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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Tiny Dancer (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: Reader and Frankie are best friends, and both think that their feelings are unrequited… with the help of a little throwback music, that might change. Reader uses she/her pronouns.

Warnings: alcohol use

Word Count: 1.79k

A/N: This is my first published fic! I hope you like it, whoever’s reading this!! Thanks to my beta readers and people who helped me format, @lovetoreader @mandoalorian and @no-droids-on-sunday, as well as a couple friends not on tumblr!

gif credit to @amahlfarouk!

The fire crackles and casts a warm glow across Frankie’s face, highlighting the valleys and ridges of the lines in his skin, the shadow accentuating his pronounced nose. He really is beautiful, you sigh and think to yourself as you look at him. You’ve been friends with Frankie for a long time now, since high school, and the feelings you first had for him upon your introduction never quite faded. He looks completely relaxed, the bonfire, the music, and your presence putting him at ease.

You tear your eyes from his face as you see him shifting, not wanting him to notice that you were most definitely staring. He picks up his phone and presses a button, shuffling the oldies playlist he chose and allowing John Denver’s Take Me Home, Country Roads to play through his Bluetooth speaker sitting on the table between the two of you. You give a laugh. “Good memories with this one,” you say with an easy smile on your face and look over at him, nudging his leg with your boot-covered foot.

Frankie definitely agrees as he smiles back at you, his nose scrunching and his dimple showing. “Oh god. You almost got us kicked out of that bar for how loud you screamed this,” he chuckles and nudges your leg back, his strength moving your leg significantly farther than you nudged his.

The two of you stop your brief chatter and start singing along. Frankie is loud and off-key, his baritone perfectly complimenting your equally out-of-tune voice. Both of you mumble through the first verse, not entirely sure of the words to this part. As it comes to the chorus, however, it’s a completely different story. The two of you start bellowing the words, laughing and grinning at each other.

That night at your local bar was the closest Frankie ever got to kissing you.

You had both had only enough alcohol to be lightly tipsy, meaning one-and-a-half drinks for you and three for Frankie. The bar had a machine that allowed you to pick the music, and Frankie eagerly used his quarters on song after song that you requested. Your face, flushed from alcohol, was closer to his than normal. He bit down on his lip and looked down as your faces got closer through the laughter, and as he looked up he swore he saw it in your eyes, exactly what he was feeling.

The song ended and another came on, and an entirely different spark entered your eyes. “Oh my God!” You giggled. “I love this song! This is, like, the best,” you raved as the guitar kicked in.

“The only song of the night you didn’t request is the best?” He teases you, the moment gone as you lean back to start singing along. “Really, you like John Denver?” He asks over the loud music and chatter.

Nodding enthusiastically, your grin made him grin back. “Of course, Francisco. I’m a woman of culture,” you tease right back happily and push his shoulder. You knock back the rest of your second drink and slide off your barstool. “Come on, we’re dancing,” you practically shout and drag him off of his and to the small clearing for dancing

Frankie begrudgingly follows. He’s not much of a dancer, but he’d do anything for you. That much was obvious, he thought. As you reach the floor, you start belting the lyrics at the top of your lungs, audible even over the hum of the bar.

As the chorus ends, you two both try to mumble the verse again, neither of you knowing the words. “Good memories,” he says again, a wistful smile on his face as he sits back in his chair a little further.

“The best. You’re a good dance partner,” you smile along with him. “Even if that song wasn’t really us dancing. It was more standing close to each other while I burst your eardrums with my opera-worthy voice,” you sarcastically grin and elbow him lightly in the forearm. He makes a fake whimper of pain and pouts. “Catfish,” you laugh and shake your head at him softly, “the military veteran, special ops pilot extraordinaire, wounded by my elbow.”

“Just because I was in the military doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain anymore, hermosa,” he frowns at you and elbows you back. You make a similar noise and he grins. “See? Doesn’t feel great, does it?”

The two of you continue on with your playful banter, the way it’s always been for the two of you. You bicker and shove lightly, both of you separately thinking the same thing: that the main reason you love to push and shove isn’t because you see them like a sibling, but because you want any excuse you can to touch them.

Your bickering continues as the song changes, and a break in the action causes a lull that allows you to notice the new song that came on. Grinning, you grab his phone and turn up the volume before setting it back on the small table between the two of you. “Oh my god, I love Elton John,” you coo as you hear his familiar voice singing Tiny Dancer.

“I’m well aware,” he shoots back and shakes his head. “Add that song to the list of reasons my eardrums are broken. You know, people would think it’s because of the helicopters that I have hearing damage. What would they think if I told them it was because your tiny ass body has the strongest vocal chords to exist?” He groans, raising an eyebrow at you that rests just below the brim of his classic baseball cap.

“Tiny?” You say, jokingly aggressive. You don’t consider yourself short; in fact, you’re above average. But with Frankie Morales, you practically look like an elf. He towers over you, and it drives you insane.

“Just like the song,” he nods then gasps. “You are tiny dancer,” he says with a pleased smile spreading across his cheeks and showing that goddamn dimple.

Smacking his arm, you shake his head. “Don’t even go there. First of all, we both know I only dance when I’m drunk or you make me,” you laugh. “The only-”

Frankie cuts you off by standing and taking your hand, pulling you to your feet as well. “You’re tiny and now you’re dancing,” he says, smiling down at you as he wraps his free arm around his waist, the other hand still clutching yours.

“You’re cheesy as hell, Morales, you know that?” You ask and look up at him, the baseball cap shading his chocolate brown eyes.

Frankie shrugs, starting to sway the two of you along, carefully avoiding the fire but staying close enough that the two of you are warm. “I may have been told that before,” he says and gives you a warm smile.

Your heart thumps increasingly harder in your chest, which is now pressed to Frankie’s as he pulls you closer and gently sets his chin on your shoulder. You’re sure he can feel it, which makes you panic slightly, which makes your heart race even faster. You rest your head against his shoulder, the position coming naturally. You’ve slow danced before, of course, as the two of you always find yourself on the dance floor, but it’s only been a few times. Rare. Dancing usually consists of you and Frankie, not touching, flailing like complete idiots. Neither of you were known for your coordination when it comes to dancing, and it has always shown. But this is nice. Completely different.

Humming the lyrics, his throat buzzes and you can feel it where your head rests against the side of his neck. He stops humming and starts singing softly, the smile in his voice evident.

“Hold me closer tiny dancer… count the headlights on the highway…”

Giggling softly, you break away as Frankie pulls back, making you do a spin. You squeal as you lose your balance and stumble for a moment. Once again, coordination is not your strong suit. Both of you laugh as Frankie protectively pulls you back to his chest, stopping you before you can fall. “Careful,” he chides lovingly.

“It’s a little late to be careful now, Frankie,” you shoot back sarcastically. “I already tripped.”

You look up at him, taken aback by the tenderness in his eyes. He always looks happy to be around you, but his eyes are painfully soft as he smiles down at you.

The look makes you inhale sharply. He can’t feel that way about you, can he? You would’ve known sooner, surely, and you’ve been friends for a long time. You’ve always been able to read him like a book, what is this new expression? Or… is it new? You ask yourself all of these questions, biting your lip softly and looking down.

He tears his gaze away and increases the distance between you, not nearly as close, terrified that he just gave too much away. He clears his throat and takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair before replacing it. He turns away and heads for his chair. “Sorry,” he says bashfully, looking at you. “I-,”

Something emboldens you. You’re not sure what, but it’s probably the fact that you suddenly put the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle together: he likes you too. You grab his wrist and stop him. “Please don’t be sorry,” you tell him and move closer to him, your heaving chests close once again. You reach up and take off his hat, running a hair through his curls, a peace offering. An offering, maybe, for something more.

“Can I kiss you, hermosa?” Frankie asks, voice barely a rasp of a whisper as he pulls you closer with an arm around your waist.

You nod slightly and Frankie slowly moves in, his other hand moving to your cheek as he allows your lips to meet, soft and perfect. You sigh lightly and bring your free hand to his cheek as well, the other holding his ballcap and dangling at your side. You kiss him back contently, allowing the slow and gentle moment to rest.

He eventually is the first to break away, his heart in his eyes and your faces close together. “I…” he wants to say something but can’t find the right words.

“Me too,” you whisper back with a chuckle, brushing his curls from his face. “Me too, Frankie,” you say and blissfully kiss him again, the swell of the music perfectly matching the rhythm of your kiss.

He breaks away after a few moments, smiling softly at you again. “I told you, you’re her, you’re tiny dancer,” he teases softly. “My tiny dancer?” He asks shyly, taking the hand from the side of his face and lacing your fingers together.

“Yours,” you breathe in agreement and close the gap between you to kiss him once again.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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( SWEET MAGNOLIAS. )

He was your unlikely muse; you were the weird girl in the park. Could you make it any more obvious?

pairing. myg x named f!reader. s2l.

genre + rating. college!au. fluff, angst, smut. explicit.

tags / warnings. light cussing, yoongi being rightfully weirded out, a whole lotta softness, sadness if you squint at the right times, body painting, and then, of course, the most tender, dumbest lovemaking (unprotected but don’t be silly like them!). there’s also a really bad callback to the titanic. i’m not sorry. lol.

wc. 8.2k

You try not to stare for too long, sweeping your gaze in wide circles so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. You try not to let your eyes linger, follow the contours of his cheeks - soft, pronounced when he smiles - or the shape of his mouth - delicate, petal pink. You try not to make it weird - but it’s decidedly, very weird.

