into?

Stop. Just stop thinking.

But—you have to admit it to yourself—you want it. You want him.

Your friends’ earlier words repeat in your head. A human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment. They aren’t wrong for thinking that it’s something you want. For most of your life, you’ve lived thinking that you shouldn’t need someone. But isn’t it okay to want someone? You’re tired of being alone. Bucky Barnes is the first man that’s been in your empty apartment since you moved in, and maybe it’s a bold move, but you know what?

You throw yourself out of your bedroom, probably looking a little too frazzled, and you quickly comb your fingers through your hair as nonchalantly as possible to fix the flyaways. Bucky’s sitting on your couch, looking lonely, his hands rigid on his spread knees.

He looks like he fits there, on your sofa, in your empty apartment.

“Look,” you say in a breath, catching his attention. When he looks at you, his eyes sweep over your body like he’s never seen a woman before; shy, timid, a little nervous, but there’s something else there. It’s the same thing that’s heating your insides right now.

“I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Bucky’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then a cocky grin is curling his lips up, his face brightening the entire apartment. You don’t know if your body is warm because you’re embarrassed at your own daring or because Bucky Barnes is so beautiful it’s criminal, but you know that there’s static and stretch in your limbs and desire pooling in your belly. Liquor and lust are chasing away whatever fears you had before.

“Really?” he asks, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that reminds you of what a fucking flirt he is, or that he can be, and you think butterflies might be taking up residence in your tummy.

“Really,” you mimic, wearing your own charmed smile. Bucky lets his head fall to the side as he looks over you, then crooks one metal finger at you, beckoning you to join him on the couch. With as much confidence as you can muster, you stride toward him, putting a little swing in your steps. Maybe you look crazy doing it, but it’s enough that his eyes flicker down to watch your hips, and it sends a thrill through you.

“This isn’t like me,” you tell him as you sink down beside him, as close as possible while still giving him space to bolt if he needs to. “I don’t invite strangers over to my house like this.”

He smiles and it’s warm and big and easy. “I’m glad you did,” he says.

God, his eyes are pretty. “Me too.”

With Bucky’s thigh pressed against yours, his hand resting dangerously close to one of your bare knees, knuckles brushing your skin every time he shifts, you’re melting into his touch and you don’t care. It’s intoxicating—not the alcohol, which you swear should be wearing off by now, but him.

“I don’t do this often,” you say again, like you need to defend your bold behavior.

“Does that mean I’m special?”

“I think so,” you murmur, only loud enough for him to hear being this close.

Kinder than you thought possible, somehow simultaneously suave but still a little nervous, and yet authentic to a fault, Bucky Barnes is a thousand and one contradictions. Nothing like you ever thought he’d be. And maybe that’s what gives you the courage, the thought that someone so hardened could be so soft. That someone who looks like him, chiseled and striking and like a charcoal sketching on stark paper, could turn red at your innuendos and your charmed quips. That there’s a chance he could be attracted to you.

This—This is the connection you’ve been waiting for. The person who makes you feel like this. Tipsy when you shouldn’t be tipsy anymore.

“I know we barely know each other, but I really, really want you, Bucky.”

Your shoulder is pressed to his shoulder, your chest nearing his chest, your chin tipped up to stare at his eyes, his nose, his parted lips. Bucky stares down at you, his Adam’s apple dipping and bobbing as he swallows hard. Your lips curl, threatening to giggle. He’s so damn cute. How can someone like him, an Avenger, a super soldier, look so cute?

But the hand at your knee finally creeps up your skin, his hot palm glossing over your bare thigh, resting a little higher than a friendly touch would go. He presses indents—not too hard, but not too soft—into your plush, silken flesh.

“You do?” he asks, tongue darting out to wet his lip and you want to follow it back into his mouth with your own.

To answer, you push closer, your hand coming up to drape across his neck, a little off-balance as you sit up on your knees.

“Mhm,” you hum, and that’s all he needs to grasp your thigh roughly and drag you over him, seating you upon his lap as a squeak of surprise flies from your lips. His hands fall to your hips as if your body was made for him to hold and suddenly you’re looking down at him and he’s looking up at you instead, and god, he’s staring at you like you’re heaven and earth and everything he ever needed to be saved.

“I want you too,” he says, exhaling as if you’ve stolen all the air in his lungs.

“Then will you finally kiss me?” Your nose brushes his and his breath ghosts over your mouth.

Bucky’s lips surge up to meet yours, swallowing the last sounds of your words like it’s the first drink of water he’s had in years, cool and refreshing and tinged with smoke, something uniquely him.

As your hands thread through his short locks, desperate to hold onto him in any way, his fingers begin to curve over your ass. You rock into him, pressing against him harder, sucking at his plush lips as his tongue skims over your top lip until you grant him entry. Bucky kisses like he’s trying to taste every single part of you and it sends waves of pleasure through your belly and to your core, where you grind down until you feel his hardening length beneath you.

Immediately, you start to strip him of his hoodie, divesting him of that layer to feel the soft shirt beneath—but only barely because it’s hell trying to pull his hands away from where they’re touching you.

And he’s touching you everywhere. His fingers roam over every generous piece of your body. The silken planes of your thighs where he’s pushed your shorts up, the wide canyons of your hips, the bumpy hills of your waist where your stomach is too big and too soft and where he slips his mismatched hands under your shirt to trace the lines of your stretch marks. It isn’t long until he brushes by the band of your bra and then he’s tugging at the hem of the shirt, pulling away from your lips long enough to rid you of it.

You take the moment to rid him of his too, and then you’re both topless, still sitting atop his lap and panting from lack of air. No words are shared between you before Bucky is capturing your mouth again. It’s only passion, frenzied and hot and wanting.

His fingers fumble with the hooks of your bra blindly as your teeth sink into his bottom lip, nipping and giggling and tangling your tongue around his. As soon as you hear the snap, you lean back and Bucky pulls it off you, flinging the offending garment somewhere else in the apartment.

Now, with your naked chest completely bared to him, you wait for it to happen. For his eyes to dart away, for the apprehension to cross his features, for the disgust to set it. The real reason that it’s been so long since you’ve invited someone into your empty apartment—into your empty life.

You’re scared.

Like you’re expecting the blow, you close your eyes and brace yourself, but you don’t cover up. You’ve learned not to cover up. You refuse to make yourself smaller, or prettier, or more tolerable for people. It’s why you don’t get entangled with one-night stands anymore, why you don’t ask strangers to come home with you, why you don’t let your girlfriends set you up with anyone. Because you refuse to make yourself something you’re not just to fit in, and that’s what always, always ends up happening.

Bucky touches you and it makes you flinch, his vibranium fingers a little chilly against the soft, warm skin of your stomach. He touches you and it’s electric, but you don’t open your eyes.

You’re too afraid to look and see the disappointment in his gorgeous blues.

His hands skim over your rib cage, sliding around the sides of your waist, his thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts. You shiver at the contact. He continues his trail upwards, but then he lays his palms on your shoulders and caresses over your neck, his fingers finally finding the edge of your soft jaw to cradle your face. A shaky breath leaves you.

“Look at me,” he whispers, closer than you thought.

And no matter how much you’ll berate yourself over it later, there is something so safe about Bucky Barnes that your lashes flutter and your eyes open, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, staring at you with those stormy sea eyes half-lidded and glazed over with lust, his pink lips parted in awe, and you gasp at the intensity that strikes right through the center of you.

“You’re…” he trails off, swallowing nervously again. “Doll, I don’t think I know a word in English that describes you.”

Bucky presses forward, his chest brushing against your hardened nipples, stealing your breath and then sealing your lips with a kiss that isn’t like before. This kiss isn’t needy or wanting or filled with teeth and tongue and desperation. This time, his mouth moves with yours as if he’s trying to spell out a thousand words in twenty different languages to tell you how he feels, his lips leading yours in a dance that isn’t worried about an audience or the music or if you step on his toes.

When he pulls away, you wonder if your mouth is as swollen as his.

“You’re perfect,” he says with a finality in his tone that almost makes you collapse into his arms.

Then, Bucky wastes no time and captures a nipple in between those swollen lips, causing you to let out an embarrassingly loud noise in surprise. His metal hand finds your other breast, thumb stroking over the bud until you’re arching further into him. As his tongue traces patterns around one nipple, his fingers tweak and twist and pull its sister, and your hands grasp his broad shoulders in an attempt to hold on.

Finally, he presses gentle kisses over your rosy buds, all worn out by his touches, and then circles your breasts with more kitten licks and grazes of his teeth. Bucky’s hands settle at your hips again, fingers grasping your skin like he can’t get enough of the feel of you. He’s trying to imprint your body on his palms.

“I need to have you, doll,” he says all breathy as if he isn’t the one absolutely drenched right now. “Please. Please,” he asks so softly that you wonder if this is the man who even came to your rescue today, all tall and brooding. When you grind down on his lap again, feeling his hard cock beneath his jeans as he lets out a groan and tightens his grip on your waist, you realize you’re not the only one feeling the tension.

Still, there’s something cheeky left in you and you reach out to swipe your finger across his nose, effectively booping it cutely. A grin splits your lips.

“You need me?” you ask teasingly. “What if I need you instead?”

It’s like it sets something ablaze in him or something, ‘cause as soon as you go in for another kiss, Bucky stands up from the couch, his hands cradling your ass as you shriek and wrap your legs around him in reflex.

“Oh my god—”

“Now you’ve done it,” he grunts, burying his face in your neck to pepper kisses all over the stretch of skin that encompasses your shoulder, your jawline, even up into your hairline by your ear.

“Oh my god, put me down Bucky, I’m—you’re gonna drop me, I’m too heavy!”

“Heavy?” He chuckles against your throat and the vibrations almost make you shudder in pleasure. God, what is this man doing to you? “Darlin’, I don’t think you know the meaning of heavy.”

Bucky flashes you a wide, almost predatory grin, and you wonder where that soft, nervous boy went.

“If I wanted to,” he says, his voice low and steady, “I could fuck you right here, in the middle of the room, for hours.” He must feel the shiver that goes through your entire body because he’s laughing again. “But I want to fuck you into your mattress if that’s okay. Can I do that?”

Your throat feels dry when you whisper, “Yes. Please.”

He punctuates your plea with a heated kiss to your lips, his tongue tasting the citrus and bubble from your mimosas, the alcohol long since worn off. It’s all him that you feel, all him that intoxicates you, and all him around you as he walks you into your bedroom, not even straining under your weight, and dumps you onto the middle of your sheets.

There, he cages you, hovering above you to kiss down your body, already intent on tearing your shorts off.

“Bucky,” you whine. In the afternoon light streaming through the single window in your room, his eyes are a startling color you wish you could name, all clear and confident and crystal and god, god, his fingers are already exploring the slit of your core so lightly it makes you flush and want to hide, your inner thighs sticky and coated in your own slick from how hot he’s made you with such simple touches.

“You want me?” he asks as if he doesn’t know.

“Yes,” you hiss in pleasure, body writhing beneath him. Bucky leans down to kiss the shell of your ear, his tongue blazing a hot trail that makes you moan and buck your hips up to meet his, but he won’t have any of that.

“Good,” he says, “‘cause I need to have you, and I don’t plan on letting you go ‘till I’ve gotten everything you’ve got to give, doll.”

That nervous Bucky, all awkward smiles and panicked glances and sweet lines, he’s gone. In his place is this Bucky, assured and charming and suave and smooth and making your eyes roll back into your head until a scream is threatening to burst from your lips unless he swallows it with his own kiss, which he does, over and over again.

“I’m gonna ravage you, darlin’.”

You aren’t sure which one you like better—but is it greedy to say both?

As the light of a new day spreads through your apartment, you awaken easily, softly, but painfully. Someone’s pulled the blankets up to your chin and tucked them around you, and the thought leaves an empty feeling inside of you. When you stretch, every part of you burns deliciously, a memory from the hours spent in bed, on the couch, on the fucking counter after you’d eaten and he still wasn’t satisfied, and then again in bed.

And now, looking over at the space beside you, he’s gone. His clothes are gone from the floor. There’s no sound echoing in the building. He even left you tucked in, for god’s sake.

Your apartment is just as it always has been—empty.

With a groan, you kick the covers off and plant your feet on the floor, willing yourself to get up. The ache in your muscles is nothing more than a pleasant memory, an unpleasant reminder of the marks he left on you, his absence.

Stop it. You shouldn’t have even gotten attached to him in the first place. You knew what this was, and he did too, and it’s no wonder he’s gone this morning.

Get over it.

You swipe an oversized shirt from your dresser and throw it over your head as you stride out toward the kitchen, content to go pantyless for the day after the abuse you put it through last night. Yawning, your eyes screwed shut in another big stretch to warm up your overused muscles, you hear him before you see him.

“Mornin’, doll.”

Like that, your eyes snap open and he’s there, standing in your tiny kitchen in nothing but last night’s boxers, looking fucking glorious in the spotlight of the warm sun that’s streaming through the room and highlighting the counters.

“Bucky?” you ask, but it’s a little loud and a little shrieking, something you don’t intend. But all he does is smile at you, metal fingers tapping the plastic countertop, so at ease he just looks like he belongs there.

“I thought I’d make you breakfast but you have nothing in your fridge,” he jokes, leaning back against the drawers and crossing his arms over his bare chest.

You shift, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah, I need to go shopping.”

A long stretch of silence fills your apartment and you’re unsure of what to say in order to break it. Bucky’s clearly watching you, drinking in the sight of your love-marked body, bruises peeking out of the hem of your shirt that barely skims past the tops of your thighs, and you remember you’re wearing nothing underneath.

And he’s here, right here, and you really aren’t sure why. It seems the two of you have almost switched places. Where Bucky was nervous and shy at first, he’s now confident and comfortable and you’re left with heated cheeks and a tongue-tied in knots. Whatever boldness that came over you all yesterday has fled.

It’s left a deep pocket of insecurity inside of you.

“Why are you still here?” you ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, like you don’t care, but your voice shakes a little. He’s too far away to really tell, but you think a flash of hurt passes over Bucky’s brow.

“‘Cause you still owe me a drink,” he says as if it's obvious, a small smile still sitting so prettily on his mouth.

You blink, a little confused, but shuffle closer. “Bloody Mary?”

“Yeah,” he says with a deep breath, his grin growing bigger the closer that you come toward him. “Will you still make me one?”

You nod, toes finally crossing into the kitchen, and then you and Bucky are staring at each other. There are scratches left like the bones of a graveyard on his arms, and you’re almost sure if he turned around they’d cover his neck and back just as well. Seeing those reddened marks, similar to the bruises he’s left on you, makes you relax your shoulders just a little.

“Do you need help?” he asks, eyes sweeping over your barely covered form.

“No,” you say, heading to the kitchen which is little more than a countertop, a stove, and a fridge. “But you can keep me company.”

So this is what happens in the morning after. Bucky leans against the counter next to you, watching you with a burning intensity that nearly matches last night’s, and you pull all the ingredients out and line them up next to two glasses and try not to falter under his gaze. He looks at you like you’re this fascinating thing he needs to study and it bothers you, but only in the best of ways.

“Do you always stare this hard at your dates?” A smile plays at your lips as you crack open the tomato juice.

He doesn’t look away. “No,” he says, but he sounds unsure. “Is this a date, doll?” There’s something in his voice that you can’t figure out, faintly hopeful, fairly confused. Vaguely surprised, even.

You shrug. “Maybe.” Especially after all of yesterday, you would hope he thought so.

But Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

Ow.

That hurt more than you were expecting it to. Calling yourself his date had only been a joke meant to lighten the mood, ease him up a little, cure the tension swirling in the room. You guess you should have expected it, though. You owed him a drink—he didn’t owe you a date. It wasn’t supposed to be a date, anyway.

All you had done was sleep together, for fuck’s sake. This is why you hate morning afters. This is why you would have preferred it if he had been gone when you woke.

But was that even true? Because the relief you felt when you found him waiting for you in the kitchen was immense and hard to understand.

You open the bottle of vodka a little more forcefully than you intended.

“When we go out on a real date,” he continues, and your eyes meet, “I’ll be taking you out and treating you.” A slow grin crawls over his face that reminds you of his wicked mouth and what it can do and the sight makes your heart beat and beat and beat, faster and faster, like the wings of a hummingbird, quick quick quick.

“When?”

“When,” he affirms.

“That’s bold of you,” you say, popping ice cubes from a tray into the glasses.

“Maybe,” he says, “but I know what I want now.” Bucky shifts a little closer to you, his vibranium arm brushing by the bare skin of your soft one as you try and focus on not spilling the juice, but you can smell him and he smells like cedar and bergamot and smoke and clove. A smell that consumed you whole last night, surrounded you, drowned you in it.

He’s so close you can feel him inhale.

“I’ve lived a long time not knowing—not getting to decide—what I want,” he admits, his voice low and quiet and soothing your nervous heart. “So you can call it bold, but I call it right.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your hands still and you look up at him, eyes wide. In the soft white lights of your tiny kitchen, sharing the tight space with him so close, Bucky’s eyes are thunder and rain and lightning all at once, peace and chaos both, promising release and the sweet scent of earth and oil afterward.

“You don’t even know me,” you whisper.

Bucky leans closer. “But I want to.”

He’s so close, too close, close enough that he can surely hear the rhythm of your heart, unsteady and racing just for him. You could surge forward and kiss him, stake your claim once again on those pinkened lips that have held your attention from the first time you saw them, feel the stubble of his jaw rub against the soft peach fuzz of your own, let it remind you of how it felt against the apex of your thighs as he made you cry out over and over again, breaking on his tongue over and over again.

It makes you feel dizzier than any alcohol ever could.

But Bucky reaches over, past you, and takes one of the glasses from your hand, warm fingers brushing over your cooler ones. He holds it up, toward you, gesturing for a toast. With a swallow, hardly glancing away from his slate eyes to grab the other glass, you tap your Bloody Mary against his with a soft clink.

He watches you over the rim as he takes his first sip and you think he might be smirking. Then, he darts toward you and takes your lips in his own, tasting of spice and tomato juice and perfection, all Bucky, all for you.

When he pulls away, too quickly, he rests his forehead against your and looks down at you, staring into your hazy eyes.

“Will you let me stay?” he asks, like he doesn’t know what you’ll say. The soft, nervous Bucky is peeking out from behind his confident visage once again, his voice hopeful and frightened and the hand that’s gliding beneath your shirt and over your waist more timid than it was last night.

There’s a million things you can say. You can tell him to take you out to brunch instead. You can tell him you’re too busy. You can tell him that this was a one-night stand, it was only ever meant to be a one night stand, and that it was fun but you can’t afford to get attached to him and god, you know you’re going to get attached to him if he stays and that scares the ever-living fuck out of you. You can tell him that it’s messy here, inside your empty apartment, inside your empty heart. You can tell him that he could take up residence here. You can tell him so, so many things.

“Yes,” you say instead, and Bucky laughs against your mouth when he kisses you hard once more.

#Eury2kchallenge #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #plus sized reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #mcu #marvel #bucky barnes smut #smut #divine masterlist

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say-narry · 3 years

Text

Note: English isn’t my first language. Hope you all like it. Please, give me your opinion with a reblog, fav or a note in my askbox :)

pairing: Louis!peaky blinders era x reader

warnings: explicit sex, unprotected sex (don't do that!), curse words, daddy kink, overstimulation, dirt talk, mention of jealousy, mention of astrology.

Words: 4k

talk with me | masterlist

Astrology

In my spare time I loved to read about astrology. It was a habit I adhered to since I was a teenager and now as an adult, it was my secret cringe.

So many times, the things described there met the personality traits of someone I knew and that made me believe it even more.

Sure, there were some holes in the script, but I had been in this world forever, so I just ignored that and kept it as a supposed truth and that was only affirmed when I met Louis.

Friends in common, I liked the way his accent sounded, a few drinks here and there, we shared the lighter to light the cigarette and ended up kissing at the end of the party at Calvin's house.

That was a year ago now.

I already knew all his quirks and as Louis lived more at my place than at his mansion here in London, he had to follow my rules, which was a little difficult even though he is Capricorn. Lately it was complicated to deal with him, because he seemed to ignore me and my weekly horoscope had already said that my relationship would be shaken by the smallest things and that I should be careful.

"Babe, don't leave your shoes like that. I already asked for them!" I complained as I placed our shoes side by side by the door. This was one of his manners that annoyed me deeply. "My friends will be here soon!"

"Nah." he muttered, not even looking at me.

I snorted and rolled my eyes, going to check the cheese and chocolate fondue I was preparing.

My friends Peter, Anne, Sam and Paul were coming over for happy hour. I am on vacation at work, an accounting office, so this is a perfect opportunity to hear what's new.

"Babe, is there any way to go to that grocery store down the street? I forgot that Anne has a gluten allergy and forgot to buy the gluten-free bagel." I stirred the melted cheese in the small pot on the stove.

No response from Louis.

Because my house is small, there's no way he couldn't hear me. I stretched my body back a little and in my half vision through the door, I could see that Louis was still concentrating on the smartphone game while gnawing on the corner of his left thumb.

I took another deep breath, it seemed that Louis became a child watching the games on the device and this was another flaw of his sign's characteristic, however I knew he was loyal and domineering, which eventually gave me an idea.

I turned off the stove and wrapped the fondues, putting them in the electric oven in warm-up mode so that they would not cool down.

My friends would arrive in half an hour, it was time to put my idea into practice.

I grabbed my purse, checked the pounds in my wallet, put on a sweatshirt and ran to the door.

"Luv, where are you going?" Louis asked without looking at me.

"Grocery store, babe." I put on my moccasins and closed the door.

It was dusk and for a change London was cold, for as soon as I passed the small gate in my driveway I sped to the grocery store.

As luck would have it, I found the guys a few meters from my house and ran to hug them.

"How are you, Y/N?" Sam, the blond girl with freckles and green eyes asked me as she released me from her hug.

"Fine! But I need a little help from all of you, specifically you, Paul and Anne." I pointed to them, who were inches away from me.

My couple of friends looked at me, Paul was a tall man with blue eyes, a muscular body and a beard. He was dating Anne, a tall, beautiful black woman with curly hair and honey-brown eyes with a mouth to envy.

"What happened?" Anne asked.

I explained to them that Louis seemed to be ignoring me as if I was just someone else working for him, but that he was the dominating type and so I wanted to tease him and see if we should continue with this relationship or if he was just distracted.

"I swear it won't go any further than that, I love Louis very much but this is killing me." I held the brown paper bag against me.

"Have you tried talking to him?" Peter suggested.

"Louis is a Capricorn, you know how it is. When he focuses on something, that's it." I rolled my eyes.

"That's fine with me, it will be fun watching a music star want to kill me because his wife wants me." Paul grabbed the bag from my hands and winked at me, and we laughed.

"It's fine with me too, you know I find it sexy to see men jealous." Anne winked at Paul, who closed his face, causing us to let out a few more low chuckles.

"I think there's a way we can help too." Sam put his arm around my neck and held Peter by the waist.

I had the best friends in the world.

"He simply came in halfway through the meeting with a huge mark on his neck. Emily wanted to climb the walls!" Peter commented on our co-worker.

We were all sitting on the floor of the room with the creams and fondue mixes on the coffee table. Louis was on my right side with black sweatpants and the jacket I loved so much, Paul was on my left side, next to him was Anne followed by Peter and Sam.

"But we know why Tom's nights out..." Sam looked at me suggestively and then looked at Anne. I straightened up waiting for what was to come.

Louis followed the conversation, sometimes hugging me around the waist and offering me something to eat. I just helped myself to a glass of red wine.

"Why?" Anne asked as if she didn't understand.

"Oh, you know, since the S/N went on vacation he has been gloomy, seems to have forgotten how to do calculations on the spreadsheets, and gets sad at lunchtime." Sam replied, alternating his gaze between Louis and me.

Louis, who was serving himself a piece of bread and cheese, grimaced, but said nothing.

"It's true, we know he's not over it yet."

I had the glass in my mouth trying to hold back the laugh I wanted to give.

"Get over what?" Louis asked me with a frown and I arched my shoulders, pretending not to know what they were referring to.

"Tom is in love with Y/N, Louis. Ever since she came to the office, he only has eyes for her." Anne answered by pouring herself some strawberry slices and pouring the melted chocolate on top. "You know, alluring and attractive men don't get over it so easily when they are dumped by a beautiful woman."

My eyes were watering from holding back tears of laughter. It was funny to imagine this situation, since Tom was a very well married gentleman, father of three children, and would soon be a grandfather.

"I'm going to get some more wine." I pushed myself to get up, because I needed to release the laughter that was stuck in me.

"I'll get it, babe." Paul took the glass from my hand, passing his hand through mine and stood up.

"Oh, thank you Paulie!" I smiled and sat back down.

Louis's face was red, he chewed angrily and stared at me. His blue eyes fixed on me in an uncomfortable way, as if he were reading my thoughts.

"What's up, babe?" I asked as Anne, Sam and Peter talked among themselves, I tried to stroke his face but he turned away.

"Nothing." he nodded, and I narrowed my eyes.

Paul returned with my full glass, I took it and thanked him again. Since I was sitting only on the carpet, I decided to do a little stretching. Purposefully, Paul looked at the open buttons of my black blouse that was thin and skinny long. Unconsciously, it was tighter than I usually wore which highlighted my breasts covered by the bra.

Louis seemed to notice, he huffed and ran his hand through his hair. I just ignored him and pretended to pay attention to my friends' conversation.

I felt his arm going around my shoulders and a few kisses on my neck, and I simply held myself together not to react, but it was so good his affection.

"We were talking about Tom before and now I remembered, can you believe that every day he comes into your office and wipes down your desk and computer?" Sam was sharp in the theater, I just wanted to thank her for that.

"And I'll tell you something else, he takes his shoes off before he comes in. " Peter continued.

Broadway was losing these actors to an accounting office. Louis leaned back on one of the sofas and crossed his arms with a brave expression.

"Tom has always been very nice to me." I commented, swirling the rest of the wine in my glass. "But I don't know..."

"I don't know, Y/N?" Louis spoke a little louder, turning his face abruptly to me.

"Yes, Tom is a nice guy but he is the kind of guy who ignores things I say, he was not organized and sometimes we almost missed deadlines... If he is like that at work, who will say to have a relationship with him."