You just can’t help yourself.

He’s always here around this time, laid out on a worn red blanket. Sometimes, he reads. Books like The Alchemist and the Stranger and once, Dante’s Inferno. Other times, he pops a pair of headphones on - oversized, intimidatingly large over his ears - and closes his eyes. Most rare of all, is when he’s not alone, joined at the hip by at least one other boy and on occasion, an entire group of six.

They’re all interesting in their own ways.

There’s one with shoulders the size of boulders, a mountain range situated beneath his shirts. He has a weird laugh that sounds like windshield wipers and your mother’s spring cleaning routine. He yells a lot and even across the lawn, you can sometimes make out his voice.

There’s the tallest one, with kind eyes and dimples so deep you question if there’s treasure buried in them. He reads a lot, too. You’ve seen him in the library more times than you can count, always dutifully tucked away in a back corner surrounded by scattered looseleaf. Despite the course load he seems to have taken on, you’ve never seen him lose his cool. You have seen him lose his phone, though, and pencils and textbooks and AirPods.

There’s Hoseok, whose name you only know because he held your hair once at a fall sorority party. You hadn’t been drinking but somehow, somehow, your roommate had convinced you to apple bob with her. He’d been gracious enough to help you out, fisting your hair in a gentle grip. It’s what spurred you to now always have an elastic on your wrist.

There’s the dancer. He’s slight and even in stillness, far more graceful than you’ll ever be. He’s got pillowy lips and hair that gleams like silk. You’ve sketched him too, once or twice, but never more. It just didn’t feel right - as if you’d never be able to translate that sort of beauty onto paper.

There’s the one from your Art 340 Drawing II class. You’ve wondered, on more than one occasion, how come he isn’t the model. He’s got perfect proportions - defined jaw, strong nose, cheekbones carved from marble. It’s almost off-putting seeing him in person; it feels far more fitting for him to be displayed in a museum, with a plaque that reads Perfection, Mixed Media.

There’s the youngest one, Jungkook. They call him maknae despite the fact that he dwarfs nearly all of them. Maybe it’s just the clothes he wears: boots that look like they’d break your neck and everything in slightly darker shades of black. You run into him at least four times a week - trading greetings at the campus coffee shop and at the library. You’re practically best pals by college standards.

And then, of course, there’s him. Your muse. The one you can’t help but stare at - even when you’re trying your hardest not to. The one who wears glasses though you’re almost certain he doesn’t need them. The one whose smile is more gums than teeth, who looks unassuming and yet often breaks out into the strangest, most inspired dance moves you’ve ever seen. The one who plays recreational basketball on Tuesday nights and who drinks more coffee than you think should be humanly possible.

Min Yoongi.

You sketch him like you’ll never see him again, dragging charcoal strokes across paper until your hand is muddied and the curve of his ear is looking worse for wear. You repeat lines over and over, turning the mop of his hair into ringlets and waves, weaving dimension through the india ink that spills over his eyes. You sometimes add his glasses; you’re quite fond of the look on him.

You paint him sometimes, too, imagining how he’d look with periwinkle blue hair, or maybe dressed in shades of maroon. You swath him in textured fabrics and lovely watercolours, turning him into a fantasy that’ll never see the light of day. Pretty little daydreams with him fixed at the centre.

You fill your pages with his figure, the way he smiles when Hoseok does something silly or how he joins in when Jungkook laughs. You study every bit and piece, learning him in every admiring way you can - despite the fact that you don’t really know him at all.

It’s a staggering lesson in futility but one you take almost daily, armed with pencil and paper and not a single ounce of common sense.

That is, until you’ve done the stupidest thing imaginable.

No, not getting caught. Not in the traditional sense, at least. He hasn’t realised you sit on your bench - yes, your bench, with the sticky metal arm rest and illegible initials scratched into the back - and watch him almost every day. You thank your lucky stars for that.

What you’ve done is much worse - punishable by death by embarrassment.

You have no fucking clue where your sketchbook is.

You could’ve sworn you had it in your bag when you’d returned to your room last night. You can’t imagine you would’ve left it anywhere in the open, orphaning it on a campus full of idiots. You were always so careful. You don’t just lose things.

“I think it’s gone, girl.” You’ve never wanted to yell at your roommate more - not even when you’d caught her and her boyfriend banging in your bed after you’d come home early on the long weekend or when she’d eaten all of your Cherry Garcia ice cream. The desire bubbles about in your chest, fizzing angrily like an agitated soda bottle.

“It’s here somewhere.” The words grit between your teeth, insistent as can be.

“You’ve been looking for like, twenty minutes.”

“It’s here.”

“I really don’t think it is…” Jisoo doesn’t quite deserve how you explode, rounding on her with hands flying and eyes wild. “You’re also going to be late for your class.”

Your words falter with the verbalisation of hers.

Lucky for her; unlucky for you.

The hands of the clock above your desk wave at you mockingly. You are, indeed, going to be late for your class.

“Shit! Shit!” Everything you’d torn out gets shoved back into your tote bag. Band-Aids, mints, too many wayward pencils and pens. You almost forget your phone, attention only drawn to it when Jisoo catches the strap of your backpack and yanks you back.

“Don’t forget,” she hums, far more kindly than your harebrained self deserves.

You forget all the reasons you’re upset with her. “Thanks, Ji.” You force a kiss on her cheek before you’re darting out of your room and sprinting across campus to Art 340.

“Nice of you to join us, Miru.” It’s your professor greeting you as you run in fifteen minutes late, weaving through other students to find your seat near the far wall. Laughter follows you, coiling around your ankles and over your shoulders as you settle into your seat, fully hidden behind the oversized easel.

You can’t help the scarlet that paints your cheeks, creeping high across your temples. You know no one cares - that Professor Kinsella is probably the most laidback professor you’ve had in your four semesters - but it can’t be stopped. You’re already flustered from temporarily misplacing your sketchbook that everything else just feels like shit icing on your garbage cake.

“Sorry!” It squeaks out - a mouse, eaten up wholly by cat-ate-the-canary laughter that sounds over your shoulder and not very quietly.

“Having a bad day?”

You’ve heard the voice a handful of times so it shouldn’t shock you the way it does, nearly knocking the graphite from your hand.

“What?”

Kim Taehyung’s on the edge of his chair, one long leg stretched toward you, the other balanced across his knee. You’re not sure how that’s meant to be comfortable but he makes it look effortless. Then again, looking like him, living probably was effortlessly. You can’t deny you’re a little envious.

“Your face is all red. You’re out of breath. Feels like a bad day to me.”

You try not to dwell on the fact that, apparently, you look like an absolute mess. “No, I’m good.” It sounds fake even to your ears, tinny and wrought with anxiety.

“You sure?” He’s not really paying attention to you as he speaks, tracing the contours of the model across his canvas. He begins where you’d never think to, framing the main masses with a languid twist of his wrist. Unlike you, he doesn’t get caught up in the detail; he sees the bigger picture for all it is, building from the outside in.

You’re watching him for longer than you realise, whipping back around once it dawns on you. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“Who knows.” There’s a playfulness in his tone that sets you on edge. You’ve never heard it before, all rounded vowels and molasses laughter. You mean to work as you listen, waiting for some indication of whatever lies just beneath the surface.

It’s a mistake. Your stick of charcoal snaps in half when he continues, low and slow as if he’s dragging it out.

“—maybe you lost a sketchbook?”

“Did you say…” You can’t finish the sentence. You feel like you’re about to be sick.

The amount of mischief in his expression should be illegal. It’s dancing in his eyes, curling wide and unabashed over his lips. It’s practically radiating off of him.

“So, bad day?”

He waits for you to pack up, hands tucked into the endless pockets of his black slacks. At any other time, in any other universe, you’d be giddy. Girls on campus would kill for even a second of Taehyung’s attention.

(It’s true - you’d heard a group of them talking about it one time.)

Here and now, you want to sink six feet under.

“They’re really good, you know.” As if the compliment will dull the mortification that threatens to cleave you in half. “You’re really good at capturing his boredom. That’s not easy.”

“Thanks.” You should make conversation; it’s the polite thing to do.

After all, he was kind enough to find and return your sketchbook. Better him than someone else, right? Better him than Yoongi himself? That’s what you tell yourself, at least.

Yoongi doesn’t know and therefore, it’s okay. Semi okay. Distantly related to the idea of okay.

As if he can read your mind, Taehyung speaks gently, with a hand that burns through the linen of your blouse. You know he means well but it sears white hot, eviscerating your nerve endings. “You have nothing to worry about. I didn’t tell him.”

You don’t answer him. There’s nothing to say - not really. You’re far too lost in your own thoughts to acknowledge the effort he’s making. Maybe this was life’s way of telling you to back off - to find another person to paint.

Or maybe it’s brought you two together, says the silly, naive angel on your shoulder.

You’re ready to flick her off - launch her like some kind of poor Tinkerbell - when your name catches your attention. It’s announced so dramatically that you double take, making sure you haven’t completely run through a picnic or accidentally slammed into someone.

“This is Miru.”

Cognisance comes slow and unhurried, even as your stare swivels wildly in search of context clues.