I drank the rest of the wine and almost saw Louis erupt.

"Nothing beyond that stays between you?" I looked at Sam, who put his hand over his mouth, holding back his laughter, as did Anne, Paul, and Peter.

"Nah. " I repeated Louis' murmur from earlier and repeated his motion, leaning back against the couch behind me.

He ran his fingers through his bangs and chuckled gracelessly, denying it with his head. I narrowed my eyes in surprise at his reaction.

"It's getting late isn't it? Want some help cleaning up, petal?" Paul stroked my arm.

"I'll help my girl, Paulie." Louis imitated my voice when I called him and stared at Paul's hand on my arm, moving his mouth as if he were dissatisfied.

We talked some more, Louis was still silent and crossed his arms, his legs intertwined with each other and swinging rapidly.

I knew that Louis was about to explode, so I said goodbye to the guys who thanked me for the evening. Paul gave me a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. They motioned for me to tell them by text what was going to happen, I silently agreed and closed the door.

Louis had gotten up and was removing things from the coffee table. I started to organize the room and finished taking the last dishes to the sink.

"You and this Tom guy, have you ever had anything?" Louis was sponging one of the dishes. His sleeves were rolled up, which gave me a view of the tattoos on his wrist that I liked so much.

I poured myself the rest of the wine and leaned back against the sink where he was standing.

"We only went out together once." Which was true, but it was with the rest of the office and nothing happened because his wife accompanied us and I saw him as a father or even an uncle. I would stay in my tantrum, yes, he was the one who should end his.

"Hm." Louis answered.

"Why the question?"

Louis remained silent, washing the dishes as if it were the most fun thing in the world.

"Louis? If I asked a question, I want an answer." I said angrily, tired of the tantrum.

He continued in silence. I took a deep breath trying to oxygenate my brain and continued to stare at him.

I drank the rest of the wine and left the glass in the sink. I walked slowly to the door, still trying to remain calm.

"Where are you going?" Louis asked.

I just turned and smiled, raising my two middle fingers in his direction.

"Fuck you!" I shouted nervously, pointing at him.

Without waiting for his response, I headed towards my room, but within three steps I felt something pulling me, two cold, wet hands.

Louis might be shorter than most men, but he still possessed great strength.

In one swift movement, I felt him turn me around and my back hit the wall to my right and my head bounced, causing me to grunt in pain.

Louis pressed his body against mine, my hands went up to push his chest.

"I don't want to talk, Louis." I said annoyed, almost in tears already.

"What's up, luv? Your babe wants to know... "Louis brushed his nose across my neck, soon after caressing my face by turning and pulling it slightly to the opposite side, my eyes automatically closed."What were those teasing things earlier?"

My body stiffened, I couldn't hide anything from him.

"Let go of me. " I asked, still pushing him slightly, but it came out more like a groan.

Louis let out a small laugh and began to distribute wet kisses down my neck, sometimes my body betrayed me and shivered.

Louis's right hand, which previously held my waist, lifted my blouse to gain access to the skin of my belly and with a rush, held my right breast, massaging it lovingly.

"I'm sure my girl is getting wet..." His warm breath hitched against the cartilage of my left ear. "You like to tease me by showing off those luscious breasts, but in the end you're all mine, aren't you?"

I groaned as if in agreement. My hands, which before had been pushing her breasts, had moved to her back, scratching the white fabric.

"Who's my little whore? Hm?" His teeth went to my jaw, scraping it lightly, and then down to my neck where I felt pressure being applied.

Oh, hell! He was marking me.

"I-I-I..." I answered weakly and brushed my crotch against his.

My body arched and I held on to his arms, I could already feel the throbbing in between my legs as they buckled.

"My silly little girl!" He moved a few inches away from me and I opened my eyes, staring at Louis's long lashes in front of his blue orbs that were almost covered by his dilated pupils. "I saw what you did with the whole Tom and Paulie thing."

When I regained consciousness, I bit my lower lip and smiled mischievously, returning my hands to his back.

"What are you going to do about it, stud?" I teased.

Louis's hands went around my waist as he made a point of kissing me fiercely and hotly. My hands grabbed his face, pulling him to me, afraid that he would just stop and leave me there, hot and needy for his touch.

His hands went down to unbutton my jeans and unzip me. I let out a moan in anticipation and I could feel him smile in the middle of the kiss.

Louis pulled away from me and spun me around, placing me face down against the wall.

"Louis..." I moaned softly, thrusting my ass toward him.

I felt his pelvis fit over my ass and his member was already hardening, I tried to make more contact, but his hands on my waist stopped me.

"I know, luv... I want you too." I felt his chest against my back as I closed my eyes and rested my head on the wall and pressed my hands against it, trying to support myself. "I want to feel your pussy squeezing my cock as I fuck you very slowly, because I know you like to feel my cock pulsing in you."

I was already dizzy, biting my lower lip trying to hide my moans, until Louis pulled away and his hands hooked on the hem of my jeans and pulled them down.

"Spread your legs, Darlin'"

I did as he cried out, with a little difficulty because my jeans were still binding my legs and the state of my panties was embarrassing.

His hand slid up and down my ass, and then slapped me with his open hand, which made me jump in surprise.

"My girl doesn't like to be neglected, huh?" Shivers ran through me, my breathing was heavy and my brows furrowed and more slaps came, making my skin burn and my eyes water. "You get needy for my cock when I don't fuck you, don't you?"

In one swift act, my panties were keeping company with my jeans. I pushed my hips even higher, rubbing one leg against the other in an effort to relieve the agony my clit felt.

"Daddy will take care of you, luv!" I heard some noises and then the glorious sensation of Louis's hot tongue running over my pussy.

"Louis!" I moaned loudly and his breath hitched against my exposed intimacy as he let out a laugh. His hands grabbed my thighs and spread them even further apart, leaving me wide open for him.

Louis's tongue ran from my sensitive spot to my entrance, sucking and licking. I swayed my hips trying to get closer, but whenever I did he laughed and ran just the tip of it all the way over. My eyes rolled back and a vibration came in the pit of my stomach.

He didn't last long there, but the sound of my wetness clicking on his tongue was something out of reality.

"Babe, please..." My right arm kept pushing against the wall while my left was bent and I massaged my breasts, trying to relieve myself somehow.

"What's wrong, kitten?" Louis groaned and blew against me.

I turned my head to the side and Louis had stood up, taking off his sweatpants along with his underwear and his white jacket, and threw them on the floor beside us.

"Daddy..." I murmured.

Louis' member was hard, and with the glans of his member shiny and pink, his left hand wrapped around it, going up and down slowly. Louis stroked my ass with his free hand, his lower lip was biting and his head eventually fell back as he sighed.

He knew how sexy I found the veins in his hands tensing up and showing as he played with his cock. The tattoos on his wrist added a special touch.

"Lucky for you I want to get it over with, luv... Otherwise you'd have to beg me to fuck you..." He spoke as his cock touched me, dragging and teasing me, making me almost fall to my knees on the floor. "I'm going to fuck your little pussy so hard, babe? I want to hear you moan for the rest of the night, do you want to feel my cock all the way in here?" His finger ran across my entrance, giving me mini shocks in that area.

I mumbled the only sound left in my throat. I turned my face forward and leaned my forehead against the wall. He knew how much I melted for his dirt talk.

My arm against the wall was aching, my forehead was sweaty, and my legs were almost giving way from the way they trembled.

Louis launched himself inside me without warning, burying his wet member until his balls slammed against my clit.

A scream tore through my throat, my nails digging into the wall. Louis didn't even give me time to get used to it, he immediately began thrusting against me. Back and forth, thrusting hard and trying to go all the way in. I was panting as was he, my eyes still closed, enjoying his member filling me.

I turned my face to the side opening my eyes and I could cum right there at the sight, my heart throbbed even more seeing Louis with his nails digging into my hips, his tattooed chest and arms tensed tightly and his head relaxed back with his mouth ajar.

"Fuck!" My eyelids fluttered and I could feel the anguish in my uterus rising.

"My girl is so hot, so warm and tight ... oh!" Louis went down again and if it wasn't for the euphoria, I could feel him almost ripping me in half with his cock slamming against my uterus.

I tilted my head back and one of Louis' hands grabbed my loose hair and formed a sort of ponytail. His hand forced my neck, causing my body to arch and my ass to bulge even more.

My back began to ache as his hipbones crashed against my muscles, he had never caught me this way before and I was already addicted to it. Louis let go of my hair and went back to kneading the sides of my hips.

I put my arm in front of me and bit down on it, feeling my face hit him lightly with the thrusts, my throat aching with the moans, and Louis murmured my name as he tried to sink even deeper inside me.

"Whose pussy is this, babe? Who fucks it hard and the way you like it?" Louis, still not stopping his thrusts, rotated his hips and a wave of ecstasy hit me at the cervix. My pussy clenching rapidly, I was getting there. Louis fucked me so fast that I couldn't even scream.

"You, babe! Only you, Louis!" I spoke softly and felt him kiss me on my back.

"Are you sure, babygirl?" Louis teased and again I felt his chest against my spine.

His cock was halfway out of me and seconds later I was already missing him, which didn't last long as I pushed my hips back against him, burying his cock back into me. I stood on my tiptoes and his member reached the hidden spot that Louis sometimes managed to reach.

"Come on my cock, babe! Because I'm going to mark you, fill you with my milk... Do you want it, my naughty little girl?"

My breath came out of my lungs in a sharp intake of breath. My body exploded inside, shuddering as Louis forced himself to orgasm. Small jolts ran through me, and the ground no longer seemed to be beneath my feet.

My man's nails sank into my skin, his thrusts became sloppy and a loud moan came from Louis' chest, his cock swelled even more inside me and I felt hot spurts fill me, joining my liquid. He groaned loudly and his hands gripped my waist tightly, easing the grip seconds later. Violent trembling came over my knees, causing me to close my eyes in shame as Louis continued inside me and hugged me from behind.

"What's up, Luv? Did I hurt you?" He pushed my hair away from my sweaty, flushed face. Louis kissed the top of my head and I could feel some shocks from the orgasm still being delivered and the delicious feeling of having him inside me.

I nodded positively and then negatively, answering his questions.

"Sorry about the last few days, I was so distracted, thinking about the new album, and then I realized that I didn't do the right thing to the point where my perfect girl insinuated herself to our friend and they talked about some guy at work."

"How did you find out?" I lay my face against the wall, feeling the frosty, chilling cold on my face. I was tired, almost closing my eyes.

"I know you, darlin'... You can't lie, your sign says so."

I covered my face in shame that he knew my shameful secret. Louis pulled his member out of me and already I felt it go limp, Louis tightened his embrace around my buttocks and his arms wrapped around mine, tucking me in.

"Thanks for not giving up on your Capricorn. He'll pay more attention to his girl."

I nodded and turned around, kissing him slowly, feeling his tongue caress mine calmly and tenderly. He was everything to me, giving him up would be the last thing I would ever do.

I pulled away still hugging him and could see his sweaty bangs.

"Thanks for the sex against the wall, it was amazing." I blinked, placing a kiss on his chin.

"Maybe tomorrow you'll rethink it." His face turned into a smile, kissing my cheeks.

I stared at him even longer, not understanding his statement.

"Uh... I may or may not have left some... marks." He gave me his best puppy dog face, squeezed my ass, and kissed my neck lightly.

I rolled my eyes eagerly to see these possible marks.

"All right, they're marks from my Capricorn..." I said, kissing him and jumping on his lap. "But if you ignore me again, you won't have sex against the wall or anywhere else." I shook his shoulder to get his attention and he agreed.

"No more Capricorn stuff!" He promised, raising his right hand.

Astrology thing or not, I loved the guy standing in front of me.

#louis tomlinson #louis tomlinson one shot #louis tomlinson blurb #louis tomlinson smut #louis tomlinson fluff #louis tomlinson x reader #louis tomlinson imagines #louis tomlinson fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles #liam payne #liam payne smut #one direction

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years

Text

This Is the Time of Our Great Undoing

“Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?” Jesper whispers, more to distract Inej from what’s on the screen than anything else, but still—the idea won’t leave Kaz alone.

5.8k | modern AU | Kaz[/&]Jesper, part of a polycule

content note: despite the premise this is about cuddling, gambling addiction and existing during climate change

It starts the way most things used to start: with all of them piled onto ancient couches on the fifth floor of an otherwise empty building on the edge of Amsterdam, also called the Slat. These days, it’s harder and harder to get everyone together. Nina and Matthias are both in Rotterdam now, doing associate degrees that Kaz doesn’t care about. Wylan’s got room and board and a plan for the future and a social worker, and she already disapproves of Jesper as a bad influence so it’s not worth it, generally, for Wylan to come back to his old squat and hang out with the whole gang of ex- and current reprobates.

And Inej—fuck, Kaz wishes she was just a little less righteous, less concerned with how the world’s going to shit. She’s faced off against more cops now than he has, probably. Water cannons and charging horses and riot shields. She knows criminals all over the country, Europe, probably the world—but they’re the kind of criminals with morals and worthless targets, with bandanas and badly sewn patches, who will talk about Federici and sea levels and the Invisible Committee and use value if you don’t leave quickly enough. The kind that live on trees, as Inej’s going to do in a few days. The kind that don’t make any money. The kind that have even less of a chance of making it out of a job alive and free than Kaz does—and with the enemies she’s talking about, politicians, banks, Shell, he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to extort her out of jail next time.

For now, though, they’re all together in the big room, watching some ancient movie on the massive 8k screen with mood lighting, etc, the works, that’s in the Slat courtesy of some MediaMarkt manager desperate enough to save her marriage to bribe Kaz into silence, but not so desperate she wouldn’t fuck two other women in the breakroom.

It’s impossible to know whose fault it is that they’re currently watching Pulp Fiction.

Kaz is inclined to blame Jesper, because most things are his fault in some way or another, and he’s supplying the login data for an old uni flatmate’s streaming accounts, which is where they found that film, front and centre, paid to rent until tomorrow. Who even pays for films? If that’s the calibre of people they send to university these days, it’s no wonder the planet’s going to the dogs. Jesper, though, swears he wanted to watch some goofy horror flick, so he’s splitting the blame with Nina and Matthias: Matthias, for growing up in a cult and having never heard of what’s apparently a film classic and mentioning that to Nina, who of course cooed over her boyfriend and insisted on it, even though actually none of them have watched it before either so it’s not like it’s an important cinematic milestone. Or just not b horror, crime, some weird arthouse thing with complicated morality… It’s weird and has crime but there is nothing to figure out, so Kaz is bored. It’s Inej’s fault, because instead of vetoing it she said yes, just because she has a heart-shaped soft spot for Nina. Wylan could have done his oh I’m still an innocent barely-two-years not a minor this looks bloody thing, and Kaz might not even have mocked him this time if he'd insisted on Jesper’s pick instead just so he could hide in Jesper’s arms for the most minor decapitations.

Jesper’s been talking through the whole film. Kaz got used to that a long time ago: the landing and failing of small non-sequitur jokes like rain against the window, whispered to Wylan who’s cuddled into his side on the left, or to Inej who’s burrowing under Jesper’s outstretched right arm. Sometimes Jesper thinks a quip will land better with Nina, so he shouts it over to the futon where she and Matthias are always just shy of engaging in heavy petting, and the really mean and bleak jokes he saves for when he’s made eye contact with Kaz.

Now, though: in this scene Mr Motorcycle and the gang boss are captured in a pawnshop and dragged into the basement, and Gang Boss gets raped. Inej’s hand is white-knuckled on Jesper’s arm, and Jesper’s talking non-stop. He’s talking about the flooding, and asking whether Inej thinks Doggerland will happen again but here, soon, you can never know when the scientists are so wrong about the speed of climate change, and apparently it all flooded in a day because something broke off Norway, and then he abruptly pivots to some demo where he bashed in a shop window and got new shoes, and then if she’s got dates for more street fights because then he’s in but please, don’t trick me into another book club, I don’t care about why the cops are bad I already know I just want to hit them—not topics Kaz would have chosen, exactly, but he’s rooted in his red leather armchair off to the side, not even able to hold her for comfort, not like Jes does now, and why didn’t they think to look up the content beforehand, why did they assume it was tame just because it’s an old film—and then, long after it’s over, Jesper idly asks, “Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?”

Wylan groans. Kaz wishes a sound existed that could express his own current emotion.

“You saw the guy, right?” Jesper turns over to Wylan, while still stroking Inej’s hair. “There was no skin on him. All leather. And that’s the trigger, so—might solve all our problems. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

“I don’t see a huge difference,” Nina snipes. “Kaz is already in all-black, with gloves. Though I guess, that hood would hide his atrocious haircut…”

“Stop being so mean to Kaz, Jesper,” Matthias mumbles. “Although he does deserve it.”

Kaz downs his entire glass of vodka. When he tops his drink up for the second time—he exed the first refill right in the kitchen—he brings the bottle and some maracuja juice over and refills Jesper’s, too, because Jesper’s been anxiously glancing over at him, every moment he thinks Kaz has turned his head away, since he shot his stupid mouth off and actually, it’s—Kaz isn’t thinking about it now but it just might—maybe it could work—well, he fills up the glass to stop Jesper from worrying himself into yet another mental crisis and also so he can bend over Jesper’s ear and whisper lovingly, “I’m going to make the leather for the suit out of your skin.”

“We should look for an Ed Gein film next!” Jesper laughs, much more brightly than the joke warrants, and Kaz refuses to interpret the look on his face.

By the time Kaz gets back to the Slat, on a day roughly three months later, it’s long past two in the morning. He’s in a foul mood: of course Haskell won’t even reimburse him for the taxi he had to take because he missed the last metro. Of course he just told Kaz to take a night bus. Haskell won’t even apologize for the last minute details he wants included in his casino’s tax returns. The old man’s not even mentally capable of understanding the extra work he caused. Yes, Kaz is good at filing taxes creatively, exactly tailored for the business to pay nothing whatsoever and meticulous enough to never arouse any suspicion, but that takes work. Things have to balance. Haskell thinks Kaz just has to press a button, and that he’s paying Kaz so he doesn’t have to press the button himself, and that it’s only worth it because he doesn’t want to sully his mind with ‘the Spreadsheet Program’. Which is also why he’s loaning Kaz out to a friend of his, which he just remembered to mention today, for that guy’s mattress store slash money laundering business, so that’s even more work for nowhere near enough money.

Sometimes, Kaz amuses himself with the idea of sneaking in small ‘mistakes’. Enough for even the stupidest tax official to unravel the whole sordid scheme and land Haskell in prison for tax fraud, whereupon he’ll also be discovered to be involved with drug smuggling, blackmail, murder, … none of which will ever trace back to Kaz. But the one time he was livid enough to try, nothing happened. He’ll never manage to plunge the true depths of stupidity of an average bureaucrat, apparently, and is thus doomed to failure.

And anyway, it’s good regular money for little work. Usually. He can’t really complain. Especially not to his friends, because three are going legit, Inej will just rant about the uselessness of defrauding the Belastingdienst for a few measly million euros a year when the world’s being set on fire every day, and Jesper’ll tell him to quit, again, because they live in a squat after all. It’s not like they’re paying rent. Jesper’s never heard of forethought, or gratitude. He doesn’t know how many of his bills Kaz has paid off.

Kaz’s leg aches after the climb to the third story. Two more to go. As usual, right at this point he remembers the joke Jesper made eight months ago about fooling someone into installing a stair lift, and as usual, he dismisses it in disgust after two more steps. Stomps harder on the next flight of stairs, with grim satisfaction at the shooting pains in his knee. He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need to move to a house with a working lift, and he doesn’t need a stair lift, either. Fuck you, Jesper. I’m the actual functional adult with a job in this household. I don’t need a stair lift.

That’s what he would throw at Jesper’s head, but it’s nearly three o’clock, and Jesper’s probably out. Over at Wylan’s, if he knows what’s good for him, but given how evasive he’s been all week, how manic… Inej’s still camping high up in some forest to save the frogs or something, but no news there is supposed to be good news. If the cops had chucked her off a tree house, it would have been on tv. About everything else, he can worry after he’s slept.

He doesn’t bother with the lights in his room. The streetlight coming in through his open curtains is more than enough, and anyway, he found the empty tenement he turned into the Slat five years ago, fully moved down here three years ago when he met Jesper, and he knows every single thing in his room by heart. The antique dresser he made Jesper and Matthias carry up with the threat of cutting off a finger for every scratch it received is next to the door, the place where he leaves his gloves and wallet and phone and cane. The coat rack beside it, where the hangers for his suit are, then the hamper, and at the foot of his bed the long black linen nightgown that Jesper’s never, ever allowed to see, and—

There’s a black shape on top of his bedcovers, Kaz realizes when he’s pulled on his nightgown.

Kaz takes his cane back. He hasn’t made any new enemies recently as far as he’s aware—none who know his name—but he was careless, brutal, desperate when he was a lone kid getting by on the streets, and those victims had gangs, families, business partners. Just because no-one’s ever traced little Kazzie the bastard rabid dog back to the Slat-that-wasn’t-then doesn’t mean a thing. The fact that the friends he started collecting press-ganged him into doing more behind-the-scenes embezzlement and fewer turf wars because ‘they’re watching us, they have all our faces and fingers and DNA on file and cameras everywhere and did you hear about that informer having kids with the activist he spied on?’ or the more pragmatic, ‘If you don’t stop fucking up your leg on purpose I’m going to send you to a kink party you fucking masochist’…

None of it means safety, not really, and Kaz is glad he’s alone now. They’ve all moved on, and even Jes… well, if he’d been here tonight then the whole squat would be trashed because Jesper doesn’t come quietly. And now, if he comes back to find Kaz gone or his throat slit… Jesper’s going to fucking collapse. He’s been one phone call away from going hysteric all week. Who knows, though—he has Wylan now, and maybe it’ll be the push he needed, the path none of them could ever find, to get his life back on a solid track.

All of that is presupposing that Kaz loses, of course.

And he does not intend to.

The weird black ninja on Kaz’ bed hasn’t reacted yet. They’re curled into a foetal position and they’re snuffling, quietly, because they’re asleep.

Not even assassins dressed up as b movie henchmen expect the toll taken by Per Haskell’s technical naïveté and utter disrespect for Kaz’ work-life balance, apparently. He got back home so late he missed his own murder. Well, then. Kaz hasn’t tortured anyone in two years and he may be out of practice, but the films he’s been forced to watch in the meantime have, if anything, made him more creative. He’ll teach them not to underestimate the brutality of Kaz Brekker, even when he’s moved up a few rungs in the ladder of Amsterdam’s underworld and landed a desk job.

He’ll—but Kaz hasn’t had to stalk silently towards his prey in two years, either. He’s underestimated the extent to which his lame leg’s gotten worse.

Also, someone’s pulled a box out from under his bed.

Kaz stumbles, and in the split-second before he catches himself on the edge of the mattress he wonders—will they have a gun? I can still bash them in the head before they fire, I haven’t gone that soft—and then the would-be assassin stretches out their lanky body as they wake up.

With their arms raised over their head, Kaz can see the bright white light of the street lanterns outside reflect off the gleaming black PVC fabric they’re wearing. Sleek and skin-tight, no ornamentation except a few steel buttons glinting at the crotch, and a full-cover leather hood over their face adorned with one-euro-sized rivets at the jaw, the forehead, the bridge of the nose, the large buckle around the neck. More buckles, at the back of the head and hanging off the right side at eye-height. The open silver zipper at the mouth reflects the streetlight, too, as does the padlock that hangs off it.

Oh no. Kaz knows that mask. Not even shoving it all the way back to the furthest corner under his bed allowed him to forget the way it looks.

Oh no.

Jesper yawns loudly. “Morning, boss. Evening. One of those. I thought you were finishing work early?”

“Haskell had some last-minute revisions to his tax returns.” Kaz sighs. “Don’t cook tomorrow. I’ll be out late for the whole next week—don’t expect me before three am. New client. I need to create a whole year’s documentations from scratch.”

“Just fuck him over, boss. He doesn’t appreciate you, and you don’t need the money. We live in a fucking squat.”

Sweet, financially illiterate nuisance Jesper, who probably doesn’t even know what that awful mistake he’s dressed in right now cost. The thing he’s dressed in. Which was hidden under Kaz’ bed. In Kaz’ room. Which they are inside right now. “You broke into my room,” Kaz rasps. “Again.”

“You know, Kaz,” Jesper replies with poorly feigned innocence, ”this thing is a little big for you. Fits me pretty well, though.”

“I told you I don’t keep cash under my bed. I told you that, the last time you tried to steal from me to pay off your gambling debts. I like my room organized as it is, and so I don’t keep any money here. Not under the bed, not in the wardrobe. And you won’t find any of my actual caches, because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’ve lied to me before.”

“You’ve stolen from me before. Remember last year? Remember you made Inej cry? I though you were clean. I thought you promised Wylan, when you asked him out, that you were done gambling. Maybe we all had too much trust in you.”

Jesper pulls his PVC-clad shoulders up to his en-leathered ears: a ridiculous sight, and Kaz doesn’t know what’s worse. That a bondage sex slave could actually look this dejected and humiliated and alone, or that Jesper does. He’s almost ready to call off the assault. It took a while to figure out, but as usual Inej was probably right, because she’s been researching and discussing the mental health industrial complex in general, and the traumatizing nature of modern life, with her comrades. Even though Kaz is neither the kind of person to touch people with kid gloves, and nor does he like thinking of Jesper as someone who needs that kind of handling—when Jesper’s in a shame spiral this deep then any criticism will drive him even deeper into the arms of the next casino. So the adrenaline and dopamine can wipe out everything else, or to feed his self-loathing even more by being exactly the person he’s terrified people think he is—Jes couldn’t quite explain it himself during the Intervention, except that everything is too much sometimes, even more too much and faster than usual.

He’s a pitiful creature. Kaz almost has pity. Then, though—

“It’s not working, boss. I know why you’re reminding me I fucking relapsed, again, and tried to steal from my best friend, again, and that I’m going to beg you to lie to Wy, again, but I still haven’t forgotten I’m wearing a bondage suit that you’ve been keeping under your bed for—two months now, is it?”

It’s just one month, actually. The manufacture and shipping took six whole weeks.

Two can play that game. Kaz might be very slightly embarrassed, but Jesper’s relapsed into the combination of addiction, theft and deceit that destroyed his life three years ago, and nearly did so again, two-and-a-half years ago and one year ago. “Careful. I haven’t even yet agreed to lie to Wylan, Jesper. About your problem. That you promised you’d tell him about.”

“Also, I notice it fits me, not Inej. Not Nina. Not Matthias. Not even Haskell, I bet. Me. Almost like it was made for me.”

Kaz ignores his insinuations. The answer’s obvious, anyway: yes, he did take clothes from the main washing pile in Jesper’s room and measured them. Yes, he used the measurements when he ordered a bondage suit. Yes, that’s creepy. Yes, a decent person would have asked. No, he’s not sorry. Jesper knew who Kaz was when he moved in with him. And it’s not like Kaz is the one who’s really at fault here. If Jesper just stopped gambling, he’d never have found out.

“Even attempted theft is illegal, Jesper. Completed robbery is worse. I cover my tracks, but you… you should be careful what you say now. They’re still looking for whoever robbed that jeweller last year.”

“Inej’s gonna cut off your head if you try. It’s like you never read her hoodies. All cats are beautiful, et cetera, Kaz. Thirteen-twelve. Keep up.”

Sometimes, the only thing that keeps Kaz from tossing Jesper out of the Slat is that Inej hates landlords and landlord-adjacents just as much as the pigs. If only he’d known back when he let the drunk penniless fancy uni boy who jumped into a fight to defend Kaz from some thugs—a fight Kaz would have won regardless—if only he’d known, before he let Jesper crash on his floor for a night or two, where all of this would end. “I’ll never mention anything about tonight again if you don’t either. Forget it. It was a bad idea. A failed plan. That’s all.”

“Without even trying it?”

“I will zip your mouth shut,” Kaz rasps. “I’ll lock it. I’ll throw the key into the harbour. Fuck you.”

Jesper, though, somehow got even mouthier when he put the bondage suit on. Less respectful. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “Come on, Kaz,” he wheedles. “I put it on, right? So I’m fine with it, if you’re worried. Aren’t you curious? If our places had been reversed—well, if you’d found it in my room you’d have murdered me, so we’re not exactly identical, but still. Come on, sit down next to me. This is—PVC right? Good job choosing me. Inej would hate it. So much plastic.”

“It’s less like skin than leather.”

“Not complaining, Kaz. I have some juice with a straw over there to keep me hydrated in case I sweat like a pig, but I haven’t, yet. I can probably camp out in this for a few more hours.” He tries a patented Jesper I’m flirting in an over the top way to make you laugh which is my flirting style for when I’m genuinely worried about the reaction because this way I can pass off exasperation and mockery as the response I intended look, probably with fluttering eyes, but since Kaz can barely make them out through those open zippers and the rest of his face is a complete mystery, it falls flat. It looks ridiculous, though, so it also works, and Jesper has the nerve of complaining about Kaz’ eight-dimensional chess plans. He’s worse. He’s worse, and animated by Jesper’s ridiculous, familiar movements the bondage suit doesn’t look like a pathetic attempt anymore. Not like the desperation of an emotional cripple. It just looks like Jesper, with an extra layer on his skin. Jesper, probably making a duckface, purring, “Don’t you think I’m sexy?”

Kaz looks away. “Are you serious right now?”

“Of course,” Jesper replies instantly, as if there was never any reason to doubt him. As if he doesn’t blame Kaz for doubting, simultaneously. As if Kaz is allowed to try. To fail. To fuck up, risk hurting him. There is a reason why Kaz never even considered someone else for the suit. “Come on, get on the bed.”

“We have to talk with Inej first. And with Wylan.”

“One-track mind,” Jesper replies, and just like that Kaz is ready to murder him again. “We’re not fucking. We’re not doing more than normal, except maybe touch. We don’t even know yet whether this helps you. I’m not risking it. We’ll just try touching, and if you think it’s triggering, we stop. We’ve got all the time in the world to work up to more. Until this city sinks into the ocean and the grid collapses from heat, which might be tomorrow, so. Or the fascists win.”

“You’ve been listening to Inej.”

“I do try to keep up.”

“Well, stop. Or listen more carefully, until the end, when she gets to the doomerism is the opiate of the masses part.”

“Just get on the bed, Kaz.”

Kaz puts his bent good knee onto the mattress and pulls himself over to Jesper. The fabric of his linen smock rubs against his heated skin: not like corpses, not like that, not like Jordie and he won’t even think about him or this will be over but—it just feels like his own familiar coarse age-softened nightgown that Jesper hasn’t even made fun of yet, his thin nightgown that in a second will be one of only two layers between him and Jesper.

He rolls over so he can sit down next to Jesper, at first. Daringly, he leans an arm against his best—well, they’ll figure that out later.

“Okay?” Jesper asks. He has to crane his head a lot to look through the thin eye slits of his bondage mask at Kaz’ face, and even then he’s probably mostly seeing the gleaming teeth of the eyehole zippers. And still he leans forward forty-five degrees and twists his torso and neck so he can look up into Kaz’ face, carefully keeping the arm that’s touching Kaz as motionless as possible, because he’s being careful with Kaz. Kaz has told him a thousand times he hates being coddled. He’s not a poor little abused dog, he’s a vicious murderer who destroyed his leg and his ability to be close to people while he was murdering, that’s all he ever told Jesper. That lie. And yet—even if he’s only fooling himself because this scene is so patently ridiculous, and the psych ward he got sent to once for the crime of rough sleeping while underage would stamp every single thing about what they’re doing as deeply unhealthy, and he can’t see Jesper’s soft concerned expression under the hood… Whatever it is, Kaz feels warm all over. He feels good. Safe.

Jesper can tell, apparently. “Want to touch my chest? Or climb into my lap?”

Kaz moves over, carefully smoothing down his nightgown before he sits down on Jesper, angled so he can lean with his left arm pressed against Jesper’s chest. It’s safer, somehow, than giving him the back, but perhaps someday…

Jesper loosely wraps his arms around Kaz. They’re just there, barely touching, the hands lax on top of Kaz’ right knee. You can leave at any time, they say, I’ll let go as soon as you’re uncomfortable, and Kaz would have known that regardless. Jesper’s never usually this still, unless he’s lost in concentration: and Kaz, who’s seen how gambling can destroy someone’s life, how it is currently destroying someone’s life, would still bet everything he has ever owned that Jesper’s concentrating on every single aspect of Kaz’ body language right now.

It’s not necessary, though. Those hands are gleaming black PVC. They don’t look or feel anything like Kaz’ memories.

He drops his own naked right hand onto Jesper’s gloved one. Joins them. Anchors Jesper. “How much do you owe this time, Jes?”

A beat. Jesper’s face drops down towards Kaz’ lap. Trying to hide his shame, and he’s forgotten that he’s wearing a full bondage mask, that Kaz can barely make out his eyes through the slits of the zippers. If he’s trying to deny everything, Kaz will just beat it out of him. He’s done it before. A year ago, when it was bad, but Jesper promised he got it under control. But Jesper’s promises were never worth much, not for this. If they were, they’d never have met.

“Four grand.”

“To?”

“Tom Geels. One of Big Bol’s old friends—”

“So he put you up to—”

“I was already playing when he walked up to me, Kaz,” Jesper grinds out. Aware that he could save himself from at least a little of Kaz’ disappointment by casting Bollinger as the tempter. Simultaneously aware that Kaz promised to feed Bollinger to a marine propeller last year if he ever took Jesper gambling again. Noble, to try and save Bollinger’s life—or to save Kaz from committing another murder—not that either of them deserves his loyalty. “I’ll pay you back, Kaz. I’ll have the money. Give me—give me half a year, Da’s still sending me—sending me rent money, Christ, he’s—I’ll save it. No, you’ll get it straight as soon as I get it, and in six months, you’re paid back in full. I promise.”

“We’ll figure it out. I have some jobs I could use you on. Nothing big. Intimidation, mostly. Some breaking, some entering. Boring stuff, not even worth mentioning to Wylan I should think.”

“Thank you.” Jesper’s forgotten all his restraint. He’s kissing Kaz’ forehead, or rather kissing the inside of his mask that’s pressed against Kaz’ forehead. He’s wrapped Kaz tightly in his long bondage arms too, painfully twisting Kaz’ shoulder and elbow and wrist because Kaz is still holding onto his hand. It’s that welcome pain, and the texture of the bondage suit that Kaz still isn’t completely used to, that keeps him from breaking Jesper’s nose. Keeps him—he isn’t back in the North Sea. He isn’t with Jordie. He should be, but he isn’t, and even if it comes…

Inej taught him about grounding. None of them trust the system as far as they can throw it, so she didn’t send him to a shrink when they started dating, unlike he feared, but—she said they helped her, those grounding exercises she found on the internet, and so Kaz has been diligently practicing breathing techniques and focusing his awareness on details of the present moment. Five things he can see: well, it’s dark, but the way what little streetlight gets through reflects off the folds of the suit on Jesper’s bowed stomach is quite interesting. His own knees. His hand, still clutching Jesper’s. The cane, on the floor. The floor. Five things he can hear: early morning traffic, Jesper’s breath, Jesper trying not to sob out loud in relief or shame or a mixture of both, the rustling of fabric, the squeaking of fabric. Five things he can feel: The old ache of his leg, always. Jesper’s hand. Jesper’s thighs. The hard buttons at the flap over Jesper’s crotch, digging into his side.

Somehow, Jesper’s noticed his shift in focus. At least he’s stopped crying now. “You know, you could have just asked how big I am if you wanted a suit with a dick pouch,” he teases in a voice that almost manages to sound happy. “I wouldn’t even have been suspicious.”

“Just because you have no boundaries, Jes, doesn’t mean I have to sink down to meet you at your level.”

Jesper takes a big breath. To forestall the whole Who bought this bondage suit argument Kaz elbows him in the stomach, hard. Once Jesper’s done coughing—a wriggling movement against Kaz’ side that he’s never even felt before—he mumbles something else, though. “I texted Da my new number. He called last week. Wanted to know how I was doing,” and oh. That makes sense. That’s what did it. “Apparently I’m graduating in seven months, according to that fake schedule you made me so I could keep my lies straight. He wants to come to the graduation. He asked me whether I have a job lined up.”

“I could hire somebody to fake you a degree,” Kaz offers. This should be Inej’s job. She shouldn’t be off somewhere, saving grasshoppers. She should be here. She’s the one who tried to talk Jesper into coming clean to his father, last year. All Kaz knows, all he has ever done, is to keep digging, and it’s worked for him. So far. “It’s all the rage now I hear. Cheap, too. No-one will find out. Just don’t become a politician in Germany.”

Jesper sighs. The air kisses the back of Kaz’ neck. “I don’t even care anymore. I could have a degree, or not, it all doesn’t matter. Universities are a scam to regulate economic class relations anyway. I don’t know that I can keep lying forever, or get a job, just so I don’t have to tell Da I betrayed him. Because nothing matters anyway. We’re collectively throwing the future down the drain. It’s not like anyone needs another mechanical engineer when we hit four degrees. I don’t know what we need. I just know everything I know is pointless.”

“I’m sure Inej can hook you up, if you want to blow up a coal power plant.”

“But what about you, then? What would you do?”

“I could have you kidnapped,” Kaz says. That’s not what Jesper meant. Kaz refuses to think about what Jesper meant. “Fake your death. Colm will be so relieved when they find you that he won’t even care you failed all your studies so you could become a live-in human blow-up doll.”

“That’ll only keep Da happy for a year at most and you know it.”

“Well, then Colm’s just going to have to get used to it. Get used to you, like we did. Real, annoying, good-for-nothing directionless screw-up Jesper.”

Jesper rubs his leathered cheek against the crown of Kaz’ head. “Fuck you. Thanks.”

Kaz runs his fingers over the squeaky PVC on Jesper’s forearms, steeling himself before he whispers idly against Jesper’s neck, “If Inej’s right about the warming and the sea level over the next decades, it won’t just be refugees from the south we’re letting drown, people it’s easy to lock out. Maybe you’re right about the Doggerland thing, and we all get flooded.” He swallows. The words are high up in his throat, trying to spew out. “Then it won’t just be one stupid child with a stupid family going out boating in the North Sea when there’s a storm coming. Not just that one kid thrown out of a sinking boat nearly drowning and clinging to his brother’s corpse. Your blow-up doll skills will be in high demand if everyone else gets triggered by skin contact too.”

Jesper, miraculously, reveals a talent Kaz didn’t even know he possessed: he shuts up. He ghosts his gloved hands over Kaz’ shoulders, and then he starts carding his fingers through Kaz’ hair. Kaz can feel the static electricity building up, the crackles and the safety, and then he realizes his eyes have drifted shut. He realizes he doesn’t know how long Jesper’s been petting him.

“Take off your hood,” he mumbles.

“Kaz?”

“Take it off. Scuttle over so your head’s on the pillow.”

Jesper obeys, like Kaz always knew he would. He looks up at Kaz with something that might be confusion but might also be—trust and deep joy and more, something Kaz can’t quite admit anymore now he’s in his bed, and Kaz puts his head down on his chest. His legs will still fit, and this way, he has the squeaky PVC right where he needs it. Squeaky, rhythmically rising warm dry plastic under him. The exact opposite of a waterlogged corpse.

“I don’t have time to call you an ambulance when you get into a bondage suit erotic asphyxiation incident, just so you know. I have a full schedule for today, remember. I’ll be at Haskell’s until after midnight. I have to break Bollinger’s thumbs. My alarm is at seven. Turn it off and I’ll send you to Colm in bite-sized pieces,” Kaz rasps, and then, with a movement that no-one would call timid if they wanted to keep their tongue attached, wraps his arms around Jesper. “You’ve kept me awake for two hours, so be a good pillow. If I kick you off the bed while I’m dozing, remember. This is your fault.”

#jesper fahey #kaz brekker #kaz x jesper #dimtraces makes things #shadow and bone #shadow & bone

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zerot0all · 4 years

Text

.ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ xxx. | ᴍ

VeriVery- Dongheon

M- smut, crude situations and bad language.

word count- 3.9k

.Chapter Two.

_Flashback_Days Before_

“Hey, y/n... can I have a word with you?” Nicky asked , appearing at your office door as the evening rush was calming down. You were going through the monthly spreadsheets, making sure everything was in order.

Nicky, on the other hand , was being suspicious. Closing and locking the door behind her. She’s never once made you second guess her actions but these were enough to make you pause. You wondered if something happened out in the cafe , or, if she forgot to call in the closing shift. There were a lot of ideas rushing through your head but as she sat down and watched you intently, you cracked.

“What?” You blurted out, startling her.

“Look, y/n, you know you’re my best friend, right? And I would never keep secrets from you, right?” She started off and already you were getting anxious. You hummed, nodding cautiously, still being alarmed with her actions. Nicky fidgeted around a bit, playing with her nails and glancing anywhere but you.

“Jesus fuck Nicky , talk. What’s wrong?” You hiss, again, making her jump in her seat.

“Okay, okay. Promise me you won’t freak out.”

She cautioned. The more she kept on, the more you rolled your eyes. You loved your best friend but she was a bit much sometimes. You nodded again, placing your paperwork down and say back in your chair. Signaling her to continue talking.

“Do you watch porn?”

She asked, briefly making you cock your head with total confusion. You furrowed your brows, unable to justify an answer.

“You know what, hold up.” She takes her phone out quickly. Clicking away at whatever her mind was up to. You had no idea what she could be doing. You were still processing the porn question, before you knew it, she was showing you her phone.

Your eyes went wide, as your jaw dropped.

There. On the screen was a very familiar face. The noises coming from the mini speakers on her phone made you turn red.

The body. The naked body, full of sweat as it glistened beneath the summer sun. A beach scene. It was him. He was there. On the screen ... fucking someone.

In shock, you absentmindedly took her phone and locked it. Making the noises stop and the scene to consume your mind.

You knew that man.

You ... liked that man.

Really, really liked him.

Fuck.

“He does porn?” You whisper.

He’s never once mentioned it before. Not that you’ve had a ton of conversations , but enough to know crucial information about eachother.

“That’s not exactly what I wanted to show you, brace yourself.” Nicky warned, taking her phone back and opening up an article. The headline read:

‘Family friendly Cafe Luna’s owner, befriends pornstar and this is why you shouldn’t visit her cafe anymore.’

The comment section was full of hatred towards your business. Some were too cruel to read fully but you did it.

-She probably does porn on the side.

-My son loves her hot chocolate, who knew she was doing such things. I’m embarrassed for her.

-This is such a bad publicity stunt. She needs to stop.

-They are both so gross. Who does porn , only losers.

The comments kept going. Some saying your business should crumble to the ground. Because that’s what you deserved for being friends with ‘nasty people’

“When was this article released ?” You ask Nicky suddenly.

“This morning. It has over 2k likes and some other business’s are adding on to the article. It’s gotten substantially worse within the hours, I’m so sorry.”

Nicky looked sullen. The news ruined her day too but not as much , as it ruined your thought about everything and everyone around you. You thought for hours. Denying to come out of your office before you had an answer. But nothing made sense. The fact that your own town was trying to ruin you and your business , something you’ve worked tooth and nail for , seemed ridiculous and just down right evil. Why did it matter who you associated with? Why did it matter what happened in your personal life , and why should that ruin your business life?

So many things rushed in and out of your mind, you couldn’t keep up. You tried your best to stay calm but you ended up making excuses whenever he came around. Not that you were mad at him or embarrassed, but you still haven’t come to terms with what was happening. It was too much and like always , you tend to run away from obstacles that got in your way.

_End of flashback_

& now, here you are. Getting badged into a warehouse by a man who said was Dongheon’s manager , after getting called by security. It was all so strict, they needed your ID , along with permission by either an actor or stage manager. Luckily, you were on a very special list. One that gave you exclusive rights to many things on set.

Walking into the warehouse, you didn’t expect it to look like a real movie set. Rooms were set up with different toys and furniture , all closed off by a glass door that would close in all the noises. It was very... interesting to see in person. All ideas of porn movies have suddenly left your mind as you’re taken into the farthest room in the place. A scene was already mid shooting, sounds entered your ears and began heating you up before you could ever see anyone’s face.

But the deep growl of a male voice made you shudder. The manager kept guiding you into the large room, behind expensive cameras to a chair that read “director”. Taking a quick seat, you glanced forward to where the session was taking place.

There he was. Standing behind a beautiful woman, her ass was raised as he pinned her head down into the couch cushions. He had a large hand gripping her hips, restricting her from any movement , as he continued fucking her. Pulling out ever so slowly, letting her gasp as his cock drops out. She’s whining, begging for him to continue fucking her, but he only chuckled. He watched as she cried for more.

“Do you know how bad I’ve wanted to be deep in your fucking cunt? Huh,” he hissed maliciously, his eyes dragging up and down her weary frame. They were probably going at it for a while now but you couldn’t help but feel somewhat sorry for that girl. Her cheeks were stained rosy pink, her eyes foggy with tears, while her fair skin laid with bright red marks all over. His hand print left beautiful welts around her ass and legs. The visibility of them suddenly made you feel ... hot.

“Please. Please, please fuck my little needy pussy daddy.” She cried some more, begging Dongheon to proceed. You couldn’t look away, his face was different. A dark shadow covered his features, seeming sinister. You shuddered as he chuckled some more, the set was silent besides the noises they were making but even then, you tried not to breath so loud.

Dongheon’s hand dropped down to his length, a thick and long extension of himself that made you shiver with intense need, he stroked it once more before he aligned it to her core and thrusted deeply into her pussy. She screamed, calling out ‘Daddy, fuck me harder’ with each pump. It didn’t take long before he was humming his pleasure , picking up speed just as his eyes trailed away and met yours.

Time itself had come to a halt. The sensation making a heat grow deep within your core the longer he kept looking. It was as if , with every thrust he wanted you to react. Furrowing his brows , coming close to his end. You could feel his emotions. The tension kept growing the more he watched on. He was transfixed, not in the way the young female before him was yelling for her release , but on the way your mouth fell open. Agape on a sudden sigh as he groaned loudly, pulling out, removing his condom and letting his load coat her back.

The connection you had with him was different. You could tell by the way he watched you, he was trained on your reaction and you gave him exactly what he wanted.

You caved.

Everything he did before you, was a sign of weakness. You let his strong sexual belief influence your outcome. Your cheeks were tinted, forehead covered in a layer of sweat, as well as your chest. Your legs were trembling with the simplicity of the scene before you and your pussy... it craved him more than ever.

“Alright, if you’d follow me, I’ll take you to his dressing room.” Manager wakes you from your hot thoughts, signaling for you to follow suit. He guided you through some more doors before he opened one where two couches, a vanity and some bags sat on the ground. It was quaint, looks more like a waiting room, you thought.

“You can just wait for Dongheon here, he should be back soon.”

“W-Why?” You shyly asked, wondering what was going on. The manager smiled.

“He gave strict orders just for you, he’ll kick my ass if I didn’t follow them. He’s taking a quick shower then, he will join you. Please, don’t go anywhere.” He finished before heading out and leaving you alone. That last statement almost seemed more like a threat.

Where would you go? Did Dongheon think you would run away after seeing him in action?

But even then, as your mind wandered on with petty excuses to actually leave- another thought came to mind. It was rather exhilarating watching him. The passion he exudes was like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Porn is common. It’s everywhere but nothing was as raw and pure as Dongheon. It was art. A true beauty watching that statue of a man pound into a weak defenseless girl. Something about the way his hips jack hammered into her made your toes curl, your skin prickle and your breath hike. It was hard to deny these feelings, that’s what porn does. But add a face of a familiar man and it’s ten times worse.

That small crush you had on him has now sprung into something much more mature and intimate. It was growing by the second and you couldn’t come to terms with it. Because even though he was perfection, your job was on the line.

Suddenly, a quick knock and rattling of the door knob got your attention. Swiftly causing you to stand up by his vanity area.

And there he was. Walking in with a wide smile on his face. A maroon robe covered his wet body, as a black towel laid on top of his head. He roughly brushed it, drying as much as he could before heading to his luggage.

“Hello beautiful, enjoy the show.” His smile had turned slightly cocky as he watched you from his side eye. He had picked out boxers, dark blue ones, his favorite. You remembered only because you always glance whenever he’s around and his shirt tends to rise up every once in a while.

You looked away, letting him put them on and think about how you were going to reply to him.

“Why are you being so shy, you just saw me in one of my most vulnerable forms.” He chuckled, finding some sense of comedy behind the events. You swallowed the large ball of nerves which stayed lodged deep in your throat since the second you heard his heavy moans of pleasure.

You quickly nodded. Hoping that was enough of an answer. But by the way his shoulders lifted and head tilted , you knew you were once again wrong.

“That’s it? Nothing caught your attention..” he spoke slowly, his eyes signaling to his lower region like as if you were supposed to mention how much you loved watching his cock be consumed by some random females cunt. It was ridiculous, all the ideas running through your head but even then... you remained silent.

“Nothing excited you... nothing you want to talk about?” He continued, taking a very large step forward. The room had suddenly become rather snug, the closer he got. It was driving you crazy, you could already smell his body wash on him. Oh, he probably taste delicious- you thought.

“Have you seen the article?” You blurt out. Your mind working wonders, causing him to pause. A gloomy look soon took over his features, some would say it was a combination of puzzled and shock.

“What article?” Dongheon tilted his head slightly , watching as you take your phone out and open up the link your friend sent you. Shoving the phone into his face, Dongheon squints.

“This one,” you peep.

His aura is hard to ignore. He seems ... unfazed. It didn’t take long for him to read through the whole thing before he was handing your phone back and heading to the vanity. A comb laid out on the table right next to you, but even as you tried to come to terms with his actions of being so unmoved, you watched as he just ... combed his hair.

“Babe, don’t worry it. It’ll be forgotten in a few days. You’ll be fine.” He suddenly says on a weak breath, his eyes still watching his reflection on the mirror as he stands by your side. A sharp pain crawled up your spine, a sour taste entered your mouth. Cocking your head up , you met his eyes.

“Fine. Fine? Dongheon, my business is in danger because of our - well, whatever this is.” You hiss. You were angry.

“Whatever this is?” he repeats, trying to understand those exact words before he spoke again.

“Y/n, listen, do you know how many articles are written about me on a daily basis? Most of which are only just throwing dirt on my name and my profession? It happens. People like to talk shit, but they get bored and move on to the next hot topic.” he shrugs, still trying to play if off like it didn't matter at all. But even as you heard his statement, you knew deep down you shouldn't be feeling this bad over one article. When he, himself has seen the worst in this world. Your mind was a hazy mess as your anger kept simmering inside of you.

“But this is my job, my career... my life.” exasperated, you point out the obvious. Dongheon goes to take a deep breath, glancing around like as if help was written on the walls.

“Babe, you’re gona have to stop letting the world manipulate you. Others’ ideas and opinions do not define you. Sometimes you just gotta tell the world to fuck off and do what makes you happy.”

He was assertive when he spoke like this, it made you cringe knowing how true his words were but at the same time you couldn't help but avoid the look in his eyes. He took a seat on his couch, his robe slit casually opening, showing you his muscular thighs as he crossed his legs ever so elegantly. He sat pensive, his arms cradled the arm rests, making him seem like a king sitting on his throne, and yet, your insides- the anger, became to hum lowly.

“Do you even know what makes you happy?” He suddenly asked you. it was random, and at first you thought he was avoiding your situation all together. but the longer the question sat in your thoughts, the obvious answer didn't come to mind. Before, it was easy to state, your little cafe was your everything. It was your baby, your pride and joy, yet now, as you stand before a man of sin, all logic had jumped out the window. Happiness is such a vague explanation of what ones life should be, do we wish to live happy? Do we look for it; in people, in objects or in spirit? And after so long, do you even achieve such greatness?

Coming back to his questions: What makes you happy?

It should be easy to answer, but why were you stuck.

Dongheon watched you with such marvel, like he was, as always, reading you like a book. Your crinkling old pages were full of uncertainty, yet his eyes were vivid with adoration as he kept reading your life story. What did he find so fascinating about you? Before him, you were not the lost girl you are now. Begging for an answer of what your life has consisted of. Now, your deepest darkest secrets were demons that he played with, just fantasies that have gnawed at your morals. It was bewildering how deep he’s gotten under your skin, and the longer he resided there... the more you craved his destruction.