Laid out before you, right under that familiar magnolia tree, is one blanket, three bodies, and enough takeout to last you an entire week.

“Ohf, phey!” With cheeks stuffed full, it’s hard to make out the two syllables. They crowd against each other, offered in a garbled mess that has you regarding Jungkook with a mixture of concern and confusion. He’s swallowing thickly before he rises far too quickly; you watch a forgotten piece of kimbap go flying, lost to the dirt and bugs. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Do you want to join us?” It’s the angelic one, fitted with cherubic cheeks and a rounded Cupid’s bow. “I’m Jimin, by the way.” He pats the empty space beside him, eyes waning into crescents with the force of his friendliness.

Taehyung had asked if you wanted to grab dinner but you’d never imagined he meant this.

You’ve never been subtle but you try your damnedest to peek at him from your periphery. Unfortunately for you, he’s already sat down, fully made himself comfortable beside the last member of the group.

The one who, for all intents and purposes, appears as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. If looks could kill, you think.

“Don’t worry about him,” Jimin says, so sweetly, with a small bento lid held towards you. It’s already stacked with goodies - a selection of banchan and homemade-looking meatballs sitting alongside a poorly-shaped mound of rice. “Sometimes, he gets like this.”

You want to believe it. Really, you do, but by the way Yoongi’s mouth curls in distaste, all signs point to it being a matter of you rather than a mood.

“Maybe if she respected peoples’ privacy, I wouldn’t have an issue.”

It’s a single sentence quietly spoken and yet it feels like an open-palm slap to the face. Heat radiates over every visible inch, starkly coloured in contrast to the white of your top. It burns as it licks over your cheeks and past your temples, tipping your ears.

“I’m so sorry.” It isn’t clear who you’re apologizing to, the words tumbling wet off your tongue like a waterfall.

You’re gone before anyone can ask.

“That was a dick move.” Jungkook is the first to break the silence, levelling his friend with a disapproving stare. He’s not used to this side of him - the one that can tear a person apart with just a few words. It’s not the Yoongi he knows. It’s not really Yoongi at all.

“Yeah, hyung.” It’s thinner, but just as reproachful. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Yoongi’s laugh is dismissive but he won’t meet anyone’s stare - a tell-tale sign that he’s just a little affected by their words - choosing instead to shovel bites of soondae into his mouth. “Mean what? Invading my privacy?”

“She’s an artist.” Taehyung doesn’t mean it as an excuse but by how Yoongi bristles, he’s certain the senior takes it as such. Before the argument can begin, he continues, all while wrapping a piece of samgyupsal in lettuce. “I doubt she meant any harm, so just cut her some slack.” Fringe is flicked away from his eyes, something sparkling in the pretty brown of his irises. “I’d actually be flattered, if I were you.”

“Then you be her model.”

You haven’t drawn in four days. Well, not really.

You’ve completed what you need for classes, filling your books with mandatory figures and notes on colour theory. You’ve diligently mapped out proportions and brought to life sunsets and sceneries. You’ve done everything you should be doing but nothing that you want to be.

It just doesn’t feel right. Not anymore.

“I hear he’s a really nice guy.” You can’t count how many times Jisoo has tried to cheer you up. From picking up your favourite ice cream (the one she tends to devour anyway) to ordering in fried chicken, she’s been the picture perfect roommate. It only makes you feel that much worse.

You were moping over something that was your fault. And she had to pick up the pieces! It seemed wildly unfair but when you’d told her to stop - insisted upon it with a wail into your pillow - she’d simply shook her head and wrapped you in her arms.

For all of your stupid, silly little rows, Kang Jisoo was the best roommate you’d had in your entire university career.

“Just go outside.” She’s perched on the edge of her bed, painting her toes a brilliant shade of neon green. She’d offered to do yours too, but you’ve more or less refused to leave the comfort of your burrito blanket for anything beyond classes or food. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

“I can try,” you mumble, words lost to the cotton of your sheets.

Try - and fail, it seemed. You’d already run into him twice. Twice! Even after you’d started taking absurdly long roundabout routes to your classes, the universe had conspired against you.

The first time he’d been walking out of the gym, shoulder to shoulder with another upperclassmen you didn’t recognize. You’d seen him coming from a mile away thanks to his obnoxiously bright Lakers jersey and you’d booked it back the way you’d come, nearly mowing down a couple making kissy faces at each other in front of the lecture hall.

The second time was yesterday afternoon. You’d thought he’d be in his usual spot - so close to your usual spot - that you’d gone to the coffee shop for a midday pick-me-up. Even embarrassed, you weren’t about to suffer a caffeine deficiency. You’d rounded the corner in the same instance he had and you’d sworn he’d seen you, recognition flickering across his face. Fortunately, there’d been a door directly to your right and you’d all but thrown yourself inside.

It was the first and hopefully last time you’d be in a men’s washroom.

“I thought you were tougher than this,” Jisoo hums, equal parts disapproval and kindness. She levels you with a stare - you can feel it burning into your fortress of blankets - and sighs. It’s a bit dramatic, you think.

“Tell me you wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing!”

Then again, she’d probably never be stupid enough to lose something so important nor would she fixate so heavily on one person. Your point still stands.

“Seriously, girl.”

Her nail polish bottle bounces off your bed, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump. You look up in time to see her staring at you imploringly, so wide-eyed and innocent you can’t help but be a little suspicious. “What?”

“I wanted to have Andy over.”

It all falls into place then. Her boyfriend’s in a frat and your (poor) dorm room is the only place they have any sort of privacy. It makes you want to gag but you can’t blame her. You’ve always had an unspoken agreement; you’d just tossed it out the window the past few days.

Guilt prompts you to extract yourself from your duvet, though you don’t stop the chorus of gross, gross, gross! as you begin gathering your things. You almost leave your sketchbook, only opting to tuck it under your arm at the last minute.

“Please, please, don’t use my bed this time.”

“We love you!” She sing-songs as you tug your sneakers on and slip into the hallway.

You’re at a different bench across campus when you hear the voice. It comes from behind you and to your left, accusatory and sharp. You nearly jump out of your own skin, toppling over your water bottle and plastic paint palette. Orange watercolour soaks into the material on your thigh. Dammit.

“Are you following me?”

Min Yoongi stands not three feet from you, arms folded over his chest.

Your heart stutters at the sight of him. It’s hard to speak when it feels like it’s leapt into your throat.

“What?” You hate how you sound - a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You have nothing to be ashamed of. At least, not right now. You’d come all the way here, as far from the magnolia tree and red blanket as you could.

“I said—” His words are glacial and biting. It’s suddenly winter, far chillier than spring should be. You wish you’d brought a sweater or maybe, that the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You can’t be cold when you’re dead. “—are you following me?”

“Of course not!”

There’s nothing but disbelief in his expression. It paints itself in broad strokes, prominent in the shadows beneath his eyes and the curl of his mouth. He says nothing.

“Really. I’m not.” You’re insistent, apologetic. Every nerve ending is shot, going haywire beneath your skin and lighting you up in shades of red. The tips of your fingers are tingling. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You wonder if he’s baiting you now.

“For…” Words are cherry-picked and perfect, chosen with a shaking head and the utmost care. “I shouldn’t have drawn you without asking.”

“No shit,” he returns, completely deadpan. He’s really not making this any easier.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” you continue, a little hopeful and a lot bashful. “I just— I don’t get inspiration like this that often. So I couldn’t let it go.” You don’t need to add what you do, but you do so anyway, because you’ve never been great at making good choices. “Your face is really unique and when you’re happy, it’s just so expressive and your smile is—”

There’s a siren blaring in your ears. A red alert going off so loudly you almost miss the way he laughs.

It’s not the same one he offers to his best friends - far more reserved, exceedingly softer - but it’s there and it’s real and you don’t think you’ll ever forget this moment.

“You’re laughing.”

He stops immediately. Fair.

“I’m sorry.” Again. More. Draped in apology and optimism that peeks out between your teeth and shines in the dark of your stare. “Even though I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I did, and for that I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

It’s hard to read him, even after you’ve spent hours studying his face. There’s a distinct difference between seeing someone and knowing them, you realize. You might be able to map out every wrinkle of his eyes - replicate every dot and freckle - but you have no idea what it all means or how it comes together to create something more.

Silence fits between the two of you for what feels like a long time. It’s not uncomfortable, though, so you allow it to settle. You figure it’s better than his anger, in any case.

“You could’ve just asked me.”

You can’t wipe the disbelief from your face. “Would you have said yes?”

Yoongi shrugs, a small roll of his shoulders beneath the oversized sweater that dwarfs his frame. “Don’t know, but I would’ve appreciated it.”

Because that’s really what it came down to - the thought, not the action. He’s not entirely sure you understand that yet but he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Blame his softening on the steady repetitions Taehyung and Jungkook have made the past few days. You were lucky to have them in your corner - even if that meant they’d been a thorn in his side.

“Then… can I sketch you?” You’re probably (read: definitely) pushing it. You can’t help it.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scoff at your audacity. He decides on the former, with a shake of his head that swings his bangs across his forehead and a small, private smile. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” You imagine he can’t hear you as he’s backing away and disappearing the way he came.

“See you tomorrow.”

True to his word, Yoongi lets you draw him the next time you see him (and the next time and the time after that).

It’s different - working off someone who knows they’re being studied. He holds himself a little more stiffly, a little more carefully. His laughter isn’t quite as loud, his smiles more forced. He apologises, even though he doesn’t need to.

Even his untrained eye can see how you struggle to bring life to a robot.

Over time, though, it comes - comfort.

Like the quietly burning coals that melt him down from the inside out, he begins to warm up to you. It comes slowly but it comes nonetheless, as steady as the sun. You appreciate his effort - his patience - more than you can ever say.

You know he gets it, though. He always does. It’s a Yoongi thing.

“You can relax.”

It’s just the two of you, swathed in sweat and waning light that casts shadows across his cheeks. The days are longer than they’ve ever been and the both of you tend to lose track of time, spending hours under that magnolia tree.

“I am relaxed,” he returns, sinking further onto his back, elbows hardly acting to prop him up. He’d been engrossed in a novel for the first half of the afternoon. Another book you’d never bothered to read outside of high school English class. You never really understood it - you much preferred to watch than read - but you loved when he’d recite the words to you, clear and bright and better than any melody.

“You’re trying to stay awake.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No. You’re just as good of a model when you’re sleeping.”

The smile is lazy, hazy like Sunday morning. It reveals his gums and ticks higher on the left side. It makes your heart skip a beat.

“Go ahead then,” he continues. The entirety of his body sags, drops onto the bag he likes to use as a makeshift pillow. You don’t imagine it’s all that comfortable but he never complains.

“If you’re tired, we can just head in, you know.”

You always offer. He never says yes.

A part of you thinks he likes the attention. It’s different from what he receives from anyone else - thoughtful and careful. You think he might like the quiet, too. The benefit of quality time without any of the effort.

So you push on, charcoal edge meeting paper once more. “Just another twenty minutes.”

“Why me?”

The enquiry comes one day, completely out of the blue. It skips your heart and breaks the pastel in your fingers, dust chalking them a lovely shade of lilac.

“What?” You’re not ready for how close Yoongi is - much closer than he ever is - and you shift back, away from the face you’ve spent months filling your sketchbooks with. “Why you what?”

He’s completely nonchalant as he moves even closer.

You can smell his cologne - a distinctly masculine fragrance that’s musk and cedar - and the coffee he’s been nursing for the last hour. It fills your senses, recentring all of your focus so intensely that you don’t immediately recognise he’s continued speaking.

“Why’d you choose to draw me? Why not someone else?” He seems genuinely curious, even though it feels dangerous - a dangling string that’s meant to unravel you.

The answer doesn’t come easily, despite the fact it’s something you’ve asked yourself.

Why him? Why Min Yoongi?

“I don’t know,” you answer, perhaps too honestly. “I saw you and it sort of… just clicked.” How it sounds doesn’t escape you - like something plucked out of a bad romance novel. “I didn’t expect it to be you. I thought I’d draw you once - okay, twice - and then I’d move onto another subject. But I just… couldn’t?”

“So, what you’re telling me is it was love at first sight?” It’s glaringly obvious he’s teasing you. He’s got that grin of his, sly and feline as it creeps across his mouth.

You don’t bristle, instead painted bright red like the sunset that streaks across the sky.

“I— I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, you didn’t say otherwise.”

It’s an uncomfortable line of questioning. You’re not used to it and certainly not from him. You hesitate to speak, turning words over and over on your tongue in an effort to make yourself clear.

You’re not weird. You don’t want this to be weird. But you can’t deny - it’s, decidedly, still very weird.

He tries again - a different tactic this time. One that surprises you, despite the unique friendship you’ve forged over the past few months. “What if I told you I was glad?”

“Glad?” It feels like an echo chamber. Repetition. As if you’re going in circles, chasing a tail that remains just out of reach. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What if I told you I’m happy we met?”

Your blink is owlish, fully caught off-guard. “I’d say the same thing. I’m happy we’re friends.”

Amusement rolls off him in waves, evidenced by the laugh that curls into the afternoon. He shimmies closer and closer until there’s barely three inches between you. His knee knocks against yours, bony and denim-clad. You try to ignore the way it burns through your own jeans, sparking heat all the way up to the tips of your ears and down into the soles of your feet.

“What if I told you I don’t want to be just friends anymore?”

It’s not a surprise, really. It’s something that’s been on your mind the past few weeks, sown by offhand comments and little gestures you haven’t been able to ignore. Jungkook had even practically shouted it at you just the other night.

“I’d say…” You trail off, lost somewhere among the constellations in his eyes.

“You’d say?” The words are parroted back at you, threaded together by gossamer thin hope.

“I’d say you’re welcome. For choosing you.” The confidence isn’t your own. It comes from him, crafted by the support he offers easily, hands out like keys. Keys to his heart, you realise belatedly, with a sudden bashfulness. Of course.

He can’t wipe the smile from his face. It eats up every inch, dominating even the playfulness that shines through, turning it the prettiest shade. It stands bright against his cheeks, staining the pale apples red. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

You’re suddenly very determined - because you want to give this to him. Just as he’s given you everything you wanted, you want to do the same. In this little cut-out piece of paradise, there’s nothing quite as important.

The one word isn’t much but it feels like a turning point. “Yes.”

“You want me to say ‘yes’?”

He nods, just once. There’s so much certainty you can’t doubt him.

“Then yes—”

It doesn’t matter what you’ve just said yes to. It doesn’t even matter that it could be something awful or really, anything under the sun. All that matters is the feeling of his lips, soft and warm and dry on yours. It’s better than any painting you’ve ever seen, any song you’ve ever heard. It fills you wholly, stuttering your heart and bubbling giddiness in the pit of your stomach.

You probably sound a little silly, surprisingly breathless from such a little thing. “Wow.”

“Good things happen when you ask,” he states, solemnly. You’d take him more seriously if he weren’t so dopey, grinning at you like he never has before.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope.”

Luckily, you don’t mind. Not if it gets you another kiss.

You tell him as much and he happily obliges, stealing your breath and replacing it with sugar-coated stardust. You ponder whether you might be able to create with those same particles, turning them into colourful streaks to paint his cheeks. You’d like to find out.

You want a lot of things with Min Yoongi, you decide.

You don’t know how you ended up here.

Actually, that’s a lie. You do. All because of a dumb joke, uttered in passing by Taehyung and now ingrained so deeply in your psyche that you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about it.

“Get out of there,” he whispers right against your temple, lips following to soothe whatever’s got you preoccupied.

“Where?”

“Right there, idiot.” Fingers tap twice, a quick one-two against the side of your head.

You can’t help but grimace, a wrinkling of your nose that your boyfriend chuckles at, pressing kisses across the bridge and over your cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry - just come back to me.” To this moment, he means.

This strange little scene, with his fingers dressed in non-toxic paint and you stripped down to nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and thong.

Have him paint you like one of his French girls, Taehyung had said. It’ll be fun, he’d said.

You think it might be - if you weren’t bouncing with nerves, all five feet three inches of you fizzling with anticipation. Yoongi was only painting you. This was a bonding exercise. Something to bring you closer, to breach the gap between lovestruck artist and inspired musician. Nothing more.

“You’re beautiful, you know.” It’s not meant to be a reassurance but simply a passing comment, like looking at the sky or seeing it snow. So straightforward it makes you laugh, the sound bubbling about in your throat.

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“No, seriously.” He levels you with a look. You know the one - a touch stern but ultimately playful. “I wanted to make something beautiful but…” Digits wiggle, Atlantic blue sweeping over the tips and up his knuckles like the sea. “I can’t really improve on something that’s already perfect.”

Your cheeks light on fire, as brilliantly coloured as the red in his - your - palette.

He thinks it looks pretty against his hands. The same ones that cradle your cheek, so precisely you want to remind him you’re a canvas and not clay.

“You’re silly.”

“ You’re silly,” he returns, as if that’ll somehow win him this battle of wits.

The roll of your eyes is undeniable. “Good one.”

“You know, I’ve got a ton of paint, right? Not your best choice, making fun of me.” He punctuates each word with passes of his fingers. Colour appears wherever he travels, dragged over your skin with dreamy twists of his wrist. A line here, a circle there. Goosebumps follow in their wake despite the fact that his touch is like candle wax - soothing and deliberate.

You wonder, idly, whether he can feel you burning up beneath him.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs again, almost to himself as he dips his fingers into another dot of paint. Pink this time - in the same shade as the magnolias outside. He spreads the colour over your chest, right where your heart beats an erratic rhythm.

He takes his time in admiring his handiwork, swirling the two shades together until it’s the most flattering shade of purple.

You try - and fail - to ignore the way it stirs something behind your ribs. A need that flickers to life without any sort of warning and has you pressing your thighs together.

“Can I take this off?” It comes abruptly, with eyes that snap up to yours. There’s already a hand tucked beneath the small of your back, right under your shoulders. He already knows your answer - can see it in the blown out pupils that reflect his entire world back at him. He still wants to hear it.

You’re unable to find your voice. It’s gone, stolen by the way he ghosts his fingers up and down the sensitive notches of your spine. You could get lost in this feeling, if he let you. You almost do, only nodding when he moves no further, flat of his palm a solid weight right against the clasp of your bra.

You don’t mind that the band is coloured pink and blue when he tosses it aside. You don’t have it in you to focus on anything but how he studies you now. Openly admires you, like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“What?” Mellifluous and adoring. Music to his ears.