“Look, you don’t have to actually answer that. Its a tough question, but I just wanted to point out that gossip, people who use their time to bully others on social media, should not be important to you. Yes, they cause pain and at times could ruin everything for someone who had nothing but good intentions. But the moment you let them consume your days, they win. You give them that power, and you shouldn’t.” Dongheon lectured.

You nodded, letting his words sink in. He was right. Keyboard trolls shouldn't be the thing making you feel like you're living in hell. You shouldn't regret your choices, because they were your choices and no one could take that from you. For a second, you almost forgot that you were on a porn set, where your pornstar friend was sitting before you looking as delectable than ever.

His preaching really resonated with you, but you cursed your body for still reacting to him in that way.

“Now, what exactly did you think was going to happen when you brought up the article to me? Did you think, I would stop pursuing you? Like, as if it wasn't embarrassing enough to be called out that you didn't want to see me because i fuck for a living? Did you really think this would make me stop, oh baby, you have no idea what i would do to get you.”

He grinned maliciously, going to stand abruptly. Your breathing paused as he suddenly walked towards your shy frame. Absentmindedly, you scooted back, meeting the wooden vanity right behind you. You were cornered as he approached, he came to a halt a few inches before you. Again, you were able to smell his body wash. A manly scent which made you close your eyes in ecstasy. Your mind, body and soul seemed to transcend whenever he was around and you couldn't help but fall into his abyss.

Dongheon bit his bottom lip, cocking his head as his hands went into the pockets of his robe. He just stood there. Watching you. He seemed to be enjoying himself as your skin came alive with goosebumps. He’s never been this close to you before, he always held such respective distance with you. Like he already knew he was dirty and didn't want to taint you. But yet, the dark shadow that seemed to take over his features, made you shudder. You wondered, what was on his mind?

“Lets get one thing clear, i will never touch you without your permission. i will never do anything that you don’t want to do. Everything that i have does not compare with what i want with you. All i ask is for the truth, i need you to be honest with me. thats all.” his voice was deeper than usual, his eyes sparkled with such a heated tension, it was hard to ignore. You didn't know what to say, so you nodded, agreeing with whatever he had in mind.

“Now, Ill ask again, did you really feel nothing when i was fucking on set? Not even when i pinned her down and made her take my cock, inch by inch? What about when she called me Daddy, did you like that? Im sure she loved when i fucked her hard, stretching her to the point of pain-”

“Dongheon, please...stop.” you whispered, shutting your eyes, you were finally able to hear it. Your heartbeat was louder than ever, and his words were now bouncing off the walls in your head. It was crude, his words were dirty and yet, your pussy spasmed. This unknown feeling tormenting you, you craved him but even seeing what he does didn't scare you off. You wanted him... bad.

“Your thighs are shaking, your breathing is fairly uneven, and i can see goosebumps all over your chest. i said no lying, babe.” he purred seductively, dropping his head low enough to whisper into your ear.

“I wont touch you. not until you beg me for it. i promised, and i always keep my promises.” His voice was hot as it fanned over your ear and cheek, his breath held some sort of mint scent that made you hum. His chest was peeking, the robe was holding on enough for you not to see his cock but even then, a little voice in the back of your head hoped it would magically fully open. The moment had become hotter than ever. he stood before you, in a manner that drove you wild. you wanted him to touch you, anywhere. you wanted him to do everything to you, and yet, you wanted to run.

“Again, did - you - feel - anything?” He enunciated.

You glanced up into his dark eyes, loving the way he watched and waited for your answer. You nodded, then spoke.

“Y-Yes,” you muttered.

“What did you feel?” He breathed deeply, his chest rose slightly with your answer, it may seem it excited him to know you felt something.

“I felt j-jealous. I wanted to be h-her.” you finally confessed, letting the weight fall off and consume your reality. You wanted to fuck him... but when?

You could hear him inwardly groan, taking yet another careful deep breath. his nose flared, taking one small step back only to breath fresh air that wasn't laced with you, his emotions had become vivid.

“Was that an invitation to fuck you? Because if it was, I just want to let you know, i will ruin you. So, be very cautious with your next answer.”

He warned, one last time.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” the words pierced through your soul and landed into your heart. You swallowed the fear, admiring the fact that Dongheon seemed like he was in heat.

“No,” you softly voiced, feeling somewhat like a liar. And he doesn't like that.

“Okay. So, shall we go get some dinner?” Dongheon randomly changes the subject, heading to his luggage to get some black jeans and a black long sleeve- like nothing happened. He was back to his happy go lucky attitude and you were confused. He paused before heading into his bathroom to change, to look at you.

“What? This wont be the only time ill ask, you said no and i respect that, so lets go. Im starving.” he smiled, closing the door behind him to dress, leaving you baffled. That was it? He was okay with it? Even though your body wanted him so bad, something about everything that was going on didn't sit well with you, just yet. Maybe, this was good. Give it time and maybe things will get better.

Its not like you're going to break anytime soon, you'll be fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3 COMING SOON...

#admin ms #verivery smut #verivery dongheon #verivery scenarios #verivery imagines #verivery fanfiction #verivery fanfic

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fanficnewbie · 4 years

Text

Afternoon Delight

OPEN HEART: SECOND YEAR - CHAPTER EIGHT

(ETHAN x FEMALE MC)

MC is Dr. Francesca Houseman *This entry takes place the day after Francesca leaves Ethan’s apartment, but before she helps Jackie rescue Kyra.

Word Count: 2675 Rated: Teen

A companion piece to: --Alan Weighs In --Sienna Weighs In Ch 8

Hello all! I guess you can say that I have been on hiatus right along with OH2. Honestly, their second break pissed me off and I needed to escape the on again/off again relationship I found myself in with this book. However, Ethan is my boo and I can never stay away that long. After finding some closure on some personal issues I’ve been dealing with, I felt the need to return to the fandom and my writing. I want to give a big thanks to @heauxplesslydevoted whose fanfics actually helped to stir my creative juices again.

This story takes place in a small but available window of time which allows for Ethan to give MC the leftover chicken dish, and discuss what happened the night before outside of his condo. It works perfectly fine as a standalone to the OH2 C8 storyline, but I did include hints from two of my other Ch 8 fanfics. So, if you want the “surround sound” experience, you can read those as well.

Otherwise, just thanks so much for your patience and continued support!

AFTERNOON DELIGHT

Francesca hesitated at the door, willing herself to go inside.

Despite the confrontation with Sienna the night before, she had gone to bed practically giddy with the memory of Ethan’s passionate kiss outside of his condo earlier that same evening. However, the morning had welcomed her with waves of discouragement and defeat. The last time Ethan has broken one of his rules with her, he left the Continent for two months. Francesca went through her morning routine unable to shake the feeling that this too, would not end well.

Trying to avoid Ethan at the hospital had been an exercise in futility as he was waiting for her in one of their patient’s rooms, ready to assess the progress of a new treatment plan. As they exited into the hallway, he explained that as promised, he’d brought her lunch and hoped she could meet him for a bite in a few hours. With no readily available excuses on hand, she had accepted. But instead of feeling buoyed by his follow-through, her sense of dread remained.

Unable to talk to Sienna about the latest developments, Francesca instead tried to imagine what she would tell her… Silly, if he was going to push you away again, he wouldn’t invite you to lunch. He saved you the chicken! Unfortunately, Francesca’s imagination was extremely adept at playing Devil’s Advocate, Not unless he wants to dump me again over lunch and is using the chicken to try and appease my feelings. Then Jackie’s unexpected voice chimed in, That checks out.

Francesca groaned against her betraying thoughts as she took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Ethan’s muffled voice greeted her, “Come in.”

Grasping the handle she willed her stomach to stop churning and put on a bright face. Everything is normal, be normal, don’t act strange. She smiled as she crossed the threshold, letting the door close shut behind her. She took in the expanse of the office, decorated in rich wood tones. In the center stood a stately mahogany desk covered with files and spreadsheets, two chairs faced the large piece of furniture and a couch sat against the wall behind them. To the left, bookcases lined the walls, overflowing with medical texts and manuals on various policies and procedures. Ethan stood on the far right side of the room, next to a small round table with four chairs. She could tell he had moved the paperwork covering that space to the credenza behind it, making room for his lunchtime display.

Ethan looked up and his heart constricted. How was she always so damn beautiful? She stood by the door watching him warily, her hair was pulled back into an uncharacteristic ponytail, but a few rebel curls had broken free and lightly grazed her face. He secretly loved her in her white lab coat, it spoke to her brilliance, her status as one of the best doctors at Edenbrook. The blue dress she wore was also one of his favorites, although modest and professional, it somehow managed to accentuate every one of her curves.

Noticing she hadn’t moved, he motioned to his set-up and gestured for her to come over and her to sit down. She looked as nervous as he felt and he smiled to put her at ease, although it was clear that neither of them actually were. He had barely slept last night, all that had been on his mind was what he would say to her, how he would explain what happened.

Francesca crossed the breadth of the office and sat down as Ethan scooped some of the chicken and rice from the night before on dishes borrowed from the cafeteria. “I had to fight my father for the leftovers. This turned out better than expected.”

“It smells delicious but…”

Ethan looked up, “But?”

“Why are we doing this in Naveen’s office?”

Ethan chuckled as he sat down, “Well, I knew we couldn’t escape the hospital but I did promise you lunch, and this office provides much more privacy than my own. Naveen is in Board meetings all day and said I could use it.”

“Does he know I’m here?”

Ethan shrugged, “I didn’t feel the need to mention why I needed privacy. Before the budget crisis we were talking about frosting the glass in the Diagnostic Office. I understand modern design, but I always feel like I’m in a fishbowl.”

Francesca nodded and grabbed her napkin, twisting it in her lap. She wanted to agree with his assessment but couldn’t find the easy-going tone to continue the conversation. She hated that she suddenly felt so awkward in his presence. When he had set boundaries, as unwelcome as they were, she understood her position with him. But last night he had crossed those boundaries and as much as she relished his touch, now she felt unmoored. It was a very unexpected reaction. She had pined over him for months, wanting nothing more than his uninhibited affection. But deep down she knew that Ethan didn’t know how to be uninhibited, and that every forward step he took with her came at a dire cost for both of them.

Ethan looked up mid bite and noticed she was staring at her plate. “Is everything alright? You’re not eating.”

She looked up and forced a smile, “No, of course, I’m just happy you remembered to bring me some.” Ethan knew she wasn’t being fully transparent. He started to wonder if he had misread their encounter last night. He never expected her to be so dispirited. All this time he had been certain that she wanted him to act on his romantic interest in her, but suddenly he wasn’t so sure. They continued to eat in tense silence, until he finally spoke, “Francesca, about last night, I’m sorry that…”

“No.” Francesca surprised herself with her emphatic response but she knew where it came from. She was not ready to listen to Ethan explain away his actions and construct another wall between them. At that moment she wanted to get up and run out of the office, out of Edenbrook, and move far away from Boston. She wanted to turn back time so that she never met Dr. Ethan Ramsey, to when he was just an idea in her head, not the actual man sitting before her. She wanted to be in a time and place where the man who owned her heart no longer had the power to keep breaking it.

Meeting Ethan’s stunned face, she quickly dispelled her unrealistic escape plan and tried to cover for her outburst. “Um, I just meant that there was no need for you to apologize, of course you needed to talk to your dad. I’m glad you finally did. Are you guys better now?”

Ethan’s eyes betrayed a slight flicker of confusion as she changed the topic. He leaned back into his chair. “Um yeah, actually, it turned into a nice evening. He offered an in-depth explanation for his feelings towards my mother, and while I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand them, I’m at least in a place where I can respect him. He’s agreed to do the same for me, so it’s a good start, right?”

Francesca smiled genuinely, “It really is, I’m happy for you both.”

They continued to eat, the tension in the room mounting as Ethan lamented on how uncomfortable they suddenly were around each other. He started to second-guess every decision he had made over the past 18 hours.

Francesca took her last bite and realized that her excuse to leave had just presented itself, “Thank you Ethan, that was really great.” She put her napkin and fork down, preparing to leave the room when he placed his hand on her arm, stopping her.

“Please, wait.” She looked up, startled, as he reached into a bag and procured another small container. He smiled sheepishly as he handed it to her, “Dessert”.

Disappointed at her inability to leave, Francesca was still pleasantly surprised when she opened the container to discover a beautiful slice of cherry tart, “You made this?”

“Yes, my father and I made it last night after you left. We used the leftover cherries. He suggested I save you some as well. He likes you. He uh, he thinks you’re a good influence on me.”

Francesca bit her lip to keep from smiling, she liked Alan Ramsey too. Knowing how much he loved his son, it was comforting to know that he was on her side. At least one Ramsey male was honest about his feelings.

Resigned to staying a bit longer, she reached for her fork, “Well, please tell him that I said ‘thank you’”, taking a bite, her eyes widened. “Wow, this is delicious! The Ramsey men really do know their way around the kitchen. Another one of Nigella’s recipes?”

Ethan’s face lit up at the compliment, “No, this is actually a Ramsey original. We usually use raspberries but we figured the cherries would work. The trick is proportioning out the right amount of sugar to balance the sweetness or tartness of the fruit.”

Francesca found herself giggling at how animated he became while talking about cooking, it was a different and unexpected side of him.

Buoyed by the moment of brevity, Ethan decided to go for it, “So, I stayed up all night thinking about everything. Our history, our work relationship, our entanglements, our feelings for each other, and the truth is, I’m at a loss.”

Francesca’s stomach lurched as the conversation took the sudden turn she’d been avoiding, and Ethan slightly faltered as he met her guarded expression, “I just know that I kissed you last night because I wanted to, I’ve been wanting to for months and I could no longer hold back. I also know that I don’t want to keep preventing myself from kissing you anymore, but as for how it all fits in with everything else, I honestly haven’t figured that part out yet.”

Francesca sat in shocked silence as he reached for her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “I promise that I’m not trying to lead you on or cause further confusion. But despite everything, the complications remain and I’m still struggling with how to best deal with them.”

She stared at their entwined hands as she felt him watching her, nervously waiting for her response. Nothing she expected to happen had happened, but she still wasn’t sure what was happening.

Looking up, she cautiously met his gaze, “So, you’re not pushing me away this time?”

Even though it was deserved, Ethan grimaced at her expectation of him. What was ironic was that all the times he had kept her at arm's length, or tried to escape her completely, it was never his desire to do so. If it were up to him, they would have started their romance in Miami and things would have progressed from there. As much as he enjoyed his role as her mentor, he often wondered how different life would be for them if one of them had worked anywhere else. But then he’d always have to remind himself that Edenbrook is what brought them together, it was impossible to have one without the other.

“No, I’m not trying to create any more distance, but I also cannot make any promises as to how far we can take things right now. I want to move forward Francesca, I swear I do, but...”

“You’re still my boss.”

Ethan gave a reluctant sigh and nodded.

Francesca gently squeezed his hand, “I understand.”

Ethan was unable to hide his mild surprise that she wasn’t challenging him on this again. “You do?!”

She shrugged, “Yeah. I experienced something with Elijah and his intern that helped me to see what you’ve been saying about us all along. I still don’t like it, but I get it now.”

Ethan sighed, “Is there something about Elijah’s intern I should know?”

Francesca shook her head, “Nope, not at all. I handled it.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed a bit, trying to figure out if he should trust her or not. In return, she gave him a coy smile, “So, wait…you just admitted that we’re allowed to kiss now, right?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Rookie.”

Francesca leaned forward, elated by his confession, she was eager to see how far she could push him. “I’m just saying, we are locked away in an office, with…” she glanced at the clock, “about 10 more minutes to kill before Rounds. If you don’t want to stop yourself anymore, this is a pretty good opportunity.”

Ethan watched as Francesca’s shift in position exposed some of her cleavage and Elijah’s intern was immediately forgotten. He was instead consumed with memories of the night before, their bodies pressed together while he tasted her mouth. Warm heat pooled at Francesca’s core as his eyes darkened and he started to pull her towards him...his voice was suddenly low and commanding, “Come here.”

A thrill shot through her as she realized that he truly had turned a corner, his desire evident in the way his eyes freely roamed her over body. She moved from her chair to his, straddling herself in his lap as he snaked one hand through her hair at the nape of her neck and steadied her with another around her waist.

Their eyes met briefly as he pulled her down to meet his lips, Ethan swallowed Francesca’s satisfied sigh which immediately turned into a small moan and caused his grip on her to softly tighten. She grasped his shoulders as she fought for domination and balance, the warmth in her body turning molten as he deepened the kiss, pulling her tongue into his mouth and gently sucking on it.

The thin line they had been struggling not to cross for the past several months evaporated and the fact that they were still on-duty, at the hospital, no longer mattered. Francesca wound her hands around Ethan’s neck and settled further on his lap, barely resisting the overwhelming urge to grind against him. His hand flattened against the small of her back, slightly pressing her closer to him. Their lips separated only for the necessary time to inhale oxygen, otherwise they were interlocked in a kiss that seemed to defy the space/time continuum. Then Francesca’s phone pinged with an alert. It wasn’t until the subsequent ping, that they finally broke apart.

Flushed and breathless, Francesca pushed a loose curl from her face as she leaned back, “Rounds. I have to go meet Esme.”

Ethan’s grip on her loosened but he didn’t release her, “Go on, I’ll clean up here.”

Francesca nodded as he allowed her to stand up. She straightened out her clothes, and gathered her things, turning to him. “Thank you for lunch, it was...unexpected.”

Ethan stood up and pulled her to him for a brief moment, his lips lightly brushing against hers, “In a good way though.”

She smiled against his lips, “In the very best way.”

He released her again, only holding onto her hand, “We will figure this all out, I promise.”

She squeezed his hand before she let go, “I trust you.”

Francesca felt like she was walking on air as she turned and left the office. Suddenly a future with Ethan didn’t seem like the foolish dream of a lovesick colleague. For the first time since they had expressed any feelings or desire for each other, she truly believed that they actually had a chance at a professional and personal relationship. Her insides were bursting with joy...nothing can ruin this day.

Ethan sat back on the chair and lightly touched his lips, overwhelmed by how right it felt to have her in his arms. He knew he was wading into dangerous territory and for once, he didn’t care. All he knew was that he needed to find a clear path to creating an actual relationship with Francesca. He could finally admit to himself that he had fallen completely in love with her.

@i-bloody-love-drake-walker @senseofduties @octobereighth @jooous @fenekko @msjpuddleduck @perriewinklenerdie @polishchoicesfan @alwaysmychoices @binny1985 @cordoniansqueen @heauxplesslydevoted @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @sherlockedmcu @xxdangerouscapri15xx @paisleylovergirl @dr-nancy-house @humaumount @stanathanxoox @trappedinfandoms @padfoot0415 @thefluffyphotographer @oofchoices @crazy-loca-blog @yorit1 @hopelessly-shipper @lovebubblechoices @lifeof-liv @the-soot-sprite @mfackenthal @loveellamae @sharrybh20 @soft-for-drake @choices-lurker @cerisesayeed-ramsey @the-other-ramsey @princess-geek @flyawayboo @riverrune@ethandaddyramsey @queencarb @vika-rafa @ramseyandrys @togetherwearerapture @bellcat2010 @imescullen @teenytinytanya08 @ethanramseyyy @amy-choices @kinkypot @openheart12 @elwetritsche75 @htgawparksandrec @schnitzelbutterfingers @lilyvalentine @aworldoffandoms @paulfwesley

#open heart #open heart book 2 #open heart fanfiction #open heart fandom #ethan ramsey #dr ramsey #dr ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #choices #choices stories you play #choices fanfiction #choices fandom

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maisondenachtai · 4 years

Text

Boss. (Y’lan Noel x Reader)

Pairing: Boss!Y’lan x Reader Summary: Tensions flare when there’s a change of command.

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading and make sure to do my taglist survey so I can add you to the gang! I added Trevante and Y’lan to my list. Join The Taglist Here!

(if you have already filled it out once and don’t want to fill it out again, just im me! i’ll update the spreadsheet myself!)

You hated him. Sitting over there, across the way from you being…kind and considerate, thinking of others in the room, listening to ideas and taking them down as if he really cared. Smiling.

What kind of boss smiled like that?

“And I just want to know what has been working here and what hasn’t. Uh, I’m not familiar with Fashion but I ran Esquire well for 5 years and when Jimmy told me that Black Style was not doing good, I jumped at the chance to right the ship. My mother, may she rest in peace, loved Black Style Magazine.” He placed an open palm on his chest, right where there was a sliver of dark skin peeking out of his white Cuban collar shirt. You tried hard not to roll your eyes too hard at his ploy at gaining sympathy.

“Aww.”

You sighed inwardly, of course your idiot co-workers would eat it up.

“Mrs. Y/Ln.” He placed his eyes on you, sitting forward in his chair steepling his hands. “You worked close with the old editor. Is there anything that you ever wanted to do or something that she did that maybe you didn’t agree with?”

You sat forward recognizing his posture and question for what it was, a power play. “Mr. Noel. I hope I am not out of line when I say that I have great respect for Courtney Barnes, the old editor you speak of, and while everything she may have done for the magazine might not have been the best, I am not in the mood to speak Ill of a former colleague and friend.” You placed your hands on the table, and kept your posture open, face trained into non-chalaunce.

Y’Lan Noel made a small noise, almost like a laugh and sat up nodding. He smiled, all of his pretty white teeth, straight and aligned like chiclets but in the best way. He was still nodding when he stood up going to the board where he had written out words like ‘modern, style, beauty, timeless’ and picked up the marker.

It was disconcerting how silent it was when he wrote out the word loyalty in big red letters and then placed his hands in his relaxed trousers, and stared at the word. You didn’t bother looking at your colleagues that were giving you the look that said that you probably needed to pack up your desk. You adjusted in your chair, switching your legs over just to cross them again and watched him.

“Loyalty. I’ve always liked that word.” He started, quietly. “Loyalty is a great trait to have. Our readers are loyal to us, and we have to be loyal to our readers. I understand that many of you were and still are loyal to Courtney, and I understand why. She’s a great woman, she actually gave me one of my first starts. I am not asking you to lose your fidelity to her, only allow me to earn your trust and loyalty as well.” He turned and with an open posture, his hands out of his pockets, giving a sweeping look to everyone in the room. “I want Black Style to be everything it has been and more, and with your help we can do this.”

The room was silent for a moment, and then one person clapped, and then another, and soon you all were up on your feet, you giving him a silent golf clap while keeping your face neutral.

“Thank you so much for coming.” Y’lan commented over and over as people being filing out of the conference room, you were one of the last people to have to pass him.

“Oh, Ms. YLN, please stay and chat with me, I just have a few things to discuss with you.” He was smiling but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. You adjusted your shoulder bag, awkwardly hanging back as the last few people filed out, trying hard not to look at you.

When everyone was gone, he closed the door and pressed a button on the wall that made the glass frosted, which made you more antsy. He left you standing near the door, moving to the table where there were waters and assorted snacks sitting out.

“Water? Fruit snacks?” He said, picking up a cookie with a napkin and placing it on a small white plate.

“Uh, no. I’m okay.” It was funny. Any and all bass that might have been in your voice earlier was gone, what was left was your normal voice, quietened by confusion and slight paranoia.

“Sure? I know the meeting ran long. I’m giving you all an extra 30 for lunch.” He turned around and leaned against the buffet table. He grinned and bit into his cookie, “Sit. This won’t take long.”

You pulled out a chair on the other side of the table, putting a whole table and a row of chairs between you. “What’s this about?”

He put the plate down and brushed off his hands. “This is about me and you.”

You sat back in your chair looking at him with even more confusion. You and him, there wasn’t any you and him. You didn’t even know the man past what his email was and how he liked to be called Y’lan. “What are you talking about?”

He stood up from his position on the buffet table and crossed over slowly to the table, sitting down in front of you. He kept your eye contact when he said, “You don’t like me do you?”

Your eyes were burning with trying not to blink, “That’s not a fair question. I don’t know you.”

He smiled and placed his mouth in the crook of his index finger and thumb, “Usually a person can tell in the first 5 minutes of meeting someone whether or not they would want to be around them, romantically, sexually, or professionally. What did you think about me?”

You tapped your fingers on the table, looking at him for a moment and wondering if being honest would lose you your job. “Can I speak candidly?”

He sat back, grinning. “Of course.”

You sighed leaning forward a little, “I thought you were a man who got the job because you were a man, not because you were qualified. Courtney had been grooming me for the job since she announced that she was retiring and you walk in with your nice flowery words, handsome face, and beautiful smile and now your editor in chief and I’m still just a stupid Head of.” Your words had become fast at the end and now you were panting, a little angry at yourself for spilling so much of your feelings to your new boss.

Y’lan looked taken back, but he quickly masked any surprise with a nod and a smile, “To be honest, I figured they would give the job to you too.”

You sighed, feeling a little calmer at his admission and acceptance of your angry rant. “Well –

“But, let’s get facts straight Mrs. YLN, I am qualified. Esquire has been the number 1 selling men’s magazine for the 5 years I have been running it. And while I’m not well versed in women’s magazines, I know at the bottom line this business is about selling.”

“It’s not just about selling, yeah that’s a big part of it, but it’s also about giving a quality magazine and making sure we don’t alienate our readers with huge changes.”

Y’lan leaned forward, eyes impassioned. “Okay, like what?”

“Like- “You stopped yourself sitting back in your chair, folding your arms. “You’re the editor, you figure it out.”

Y’lan sighed then, raking those thick fingers over his face as if this conversation was stressing him out. You smirked to yourself, happy that he was seeing that you weren’t going to fall in line.

“Mrs. Y/LN, I don’t want there to be a struggle between you and –“

“Well I want your job.” You admitted, your hands on the table now, folded together with a victorious smile on your face. “So obviously we don’t always get what we want.”

Y’lan stood up then, leaning forward across the table, one finger pressing down on the wood. It made you focus on him, and really focus on what your body had already noticed moments earlier. Y’lan was uncomfortably sexy. You gulped as you noticed the vein in his neck ticking, noticing his adam apple bob in the silence of your stare off.