“I think I’m getting distracted.”

“I think so, too.”

“Is that okay?” He speaks more to your boobs than you, single stained hand coming to rest across your ribs. The pad of his thumb swipes over a single bud, perked and already far too sensitive. He’d put his mouth on it, if not for the fact it’s now covered in paint.

Fortunately, there’s still so much of you - places he hasn’t explored but suddenly, desperately needs to.

From the column of your throat and all the way down to the valley of your breasts, he offers sweet kisses. Open-mouthed adoration that leaves you needy and breathless and writing. He catches your untouched nipple between his teeth, gently working it into the same state as its tinted twin.

You shift beneath him, unable to stop the bolt of electricity that rips through you like a thousand volts. It cracks your composure like lightning and sends your pulse racing like thunder. “Of course.”

He hums, content, and nearly falls, dropping his cheek fully against your chest. You’re so soft beneath him, velvet and pliant under his tongue.

“I think I love you.” It’s his voice but your words, spoken so faintly you almost miss it against the roaring in your ears.

“I think I love you, too.”

Yoongi stares up at you then, so full of wonder that you can’t help but look away. It’s an incredibly intimate moment - so much emotion carried in one simple look that you’re not quite sure how to process it. He’d been your inspiration and now you were his. The realisation is almost too much, filling you until you feel like you might float away.

His hands act as an anchor, keeping you here with him.

“You don’t have to say it back.” It’s careful, loaded with his heart and every key to open it.

“I know - I want to.”

He grins so breathlessly handsome that you can’t help but return it, rubied cheeks crystallised with delight. Those same paint-stained hands of his find their newly discovered favourite home of your chest and he sounds like sin when he speaks. “I want you.”

“You can have me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s ducking down and smothering every uncovered inch of you in sweetness. His mouth burns hot but he’s unbearably gentle, searing the shape of his mouth over your breasts and across your collarbone. He licks and sucks as he goes, soothing any ache left behind by the edge of his teeth.

You’re not quite sure where the bites end and the paint begins. It’s all so pretty you don’t mind either way.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough, you think, even as you whine airily, words stuttering out in a half-formed breath. “Please touch me.”

“Where?” He’s hardly given you room to answer, crowded so closely against you that you can feel his heartbeat all the way through to your own. He’s so warm - so solid - upon you that you almost want to tell him that here, just as he is, is perfect.

A momentary lapse in lust before rational judgment is clouded yet again.

Instead - and with more demand than you mean - you grind purposefully against him. A benefit to having him sitting how he is, knees hooked on either side of your hips. He can’t pretend like he doesn’t feel it, cock twitching beneath the constraints of his boxer-briefs.

Your eyes meet and he chuckles, nuzzling his head back into that spot between your neck and shoulder that has you whimpering. The sound alone drives him crazy.

“You’ll be the death of me.” Yoongi knows this like he knows the sky is blue or your smile is his favourite sight.

You’re teasing him when you catch his face, palms cradling the shape of his jaw. “Then it’ll be a good death.”

He doesn’t disagree - especially when he slips his clean hand along the length of your body. He tweaks your nipple on its descent, tickles the underside of your ribs, and then finds the band of your underwear, all in one fell swoop. A digit dips below the elastic, neatly clipped nail grazing the jut of your hip before shifting and dropping further.

You keen when the pad of his finger grazes your clit.

“Do that again.” He doesn’t need to tell you twice. When he repeats the motion, the sound spills off your tongue without restraint.

He slips further down, pressing his hand to gently part your folds. Digits glide easily, coated in slick that drips between your legs and sorely tests his patience. Yoongi’s not sure what he’d expected but this is so much better it’s making his head spin - and he hasn’t even felt you yet.

“You’re so wet, love.” Shame would swallow you whole if not for the way he speaks with reverence. “How badly do you want this?”

“Don’t tease,” you huff, rutting uselessly against the fingers that tease your centre, barely slipping in before resuming a lazy, leisurely path back up to the bundle of nerves that throbs at the contact. He’s hardly touched you and you’re already at a six, entire body alight with need that thrums heavy in your veins.

“Just tell me.”

“I want this. I need this.” You hope he believes you. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t. “I need to feel you - please.”

His entire world is spinning, kicked on its axis by the way your tone pitches, demands and begs in the same lilting voice he so adores but has never quite heard like this. He loves it. “I need to stretch you out. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You whine so prettily he almost cracks. It’s enough to have him choking on his own words, not that he’s saying anything. He’s too focused on how he sinks into you - a single digit but so tightly it feels like there’s no way he’ll survive his cock buried inside.

You’re a dream come true. He never wants to wake up.

“More. Please.” You’re so polite, he almost laughs. You’d really taken his words to heart - always asking for what you wanted now. He can’t deny how proud he is. It blossoms in his chest, juxtaposed greatly against the salaciousness that drives him to do exactly as you ask.

His index finger slips in alongside the other. You make that noise he loves, grinding your core against the flat of his palm as he curls his knuckles and seeks out that spot. He knows he’s struck gold when he taps it experimentally, pressure turning light but unrelenting when a choked cry ricochets off your tongue and onto his sweat-slicked shoulder.

“Right there?”

Your nod is enough of an answer.

He redoubles his efforts, fucking you with measured glides of his fingers and precise presses against your g-spot. In no time at all, you’re barely coherent, mumbling his name in a slew of breaths that has him grinning. You’re a sight to behold, moaning so obscenely you’d be ashamed you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that every part of you feels as if it’s about to splinter.

“Miru— Princess—” Your clit aches and you nearly shriek when he applies pressure against it with the pad of his thumb, swiping your cum over it in slow circles. He wants you so badly - just as bad as you want him- but he’s torn halfway between watching you unravel by his hand and wanting that same euphoria when he’s buried home in your dripping pussy.

“Please, please, please.” There are tears in your eyes. You’re so close you can practically taste it, entire body shaking with the effort of keeping the coil from snapping. “Yoongi, please.”

He’s a fucking goner then, filling you with a third finger and grinding his palm against your clit as you come apart beneath him.

It starts in your toes, stealing feeling all the way up your calves and over your thighs. You’re only aware you’re trembling because it vibrates through Yoongi’s body, looped back to yours when he mouths across your shoulders, sucking memories into your heated, sweat-sweet skin. The stimulation is what keeps you from floating off on a cloud of bliss, the warmth in the pit of your stomach liquifying your bones.

“Are you tired?” Because you certainly look tired - too fucked out to properly meet his stare as he looms over you, both hands adjusted to rest comfortably over your hips.

You are, but it doesn't matter. You haven’t gotten what you wanted - not really - and you aren’t about to let it go without asking.

He’d taught you that.

You smile up at him, doe-eyed and alluring. A hand reaches for his, curls around the fingers still glossy with your slick, and squeezes. “I still need you.”

They’re words he’ll never tire of - also words that have him kicking out of his briefs and rolling your thong down your legs, all too eager. He’s painfully hard, leaking pre-cum and purple at the tip, but he fists himself in slow, measured pumps regardless. It’s a show for you, more than anything.

“ Please.” So pretty, so ready. He can’t resist.

Yoongi sinks against you, the head of his cock brushing through your folds as he slots himself into place with his paint-free hand. The other, still coloured garishly bright, brushes the curve of your lip, the delicate skin beneath your eye. It’s so tender you can’t help but blink, caught off-guard.

“I love you,” you say, though you’re sure he’s meant to, too. You can read it in his eyes - brilliant and bright like a beacon in the night.

He speaks with a roguish grin and a fluid press of his hips. “I know.”

You fit like two puzzle pieces, the stretch perfect as he sinks deeper, a low groan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re so tight around him but he glides in easily, coaxed to fill you by your wetness and the soft, whiny noises you make.

“Holy shit,” he manages once he’s buried as deep as he can go, head spinning with the way you clench around him, nearly stealing the words off his tongue. “Am I dreaming?”

Laughter is a salve - a catch-all remedy for anything that ails him. It pulls him to the here and now, drawing his attention from the overwhelming bliss that creeps up his spine and recentring it on you, beautiful and bashful beneath him.

“No, you’re not.” It’s a caricature of your voice but he doesn’t mind. He loves that he can bring you to this.

“Thank God.”

Except it’s not God you’re thanking when Yoongi begins to move against you, dragging his cock through your walls with such slow, measured strokes you think you might combust. It’s his name when he pulls almost fully out of you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock, before snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt. It’s his name that rolls off your tongue like a mantra, hoping and praying and begging for more as he consumes you wholly, in no half measures.

It’s him - Min Yoongi, your muse, your love - that has you crying out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he adjusts and fills you at a completely new angle, brushing against your g-spot with every thrust of his hips.

“Yoongi - please.” You’re chanting the two words again, turning them into a song he’ll never get out of his head, when you spasm around him. His eyes nearly roll back into his head, the sensation turning his rhythm sloppy as he chases the same high. The hand that had previously been propping him up falls, thumb seeking out your clit as he charges toward the precipice.

“One more, love. Once more for me, okay? I want you to come with me.”

He asks so nicely you can’t deny him - even as the overstimulation takes over. You’re shaking so badly you’re not sure how he keeps you in place; it’s a tremor that won’t stop, traipsing over every limb until you’re sobbing.

“I love you,” he chokes out as he tumbles over the edge, falling headlong into climax with you in tow. It’s so strong it feels like it blinds you, spotting your vision with white as he fills you with his cum and continues to fuck you through it, milking every last moment just like you were his slowly softening cock.

You don’t have it in you to answer, far too exhausted by the last orgasm that has your limbs turned to jelly. Yoongi doesn’t mind though; he likes the just-fucked afterglow and how you sink into his arms when he slips out of you and onto his side.

He eyes the cum that spills onto your thighs, pearlescent and going to waste. He has half a mind to push it back where it belongs.

He only doesn’t because of the words you speak next, hardly above a whisper but loud enough that he groans, burying his face into your hair. “So, thanks, Taehyung?”

“Can you not?” It’s a playful response, with teeth bared against the sweat-slicked nape of your neck.

“Sorry.” A beat. He wonders if you’ve fallen asleep suddenly. “I meant thanks, Titanic.”

author note. this was a drabble prompt i got from the lovely @hecticwonderer and i kind of just... ran with it. oops.

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lesrevesdeprovence · 4 years ago

Photo

Indecent lyrics

Universe: Idol AU

Genre: fluff

Characters: Jane (OC), Jaehyun, M (briefly). Mentions of Tara (OC) and Mark

Word count: 2,2 k

*Part of the larger world and multiple AU stories, but you can read it on its own. If you have questions, the private messages and asks are open.

“So…” Jane said as she led the ash-blond man through the doorway of her new favorite local spot. It was a cold November day, so Jane silently cursed herself, wondering what kind of stupid idea was crossing her mind when she picked her outfit that morning. On days like those, it was painfully obvious how much of a Provençal girl Jane Durand was. No one in London wore a —mini— skirt suit, stockings, and a silk paper-thin blouse on a winter day. Or at least not any Londoner.

Jane sighed in content when a blast of warm air-kissed the skin of her face, the atmosphere as cozy and welcoming as ever. Granted, she had only been in this particular place a few times —all of them to plot how to get Minah and that Sungjae guy she liked together—, but she was already in love with the familiarity and comfort of M’s coffee shop. Not to mention its private ambiance, which was the main reason she had dragged Jaehyun there as soon as his superstar idol group landed in London for a packed week of concerts and promotions.

“So, what?” Jaehyun asked, the slightest sight of a smirk forming as he reached to grab her hand. It was probably the simplest of the gestures, but it made Jane hold in an enamored sigh as they strolled past several tables, turning eyes on them. As per usual, Jaehyun and his chiseled Korean pop-star features, sleek jawline and perfectly tousled hair attracted attention effortlessly. And there was no doubt as to why. Jaehyun was dashing even while clad in casual attire. A checkered Comme des Garçons blazer fit on his upper body while tight black jeans captured every curve of his muscled thighs. The look was appalling to Jane after barely seeing him at all for weeks that appeared to be bazillion years.

“Start explaining how this-” Jane recomposed herself and made a pause to signal him to sit at a nearby table. Then, she pointed at the screen of her phone “…happened?” She completed the question scrunching up her nose in something that resembled disgust, which undoubtedly misplaced Jaehyun because all his eyes could take in was Jane’s music app; his group’s latest track on pause.

“We have a new Recording Company in the States?” The guy ventured, not quite sure he was getting her question. After all, his “girlfriend” —who also happened to be his group’s international PR assistant—, was the first person to inform him, a couple of weeks ago, that their next schedule included a trip to L.A. and the recording of a full English track.

“I know that, silly.” Jane scoffed rolling eyes and placing her mint-colored Chiquito bag on the table quite dramatically. “And that was not my question”

“Then?” Jaehyun came next to her and pulled out a chair before sitting across the table.

“I meant the substitute indecent lyrics everybody is talking about right now!” She said tapping her phone and the dozens of notifications showing on the top of the screen. “Twitter is going off”

“Hey! They are not indecent lyrics!” The man complained and pouted offended, his antics so cute that they painfully reminded Jane of that popular homemade video of an 11-year-old Jaehyun, speaking nonsense English that included phrases of the likes of “I just want some milk” or “Be quiet, don’t cry”. She laughed thinking how “They are not indecent lyrics” would surely fit that list along with his signature “It’s just a kiss” that in reality was a meaningful subtext because it always ended up with them losing track of time in some obscure corner of the guys’ rented home in St. James.

Jane made a mental note to add the new phrase to Jaehyun’s book of nonsense English.

“Sweetie, the whole thing went from “As if nothing had happened on your way. Go easy. Keep on” to “Baby, you a bad girl, watch your mouth” and “I love how your body feels on me”. Jane explained, keeping her tone unwavering.

“Oh! I see what you mean” Jaehyun’s eyebrow went up and his lips slowly turned into a devilish smile “But they are not indecent lyrics unless you are a dirty-minded person” He retorted naturally, leaning back on the chair and crossing his arms over the chest. His smirk becoming more distinctive under the dim lights of the café.

“You’re speaking as though you had no idea of how dirty-minded I can-“ Jane stopped midway when she realized Jaehyun was grinning a bit too much, looking pleased and causing a pair of cute dimples to form on his cheeks. It was that distinctive look he gave her whenever he wanted to brag about something, but this time it almost looked as though he knew something she didn’t. “Oh God-“ Jane turned her head just on time to see M uncomfortably touching his nape, looking turned in between not knowing what to do and feeling flat-out embarrassed.

“Are you ready to order?” M stood few steps away, taller than Jane remembered him to be, with his ever friendly kilowatt smile and those square shoulders that made him appear more imposing than his warm personality alone would’ve ever allowed him to be.

“Hey, Jane, nice to see you.” Jane mimicked what was supposed to be M greeting her on any normal day, although she had to accept her voice was nothing like his. Nevertheless, it made M laugh briefly and his cheeks to slightly flush.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t mean to interrupt" the man responded with a simple wave and a gracious smile on his face, dimples in full view.

“Oh, come on! That’s ridiculous” Jane rolled eyes and scoffed playfully. “You’re not interrupting anything, we were just-“

“I’ll get an ice-Americano” Jaehyun blurted out of the blue. It earned him a confused look from both M and Jane. Then, he cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to remind Jane of his presence.

“Oh, I’m sorry. This is my friend, M and this is his coffee shop” Jane made a small hand gesture, signaling M. Jaehyun only nodded, acknowledging his presence before asking the routine question.

“What does the “M” stand for?”

“Mystery” Jane said almost automatically “It’s a well-kept secret he refuses to disclose, but that’s irrelevant.” Jane interrupted M before he could even begin to explain it himself “Anyway, this is Jaehyun.” Jane moved on, trying to avoid more questions from the blonde man and knowing perfectly well that he was waiting to be introduced. “A friend”

The offhanded way in which she used the word “friend” made Jaehyun frown. It sounded to him the roughly equivalent to “some guy I barely know and have no particular ties to”, but he pushed those thoughts away before Jane could examine his expression closely.

“Nice to meet you,” The two men said almost in unison. An awkward silence followed afterward, but Jane was quick enough to break it with the cute antics she reserved for when she was in the presence of men. She tilted her head, put a finger over her lips and moved it up and down pretending to contemplate her options.

“And I’ll get my usual order,” She said finally.

“Irish coffee with only 1 cm of cream. Be right back” Without further exchange M walked away and disappeared behind the counter seconds later.

Jaehyun remained silent, waiting for Jane to pick up the conversation right where they had left it. There was something he couldn’t point at that made him sulk childishly, so he reached the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone. His group’s latest track had been released only a few hours ago and although that was not the right the moment or place, he distracted his mind by swiping at the screen and scrolling down his Twitter feed.

“Ice Americano?” Jane raised a brow and outstretched her hand over the table to hold Jaehyun’s, momentarily diverting his attention away from his phone. “It’s freezing outside, you’re going to get sick.”

Jaehyun held Jane’s hand, the corner of his lip raising faintly “Are you worried about me?”

“Jaehyun, you have three interviews and a concert tomorrow! You can’t get sick” Jane said, suddenly frowning seriously at him.

“Oh, yeah, right” The man quietly went back to his phone after releasing Jane’s hand. Knowing that it was her work that claimed her thoughts and not him, made him scowl and remained silent until their order came and Jane brought up the topic of Mark’s love issues and how Tara didn’t seem willing to spend Christmas in New York with him and the rest of the group. Then, Jaehyun’s scowl was replaced by a slight indication of concern in his brows.

“You girls are way too complicated” He blurted, barely registering the words he had just pronounced.

“Ohhh, is that so?” Jane’s eyes squint just slightly, a soft smile creeping onto her lips.

“Yes,” He nodded solemnly “I see it this way, Tara broke up with Mark, and what was the reason? I don’t know, she just said she was losing herself in their relationship.” Jaehyun picked his drink and gave it a long sip, probably expecting Jane to say something, but at her lack of response, he went on “Then she gets caught going out with that one guy she repeatedly claimed she disliked and now that they are apparently back together she doesn’t want to spend Christmas with him. Does that make sense?” Jaehyun said that last bit rolling eyes.

“Ok, can you stop projecting on Tara and Mark and tell me what is bothering you? Because honestly, I feel you have something to say” She raised a brow to mask her amusement. To be honest, Jane knew perfectly well what the problem was and why Jaehyun was acting like someone had deeply wounded his ego, but she still had to ask the question.