“…So take it.” He finally said, quietly, eyes not leaving yours.

“Excuse me?” You sat up, uncomfortable with what had come to your mind when he said that. You shouldn’t be thinking of your boss that way.

“1 Month, we’ll do two issues. Your way and my way. If the higher ups like your magazine, I’ll resign and recommend you for my job. If the higher ups like my magazine, you submit to me and respect me as your boss.”

You gulped at the word submit, something in the way he said it with a glance down your body before finding your eyes again made you tremble. “…Fine.”

“Deal then?” He raised his hands, across the table. He smiled.

You gripped it, shaking hard meeting his eyes with a determined stare.

“Deal.”

(Hey! Yes, this is going to be two or three parts. Yes, I know but I’ve been sitting on this for a while and I want to write outside of who I’ve been writing for.)

taglist: @chaneajoyyy @wawakanda-btch @blackmissfrizzle @quietpoeticheart @bigsisbria

#y'lan noel #y'lan noel x reader #y'lan noel x black reader #y'lan noel fanfic

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goodproofingwater · 4 years

Text

Chapter 16 | Tinder Tommy

Words: 1953 Notes: hello my lovelies, i am so sorry that this has taken so long - i feel like this has literally been months and you deserve better! lots of shit has been happening in my life which has meant that i haven’t really had the focus to do anything but watch brooklyn 99 or peaky blinders for the 500th time, but ya girl is back for now! I hope that you are all still with me and are looking forward to seeing how Tommy works with his new found affection! This chapter pairs directly with @idesiretomhardy‘s Mr Solomons story (in that the dialogue is the same in parts, and the timelines are the same. These stories exist in the same universe. Enjoy!

Taglist (just send me a message if you would like to be added):

@a-dorky-book-keeper @ishoutmarcoandyoushout @idesiretomhardy @theamuz @blinderscaps @peakywriting @justanothershelby @contemporary-mary @auroravipers @moonyscardigans @peakysxshelby @miss-shelby-barnes @vintage-fantasyyy @ly—canthrope @morgan-1830 @i-love-you-green @l0tsofpennies @exploringmycosmicsoul @maah-chan @peakyblindersengland

The journey to Birmingham was almost pleasant. The first class ticket his assistant had scored him came with whiskey and although he couldn’t smoke, the journey was so seamless that he was only craving a cigarette when he stepped into the fresh air of Birmingham new street.

It had always amazed him in the way it only could a local to Birmingham that he could get to between the London office and the place it had all began in a matter of hours. He remembered when he had to call a car to get to the London office when it just started up, when the trains were so shit that he had to rely on his own mileage to get there. But so much had changed since then. He had changed since then.

Tommy Shelby crawled into Small Heath four hours after he had reluctantly left his home in Mayfair, the staff he had in the midlands office a far cry from the suit wearing, polished people in Canary Wharf.

“Good afternoon Mr Shelby,” the receptionist spoke, smiling at him and looking toward the old knocked down wall which led to the rest of what they loosely called the Birmingham office.

The large room had once been three or four terrace houses but had long since been knocked through, a small platform allowed for John to stand by a massive touch screen where he was checking stock prices and the market which was much further from their legitimate business.

The business in the north was far different from the import and export business in the south, and far from legal.

Shelby Company Limited were the first company in history to produce software which allowed the significant players in import and export of illegal goods to check market price, and buy and sell illegal goods on a secure server which was entirely untraceable.

The software was a massive success, and had gained the Shelby name infamy with even the most brutal and violent drug cartels still operating in the 21st century.

“So what was so urgent that I had to get a train up here immediately?”

John stepped aside and showed him the spreadsheet he was working on, and pulled up the share prices for drugs so it sat next to it.

“By all accounts, the cocaine market is following the same pattern as it did 5 years ago”

John didn’t have to go into detail for Tommy to remember the influx of cocaine into the country via a rival London based company, and the price drop which followed due to supply heavily outweighing demand. It had been the main reason Tommy had set up the office in the south.

“Is it Kimber again? Because I swear to god—“

“Not Kimber. His company uses our software now and he called the support team thinking it was a fucking glitch in the system”

Tommy’s brow furrowed as he eyed the prices and the spreadsheet which showed the fluctuations John had been keeping track of since the incident so long ago.

“And uh.. that’s not all” John spoke, gesturing for Tommy to follow him into his office and he did, taking a seat in one of the plush leather chairs which sat on the other side of Johns desk while his younger brother poured them whiskey and placed the glasses in front of them. “As well as the share prices I’ve been keeping track of the weight of the product coming in and going out. It’s been declining steadily for the last week. Not by much, not even enough to alert me at the start but it’s going down an ounce each time.”

“So you’re telling me someone is skimming off the top?” And John nodded, sipping his whiskey as he unintentionally mirrored Tommy’s posture, leaning back in his chair with one ankle resting on the other knee.

Tommy let out a sigh, hating that there was yet another issue that he had to deal with. External problems like share prices and supply and demand came with the territory. Internal problems were not something he had patience for.

“Any theories who it is?”

“You mean except Michael?” The malice in Johns voice was matched only by his expression, his hate and disdain for his cousin clear in everything from his brow to his clenched fingers around his glass.

Tommy responded only by rolling his eyes, Michael’s drug problem being something he was fully aware of.

“Michael pays for what he takes. And he pays double. Any real theories?”

John remained quiet, sipping his whiskey and allowing his silence to speak for itself.

“Fantastic.” Tommy sighed, downing his whiskey in one gulp and plucking a cigarette from the case he had pulled from his inside pocket. “Do we at least know which office?”

“Oh it’s definitely up here. The coke is lighter way before it even touches county lines”

Tommy lets out a sigh with the exhale of his cigarette, smoke billowing from his nose as the prospect of someone stealing and the punishment they deserve runs through his mind.

“Alright. I’ll speak to the managers up here separately and let them know what’s going on, ask them to keep an eye. I don’t want either of us up here if there’s a supply/demand problem in case we get raided. These people will get away with saying they were following orders, but we’re the fucking captains.”

John nods, sipping his whiskey and glancing out of the window, his mind clearly trying to puzzle out who it could be as Tommy did the same.

Later that evening, Tommy slipped into a bar in new street to wait for an old friend. One that he couldn’t quite believe was even stepping foot in the city.

The room seemed to part for Alfie Solomons, the very air around him bending as he walked into a bar Tommy had picked for its proximity to Alfie’s hotel. The older man was one of the few he would make allowances for, and it had been so long that he would rather take a private car the half an hour into central Birmingham than make the effort to convince him to come to small heath and listen to him complain the whole time.

“Thomas” his booming London accent turned the heads that weren’t already staring at Tommy, and he couldn’t help the bemused smile which washed over his features as he shook his hand and settled to drink his whiskey.

“Alfie, it’s been a while,” he speaks, sipping at his glass knowing full well which comment is coming next.

“Yeah well you don’t get to London as much these days,” He catches the bartender's attention, a woman who eyes up Tommy when she comes over to take his order, her eyes only leaving his friend to make Alfie’s drink.

“You could always come here,” Tommy suggests, causing Alfie to snort. His disdain for the northern city clear in both his response and his body language.

“Mate, the only reason I’m in this shit city is cause of that fucking meeting, couldn’t get me here any other way,” he comments, Tommy giving him a hint of a smile behind his glass which only widens as he watches his friend attempt to hide a selfie of all things which had made its way to his lock screen.

“So, how’s the family then?” Alfie asks.

“Arthur got married,” Tommy tries and fails to keep his distaste for Linda from his voice, and Alfie smirks as he relishes in the hate which is so evident to someone who is also quick to anger.

“And I wasn’t invited? What’s she like?” He quips

“She’s good for Arthur,” is all Tommy says, the comments he could make about his brother’s new wife unsavoury at best.

It’s then that Alfie’s phone buzzes once again, and with a second glance at his lock screen Tommy can’t keep his comments to himself any longer.

“Who’s that then aye?” Tommy says, inclining his head towards Alfie’s phone. “Got yourself a girlfriend, have you?”

“Yeah mate, I have. She’s fucking brilliant she is,” Alfie says, rolling his eyes at the smirk that crosses his friend’s lips.

“You’re going soft Solomons.”

“Fuck off,” Alfie says, the smile which splits his face something that was a rarity, and the bashfulness something Tommy had never seen in him before. “She wrote that piece on me for The City Scoop.”

“I wondered why that interview was so flattering, fucked your interviewer did you?”

“Took her out to dinner first mate,” he says with a grin, making Tommy shake his head. “I’m telling you, it’s fucking nice having someone around who wil-“

“Suck your cock?”

“She is good at that mate. Nah I’m telling you, it’s nice having a woman around to keep me company,” he says, and Tommy rolls his eyes.

“Fuck, you have gone soft,” Tommy mutters, shaking his head.

“Maybe so. It ain’t that bad though. Maybe it’s time you find yourself a girl, might be good for you.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, downing the rest of his drink to avoid replying which only causes Alfie’s grin to spread wider his face lighting up.

“Or do you already have a girl Thomas?”

“I’ve been talking with a woman yes,” he offers, though doesn’t elaborate as he orders another drink.

“Talking aye? And where did you meet her?”

“Tinder,” Tommy mutters, fingers itching to reach into his pocket for a cigarette the no-smoking laws the only thing stopping him.

Alfie scoffs, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his beard while Tommy glares at him.

“What?”

“Fucking tinder? Can’t meet a girl the old-fashioned way, aye?”

Tommy clenches his jaw at the insinuation, choosing not to rise to the comment as his hand reaches into his pocket, fingers brushing against his cigarette case.

“Like having a magazine send a journalist to your work? That old way you mean?” He runs the cigarette along his bottom lip and glares at the bartender who moves to tell him that he can’t smoke indoors, piercing eyes daring anyone to test him.

Tommy’s phone lights up and he immediately turns it face down, “besides, easier isn’t it? Haven’t got time to be spending on women in bars or journalists I need to write a good profile about me because I punched someone without thinking.”

The smirk on Tommy’s face tells Alfie that he’s joking, but the bearded man takes a sip of his beer without a hint of amusement washing over his features.

“Never knew Tommy Shelby to be so desperate that he’d turn to fucking Tinder.“ Tommy scowls and takes a long drag on his cigarette

“And I never knew Alfie Solomons to be so soft that he’d have his girl as the fucking wallpaper on his phone.”

Alfie shakes his head, hours flying before he finished what could have been his third or sixth drink, his hand resting on Tommy’s shoulder as he stood.

“I’ll be off now then,” he says, before leaning in to speak directly in Tommy’s ear. “And by the way mate, I was thinking before I punched Sabini.”

Patting Tommy’s shoulder, he makes his way out of the pub turning back to look at his friend.

“Nice seeing you mate, give me a call next time you’re in London.”

What Tommy has failed to tell his friend was that if things went well, he saw himself spending a lot more time in the capital. He suspected his friend might have something to say about his admission that he would want to spend more time away from his hometown, and he had won the battle of who was more whipped. At least for now.

#tinder tommy #tommy shelby au #modern peaky blinders au #its been a long while lads im sorry

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aworldoffandoms · 4 years

Note

#22 for OH Ethan x MC pls 🥺👉👈

Authors Note: Hello! This Open Heart drabble is from this list of prompts. This was shorter than I originally planned but more came to me as I was writing so here it is haha.

This prompt was requested by @buchanan-barnes-james! Hope you like this! Thanks so much for the ask! 😊🥰

Prompt is: you’re cute when you’re mad

Prompt is in bold.

***

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC [Nicolette Valentine]

Word Count: 1,081

Rating: G

Warnings: Some good fluff and some teasing from our blue-eyed attending.

Summary: Nicolette is angry when Ethan reassigns her cases and when she goes to give him a piece of her mind he can’t help but tease her.

I’m tagging my OH tag list but please let me know if you’d like to stay on it or would like to be removed.

Open Heart Tag: @senseofduties @polishchoicesfan @princess-geek @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @binny1985 @fanficnewbie @x-kyne-x@thefluffyphotographer @lilyofchoices @thecordoniandiaries @rainbowsinthestorm @cxld-play @jens-diamondchoices @malakbesharah @hopelessly-shipper @my-heart-beats-for-ya @landofenchantedwonder @sabrinahoffersonsworld @flyawayboo @stanathanxoox @oofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @heauxplesslydevoted @bi-cookie @kingliamsbish @trappedinfandoms @supercoolperson0808 @perriewinklenerdie @riverrune

***

DOCTOR CHARMING

“I honestly can’t believe you, Ethan Jonah Ramsey!”

Ethan glances up from the spreadsheets of a new wing of Edenbrook hospital, his patient’s file’s off to the wayside as he focuses on his task that Naveen wanted his opinion on.

“What did I do to deserve the use of my full name, Doctor Valentine?”

Nicolette glares at him, the stormy green of her eyes almost glows with anger.

“You know exactly what, Ethan.”

Ethan sighs, as he runs a hand through his hair and slips off his reading glasses. He stands up from his desk without acknowledging her words and heads over to his personal coffee machine.

He absentmindedly glances over his shoulder to the glowering doctor. “Coffee?”

Nicolette pauses for a moment before stiffly nodding her head and makes her way to the conference table in Ethan’s expansive office.

She huffs as she sits down and pointedly glares in his direction. Ethan is aware of this because he can feel it against his back, burning a hole through him.

On any other day, he’d relish the thought of having her undivided attention but in this case, he was glad that wasn’t it no matter how much her being angry turned him on.

“So…without the raised voices. What is it that you want, Doctor Valentine?”

Nicolette exhales through her nostrils and takes a breath before talking, her words coming out in an angry rush.

“I want to know why the hell you reassigned two of my patients when I had just finished my first consult with them and why my intern has been reassigned to Ines. I don’t get it, Ethan. Are you punishing me?”

Ethan stews on her words for a long moment as he awaits the coffee to brew and once it does he hands a mug over to Nicolette who takes a sip from it.

It doesn’t escape his notice of her little sigh of relief as the taste hits her tongue.

Ethan sighs and looks at his young diagnostician fellow. Even in anger he can’t help but admire her beauty, the angry twitch of her nose or the frown etching it’s way across her face, creasing the space between her eyebrows. It’s adorable.

“I would like to remind you that I did that because you are needed with me for an errand that’ll take a better part of the rest of the day, so I would appreciate you gathering the facts before storming in here and demanding answers. And for the record, no, I am not punishing you. Why must you always come to that conclusion?”

The anger dims in her eyes as she processes his words and her shoulders roll with the sigh when she exhales. “Fine. But enlighten me about what you ‘need’ me for?”

The room is silent as they stare at each other and Ethan decides to tease her a little so he raises his eyebrows at her, a small smirk on his lips.

Nicolette immediately understands and her eyes widen a bit before they narrow again. She scoffs, hitting him across the forearm. “Ethan! Don’t be like that!”

Ethan finds her indignance amusing so he laughs. “I’m sorry but you left that one wide open.”

Nicolette scowls at him but she fights the urge to replicate his jovial mood. She settles on a frown.

“Well, now isn’t the time to tease me, Ethan. I’m still pissed off.”

“Well, if you must know, it’s for our diagnostics patient. We need to go to her apartment to search for clues about her condition.”

“Like we did with Lamar Stevenson?”

Ethan nods, his blue-eyes meet Nicolette’s and he can still see the anger there from her original ire but curiosity lingers in her green eyes and Ethan smiles inwardly to himself.

She’s nothing if not curious.

The room descends in a quiet lull shortly thereafter and Ethan takes his time to just look at Nicolette and as he stares at her, his eyes flick over her features and warmth takes place in his heart at the fact that this woman in front of him was all his, in all the right ways.

Thank god he came to his senses before he lost her forever. He stares are a few moments more before Nicolette starts to wonder what was so fascinating to him to give her that look. It made her stomach flip and her heart to pulse a few beats faster.

“What? Is there something on my face?”

Ethan smiles as he runs his fingers down his jaw, his scruff a little more trimmed then when he first arrived back from the Amazon.

Ethan leans close to his girlfriend and boops her nose. “Have I ever told you you’re cute when you’re mad?”

Nicolette’s mouth pops open as if she wants to say something but she’s speechless and Ethan chuckles at her being flustered.

Nicolette can’t say anything and she just sits there blankly and the only words that come out are a soft. “Shut up.”

That brings a chuckle out of Ethan and he leans forward to kiss Nicolette’s cheek. “You say that but you don’t mean it. It’s true. Especially the way your eyebrow’s furrow and the way your lips curl down in an almost pout? Yes. Very adorable.”

Nicolette tries not to react, she resists, but the open adoration on his face makes her chest tight and her own mouth lift in a reluctant smile.

She rolls her eyes anyway. “Okay, no I didn’t but still…you can’t say stuff like that to me and not expect an intelligent answer. You are a force of charm all on your own, Ramsey.”

Ethan’s eyebrows raise and the smirk rises to his lips, while he brings his free hand to Nicolette’s jaw and playfully runs his fingers down her throat.

“Does that mean I charmed you?”

Nicolette gives him a flat look. “What do you think?”

There’s a chuckle from both of them and the resounding anger hovering over his girlfriend lifts and she gives him a soft smile.

“Must you always calm me down with lame ‘affectionate’ words and touches that you know make me melt? Do you have any other material you’re waiting to use on me?”

Ethan leans back, sipping his coffee and shrugs his shoulders in a nonchalant way. “I’m a man of many talents, Doctor Valentine. You have yet to see more.”

Nicolette gulps down the rest of her coffee and she winks. “I look forward to seeing them, Doctor Ramsey.”

#open heart #open heart 2 #open heart fanfiction #writing prompts #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #choices fanfiction #choices ask #choices #chocies fandom #playchoices #thank you for the ask!#hope you like this!

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gemstoneconstellations · 5 years

Text

Going Steady

Summary: You struggle to move forward in your relationship with Iida, if only someone would say something...

Wordcount: 2283

A/N: All my Iida stories I’ve written so far have been based on my husband and my love story. He is exactly like Iida (with Midoriya Anxiety™) down to the hand gestures, he doesn't even realize he does it sometimes. So this is based on a true story, I’m still mad at him for doing this.

Nearly everyday, Iida would walk you home after work. Even if he was on patrol, his route would conveniently pass by your house. “Since we are both going in the same direction, we should walk together.”

You would bite your lip to try and hold back the big smile forming on your face every time he showed up. The whole way home, the two of you would talk about everything and anything. You can’t even remember half of conversations you had.

The excitement of going home for the day was no longer about the idea of wearing PJs and relaxing on your couch while watching terrible but oddly good dramas; it was about spending time with Iida. Sometimes you wouldn’t step into your apartment building for at least an hour. The two of you would sit on a bench, simply talking.

“Iida and I stopped at this dessert place yesterday to pick out a cake for his mother’s birthday and they were offering some delicious mochi-covered ice cream balls. You really should go.”

You were typing away on your computer; the monthly budget summary was coming up and Uraraka was helping you gather all of the property damage reports as you worked on the spreadsheet.

Uraraka sat down in front of your desk, flipping through paperwork. “Hmm, maybe I will on my day off. But I'm so jealous and happy that Iida is in a relationship.”

Your fingers froze. “Relationship?! With who?” Since when had this happened? He never told you!

“Uh, you?” Uraraka looked at you from behind the stack of paperwork on your desk with a raised eyebrow.

You? No. You wave a hand at her as you shake your head, going back to work. “Oh, no. We’re just really good friends. He doesn't see me like that.” As you typed, you mumble lowly to yourself, “Why do people keep saying that?”

There was a big heavy sigh from Uraraka. “Because it looks like the two of you are dating? You guys hang out every day; I see you two having lunch. And then he walks you home. He’s all you ever talk about.”

“I don’t talk about him that much…,” you pouted.

Holding up a hand, Uraraka started to list off more examples. “If you do anything it’s always ‘Iida and I’ or ‘I did this and Iida said’. Iida, Iida, Iida. You guys are practically glued to each other. Just date already.” She paused to smirk at you as she stood up to stretch. “Anyone can see the way the two of you look at each other and can tell there is something between you too. If you like him, go for it.”

Okay, yeah, you can see it. Doesn’t mean you liked someone pointing it out to you to your face. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “I don’t want to hear this coming from you. Starting to think you have a thing for people with green hair.”

“Shut up!” You snicker as the heroine ran out of your office, blushing.

You met with Iida after work just like every other day; the two of you walked beside each other in comfortable silence. Your mind couldn't help but begin to wander….

Damn you, Uraraka; now the thought is stuck in your head. Of course you would sometimes think about Iida in…that way. Okay, so maybe you would daydream about what it would be like to be called his girlfriend or get married or how many kids you would have (you want three and already have a list of possible names). So what if you were tempted to grab ahold of his hand while the two of you walked and how tantalizingly close his big, calloused hands would sway near you, sometimes brushing against yours. Maybe the image of kissing him goodnight every time he walks you to your door would cross your mind for a brief second before going into your home.

“Midoriya is in the hospital.” You were knocked out of your downward spiral of thoughts when Iida said the hero’s, or the walking-medical-bill as you liked to call him, name.

You giggled openly, imagining Deku in another cast. You wonder what he did this time. “Again?”

“Yes. Bakugo was screaming about it the entire time while in the waiting room, scaring the staff. Kirishima had to come help sedate him.” Of course; that’s so Ground Zero. The conversation continued to go on about all the antics that Iida has had to unfortunately witness over the years at UA with the same aforementioned three heroes, and Todoroki.

But you guys were interrupted by a sweet, elderly woman who was walking by. “Aw, it’s so nice to see you two walk home together. Such a nice young couple.”

Your throat tightened up; you didn’t know what to say. “Ah, I uh um….” Your tongue was completely tied. Luckily, Iida was able to say something. He quickly bowed to the woman respectfully as he spoke.

“Thank you ma’am for your kind words. But we are not in the kind of relationship that you are insinuating. Have a nice night, ma’am.” The two of you continued walking in silence; the conversation long forgotten.

“Hey, Iida?” You glanced at the bespectacled hero, biting the side of your lower lip as you waited for his attention to turn to you. “Do you ever think about…us…in that kind of relationship? I mean, that’s not the first time someone has thought we were a couple, so...”

“Oh.” He stops in front of your building, avoiding your eyes and clearing his throat against a closed fist. “I…ahem....sometimes I do.”

“Really?” You covered your face with your hands, cheeks warm and a giddy smile spreading on your face. “Me too…”

You heard him cough a few times. “Well, that’s a relief.”

You peeked at him through your fingers; he was blushing as much as you were. Before you could ask any more questions, his phone began to beep. “I need to go; Ingenium is being called about a situation. Goodnight ___, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He waved you goodbye before running off.

Entering your home, you leaned against the door, clutching your hands to your chest. Your heart was pounding rapidly. Did you both just confess? You’d both agreed that the two of you thought of each other as more than friends. You kicked off your shoes and coat, throwing yourself on your couch and hugging a pillow to your face as you squeal. Oh god, what’s going to happen tomorrow? What are you going to wear!??!?

For the rest of the night, you were digging through your closet for the perfect outfit, looking up hairstyles on Pinterest, and rehearsing the imaginary conversations you may have with Iida in your head.

But it turned out that all of that amping up was for not. The entire walk home was just like normal. Nothing new. He acted completely normal…did you dream that conversation? Did you get completely caught up in a fantasy? What the hell? Maybe he’s just shy. Okay, you can wait for him to be ready to talk. So you waited for a week.

And then another week. You’re pouting at your desk at work. For the first time, you refuse an invite to eat lunch with Iida, choosing to eat alone.

An entire month goes by and Iida is still acting like nothing had happened. That neither of you had admitted to thinking about each other romantically. You groan, stabbing at your sad salad. “What’s got you looking so down?” Cellophane spoke up from your doorway, walking in to hand you a fax.

“Just looking at Ground Zero damage reports.” It’s not entirely lie; this month was abnormally higher than usual.

Sero nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. There was that hostage situation and he kind of just, jumped in. No one was hurt…but the entire building came down. Mind if I eat with you?” He held up a bag from a convenience store. You motioned towards the chair across from you and he sat down, a smile spreading across his face.

It was nice; you don't often hang out with Sero. The conversation was light and new. You wouldn't mind becoming better friends with the tape hero. “I got an extra pudding, do you want it?”

“Sure.” He handed it to you but didn't let go of the sweet dessert when you tried to take it.

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He chuckled nervously, not making eye contact with you. “So, I was wondering if you would like to have dinner sometime? I wanted to ask before but I thought you were dating Iida; Uraraka told me that you guys weren’t though.” You blinked a few times. Oh. Oh. That caught you off guard. You didn't even have a chance to answer before Sero started walking away. “You don't have to answer right away; just, uh, think about it, yeah?”

You waited for him to be completely gone from your office to send Uraraka a “What the fuck?” text.

Later, as you were leaving work, you see the anti-gravity hero and storm up to her. You were about to give her a piece of your mind about Sero but froze when you saw who she was talking to.

“___, there you are!” Uraraka greeted you loudly and Iida turned to face you. “I heard from a little bird that someone asked you out today? What did you say?”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “I didn't answer them; he told me to think about it.”

Uraraka dramatically pressed her hands to her plump cheeks and turned to the turbo hero. “Oooh, what do you think Iida? Should she say yes or no?” You rolled your eyes; she’s so obvious...

Iida pondered for a moment, like he was seriously considering what your response should be. “If she really likes him, she should say yes?”

“What?” Both you and Uraraka gaped at him, completely baffled by his response.

He only shrugged as he pushed up his glasses, completely calm. “If you like him, say yes.”

You tried to swallow but your throat had gone dry. “Really? You would be okay with that?”

“If he makes you happy.”

“Really?”

“Yes?” Iida gave your a perplexed look, like he couldn't understand why you were getting upset. It felt like he was pushing you to see other people after you’d admitted to liking him! What the hell?! You were fuming. Instead of standing there listening to how you should date someone else, you stormed away. “Where are you going?”

Not evening turning to face Iida, you yelled back. “Home!” You ran out of the building and headed for home. Stupid Iida! Maybe you will say yes to Sero after all!

“___! Are you okay?” It was kind of silly to think you would be able to outrun Iida, but you still tried, huffing.

“I’m just peachy,” you snapped at him. He didn't say anything else as he followed you; for the first time in a long while, you managed to get home in ten minutes thanks to your anger-fueled speed walking. You stopped in front of your building and whipped your head back at him. Iida stumbled backwards as you glared at him. “Are you really telling me to go on a date with someone?”

Bewildered, he held up his hands in surrender. “Yes? If you want to.”

“But what about...” You take a deep breath and try to bite back the tears. “What about what you said? Did I dream about you telling me you thought of me romantically or did it really not mean anything?” You began to ramble, pacing back and forth.

Iida could only stand idly by, watching you having a small breakdown. “Um…”

“I don’t get you! You say something that makes me think you like me and then you push me to date someone else? Do I not matter enough to you?”

You sniffle, rubbing your eyes with the palm of your hands. You were so confused; did you misread his actions? Did you interpret what he said wrong? Is that why he’d said nothing for a month? Are you really just a friend?

Arms suddenly wrapped around you, stopping your pacing and pressing you into a hard chest. “Of course you matter. I just…don't know how to proceed? Romantic relationships have never been my forté, nor did I think you actually wished to pursue one with me. No one I’ve ever expressed interest in has ever expressed it back to me.”

You looked up at Iida, wiping away the last of your tears. “You’re dumb.”

“Now that’s just plain rude.” Despite his reprimanding you, there was a slight smile on his face.

You press your forehead back into his chest and mumble lowly only for him to hear. “I like you.”

He rests his chin on your head, mumbling back. “I…like you very much as well.”

“So what do we do now?”

He abruptly pushed you away from him and bowed at a 90-degree angle with a hand extended to you. “___! Please go steady with me!” You blinked at him in shock but then burst out laughing uncontrollably. You held onto your stomach as you hunched over from laughing so hard. Iida looks up from his position, face completely flushed. “Ah! Do not laugh; that is not good for my self-esteem.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just who says ‘go steady’ anymore? Say go out with me like a normal person, not like my grandmother!” You giggle at his pouting face before throwing yourself back into his arms, hugging him again. “Okay, please take care of me!”

“Always.”

#iida tenya #iida x reader #iida tenya x reader

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staystrange · 4 years

Text

a masterful melody

Schitt’s Creek • Patrick Brewer / David Rose Rating: T • ~2k words • ao3

"What was so great about the last one we had? Isn’t one open mic night enough for a while?”

Patrick looks appalled for a second before the smirk returns. “Are you kidding me? First of all, it’s been over a month since the last one, and didn’t you see that improv troupe? And Bob’s poetry? I should probably put them towards the beginning of the setlist next time, so that everyone is sober enough to really appreciate their impeccable performances.”

David couldn’t stop the look of displeasure from appearing on his face even if he tried. “Oh my God, please don’t.”

-or-

Rose Apothecary hosts its second open mic night.

The song that Patrick sings to David is Out of My League by Stephen Speaks, which I would argue is one of the most beautiful songs ever written. The title of this fic, obviously, also comes from that song, though 2018 me really screwed 2020 me over by naming another fic for a completely different fandom after this song as well.

A week after David and Patrick say “I love you” to each other for the first time, Patrick brings up the idea of a second open mic night.

It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday; the midday rush is behind them, and David and Patrick are alone in the store for the first time since they opened the doors that morning. Word of the limited restock of their most popular soap must have spread since they sold the first one to Jocelyn yesterday.

David’s automatic reaction is no, absolutely not. Heck, he barely knows how Patrick had managed to talk him into agreeing to the first open mic night, though he suspects it might have had something to do with that look that Patrick always got in his eyes when he looked at David, the one that David was absolutely powerless against. It also might have had something to do with the amount of kissing they did after David agreed, effectively preventing him from changing his mind. He had, of course, still been skeptical, especially when Patrick walked into the store with a license and everything was suddenly very official, but once Patrick stood onstage and opened his mouth and that came out, even David had to admit he saw the appeal of these things.

“Come on, David,” Patrick says now, smirking as if he knows that since the first open mic night went so well for both the store and their relationship, there’s no way David can say no.

David refuses to let him win that easily, though. “Hmm, I don’t know. What was so great about the last one we had? Isn’t one open mic night enough for a while?”

David couldn’t stop the look of displeasure from appearing on his face even if he tried. “Oh my God, please don’t.”

“Ooh, I know, I should give my time slot over to Alexis so she can sing that song from her reality show — what was it called again?”

“A Little Bit Alexis,” David mutters, rolling his eyes. “And no, don’t you dare, you were by far the best performer up there that night. In fact, I think we should just nix the open mic night idea and just have you perform solo instead.” David takes a step closer to Patrick and rests his hand on Patrick’s shoulder; Patrick’s smirk melts into a smile, and David knows he’s a goner. “Fine, I guess we can have another open mic night, but only if you sing to me again.”

David honestly can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, but there’s no taking them back now.

“I don’t know, David, I can’t make any promises. What if two improv troupes show up this time? I might have to give up my time to them,” Patrick teases, and David just shakes his head with a soft smile, pulling Patrick in for a kiss.

They’re interrupted by the sound of the bell and the door opening, and David reluctantly pulls away, turning to greet the customer as Patrick returns to the counter and the spreadsheet he has open on the computer.

An hour or so later, David tells Patrick that he’s running across the street to the café for a caffeine boost, but he really goes to see Ronnie to get another license for the open mic night on Friday. He can’t help but feel a burst of nervous energy as Ronnie hands him the warm, freshly printed piece of paper, but the look of happy surprise on Patrick’s face when David returns to the store and slides it onto the counter makes it all worth it. And besides, he has a precedent now, something to prove to his anxious mind that he has no reason to fear and every reason to look forward to Friday night.

———

Friday evening arrives in a flurry of last-minute preparations. Patrick leaves right at five to get his guitar from Ray’s house, leaving David behind in the store to set out the wine and cheese and hang up the fairy lights that he only lets Patrick hang in their store for open mic night. When he’s finished and the first guests start arriving, David’s surprised to find that the nerves he anticipated, the ones that almost led him to ask his mother to pull the fire alarm as Patrick publicly dedicated his performance of Tina Turner’s The Best to him, are nowhere to be found. Patrick has yet to return with the acoustic guitar, so David allows himself a smile, hoping that Alexis, who has just walked in with Ted, won’t notice and tease him mercilessly for it.

By the time Patrick returns (turns out, he’d also showered, changed, and stopped at the bakery in Elmdale to pick up a few slices of David’s favorite pie for them to share later), Rose Apothecary is filled with Schitt’s Creek natives and even some people from neighboring towns. People chat excitedly as they fill up on wine and browse the products that David had triple-checked were perfectly organized before they reopened the store for the event. With the pie safely stored in the back room and out of sight, Patrick leans back against the counter next to David, handing him a glass of rosé. “Don’t drink more than this until I’m done singing,” Patrick says. “I want you to remember this.”

“I thought you were giving up your performance time to Alexis, or another improv troupe,” David teases, taking a sip. Patrick chuckles. “I’m kidding, of course. I won’t, I promise.” He takes another sip. “This is very good rosé, though.”

“Glad to hear you approve. I figured this was a good time to test run the rosé that we just got from that new vendor before we start selling it in the store next week.”

David hums in approval, setting the plastic wine glass down on the counter before nodding to the stage. “I think they’re ready for you,” he says quietly.

Patrick glances up toward the back of the store and nods in agreement. He leans in to kiss David quickly before walking up to the stage with his guitar on his back, tapping on the mic to get everyone’s attention. David cringes, but allows himself to relax as Patrick plugs in his guitar and strums out a chord.

“Hi everyone! Welcome to Rose Apothecary’s second open mic night!” The audience cheers, quieting down a few moments later as Patrick lowers the mic stand a little bit to fit his height. “I’m Patrick Brewer, and I will once again be your host for the evening.” He stops, glancing down to adjust the capo on his guitar. “I’d like to dedicate this song to my boyfriend, David Rose.” Unlike last time, David doesn’t feel the need to run to the back room; instead, he smiles sheepishly and waves to the crowd before looking back at Patrick, who catches his eye and mouths “I love you” before finger-picking the opening notes.

It’s your hair and your eyes today That just simply take me away And the feeling that I’m falling further in love Makes me shiver, but in a good way

David is so caught up in the lyrics and the fact that Patrick is singing them to him in public in front of the entire town that he barely registers the fact that he recognizes the melody, though he’s not sure where he knows it from.

All the times I have sat and stared As you thoughtfully thumb through your hair And you purse your lips, bat your eyes, and you play with me Sitting there, slack-jawed and nothing to say

‘Cause I love you with all that I am And my voice shakes along with my hands ‘Cause you’re all that I see and you’re all that I need And I’m out of my league once again

David feels tears forming in his eyes and quickly looks away from Patrick, his eyes finding Alexis across the room. Her eyes are wide as she glances between Patrick and David and mouths “oh my God” to him when she notices that he’s looking at her. This only encourages the tears to start falling, so he quickly turns back to look at Patrick, blinking them away as best as he can as a crooked smile settles on his lips.

It’s a masterful melody When you call out my name to me As the world spins around you You laugh, roll your eyes And I feel like I’m falling but it’s no surprise

‘Cause I love you with all that I am And my voice shakes along with my hands ‘Cause it’s frightening to be swimming in this strange sea But I’d rather be here than on land Yes, you’re all that I see and you’re all that I need And I’m out of my league once again

He thinks that nothing could ever surpass The Best for him, but he’d be lying if he said this didn’t come close.

The roars from the crowd snap David back to reality (Stevie’s cheers are somehow the loudest; David can tell she’s had a little bit too much wine already and makes a mental note to bring her a glass of water) as the last notes ring out. Patrick takes a modest bow and mumbles “thank you” into the mic, his eyes never moving from David’s.

After introducing the next act (Ted, with an entire set of punny jokes prepared), Patrick unplugs the guitar and walks back over to David, resting his hands on David’s hips and tilting his head up to kiss him. When they break apart, Patrick leans his forehead against David’s for a moment before turning around to rest his back against the counter, his right arm in its usual place around David’s waist. They watch the rest of the show from there, and despite all of Ted’s puns being eyeroll-worthy, the smile never leaves David’s face.

———

David doesn’t figure out where he knows the song from until he hears Patrick humming it once everyone’s gone as they stack chairs and rearrange the store so it’s ready for the next day’s customers.

“Oh my gosh, you’ve been humming that song all week, haven’t you? That’s where I know it from, right?”

Patrick smiles, setting a stack of chairs against the wall. “I was wondering if you’d notice. I’ve wanted to play this song for you for weeks but I was saving it for another open mic night.”

“I’m so glad you did but I also kind of wish you didn’t because now that I’ve heard you sing it, the original singer will never be able to compare. I feel bad for him a little bit.”

Patrick laughs. “You know, every time the original lyrics said ‘she’ and ‘her,’ I had to change them to ‘you’ and ‘your’ so I could sing the song to you and about you.”

“Did you actually?” David asks.

“Yeah, wanna hear?” Patrick steps away from the stacked chairs and pulls his phone out of his pocket, pressing play on the song and setting it down on the counter.

“Okay, first of all, it sounds so gorgeous on piano, but overall your version is so much better.” David says after a minute, pausing the song and handing the phone back to Patrick. “You’ll have to sing it again for me sometime.”

“Sure, I’d love to.” Patrick not-so-subtly glances down at David’s lips, and David obliges, kissing Patrick more deeply than he has all night, now that they finally have the store to themselves again.

“Ready for pie?” Patrick asks after a moment, breathless from the kiss.

David grins. “Fuck yes.”

#original #fanfiction #schitt's creek #david x patrick #david rose #patrick brewer #alexis rose #inspired by open mic night #takes place a little bit after singles week #blink and you miss it spoiler for season 5 #sorry it took me so long to get this one up on tumblr!

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lia-jones · 4 years

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Growing Stronger - Chapter Twenty One - Items One and Two

Victor didn’t take decisions lightly. He was a firm believer that no side was truly right or wrong, so all aspects should be considered to make an educated decision. For him, navigating life was a whole new flavor of risk assessment. Creating a mental spreadsheet, he would include in it any piece of information he deemed useful to the matter, rating it as an advantage or disadvantage and raking them from top to bottom, from most important to practically irrelevant.

He noticed, however, that when it came to make the spreadsheet for Andrea, he could find no disadvantages at all, which was in itself a disadvantage, since the feelings he had for her were clearly clouding his judgment. But he also learned that all the flaws were ranked as irrelevant. Always reluctant to get in touch with his feelings, Victor came across an undeniable truth: he was in love deep, and building a life with Andrea was the only option that he considered acceptable.

Victor was well aware that despite finding no disadvantages in their relationship (besides him being a lovestruck idiot), they still had things to work on. They had broken up before, so there were surely some edges that needed sharpening. He moved on to a to-do list. All the things that needed fixing before he proposed, so they could lead a loving and fulfilling life together. Victor was no fool, he knew very well nothing was ever perfect nor it would be, and he was expecting a few bumps in the road. But even if not possible, he wanted to be very close to perfection. He never accepted anything less than excellence in his work, his personal life wouldn’t be an exception.

The first item in that to-do list was to make sure Andrea felt welcome in his life. Although he himself had no doubt about his feelings for Andrea, she had, more than once, showed insecurity about their relationship. Victor knew he could attribute some of that insecurity to her dating a violent piece of scum, but he was not oblivious about his flaws either. Communication, when it came to feelings, at least, was hard for Victor, and he more often than not would steer away from heartfelt conversations. Andrea, being an extrovert, was direct and open about how she felt, and sometimes mistook his silence for indifference. Victor had to show her, without the shadow of a doubt, how he felt.

The second item was to make sure Andrea felt comfortable sharing a life with him. Although Andrea never reacted badly to his lifestyle, he also knew she didn’t quite relate to it either, and occasionally even disapproved of it. Apart from the infrequent trip overseas, she was still reticent to accept any gifts from him. Victor understood that, although her parents clearly had money, she was raised in a very humble manner, relying more on resourcefulness and imagination than tutors or servants, and couldn’t stand living in any other way. She was used to doing her own laundry and cleaning up after herself, to the point that she felt guilty by letting Victor’s housekeeper do all the chores. Victor had to threaten the fire the housekeeper, stating that since Andrea was doing all the work, he didn’t need the help anymore, for her to actually relax a little and let someone else do some of the work around the house.

Another thing that annoyed Victor immensely was that Andrea always said “your apartment” or “your place”, instead of just “home”. It was true that Victor never actually asked her to move in after their break up, mostly because he feared another fight, but they were practically living together since he got home from the hospital. It shocked Victor that she would clean his house top to bottom, do his laundry, but still wasn’t able to feel like she lived there. She took all the obligations, but none of the perks. Victor feared that he would start another argument, but he had to address the matter.

The third item on the list tied in closely to the first one, but was separate enough to be an item on its own. Victor had never shared the events of his past with Andrea, mostly because they were heavy with emotion, and, as indicated before, Victor did not enjoy talking about feelings. And even though Victor would never forfeit anything he set his mind to, even he had to admit this was a very difficult one to solve. Andrea knew nothing about Evols and superpowers, how was he supposed to explain the two almost three years he had spent in captivity. And even if he didn’t mention Evols, how would he talk about his torture? Victor didn’t even have a clue how to start such a loaded topic.

He understood, however, the importance of full disclosure. Even with the information he had about Andrea’s abuse right from the beginning, his heart only rested when he knew from her lips exactly what she went through. He wouldn’t stand to know Andrea held such a secret like he did. And still, proving she was a remarkable person, even after learning from Mia he had been through such a trauma, she gave him space to deal with things himself, disregarding her fear and ego just to make him comfortable. It was obvious to Victor that Andrea had gracefully earned the right to know. And he would tell her. The moment he knew how.

He would figure it out, sooner or later. That Saturday was about items one and two.

After visiting the horses and showing off his prized and beloved stallion, Onyx, Victor led Andrea to a secluded area in the ranch, where they could have lunch under the shade of a magnificent willow tree, the blue lake as their view, the chirping of birds and the ripple of water their soundtrack.

They unfolded the blanket over the grass and sat there, Victor taking from the basket an array of plastic boxes, two glasses, and a bottle of wine. Inside the boxes, he found every single item he carefully asked Mina to prepare, Andrea’s favorite foods: grapes, cherries, melon with prosciutto, egg salad and BLT sandwiches and mango arugula salad seasoned with balsamic vinegar. There was an extra box that made Victor smile widely: Mina had also included a box full of her delicious taffy. It would be amazing to share that iconic piece of his childhood with his beloved one. Mina had the best ideas.

Feeling completely concealed from the world, Victor and Andrea ate and engaged in playful banter, feeding, touching, and kissing each other, sharing the intimacy they had built all over time. Andrea was happy and relaxed, throwing witty remarks at him and laughing hard every time he retaliated, either with a tickle on her bare feet, or by taking her in his arms to enjoy a stolen kiss.

Blissfully untroubled, she fell asleep in his arms. Victor felt like the strongest happiest man in the world. He was able to take care of his woman, taking her away from all the troubles that worried her daily, returning the care she had given him while he was recuperating. He caressed her curls lovingly, enjoying the soft sounds she made as she slept, his heart filled with the euphoria of a job well done. He had made her happy. He was worthy of her bright warming love. Victor let his eyes close, basking in the feeling, and without noticing, fell asleep too.

Victor was startled by the vibration of his phone in his pocket, cursing under his breath when he noticed the sudden motion had made Andrea stir too. It was his aunt Terry telling them to come back for an early dinner. He planted a soft kiss on Andrea’s forehead, giving her time to fully awake. After gathering all of their belongings, they walked towards Terry’s mansion, the sunset already starting to make an appearance.

The first person he saw when they entered the large living room was the one he least expected to see. Sitting on his usual chair, nursing a whiskey, was his father. Victor’s mood shifted immediately from happiness to anger, his hand holding Andrea’s a little bit harder than he intended to. She touched his upper arm gently, a silent plead for him to remain calm.

“What are you doing here?” He couldn’t avoid the sour tone.

“This is my sister’s house. Since when do I need an excuse to come here?” It was clear that his father did not appreciate his question, although he answered in a softer tone.

Victor said nothing and moved to the kitchen, his father stopping him dead on his tracks with an unexpected question.

“How are you, Andrea?” There was no irony in his father’s question. He held Andrea’s hand tighter. He didn’t know what was happening, but he didn’t like it.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She answered politely. “How are you, Sir?”

“Please, it’s Gregory. Terry tells me that you’ll be joining us for dinner.” Victor’s father got up from his chair, shaking Andrea’s hand.

“Come, we need to take this basket to Mina.” Victor pulled Andrea towards the kitchen, uncomfortable with his father’s demeanor. However, Gregory never really let go of Andrea’s hand, as he spoke again.

“I owe you an apology.” He looked her in the eyes with a regretful expression. “I know I wasn’t exactly a gentleman last time we spoke. Truth is, I am happy that Victor has such loyal… friends in his life.”

“I apologize too. I was rude, and out of line.” Andrea shook his hand one more time.

Victor watched the whole scene, trying to hide his surprise and his terror. Something was off. He needed to figure out what. Without another word, he led Andrea to the kitchen.

“Mina, I have your basket.” He called out in the kitchen, which was seemingly empty.

“Did you two enjoy your picnic?” Mina spoke as she came in from the garden. “Andrea, did you have fun?”

“I did, Mina, thank you. The taffy was delicious.” Andrea smiled.

“Your father is here. Did you see him?” Mina asked him with worried eyes.

“Andrea, do you want to see the herb garden? I want to make something similar, but I want your opinion.” Victor turned to Andrea, his poker face in place, hiding the rage he was feeling. Andrea was no fool though.

“You know I disapprove of most of his actions, but he’s trying. Give him a chance.” Andrea looked at him with earnest eyes, and the poker face instantly dissolved.

“You don’t know him like I do.” He retorted.

“Come, Andrea, let me show you our herbs. We have new kinds this year.” Mina offered, taking Andrea by the hand.

Alone, Victor walked back to the living room to meet his father.

“What do you want?” Victor asked bluntly, not wanting to waste any time.

“To make amends. I’m trying to make up for my mistakes.” Gregory tried to appease Victor.

“What caused the sudden and drastic change of heart?” Victor didn’t believe a single word his father said.

“I could lie and say I had an epiphany, but none of that happened. Truthfully, it was Andrea. She told me some things at the hospital that I refused but needed to hear.” Gregory hung his head, apparently ashamed.

“Not a filthy immigrant anymore? Now, in your eyes, she’s wise?” Victor could feel the anger rising, but clenched his fists to keep it down. Andrea told him about her encounter with his father. How he forcefully dragged her out of the room. How he wanted to throw her out like a dog. “Now, out of blue, you like her?”

“Regardless of the past, you are still my son. There will be a time in your life when you will have a family of your own, with a wife and kids. I want to be able to witness it. I’m willing to let go of my pride and admit to my mistakes to see it happen. You may not believe it, but I am proud of you.”

The bad blood was rising fast, Victor could feel it. After years of ignoring him, pushing him away to some faraway school, and to the help, or to his sister, like he was some sort of pesky nuisance, he was suddenly useful because his father was getting old? The thought brought Victor a bad taste to his mouth. He walked towards the kitchen, calling Andrea.

“Get your things. We’re leaving.” He told her, anxious to get away from there as soon as possible.

“Victor…” His father pleaded.

“No!” Victor could no longer contain his rage, his voice like a thunder, echoing all over the house. “All you did was keep me out of your life! Like I was a burden! Like I was somehow responsible for what happened to me! I did not ask for it!”

Gregory tried to talk, but Victor would not let him. For the first time in his life, Victor would face his father, instead of being the recipient of his venom.

“You blamed me! I was a child, I was your child, and still you blamed me! Like I could somehow give her cancer! She was the one I loved the most, and you blamed me! What kind of parent does that to a child?” Victor felt his eyes prickle as he roared. He could sense people talking to him, a soft hand on his chest, but his vision was laser-focused on his father, all he could hear was his bitter words, from a long time ago.

“Go to your room. Try not to upset your mother.”

“You didn’t even let me say goodbye! She was dying and you hid it from me! All I had left of her was a vase with ashes, that you threw into the Seine! You took everything from me, like I didn’t deserve it! Like I was to blame!” Victor heard his voice betraying him, breaking with anguish.

“Victor!” He heard his aunt’s cry, making him suddenly mind his surroundings. His father staring at him, painful tears in his eyes. Andrea by his side, her hand on his chest, trying to contain him. Terry and Mina, by the kitchen door, crying.

Victor felt more than rage. He felt the raw pain of his childhood all over again. And he felt ashamed.

“Let’s go.” He ordered Andrea, who promptly grabbed her purse. “We are done here. Thanks for everything, Aunt Terry.”

He didn’t complain when Andrea offered to drive, claiming he was too worked up to do it. He felt exhausted. He had no fight left in him.

Victor spent the whole ride in silence, a worried Andrea glancing at him every 5 seconds, trying to make him talk. He just wanted to be left alone, to numb the feelings that had accidentally surfaced, to calm the hurricane in his chest.

The good thing was, she was there: taking his hand from time to time, her presence a soothing agent. And although she was desperate to help him, to pull him from his silence, she already did more than she could imagine.

#Growing Pains - Series #growingstronger #victor x oc #victor mlqc #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc fanfic #love and producer #mister love queens choice

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

Control and Release - 11

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, dub-con, nipple clamps, breath play (more warnings as the story continues)

Words: 5.6k

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Parts Twelve and Thirteen (Fourteen coming tomorrow) are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

You sit there naked as the shower turns on. There’s a part of you that knows you should leave, it’s the safest way to ensure a clean division between sex and, well, everything else. But the truth is all the logic in the world doesn’t stop you from getting up and joining him in the shower.

He turns toward you as you open the glass door and step inside, his hair slicked back. He moves out of the way for you to wet your hair before switching places. He doesn’t touch you, instead he watches as you lather your body with the hotel provided soap. His eyes follow as soapy hands move between your legs, then over your breasts. He waits for you to finish and then steps out, wrapping himself in a fluffy white towel, handing one to you before wordlessly disappearing back into the room.

You follow him, toweling dry, trying to act casual as he stands stark naked, rubbing his hair with the towel and slipping into bed. You do the same, walking to the other side and crawling under the sheets as he reaches over and turns off the light.

“Good night,” are his last words as he turns onto his side, facing away from you and settles in.

There’s a hand rubbing up and down your back as you lie belly down, still in the depths of sleep. Slowly you blink awake, the early morning sun shining through a crack in the curtains, cutting like a knife through butter into the dark of the room.

While you don’t know what time it is, it’s still early enough that no part of you wants to move. It’s Sam’s voice that brings you back into the land of the living and the realization that you’re still in his bed.

“You have to get up.” A big, warm hand spreads wide across your back, fingers fanning out. The feeling of his hands on you, skin on skin is a simple but rare pleasure.“It’s almost six and Pepper will be here soon. Our flight leaves at nine, and you need to pack.”

“It’s too early, just leave me here. I’ll live on the West Coast now.” you whisper, rolling onto your back. He’s hovering above you, propped up on one elbow looking bright eyed at this ungodly hour. “Do you ever sleep?”

“Rarely.” He pushes a strand of hair back from your cheek. “Really, you need to get up.”

“I’m moving.” With a final push, you force yourself to sit up and get out of bed. You're naked and it’s cold as you hop around the room, trying to find your clothes and get dressed. Still half asleep you walk to the door in a daze and he follows you. “Last night was...incredible. Really, I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He seems to enjoy your early morning confession, grinning as you yawn into the back of your hand.

“Go on,” he opens the door. “You can sleep on the plane, you deserve it.”

Five Days Later - Tuesday

You’ve spent the better part of two days staring at lists of phone numbers and calls. The computer does most of the cross-referencing, all you’re left with is a spreadsheet full of names, dates and times. Thousand of them.

It’s early afternoon when you realize that something’s wrong.

Before you were assigned to the endless pit of phone calls, Max had you sorting through and categorizing depositions, ensuring the transcriptions were correct. You know this case inside and out. You’ve heard every word of testimony a dozen times and that’s how you know that Kurt Jablonski, your client, swore up and down multiple times that he never made direct contact with a private investigator named Lea Hammond.