“I just don’t get why we couldn’t stay home with a bottle of La Romanée Grand Cru.” He groaned “The boys all went out, so we had the house all for ourselves” Jaehyun folded his arms over his chest and leaned back on the chair again. He almost looked like some sulking kid who had been denied a piece of cake.

“You seemed perfectly fine just a few minutes a-“ Jane’s speech was interrupted when Jaehyun let out a loud sigh, eyes dark as he glared at something behind her.

“You introduced me as a friend, Jane. That’s what’s bothering me” He said, eyes locking with hers. This time his lips didn’t show any sign of that signature mischievous smile of his. Instead, they were pressed into a thin line.

“Jaehyun, are you serious just now?” Jane’s eyes landed on him, training on his face for a few seconds before speaking again. “I work for your company, you know I can’t go around flaunting our relationship to everybody.”

“Is that so or are you probably trying to keep your options open? Honestly, I get it, we don’t get to spend a lot of time together, but-“

“Shhhh. That’s about enough” Jane cut him off before he said add another word. “Let’s just finish this” She said pointing at their drinks “And then we can go home. We still have a lot of time before the guys go back home and I’m positively freezing, so I need a new outfit”

A doubtful expression set on Jaehyun’s face for only a second before his lips cracked into a small smile, eyes forming into crescents as he nodded.

“You are such a simple-minded man, Jung Jaehyun…” Jane shook her head

“For the record, I did like the coffee and I actually love the outfit” The man reached out for Jane’s hand and laced their fingers together.

“Thanks, it’s Carven” She hummed before taking a sip from the cup resting in front of her.

“I don’t care about the brand as long as I can get it off you when we get home,” Jaehyun said, picking his own drink and gulping it down in a matter of seconds.

“Jaehyun…” Jane gaped at him

“What? I was just hot” Jaehyun shrugged nonchalantly.

“You are going to get sick and I won’t be the one taking care of you” The woman clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“Probably not, but you’re gonna have to take care of something else” Conveniently enough Jaehyun opened his jacket and looked at his inside pocket, taking his wallet out and picking a 20 pounds bill. Jane tried to ignore it, but the juxtaposition between the his intense stare and the relaxed smirk on his lips was driving her crazy. Even dressed in that casual attire, he kept the same energy that he held clad in those red carpet looks that his fan swooned about. It was frankly annoying.

“Ugh. You are so cheeky. It’s embarrassing.” She composed a grimace, but Jaehyun only chuckled, a wider smirk displaying on his face; his dimples even more evident on his cheeks.

“Is it me or you’re blushing?” Jaehyun teased “Only a few minutes ago you were talking this big game about showing me how dirty-minded you can be, but I guess you were only bluffing. It is such a shame.”

“Shut up, Mr-those-are-not-indecent-lyrics.” Jane’s eyes narrowed “A few minutes ago you were professing your high moral ground and called me dirty-minded for assuming the obvious about your song”

“You know what? Let’s just go.” Jaehyun placed the 20 pounds bill on the table and grabbed Jane by the arm, helping her to stand up.

“But I haven’t finished my coffee yet” She complained, pointing at the cup and its content.

“I’ll get you another one later, with tons of cream,” Jaehyun said picking Jane’s bag “That's it, if you are a good girl, of course,” he said smirking devilishly, innuendo present in his comment, judging by the way he winked at Jane her “For now, I got some things you want to see” He added, quoting the exact lyrics from his group’s newest release in a sing-song voice

“That was one fine way to ruin such a beautiful and meaningful song” Jane rolled eyes as she allowed Jaehyun to drag her out the coffee shop.

:::

#gw au #jane #jaehyun #m #story #oc

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cecehathaway · 7 years ago

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Made From Love | Para

Tagging: Will & Dorothy Turner with mentions of Daina Ivanova ( @drdaina ), Ryan Andersen ( @ryan-andersen ) and Alex Temple-Price ( @alex-temple ) Location: Manhattan General Hospital Time Frame: Late afternoon into the late night/early morning, December 14/15, 2017 General Notes: Welcoming Baby Turner after a unique start to Dorothy’s labor.

Dorothy was doing her best to breathe through her most recent contraction but through the pain, she felt worried and anxious with the amount if time she, Alex and Ryan had been stuck. She was passed off from the paramedics to the hospital staff who had been waiting to receive her and take her up to Labor & Delivery while her friends were made to stay behind in the waiting room. Everything seemed to happen rather quickly from there with her being transferred from the gurney to a hospital bed in a delivery room and changed into a gown. The nurse hooking her up to an IV and monitors for herself and the baby was one Dorothy was only somewhat familiar with because they were new but she appreciated their mindfulness when she experienced another contraction. Through the pain of it, she shut her eyes and turned one of her hands slowly in the air as the fingers repeatedly made a fist. Her other hand gripped the bed’s side rail and she breathed through it as best as she could. As the pain subsided again and the nurse quickly finished prepping her, Dorothy opened her eyes to find her husband standing near the door. Relief came to her face, as did a guilty smile. “Hi,” she said to him.

Will had been at the hospital for over an hour, his mind and body on edge with each passing minute. Dorothy had texted him that she was on her way to the hospital and he had left the bakery immediately headed towards the hospital. But the longer he waited with no sign of her, the more concerned he became. He was about to try her cell for the hundredth time when the doors swung open and he met Alex’s eyes. They explained what had happened and while Will understood, he didn't have much time to react as he followed his wife to their room. He stood back as the doctor's did what they needed and only when they had left did he finally speak. “The subway? Really? An Uber would've been faster.” He smirked, shaking his head.

“Well, you tell our son all of the good stories so I had to have one for him too,” Dorothy joked to him. The hand hooked to an IV came to rest on her bump without disturbing the monitor strapped across her stomach but she lifted her free hand just slightly to wave him closer. “Honestly? I thought that I was going to avoid getting stuck in traffic by taking the subway. Figures I would end up stuck anyway, right?” She didn’t know exactly how long she, Ryan, Alex and the other subway goers were stuck down there. It felt like hours but whether it actually was or not could have been affected by her sending a handful of people into a frenzy with her labor. “I’m just so glad I didn’t give birth down there.” With a bit of a smile, she added, “Next time if I’m at home and you’re not I’m just calling you to come get me.”

Spotting a stool in the corner of the room, he sat down, using his leg strength to push himself to her side, the seat easily adjusting to where he was eye level with her. Grabbing the hand not hooked up to wires he kissed the back of it before chuckling at her words. “That might be true but I'm not so sure you needed to act out the story.” Will said, looking around the room. “I'm sure Quinton would love to hear that story at every get together. Mom hates traffic so I was born in a Subway car.” He teased, putting his other hand on her belly. “Seriously though, you're okay?” He asked, letting out a sigh of relief when she nodded. “It should have been me with you. The one day I decide to go in for a few hours, this happens. You couldn't wait until tomorrow huh buddy?” He asked, leaning in to kiss her belly.

Dorothy watched him roll closer on the stool and smiled when he kissed her hand. She chuckled a bit, “Oh gosh...if that happened, I would just save it to tell him on every one of his birthdays and ask him why he couldn’t wait until we were at the hospital.” She knew full well that it was all out of everyone’s control but it was still nice to be able to joke about it now that she was far, far away from the subway station. Hearing Will’s question, Dorothy gave his hand a quick squeeze, “I’m okay now. All things considered since these contractions are the worst physical pain I’ve ever had.” She then gently shook his hand with hers, “Hey, those are dangerous words. He might listen to you and drag this labor out until tomorrow.” But her hand moved from her belly to briefly comb through Will’s hair. “I was really scared on the subway though,” she admitted before briefly biting her bottom lip. “It was really important to me that we did this together, and it never occurred to me before that that might not happen until I was stuck.”

Knowing that his son could be born any minute had him on his toes. He didn't want to miss a second and he certainly didn't want to prove everyone right about his fainting. He told himself he would be fine and that today wasn't about him. It was about Dorothy and Quinton. The two loves of his life. It was his job to make her as comfortable as possible and to prove to her he could be strong. “Oh gosh if you do that he may never forgive you. Kids don't like it when our parents kiss or when we are told embarrassing stories so we may be dealing with a little rascal.” Will teased, his smile widening slightly. “Is there something I can do to help?” He offered, hating the idea of his wife being in pain already. He still wasn't sure how he was going to stay put together once the actual process started but he’d deal with that when it happened. For now, he simply kissed her forehead and offered her a warm smile. “Yeah, I was worried something might have happened but I stayed calm and told myself you could handle anything and hey, turns out you can. Not that I doubted you but you stayed calm and you made it here. And pretty soon, we’ll finally be introduced to our son.”