And yet here you are staring at a number identified as one of Lea Hammond’s burner phones making and receiving calls from an office line that only Kurt had access too. His calls are normally made through his security so it’s possible he’s naive enough to think that there wouldn’t be a trace, but you’re staring at the proof of their connection.

You’ve got no idea what this means, but it’s a huge case. Sam’s had teams flying back and forth from Florida for months.

Now comes the hard part, you have to tell Max.

You never returned his texts and he’s been giving you the cold shoulder. But you report to him, at least for this case, so there’s no way around it. You write down the names and dates on a post-it and head to the conference room where Max has set up shop with half a dozen other junior associates.

“Excuse me,” you knock lightly on the door frame and they all look up. Frank Walenchecz looks from you to Max and grins, which piques your interest but that’s not why you’re here. “Max, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“We’re kinda in the middle of something here.” He rotates his chair, eyeing you up and down. “I’ll find you later if you need me.”

Everyone in the room chuckles and your cheeks flush hot.

“I think you should look at this, I found something-”

“I said we’re busy.” He’s emboldened now, his condescending tone laced with an underlying hostility that you pick up on in a second.

“Max, this is serious,” you insist. “It says on the schedule that the team in Florida is going through final prep with Mr. Jablonski but-”

“Why don’t you worry about your filing and leave the thinking to the big boys, huh?” He tilts his head, making no attempt to hide as he stares at your breasts. “I’ll find you later, sweetheart.”

You can hear snickers as you shut the door, humiliated.

You wait. And wait.

It’s nearly six when you walk back down the hall only to find the conference room empty. He’s left for the day.

Wednesday

You’ve only been in the office for an hour, sorting through a new stack of documents when Lance Barton saunters up to your desk. He’s not exactly a friend, but the two of you are friendly per se. He’s a junior associate and just as full of himself as every other lawyer working at W & S, they all know how good they have it.

“Good morning,” he perches on your desk, shoving a paperweight to the side to make room for his ass.

“Hey,” you look at him, offering a genuine smile. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there staring at you with a shit eating grin on his face. “Did you need something?”

“Actually, I came to ask you that.” He chuckles, biting his bottom lip. It takes you a minute to understand exactly what he’s implying. When the realization finally dawns you’re so taken off guard that you don’t know how to respond.

“I-” you start, sitting back, staring at him in disbelief. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

You turn back to your work, trying to ignore him, but he doesn’t move.

“Come on,” Lance leans down, placing his hand over yours on the desk, you jerk it back in response, unprepared for actual physical interaction. “We’ve always gotten along, haven’t we?”

“Please stop.” You pull your hand away, clutching it in your lap.

“Max said you liked to play hard to get.” He whispers, now close enough that you can feel his breath on your cheek. “But he also said it was worth it, that you’re a wild little thing.”

You look at him wide-eyed, mouth falling open as nausea sets in. “Max told you that?”

“Don’t be shy.” Lance smiles, his eyes trailing down your body. “You just let me know the next time you need an itch scratched and I’ll take care of you.”

He saunters away, looking smug, leaving you gutted. You’d already guessed from Max’s reaction yesterday that he’d greatly exaggerated his relationship with you, but this is a whole other level.

Greg Smith from IT walks by your desk, eyes lingering too long and you know it has already grown into something you’re not going to be able to control.

Thursday

“Everyone knows your dirty little secret.” Pepper pours herself a coffee looking up at you. “I mean, you probably think you’re hiding it but I can see right through you.”

You almost choke on your spit, stopping to stare at her, swallowing hard.

“What are you talking about?” you stammer and she smirks, sipping her coffee.

“Oh stop it. The whole office knows about you two.” She shakes her head and you want to melt into the floor.

“You’re talking about….Max?”

God, you hope it’s only Max.

“Who else?” Pepper is always a bitch but she’s really enjoying this. “I knew there was something between the two of you.”

“There was and never has been anything going on between us.” You correct her, holding your head high.

“I could have told you he was a snake. They’re all wannabes with too much money who think they’re going to be Sam Winchester some day. It’s pathetic.”

“Whatever he said, it’s not true.” You want to ask for more details but you’re not sure you could handle it.

“He told everyone, might as well have sent out a newsletter. Every nasty detail, how you suck cock, how you begged him to fuck you...everywhere. He told Colin you’re too slutty for him. Too much of a whore for Max...that must be a new low.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you whisper, fighting back tears. There’s a swell of anger and humiliation rising in your chest.

“Because you should know. I might be a lot of things, but I’m not afraid to say things to someone’s face. I know you’re Sam’s favorite right now, God only knows why. But that doesn’t mean anything in the real world. Outside of his office, you’re just a small fish, fighting for room in the pond with the rest of us.”

She turns on her heels and walks away, leaving you stunned.

The last thing you want to do is see Max face to face, but you need to show him the information you found. While you’d love to see him crash and burn, it could affect Sam and you won’t let that happen.

You knock twice on the door to his small, windowless office and he looks up. His face hardens when he realizes it’s you. “Back for more? Can’t stay away huh?”

“What are you talking about?” You shrug, stepping inside and shutting the door. “It’s just us now, stop the act. I thought we were friends, Max. Why are you doing this?”

“What am I doing?” he asks, picking up a stress ball and squeezing it in his fist. “I haven’t talked to you in a week.”

“You’ve talked to everyone else. Telling stories about things that never happened.” Stepping closer to his desk you search his face for some kind of understand. You didn’t see this coming. Are you this bad of a judge of character? “Why are you trying to hurt me?”

“Why are you such a cock tease?” he spits, crushing the foam ball in his grasp.

“You know,” you back out the room, defeated, “the sad part is that I thought you were a good guy.”

“Why don’t you go find someone else to play your games with,” Max calls out as you leave and you hear the ball hit the wall with a soft thump.

Friday Morning

Sam waits outside the door to the conference room as Pepper hands him the latest update on the case. He opens the folio, reading through the documents. He’s always fully prepared.

“Do you need me?” Pepper asks, “Because I need to finish the notes from your call with Mr. Takahashi. You’ll need the final proposal before your one o’clock.”

“No,” Sam shakes his head without look up. “I should be back in my office by eleven. We’ll have time to review.”

She wanders off and Sam’s flips through page after page, scanning the notes. He’s not really listening, it’s your name that pulls him out of what he’s reading, moving closer to the open door.

“I’m telling she was practically begging for it,” Max explains.

“If Y/N was so into it then why are you so hot and cold?” Another voice asks. “You’ve been after her for months.”

“Because every other guy has already been there.” Max laughs. “I mean she’s a real whore, let me fuck her ass the first time. That’s how you know she’s been open for business.”

“Shit,” someone else grunts. “If you don’t want her, I’ll damn sure get in line.”

“Go for it man, two drinks and she was all over my dick like she hadn’t been fucked in years. She was starving for it.”

Friday Afternoon

“What is it?” Sam snips, looking for up for only a second. You haven’t seen him since you got off the plane in Boston last week. You know he’s been busy but you expected less hostility.

“I need to show you something.” You inch into his office.

“Can it wait?” He sits up, pulling off his glasses to stare you. He normally looks you up and down but right now his eyes are boring a hole into yours with an unwavering stare. “I’m busy. I don’t have time for you today.”

Jesus.

You take a breath, holding back with everything you have, you’ve wanted to cry for forty-eight hours but you didn’t think Sam would be the one to push you over the edge.

“Um-” you stutter, words getting caught in your throat.

“Um?” He raises an eyebrow. “Pull yourself together, use words like an adult.”

You swallow hard, tears brimming, as you try to swallow the thump in your throat.

“There’s something I came across when I was sorting through phone records for the Jablonski case.” You manage stable words, masking your looming breakdown.

“And you’re bothering me with this why?” He asks plainly as if you’re some low-level employee he’s never laid eyes on before.

“I just thought-”

“What did you just think? That because I fucked you I would suddenly have time for whatever this is?” His eyes are on fire and you wished you could melt into the floor.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a real dick, you know that?” you whisper, a tear running down your cheek, mouth trembling. “What did I do?”

His eyes light up, rage threatening right there under the surface. “Why aren’t you giving this to your project leader? Max has time for you, I’m sure.”

“I tried. He won’t listen to me.”

“Why?” Sam’s jaw locks, seething with anger. You’ve got no idea where this is coming from but you’re fully prepared to leave this building and never come back. “Stop crying, it’s pathetic.”

“Because,” you close your eyes, fresh tears falling, you’re really crying now. You stare at the floor, unable to take any more of his glare. “Because he’s mad at me.”

“Why is he mad at you?” He pushes as if he's waiting for some lurid confession.

“I wouldn’t sleep with him. He’s been an absolute asshole. He’s successfully made my life a living hell. I’m pretty sure he told everyone in the building that I’m a whore. I’ve got people I don’t even know whispering about me in the halls. I tried to show him but he won’t listen to me. I found something. I think it’s important so I came up here to tell you and now you’re...whatever this is. Please just take this so I can leave.”

You hold out a folder, wincing as he steps forward. He takes the folder out of your hands, but the next thing you feel is both his hands cupping your face, thumbs pressed into your cheeks.

“Calm down.” His voice is softer now, less commanding, more soothing.

You look at him, and gone is his threatening stare, it’s been replaced by something gentler.

“I haven’t done anything, to anyone.” you offer, stripped bare of pretense as you look up at him. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I jumped to some conclusions, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” It makes sense now, he’s heard the rumors. One of his hands moves from your face to your chest, placing his hand wide over your heart, resting between your breasts, guiding your breath. “I’m sorry.”

While it doesn’t excuse his actions you’re fairly sure Sam Winchester rarely apologizes, if ever.

“Okay,” you whisper, unable to dive any deeper, not right now at least.

“I’ll look through what you brought and take care of the Max situation.”

“I’m not a snitch,” you gulp, “I didn’t tell you to get him in trouble.”

“I know that. But you did tell me and I can’t have one of my employees talking about another like this. I won’t allow this kind of hostile environment for anyone.”

“He’s going to know I told you.”

“He’s going to know you told HR, because that’s how we’ll deal with it.” He sets the folder on his desk and picks up his phone.

“You’re done for the week. Go downstairs, I’ll have my driver take you to my house. You’re going to spend the weekend with me.”

“The weekend?” You look up, wiping tears as your mind tries to shift off of Max and into whatever this new territory is. “I don’t have anything with me.”

“You won’t need much.”

Sam’s house is a huge, modern home in Newton, Massachusetts. You know from listening to Pepper that he has a loft in Boston but this sprawling architectural wonder is his real home, far outside the city.

Dealing with him on a more intimate level it’s been easy to forget that he’s filthy fucking rich. He’s made more money than most people can dream of and this house is a jarring reminder that you’re in his world now.

The driver walks you to the door, punches in a code and ensures you’re inside before leaving. The floors are dark wood and everything else is stark white, it makes the place feel almost antiseptic. You take your shoes off and trail down the hallway that opens up into a generous living area, twice the size of your entire apartment. There is a couch, several chairs, and a coffee table. The walls are bare, save for one huge painting hanging on the wall, it’s all dark colors and strange shapes.

You continue exploring, wandering down a narrow hall to the right and find the kitchen. It’s just as devoid of personality as the rest of the house. He could feed a small army and you wonder if he’s ever lonely being one man with all this unnecessary space.

There’s a labyrinth of empty bedrooms, filled with furniture and not much else. At the end of this hall is his room, it’s unmistakable. In contrast to the rest of the place, there are splashes of color. The door to his closet is open and you slip inside, flipping on the light to find hundreds of suits, pressed and hung with meticulous care. There’s a second closet filled with his casual clothing, sneakers, and gym clothes. It sparks a lot of thought about what he’s truly like outside of the professional world.

Is this it? Is all this naked space his life? It seems...unfulfilling.

At the end of the closet, there’s a dresser with two pictures sitting on top. You pick one up and examine it. It’s a family, mother, and father, a young boy and a baby. It’s easy to guess that the baby is Sam, this was a life that was taken from him.

The second photo is unmistakably Sam with a mop of wild hair hanging over his forehead. He looks to be in his early twenties and he’s smiling bright and happy, eyes lit up with joy. He’s got his arm around a beautiful blonde who’s pressing her lips to his cheek. This Sam looks alive, warm and inviting. Another version of him from a happier time.

There’s a faint sound and you set the picture down, shutting off the light and scrambling out of the room. You find him in the living room, slipping his suit jacket off and laying it over the back of a chair. He looks up, a half-smile crossing his lips.

“You,” he points to you, shaking his head. “Just saved me from an utter disaster. I have twenty lawyers on that case, five paralegals and you’re the only who caught the phone calls.”

“It was something?” you question, moving closer.

“More than something. Kurt hasn’t been telling us the truth. If we had moved forward with our current strategy he would have ended up in jail and our reputation would have taken a massive hit.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help,” you offer, still reeling from the rollercoaster of a day you’ve had. “Before you say anything else, there’s something I need to say.”

“What is it?” he asks, getting closer.

“I know you have a lot going on. You’re busy and you don’t always have time for me. I understand that you’re blunt and like to get right to the point. But I can’t handle the way you spoke to me today. I enjoy what we have, but I won’t be around someone who treats me like that.”

He waits for a beat, eyes honing in on you, his head tilting as his tongue darts out. You can practically see the gears turning.

“I overheard a rumor and took it as truth. I, of all people, should know better,” he offers. “I don’t share. I’ve never played well with others and when I heard what I did, I reacted. I am sorry for that. I asked you to trust me and I need to trust you in return. It’s the only way this works. I trust you to keep your word, make good on your commitments. I will never speak to you that way again.”

“Good.” You gulp, feeling suddenly small in his living room. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“Agreed.” He moves past you, reaching out to squeeze your arm as he heads off toward the kitchen and you follow. “Are you hungry?”

“Yea - Yes. I am. I was so worked up all day, I haven’t eaten anything since last night,” you confess, almost afraid of what kind of strange, kale-infused delicacy he’ll offer you.

“I’ll make something.” He opens the refrigerator, looking back you. “How do you feel about beets?”

“What I’m about to do is all about trust,” Sam explains as you sit naked in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. His cock is thick and hard, trapped between your bellies.

“I know,” you nod, one hand on each of his shoulders. Your nails sink into his skin, holding on like he’s already begun. You look him in the eyes, searching for understanding. “I trust you, I’m just...nervous.”

“You’ll like it.” He nods, both hands holding your hips tightly. “It’s an incredible release.”

His hand wedges between your bodies again, finding your clit, rubbing a few last times before he gets started. He’s spent the better part of an hour getting you worked up, you're wet and throbbing, ready for more.

“Lift up,” he instructs and you rise up on your knees as he takes his cock into his hand and slips the head into your pussy. “Now lower down, take it all.”

You stare at him as you slide down his dick, not stopping until you’re filled to the brim.

“Jesus,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. He’s thick, a wonderful stretch that sends little jolts of pleasure up your spine.

“Hands behind your back.”

You comply, placing your wrists together at the base of your spine. He picks up his discarded tie, reaching around and securing your wrists. The fact that he doesn’t need to see to be able to properly tie you up, has you both excited and concerned.

Sitting back he looks at you, then down to where you’re sitting on his dick.

“Fuck yourself on my cock, slowly.”

Lifting up you hum with satisfaction, feeling the drag of him inside you. It’s only intensified when you sink back and find a rhythm, even and constant, as you stare at each other. After a few minutes he starts to breath faster, mouth clamped shut as he studies your face. One hand comes up and slides around your throat. His fingers nearly reach the back of your neck, thumb pressing into the opposite side under your jaw.

He squeezes, not hard, just enough to make you feel the pressure and you whimper, sliding up and down his shaft. Leaning all the way back in the chair, he reaches between your bodies with his free hand and begins to carefully rub your clit.

Your mouth falls open as the pleasure builds, everything between your legs slick and throbbing. His cock alone would be enough to get you off like this, you’re not used to the stretch yet, you doubt you ever will be, but it’s a wonderful challenge as you lift yourself up and down in his lap.

“Feels so good,” you whisper, biting your lower lip, his thumb moving faster over your swollen clit.

“Stick your tongue out,” he instructs. You blink, feeling the all too familiar shame creep in as you drop your jaw and stick your tongue out.

He keeps you just like this as the minutes tick by, your whimpers and moans sound even more desperate with your mouth wide open, tongue hanging out like some kind of slutty porn star.

Tugging at your hands you almost falter, only to have the hand around your throat grow tighter, holding you in place.

“You don’t have to ask permission to cum, just let it happen.” And with that his lips curl and his fingers clench and suddenly you can’t breathe. You knew this was coming, he’d prepared you for it but the first time you can’t help the panic, your heart speeding up.

For five seconds you are open-mouthed, fighting for air and then he lets up and you suck in a huge breath.

“Don’t stop fucking,” he reminds you. You’ve slowed down but you pick up the pace, sliding back and forth more than up and down. “Tongue back out.”

You comply and his grip tightens until you can’t breathe again and this time it’s longer. His thumb works faster over your bud, his hips rise up, keeping his cock moving inside you.

This time it’s ten seconds, and by the time he lets go your whole body is hot, sweat breaking out from head to toe.

You expected more pleasure, it’s not exactly bad but also not the pay off you anticipated.

After a few deep breaths, you stick out your tongue and ride him as his fist closes around your throat, tighter than the two previous times. His thumb presses firm, you feel your orgasm building as he squeezes the last breath out of you. You start to squirm, pulling at the restraints out of instinct. A desperate gagging sound leaves your throat and you’re getting closer and closer and then it happens at the same time. Your vision starts to go spotty and you cum at the same time. He eases up, but barely, still controlling the air supply as you jerk on his cock.

You’re floating and then there’s a rush of pure euphoria. It’s a tingling, weightless feeling that seamlessly melts into the pleasure of your orgasm and the whole world fades away. There’s nothing else, only the feeling of your body rolling up and down and an incredible pleasure between your legs.

Unsure how long you’ve hung in this transcendental state, you blink, vision clearing only to find Sam staring at you, both his hands cupped around your cheeks, holding your head up.

“Wow,” you whisper smiling like a fool, looking at him from under hooded eyes as an overwhelming wave of satisfaction and bliss sets in. “Thank you.”

“It looked incredible.” His eyes are lit up and moving quickly, searching your face.

“Untie me please,” you request softly, not entirely of sound mind yet.

He blinks, hesitates for a moment, then one hand leaves your face to reach behind you to free your wrists. Without thinking you wrap yourself around him, both hands sliding behind his neck as you rest your head on his shoulder.

His palms slide up your back, holding you as you come back down to earth, thumbs stroking back and forth until your breathing is back to normal. Once you’ve semi-recovered you sit up, inches away from his face as you look at each other. He’s even more handsome up close, the little wrinkles around his eyes and the pink of his lips are beautiful.

Wordlessly you lift yourself up, letting his cock slide almost of your pussy before sinking back down, finding a pace that makes your thighs burn as you ride him, desperate to give him the same release he’s just gifted you.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tipped back, the muscles of his neck straining. The two big hands on your hips pull you down onto him, holding you in place as he cums, spurting warm inside you until he’s finished.

After a few minutes, he lifts you up and off his semi-hard cock, rubbing his knuckles directly over your cheek, a tender caress that makes your eyes close in response.

“Now, get on your knees and suck my cock until it’s clean.”

“Sam,” you start, watching the subtitles on the muted TV as a newscaster talks about the upcoming election. “Why am I here?”

“What do you mean?” he responds, only half paying attention.

“I’m in your house, in your bed. You said you want to me stay all weekend. Don’t get me wrong, I want to be here, but I didn’t think you would want someone in your personal space.”

“I don’t mind having you in my personal space as long as it’s at my request.” He explains evenly, glancing up. “I’ve been busy this last week. My schedule is only going to get tighter. Weekends might be the only time we get to see each for a while. I won’t have time for the same interactions while I’m at work.”

“That makes sense.”

“Are you alright with that? Do you have a cat that needs to be fed?”

“No, no animals, no social life to speak of. We’re perfect for each other.” You smile and he grins looking back to the screen.

“What will happen to Max?” you ask, laying on your back staring at the ceiling of his bedroom.

“Do you care?”

“No. I’m sure he deserves whatever he gets,” you nod, the feeling of the last few days washing over you again.

“What happened to make him so upset?” Sam’s inquiry seems genuine.

“I turned him down. Some men are like that, for whatever reason they can’t handle being told no. Honestly, I had no idea he was that upset with me. I can only imagine what they all think of me. It’s so embarrassing.”

“You’re not the one that has anything to be embarrassed about.” His eyes go back the report in front of him, sliding the screen up but still talking. “Even if everything he said was true, it shouldn’t matter.”

He goes back to his work, reviewing some document that can’t wait until Monday and you lie there, pretending to watch a rerun of Frasier that comes on after the news broadcast.

“Sam, can I ask you something?”

“It seems like you’re going to regardless of my answer.” He glances at you.

“Are you happy?”

He stops, looking up and forward before turning to staring at you as if you’ve just asked him to hop on one foot.

“Is anyone?”

“I am.” You roll onto your side. “I mean, I’m not over the moon every day, but I’m content and I have moments of real, true happiness.”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“I was just thinking about you. I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s fine.” He sets down the tablet on the nightstand and rolls onto his side, propping his elbow on the pillow. “No, I’m not happy in a traditional sense. I’m satisfied. I’m focused, I accomplish things no one else would ever be able to. There are a lot of things you have to give up to have the career I’ve had. I built something. I gave up happiness for success, it was a conscious choice.”

“Don’t you want more than your job?”

“No.” He shakes his head without hesitation. “When you add too much into the mix, things get messy.”

“Is that why you have me? I mean, you’re a pretty big deal. I can’t imagine you’re desperate for dates.”

“I don’t date, I have no desire for that. Having people in your life makes you unfocused, they’re distractions.”

“I’m not a distraction?” you inquire. A psychologist would have a field day with him.

“You are exactly what I need you to be. I’m not a robot. I have the same base urges as every other red-blooded American male, but instead of marrying the first pretty girl with long legs that liked my money, I decided to leave sex in its own category. My life is compartmentalized, things run smoother that way.”

“Do you have friends?”

“Not anymore.” His voices wavers, just a little but you catch it, trying your best to not let on. “For me friends are either a liability or a disappointment. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t fall into one of the two categories.”

“Geez, which one am I?”

“You’re not my friend,” he states, eyes narrowing. “You are a category all your own.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”

#tedtalk!sam #Controal and release #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfic

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ladynox · 4 years

Text

Milestones (2/?)

Relationships: Malexa

Summary: The stress of buying a home causes trouble in paradise.

Notes: A thousand hugs to my wonderful beta @beautifulcheat. You are the best!

Please read below or on AO3

Sighing, Maria shut her car door and locked it. Michael and Alex’s cars were in the driveway. So they were home. She wondered if anything had been hashed out between them while she was doing inventory at the Pony. Somehow, she doubted it, and decided it was best to find Alex before confronting Michael. It was likely that Michael was in the house, which more than likely meant Alex was not. She walked around to the back of house.

When Maria walked onto the patio, Alex was sitting there with his beer and a laptop, barefoot, wearing an old Panic! t-shirt, his favorite grey joggers, and a sour expression. “He acts like a slave,” Alex grumbled by way of hello.

Through the glass of the sliding doors, Maria could see Michael carrying a load of laundry to the washing machine. Adamant though Michael was about giving his child everything, the financial process involved in buying a home stressed him the hell out. This level of stress would have sent the old Michael straight to the Pony looking for trouble. Now, Michael funneled his guilt and shame into extra shifts at the junkyard and doing more than his allotted chores around the house.

Rolling her eyes, Maria sat down in the patio chair next to Alex and wished she were holding a beer instead of a smoothie. “I think the word you’re looking for is neurotic housewife,” Maria replied. Their house was sparkling clean and Maria was fucking exhausted with it. “He feels bad because he can’t be a cosigner.”

Alex hummed and drank his beer, still glowering through the sliding door even though Michael had disappeared into the laundry room.

“Did you talk to him about this morning?” Maria asked.

“No.” Alex took a very long and frustrated pull from his beer bottle. Maria missed alcohol already. Being pregnant was stressful enough without buying a home, an anxious boyfriend, and his grumpy boyfriend on top of that.

That morning, Michael hadn’t accompanied them to the banks they’d chosen to apply for preapproval. After having a long and exhausting discussion about their collective finances, it was decided that Michael’s history would hurt their prospects. And even though Michael had understood that, had agreed to the logic of their plan, Alex’s spreadsheets still had been a hard blow from reality. He’d been sulky for a week before the appointments, leading to rather unpleasant confrontation that morning: “No, I’m not going,” Michael said in between sips of coffee. That in itself had been a surprise to Maria and Alex, who had been expecting him to come with them. Just because Michael wasn’t going to be on the title didn’t mean he shouldn’t be there throughout the whole process. “Don’t want them to smell poverty wafting off me and ruin your chances.” “What the hell, Guerin?” Alex demanded, angry but also unsurprised and… resigned. Maria understood, had felt the same way. This was a fight long overdue, but she was hurt nonetheless.

“That’s really un-fucking-fair!” Maria added, annoyed with herself for not mentioning it earlier (one didn’t need psychic abilities to know how stressed Michael has been) but also annoyed with Michael for bottling it up until he exploded. He’d been so good about not doing that, lately.

Michael ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “That was shitty,” he admitted and looked up at them, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” “Yes you did.” Alex couldn’t let it go and Maria couldn’t blame him.

“Yeah you’re right,” Michael sighed. “I love and appreciate you both. This is about is my bullshit. I’m sorry for taking it out on you.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Maria said, glancing at her watch. She didn’t want to be late for their appointment with the bank. She didn’t even want to be right on time. She wanted to be early.

She did kiss Michael’s temple when she got up let him know she accepted his apology. Alex had done the same before they left.

And now here they were sitting in the patio, stewing, while Michael stress cleaned the house. Again.

Maria turned Alex’s laptop towards her so she could look at it. As expected, the spreadsheets for the Ranch Acquisition Project, as Alex called buying the house, were open. Once the decision had been made to buy the Smith ranch, Alex had gone full Type A. From researching credit unions and banks, to property taxes, to anything else one should know before buying a ranch, Alex Manes was on top of it.

“Are we going to tell him the loan officer thought we were married?” Maria asked. Alex laughed, which was what she was after. “I’m afraid he’d stick his head in the oven.”

“Alex.” Even as she swatted his arm, Maria laughed. “Well I made an appointment to view the Smith property for this weekend, so that’ll cheer him up. The realtor also wants to show us a couple more ranches for sale, and I agreed. Why not?” “Did you—” “Yes, I’ve already asked her for the addresses.” Maria rolled her eyes. Alex was so predictable. “She said she’d email them to me. I’ll forward it to you the minute I get it so you can start researching.” “Thanks,” Alex said, throwing his good leg across Maria’s thighs, and Maria took the opportunity to rub his calf, since he always carried a lot of tension there. “Roast will be ready in an hour do you want anything until then?” Michael asked, poking his head out to look at them. “For you to grab a beer and sit with us,” Alex said immediately. “Come on babe,” Maria said when Michael looked like he was about protest. “That thing will cook itself and I know you’ve done everything on the chore list.” Maria arched an eyebrow at him and Michael flushed. “Okay. Let me grab a beer.” He disappeared into the house and some of the tension leaves Alex’ shoulders. Maria wanted to remind Alex to relax, that sometimes it’s best to let Michael be, tire himself out. Wanted to remind him that Michael was always his own worst enemy. But she wasn’t responsible for their relationship. Michael sat down and fiddled with the label on the beer. Maria sipped her smoothie and Alex his beer. Finally, Michael sighed, “I’m so sorry again for this morning.” Maria met Alex’s eyes before they looked at Michael who was looking them both anxiously. Neither of them said anything and Maria is glad she and her best friend are on the same page. “I know it’s no excuse for being an asshole,” Michael was forced to continue. “Especially when you guys are being so amazing—” “Michael, you know I don’t like this burden talk,” Maria interrupted. This conversation was like a well-worn path.

Michael exhaled, annoyed with himself. “I hate that my name’s not going to be on the title,” Michael admitted, finally. “I know it doesn’t mean shit. I know that it’s just like how we’re married even if it’s not legal, I still hate it. I hate it because it reminds me of all the stupid ass decisions I made because I was a fucked up, angry kid. I’m angry at myself and I lashed out and I’m sorry.” That was a lot of feelings at once, Maria had to admit. So neither of them said anything until Michael gulped down his beer. It gave them all a little time to process.

“Just a poor mental health day,” Michael added afterward, echoing Alex. Only unlike Alex, Michael refuses a therapist, citing his extraterrestrial secrets as reason to not go.

While Maria was still figuring out how best to express her thoughts, Alex took Michael’s hand and kissed his knuckles, then rested his cheek against them, looking at Michael, who smiled beatifically in response. It was silly, especially because hasn’t always done them well, but sometimes Maria couldn’t help but be a little jealous at how good they are at nonverbal communications. Well without the use of psychic abilities. “Hey, I’m sorry too,” Maria said. Michael was about to protest but Maria didn’t let him, barreling through. “I should have—” “We should have,” Alex succeeded in interrupting her and piggybacking off what she was about to say. The lazy bastard.

“We should have talked about it more than we did,” Maria was finally allowed to finish. “Nah—No really. It’s fine. This plan makes sense.” Michael reached out for her with his free hand. She grabbed it. Squeezed it. “Let’s not swap blame around ok?” “Ok,” Maria agreed. “But I’m still going to check in on you more often. Alex too.” Maria was not doing all the emotional labor, damnit. “Me too,” Alex agreed. “But, Michael, please, just say how you feel sooner. All this cooking and cleaning—” “I’m not going to stop,” Michael flat out said and glared at them because they were about to protest. “Yes part of it is this transactional issue but keeping busy also helps keep my mind off of it.” Maria reminded herself that the fact that he can admit that now is a huge victory for him, and a result of all the hard work he had done on himself before and after they started dating. “Can’t just sit around playing the guitar all day.”

Michael slouched back in his chair, fiddled with the empty beer bottle. “But yeah, I know I should have said something earlier. Thing is… we’ve been so happy and I didn’t want to ruin the mood with my bullshit.”

“Baby, buying property is stressful as hell,” Maria said. “And I can’t even drink this time around. So – I for one would be totally down for a bitch fest anytime.”

Ah, there was that smile she liked so much. Michael sat up and leaned forward, kissing her, gratitude coming off him in waves.

“Sorry I’m late,” Michael said as Maria, freshly showered and energized after an hour at the gym, slipped into the passenger side of his truck. “I couldn’t find my sweater.”

Michael was giving her a reproachful look. So Maria looked at what he was wearing—a maroon knitted sweater with a couple of brass colored buttons at the collar. She loved the color on him and how soft it made him look. She also knew exactly where he must have found it.

“It was cold a couple days ago!” Maria explained, defensively. “Right.” Michael started the engine. “I also found the cardigan Alex got me for Christmas and a pair of jeans in your closet, Maria. Those aren’t even my jeans!” “Excuse you!” Maria huffed. “They’re Alex’s.” “I know they’re Alex’s, you gremlin!” Michael shot back. No heat. This was a well-worn argument. Now he was going to mention her abundance of clothes. “You have a ton of clothes!” And compare himself to a prospector. “But I’m still excavating men’s clothing in that pit of yours!” Oh this time he decided to make fun of how she keeps her room.

“You have plenty of clothes now. You’re not going to miss one sweater.”

“And a cardigan.” “And a cardigan.” “And likely that pack of t-shirts’ I’ve been trying to find.” “No, that’s not me. You haven’t worn them yet. I don’t want them until you’ve worn them.” It wasn’t just about style, though she did enjoy mixing and matching women and men’s clothes. It was about Michael’s scent—petrichor and motor oil—when he was out working late or sleeping with Alex that night. It was about the comfort of the heavy weight of his cardigan around her shoulders when work is extra frustrating.

“Can’t say I don’t appreciate the honesty,” Michael said dryly. Though she could tell he was trying not to flush. He still had a really hard time accepting any kind of compliments.

Michael turned onto the road that lead to the hospital. “How was the workout, babe?” “Good,” Maria replied. “Lisa and I are still working on a modified training program for the pregnancy. But for now, I still feel comfortable doing what I normally do.” Maria had started doing more resistance training in addition to yoga and cardio about a year and half ago because she’d read that it was good for osteoporosis, and she’d gotten addicted, gotten a trainer, and now she used weights she wouldn’t have dreamed of touching before.

“Oh good because Alex is going to chuck his dresser and it’s heavy so—” Maria laughed. “You can move stuff with your brain you lazy shit.”

“Yeah but benefits of dating She-Hulk is that I don’t have too.” Maria rolled her eyes, swatting his arm with her hand. He laughed and parked.

“I see you’ve been watching cartoons with Alex again.” Alex, being the huge nerd he is, had recently downloaded all the old 90s Marvel cartoons he and Greg use to watch as kids together.

“Yeah they’re kind of stupid to be honest,” Michael said and shrugged. “But he really likes them. And I’ve gotten to hear a lot of stories from when he was a kid. Like how he and Greg use to spend hours at the library going through their catalogue of X-Men comics and quizzing each other’s esoteric comic book knowledge.”

“Such a nerd,” Maria laughed.

“I knew what I was getting into when I married him.”

Once they were out of the truck, Michael took her hand and together they walked into the hospital. They were there to see Kyle for her first doctor’s appointment since confirming the pregnancy. Thankfully Maria was more human than alien, so the doctors never noticed anything strange when Mimi was pregnant. But this time around, the father was full alien. The change in percentage was enough to make everyone angsty and Kyle was recruited as OBGYN despite reminding everyone that he was a vascular surgeon. “I’m sorry for putting this on you, Kyle,” Maria said during brunch with Team Human. Maria had just broken the news about the pregnancy. “I know we ask so much from you as it is but if this kid comes out with glowing organs or something—”

“Hey. Hey,” Kyle said, squeezing her hand. “I got your back. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry Kyle. I’ll help.” Liz clapped her hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not an obstetrician either, Liz.” Kyle huffed, exasperated. “You’re not even a medical doctor! You’re a mad scientist.” He added when he caught the speculative gleam in Liz’s eyes as she looked at Maria’s flat belly. Liz, at least, had the good sense to look a little ashamed when Maria arched an eyebrow at her. Just a little ashamed though. This was Liz they were talking about here.

As Kyle and Liz continued to bicker, Maria was suddenly glad for her friends. Sure, unlike her mom, she had Michael and Alex. She wasn’t alone. But Michael and Alex were her life partners and those weren’t the same as friends.

The ultrasound gel was cold on her belly. She shivered a little, causing Michael to lean closer to her, taking her hand and twining their fingers together. He was radiating nervousness and fear as much he usually radiated heat. Maria tilted her head away from what Kyle was doing to look at Michael, his plush bottom lip caught in between his teeth, honey brown eyes focused intently on the screen as Kyle points out her bladder, the amniotic fluid and then her uterus.

“Okay there’s the baby,” Kyle said, pointing to a greyish blob surrounded by darkness. “This is the beginnings of an arm. Here’s the head.” Maria found it hard to imagine that that was going to be a person, her child. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see little nodes that would one day be limbs. She couldn’t even really see much of a head. It was just all one amorphous lump, like a tiny soft grey turd, she thought unkindly, and wondered if there was something wrong with her. Did Mimi DeLuca look at fetus Maria and compare her to a turd?

No matter how hard she looked she couldn’t see what Kyle was pointing out. It looked like a little grey turd, she thought unkindly, and wondered if there was something wrong with her. Did Mimi DeLuca look at fetus Maria and compare her to a turd?

Maria forced herself to focus on what Kyle was saying. Healthy. She was relieved to hear that the baby’s development was good for this stage (whatever that means for a mostly alien baby). Maria could feel Michael really breathe for the first time since they walked into the room. He’d been fine until they stepped inside the hospital. After that he had started bouncing his leg in the waiting room and broadcasting worry to any psychic within a twenty-mile radius.

Maria hadn’t addressed it. Instead she let him hold her close even if it made texting difficult with all the jiggling. Maria understood the sudden shift in him. Reality had hit Michael in the waiting room, even though the pregnancy still felt unreal to Maria. It still felt more like a happy dream or a fantasy. No matter the blood test confirming it or the very real stress and drama of buying the ranch, it still felt like she was lying in the back of Michael’s Chevy wistfully sharing What ifs about their future. What if we moved in together? What if we had children? Maybe foster? What if it was ours?

“Judging by the size, it’s about 8 weeks old…” Kyle paused to calculate. “So that puts the due date close to September.”

“September.” Michael smiled and kissed Maria’s temple. “Is that even enough time…” Michael flushed, aware instantly that was a dumb thing to say. It was cute as hell though. “I mean…” “Eviction notice is already up, babe,” Maria chuckled, squeezing his hand. Michael pressed a kiss into her hair, chuckling. His whole aura had changed. Warm and happy, excited, and so hopeful. Maria pulled his hand to her lips, kissed his knuckles.

“We’re almost done,” Kyle said and checked her ovaries on the ultrasound. He took some screenshots of those and then some screenshots of the fetus. “Last thing. Just need to measure the heartbeat.” Kyle clicked something on the ultrasound machine and the room was filled with her baby’s heartbeat. For a moment, Maria forgot to breathe, transfixed by the mechanically distorted thwump thwump of the tiny life growing inside her.

This is really happening, Maria thought, looking at that little grey blob on the screen. It was still as grey and shapeless as before, but beneath her child was a graphic of their little heartbeat. Moving so fast. But it was the sound that overwhelmed her. Made her heart feel like it was swelling in her chest. Her eyes began to mist. “180 bpm,” she heard Kyle say over the rhythm of her baby’s life. Kyle smiled at the both of them. “That’s within normal limits.”

Maria’s laugh was watery and shaky. She looked at Michael who looked close to tears himself. His eyes shiny and full of love as he looked down at her. She sat up, reached for him and he came to her easily. They kissed – and she was sure it tasted like tears because she was crying now. Not sobbing. But the tears were flowing because she was so overwhelmed with wonder and love and so much happiness. Those feelings had to come out somehow. This was really happening. Really, really happening. All those things she thought she’d never have—a life, a love of that life, a family…that little bit of life and love growing inside her—it was real.

Maria was going to be a mom. Michael sat down next to her, gathered her up in his arms and held her tight. She heard Kyle say something as the door opened and closed behind him. She didn’t know what he said. All she could focus on was the smell of rain and warmth of Michael’s embrace, and the softness of his lips on her tear damp cheeks. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Maria confided. “Never in my wildest dreams…” Michael kissed her again. Slowly. Sweetly. His forehead resting on hers after. “I know.” There was wonder in his voice too. But also joy, amazement, and that same disbelief that she felt. “I know.” His eyes were bright with emotion and there was nothing sharp about his smile. Maria was sure she’d never seen him quite so hopeful.

Lord, Michael was so beautiful. “I love you so much,” Michael murmured against her mouth after another kiss. “And I love this baby. And I love that I get to start a family with you and Alex. And never in my wildest dreams…” Michael started to laugh because Maria was pulling him into another kiss, a little deeper this time. Maria opened herself up psychically to him, because she needed Michael to feel in this moment how much she loved him. How happy she was. That it wasn’t just Michael who couldn’t believe his luck. Everything she was feeling. Everything she was too overwhelmed to say out loud, she laid bare for him.

Michael pulled her impossibly closer, pressed his face into her neck like he wanted to graft himself to Maria, who felt so warm in his arms, still wrapped up in the flow of his emotions. She knew that Michael had never minded the few times she’s done this before. He was more comfortable with it than even she was and more eager to try it with her. She had noticed that it was easier for him to communicate his feelings nonverbally.

But also, she suspected, it made it easier for him to accept her feelings and be less defensive about them when he was presented with the raw essence of them. Which is probably why she insisted on verbal communication. She found raw feelings to be kind of overwhelming. Even now, happy as she was, wrapped up in both their love and happiness it was edging on a lot. So she eased back a little. “I’m going to make you so happy.” “You already have, dummy.” “I was talking to the baby.”

“Idiot.”

#this fic has become a monster #malexa #miluca #malex #roswell new mexico #rnm #roswell rnm #my fic

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writingthingsisdifficult · 5 years

Text

Oh my god they were roommates

You are forced to take over the monitoring of Loki. Snapshots from the life of being a god handler.

It’s weird how a phrase or sentence can inspire a whole story. In this case it was “A polished turd is a turd nonetheless.” This is what grew from it. The whole story is almost 13.000 words long, so I felt I had to split it into parts. I will post the next part tomorrow.

If you like it, let me know. Knowing that people enjoy my writing is what keeps me posting my stories.

Word count: 2051

Part 1

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Walking through the huge glass doors, you almost stopped and turned around. Any other time the music would at the very least have you tapping your toes, but not this time. Even the ridiculously expensive DJ could not turn your mood upside down.

You looked around the room. Of course they had cleared a space for dancing. Stark’s lavish parties always had lots of people dancing, and those who weren’t inclined to rock to the music could watch the night over the city through the massive windows.

The city looked like a twinkling Christmas ornament against the dark sky. Below, cars sped to and from, creating colourful lines of light in the raindrops on the glass. This was exactly how you felt. The calm rain washed the outside of the building while the loud chaos raged inside. Breathing in and out, you decided to hide in the corner, have one drink, and then head home to a date with Netflix and your pyjamas.

What on earth had made you think that attending a party filled with happy people would keep your heartbreak away? It hurt more than it should. Yes, Tommy was an asshole, you realised that now, but it was so hard to let go of the past two years. A part of you missed him, but you weren’t at all sure if you missed him or if it was just the lack of somebody there. You hoped it was the latter. If not, you needed to have a stern talking-to with yourself. In any case: procuring a drink was the next point on your agenda.

You shuffled through the crowd, wanting to be anywhere else, but you had said you would come, and you always kept your promises. You drew a deep breath and turned to the bar, where you bumped into Loki and his handler, Ben Reed.

Looking at them, you felt even more awkward with your plain, black skirt and blouse. Loki, like everyone else, was wearing black, but the details of his suit and the way he held himself made him look extra dashing and out of place. Standing next to Agent Reed, even more so.

If you squinted, you could just about make out the snakes winding and slithering over the lapels of his jacket, just barely visible when the light hit just right. Most likely sorcery, you thought, and felt bad for Ben, who looked no more than average compared.

“Good evening, Y/N,” Loki said with a polite smile. “Are you here alone tonight?”

“Yes.” Your reply was short and curt, and Loki knew better than to pry.

Agent Reed, however, did not. He looked you up and down. “What’s the matter, Y/N? You look like someone stole your toy.”

You pulled self-consciously on your skirt, slipping the heel of your shoes on and off. “Tommy dumped me last week,” you replied, surprised that it didn’t bring tears to your eyes, and hoping that the information would make him back off. You were in no mood to deal with him today.

You didn’t have anything in particular against Ben as such, it’s just that he had little to no compassion for others, and he had a little too much fun being a power hungry know-it-all. Okay, so maybe you had something against him after all. But you tolerated him because you were co-workers. And you liked being around Loki. Despite his closed-off demeanour and his violent past, he made you laugh with his weird humour and stories. You wouldn’t go so far as to call yourselves friends, but you did enjoy his company at least.

“What?” Reed exclaimed without real feeling. “But he was such a handsome man. You looked so good together.”

You opened your mouth to tell him to kindly fuck off, but Loki beat you to it. “A polished turd is a turd nonetheless, Agent.” He turned to you and inclined his head slightly. “If you require my assistance, fair Y/N, I know several ways to maim and disembowel someone without taking their lives –“ He winked at you, but Reed frowned.

“Now now, Loki. You are still on probation, remember? Talk like that can get you in trouble.”

You rolled your eyes. “Only if you rat on him, Ben. It’s not Loki’s fault you’ve no humour.” Turning back to Loki, you were smiling for the first time in what felt like ages. “Thank you, but no thanks. I greatly appreciate the offer, but Tommy doesn’t deserve another thought from me.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. Maybe you would like to accompany the Agent and myself? There is an empty table over there. What would you like to drink?”

You caught the eyes of the bartender, who sidled over to the three of you. “One rum and coke. With a lime wedge, please. Thank you.”

Holding up a finger, Benjamin nodded. “Beer.”

“And for you?” the bartender asked Loki.

“Brillet, please. Grande Champagne, if you have.”

A couple of minutes later, you were making your way to the empty table, just far enough from the biggest crowds to be able to talk, but close enough that you could zone out without it turning too awkward.

The evening turned out a lot better than you feared. One drink turned to two, turned to three, and the conversation flowed freely, only interrupted by loud outbursts of laughter. You even bobbed your foot to the music.

“Please excuse me,” Loki said, rising from the table. “Oh, no need to follow,” he added when Reed moved to get up too. “I just have to visit the restroom. Don’t worry. You’d know it if I tried anything.” He lifted his trouser leg slightly to reveal a sleek, black device. You knew they were monitoring him, but an ankle bracelet? So many questions filled your brain.

Reed seemed satisfied, and lowered himself back into the chair. Once Loki was out of earshot, he blew out a loud breath. “Jesus! I’m so sick of this. Following his every move. That goddamn weaselly face of his… I swear I’ll go mental one day!”

You frowned. It couldn’t be that bad. “You don’t have to follow him, you know. I’m sure he’s –“

“Loki is a war criminal, Y/N. He’ll never be a good citizen; evil is in his spine. But I guess you’re too blinded by his charm to see it.”

That was unnecessary harsh, you thought. Since the invasion of New York you had never seen Loki do anything illegal, and you were a firm believer in second chances and judging by what people did rather than what they had done. Reed, on the other hand… Apparently he held grudges, and when he decided he didn’t like you, well, then everybody knew it.

When Loki came back, looking fresh as always, Reed got to his feet. “I’m sure you can keep an eye at him,” he said to you, nodding to Loki. “I’m gonna…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but ploughed his way through the crowd towards a beautiful redhead dancing on her own by the DJ booth.

“Wow, that was sudden,” you said with a smile. “Not that I’m sad he left.”

Loki nodded, a smug smile spreading over his face. “I’m afraid he doesn’t like me very much.”

You watched as Reed tried and failed to grab the woman’s hand. A giggle escaped before you caught yourself, and you turned back to Loki. “Why? I mean, there’s the… but you’ve been very well behaved after, and he wasn’t even stationed in New York.”

Loki sipped his cognac, watching Reed’s efforts with amusements. “Well, he’s not very good with the ladies,” he said as if that would explain everything.

You gestured for him to continue.

“Last month he asked out a colleague, Annette was her name, I believe, but she turned him down. Rather harshly too, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? How?” You felt curiosity grow in your chest. His luck with the ladies couldn’t have anything to do with Loki, but then you remembered his comment earlier.

Loki shrugged just as the woman was joined by her friends, taking Reed by surprise. You both snorted into your drinks. “She told him that she would rather go on a date with me than spend an evening with him.”

“Ouch.”

“That is the correct term, yes. Ever since, his behaviour towards me has been increasingly colder.”

“Not your fault, though,” you offered, swinging your glass a little too vigorously, sloshing the drink over the edge. “Ben is rude. He doesn’t understand – see?”

The redhead slapped him hard across the cheek and turned to her friends, who were all laughing. Fuming, he returned to the table, and you hastily tried to look like you hadn’t been watching.

“Come on,” he growled, gesturing to Loki. “It’s time to go.”

Looking between them, you frowned. You weren’t at all ready to end the evening, and you were contemplating suggesting that you could take custody of Loki for the reminder of the night, but that probably weren’t a good idea anyway.

“Have a pleasant rest of the evening, Y/N,” Loki said, lifting your hand to his lips with a wink. Behind his back you could practically see smoke billowing from Ben’s ears. “Until our next meeting.”

It didn’t take long to finish your drink and call for a cab. The sudden stop to your talk with Loki reminded you that you came to the party alone, and that thought sent a wave of sadness and anger through you, and a short car ride later, you aggressively kicked off your shoes and stomped to bed without removing your makeup or clothes.

A week later you were sitting by your desk, trying to plot numbers into an Excel spreadsheet and not dying of boredom, when Miriam from floor three handed you a thick envelope. “You’ve got a mission,” she said before hurrying back to the elevator.

You opened the folder and pulled out a good pile of papers stamped CONFIDENTIAL in bright, red ink. Most of them contained notes and reports on Loki: his crimes and his progress, and you skimmed through it. As far as you could see he had done nothing to warrant suspicion the last three years, only minor pranks and general mischief, most of which, to be frank, you found hilarious.

The four last pages of the document contained a rough outline of a plan, and notes on Loki’s magic. A yellow post-it fluttered to the floor. When you picked it up, it revealed a time and location for a meeting. A quick glance at your calendar made you sweat. Tomorrow.

Loki was already there when you arrived, coffee in hand. Considering how he had treated the other agents (and to be fair, you couldn’t really blame him), you had decided to try to start on his good side, so you brought him a coffee as well.

“Morning,” you yawned, sliding the styrofoam cup over the table. It was too early to warrant a full sentence yet.

“Good morning, Y/N.” His voice was silky and suspicious. Clearly he hadn’t been informed of the change yet. You wondered if it was intentional, or if Agent Reed had just upped and fucked off the second he got the all clear.

Director Fury waltzed into the room moments later, followed by two agents you had never seen before. “Good. You’re both here. Please have a seat, Agent Y/N,” he added when you got to your feet.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “What the hell is going on, Fury?”

You swallowed, hoping your first task wouldn’t be cleaning up a showdown between the two. Because you were pretty certain it wouldn’t be pretty.

Fury smirked. “I have good news for you. Agent Reed resigned.”

You felt your face twitch as Loki leaned back into his chair and visibly relaxed. It was difficult to decipher his face, but you thought you could see a drop of relief in his eyes.

“However,” Fury continued, “I think you know we can’t just let you roam free. You have still to prove your allegiance. So I have assigned a new agent to keep you company.”

Nodding, you gave Loki a tight-lipped smile and a small salute with your coffee cup. Behind you the two agents tightened their grips on whatever weapons they were carrying.

Needing to diffuse the tension, you threw out your arms. “Tadaa. Could be worse, right?”

Loki remained silent, and you prayed he wouldn’t blow up. After a couple of uncomfortable minutes, he seemed to sink back in his chair. “Could be worse.”

Fury slid a folder across the table. “Good. That’s that out of the way. Do try to be a little excited, Loki. I thought you didn’t get along with Agent Reed.”

Loki caught the folder and read through the assignment. Once he was done, he groaned and rolled his eyes.

“We are in the process of finding a new apartment for you,” Fury said, ignoring Loki’s silent protest. “There is little in the vicinity of Y/N, but we will have a place ready within the next week or so.”

You looked at Loki, slumped in the chair, and Fury, oblivious to what was the real problem here. “Um, I have a suggestion,” you began, feeling all eyes on you and squirming in your seat. “If you need me to be closer… How about I move instead? It’s no problem for me to rent out my apartment. I have no sentimental ties to it, especially after…” You cleared your throat, shoving the memories of finding Tommy on your couch with some random chick to the back of your mind. What he had thought bringing her to your place instead of his own you didn’t know, but then again he had been absolutely sloshed. “Anyway, I’m sure it’s easier for me to move to the other side of the city?”

Hoping Fury would at least consider it, you glanced at Loki through the corner of your eyes. His back sat straighter, and he had moved to the edge of his seat. Maybe it would be a bearable arrangement after all.

“I’m sorry,” Fury said. “We have no one to relocate in that area. But…” He suddenly got a sly look in his eye. “Loki. You have a spare room, do you not? That would make it much easier for us.”

“What? Absolutely not!” His face clouded over, and you could practically sense the fire in his eyes. Okay, so this wouldn’t be easy after all.

What followed was a staring contest that would have even the testosterone filled tomcat slinking away to hide under the stairs. But eventually Loki inhaled and rubbed his temples. It looked like he mouthed “Fine,” but other than that he gave no indication that he was okay with the arrangement.

“So that’s decided. How soon can you move, Y/N?”

Feeling slightly dizzy from the power display that just played out, you hesitated. “Uh… whenever, really. Depends how much I have to bring with me.”

Part two

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Tagging the peeps who have shown interest:

@80percentmarvel @tardis-is-mine @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte

#loki x reader #fan fiction #loki laufeyson #au sorta #oh my god they were roommates #series #fluff #flangst #angst #mcu sort of?

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