Dorothy smiled, “Well he’s going to have to deal with both because I’m not going to stop kissing you, and he’ll get millions of kisses from me. And what kind of parents would we be if we didn’t have a couple of embarrassing stories about our kids to tell?” Her smile started to grow into a grin but she could feel a new contraction growing. Before it became too much for her to talk through and answer Will’s question, she shut her eyes, slipped her hand out of his and began rotating her wrist in slow circles while her fingers resumed opening and closing into a fist. Her other hand clenched at her belly while she took breaths in through her nose and out of her mouth--her lips forming a small “o” each time she exhaled. It was difficult not to hold her breath through it but she had some practice on the subway. She listened to Will’s assurance that he had been calm through her being missing for their appointment, and wordlessly nodded when he reminded her that their son would be here sometime soon. Nearly half a minute later, the contraction started to wane and she opened her slightly watery eyes again. When she could talk again, Dorothy told Will, “I don’t want to rush into getting any of the pain medicines. I know I won’t be able to do all of this without any of it, but I’d rather put off getting any of it until I really, really need them.” From the numerous times she led the parenting workshops, and from having some of her own patients, she knew how important ti was for her to do her best to communicate so that if she were ever in too much pain at some point, Will could relay what she might want. Her fears in that area were minimal though, being at her place of work and knowing that Daina was her doctor and would likely be in to see how far dilated she was soon.

Will laughed, his dimples becoming more pronounced as he sat beside his wife. Despite the rocky start to the day and his freak out earlier, the time had arrived, or would soon, and he wanted to be as calm and collected as he could be. He definitely didn't want to prove everyone right and pass out during the birth of his son. “Well that's good because as his parents, it is our right to make him grossed out by PDA and take embarrassing pictures of him to show to his girl or boyfriends, his prom dates, and his future spouse and I'm looking forward to it all. I mean, obviously that'll be a long way away but its never too early to start planning.” He teased, watching comfortingly as her face changed and he grimaced. He couldn't imagine what she was feeling but he wanted to be supportive. Resting his hands in his lap, he watched as she took steps necessary to alleviate some of the tension and pain she was currently feeling and he had a slight worry that it might not work. He had to remind himself she was a nurse, did that for a living, and would obviously know the proper techniques of pain management. And then it was over and Will could breathe again. He didn't like seeing her in pain at all but knowing that it would all be over soon and they'd be holding their son, he knew she would agree it was all worth it. “That makes sense. Can I at least get you some water or something? A cold rag for your face?” He offered, not wanting to nag or be annoying but also wanting to help in the areas he knew he could. As he ran to the sink for a washcloth, the door opened and in walked their friend Daina. He offered her a warm smile and a nod. “Hey Doc.” He said, nodding in her direction before ringing the rag out and coming over to wipe the sweat from her brow.

Seeing Will’s dimpled cheeks and smile while hearing him laugh brought a smile to Dorothy’s face that made her own dimples show--as they often did. “Yep. He’s going to learn the laws of the parents over time.” As she worked through enduring the contraction, she did her best to breathe through it. Once it passed and she was able to talk to Will again, she told him she felt a little warm. Seeing Daina come in made Dorothy smile; she rolled her eyes playfully at Will’s greeting to her and did as she was told while being checked for how far dilated she was. Her eyes were to the ceiling during the exam and when Daina finished and informed her that she was five centimeters dilated. Halfway there, Dorothy thought to herself, rather impressed she had made it this far without any pain medication, but another contraction came on that felt more intense than before and had her re-thinking that she would be able to go much longer without something to help manage it. She heard her being asked if she wanted something for it and even though it was too much agony to speak an answer, she gave several small nods. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes were firmly shut as she did her best to breathe through it, the ache from the muscles causing her to tune everything else out for the time being. When it came to pass, she started hearing her own words echoing back to her with what she said to Will only moments ago about the medicine. While she wanted that to be her plan, she knew that if she had gotten much further along, it would be too late for an epidural to be effective, so she ended up asking for it as soon as she could speak again. Daina left to put the order in with the anesthesiologist on duty, and during the time they had to themselves again, Dorothy remembered something and looked to Will, “Crap. Honey, we don’t have our bag--the outfit we picked out for Quinton’s in there, and I had a surprise in there for you.”

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t grow up to resent said rules. That’s what happened to Heather. She didn’t like being told what to do and so she rebelled. Nothing crazy, thank goodness we lived in a small town, but she knew how to go looking for trouble. I rescued her from many a situation and instead of being grateful, she would get mad at me.” He smirked, shaking his head. “But I know deep down in her own way she was appreciative.” Will had read in the many books leading up to today that the best thing to do in this situation was be supportive. And quiet. And just reassure her that everything was going to be fine. He knew that last part would be hard given that he wasn’t in fact sure if he was going to be fine but he didn’t have to do anything at that moment as Daina walked in and set about doing what she did best. He felt relieved knowing that their son was going to be delivered by someone he knew well, someone he trusted, and it made him smile hearing about how far along she was. “That’s progress.” He smiled, knowing that they still had a long way to go in the meantime. Sitting down on the stool, he wiped his wife’s brow again and waited for the contractions to pass. In the meantime, he just talked to her softly about anything and everything he could think of to try and distract her from the pain he figured she was in. When he heard her asking for the pain meds, he scooted closer to her, grabbing her hand and squeezing her hand. “You need anything from me?” He was about to ask when she broke through and mentioned the bag. Quirking an eyebrow at her he let out a soft snort and shook his head. “Babe, I’ve had that bag in the car since you packed it. I didn’t look inside but while you slept, I took it to the car so I knew we wouldn’t forget it.”

“No offense to Heather but I don’t want to think about Quinton growing up to be mostly resentful or rebellious towards us. For now… I just want to think about him being healthy, strong and smart.” It was all she could truly ask for at this point and she knew Will wanted the same even as they talked about their son’s future. She appreciated the gentle support from Will, being quite literally by her side and helping to keep her cooled off as the work through her contractions brought on a flux in her body temperature. When she was able to speak up again and mentioned their overnight bag, Dorothy’s look of worry soon turned to one of relief and happiness for her husband’s preparedness. It was a rather large bag and only now as she searched the room did she notice it a short distance behind him. It probably would have been smaller had she not included the kit but it was important to her and she was very grateful for Eric helping her put it together. “I added more to it, with some help from Eric if you want to take a look inside.” As she mentioned it, she thought a few weeks back to all of the items they thought up on a list, and all of them having ended up inside with their clothes, toiletries the decorated folder, and Quinton’s homecoming outfit: an ‘ugly’ Christmas sweater, Will’s new dad t-shirt--and a long-sleeved shirt to wear underneath in case it was too cold--a pair of Christmas socks to match the pair she had packed for herself, a small but thick throw blanket; all eight of Will’s Star Wars movies, a few Disney movies, an activity book of miscellaneous crossword puzzles and word searches, a deck of cards, pens and pencils, a large page of Skittles, and a sealed envelope with Will’s middle name written across the middle in Dorothy’s half-cursive handwriting. As she encouraged Will to open the bag, there were a few knocks on the door, followed by a couple of nurses and the anesthesiologist whom, to her surprise, had been her brother-in-law, Victor. Dorothy smiled at him and started to greet him but another contraction interrupted her. He assured her that they would set the epidural as soon as the contraction was over, knowing she was going to have to sit up in order to administer the initial injection to her spine. While she waited for the pain to pass and did her best to breathe through it, Victor spoke to Will, his British accent being the only speaking voice in the room at the time to explain, “I’m unsure how much you may know or have been told about epidurals but with us administering it from her spine, I’m going to have Dorothy sit up here in a moment, and you may want to sit in front of her and encourage her to continue to breathe.” Dorothy knew how epidurals worked but she couldn’t remember if she had told Will or if he had read up on it or what, but the pain from the contraction was subsiding, and the nurses had come to her bedside to help her sit up, adjust her tubes, straps and monitors and bring both of her legs over the side of the hospital bed where Will was seated. She bowed her back as much as her rounded belly would allow while her backside was being prepped for the medicine, but she lifted her head to look right in Will’s eyes--a bit of weariness in her pair. “I think I’m going to try to sleep after this, if I can. There’s a good chance this is going to slow things down a bit.”

“Yes, to good health and a strong heart and mind.” He spoke, a small smile forming on his lips. It was always challenging to figure out what to talk about in a setting such as this, because on the one hand he wanted to distract her from the pain but on the other hand, he didn't want to end up saying the wrong thing either. Luckily for them, they were comfortable with long silences, there was no awkwardness, no need to speak, and while some might find that weird or strange, it was just how they were at times. You can say a million things and never speak. Seeing the look of panic on her face at the mention of the bag, Will knew he'd made the right decision by packing it into the car immediately after it was done. Given how scatterbrained he would no doubt be on the big day, he was certain to walk out without it so while he'd been clear headed, he had grabbed it and packed it into the trunk. Hearing her go through the list of things inside of it, he was glad she hadn't decided to pack a bunch of perishables because it had been sitting in the car for well over a week. Grabbing the bag from the corner of the room, he brought it over to sit in front of him, his fingers fiddling with the zipper as he pulled out the bag made especially for him. Looking up at her and smiling, he grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you for this. You didn't have too but I love it nonetheless.” Just as he was about to rummage through the goodies, there was a soft knock on the door and Victor walked in. After a brief acknowledgment, he listened to what was going to happen and nodded, cautiously scooting over to the side of the bed, grabbing his wife's hands as he looked up into her eyes. “I'm here okay? You're beautiful and you've done great so far. I know for a fact I wouldn't be nearly as strong were our roles reversed. Just take a deep breath and look at me.” He whispered, squeezing her hand, his other coming up to rub the back of it as the needle was injected into her back. The sharp intake of breath from her made him wish he could take away her pain but just as soon as it started, it was over. “I think that's probably best for you. You've been doing so good and now you get to relax and sleep. I'll wake you up if and when the doctor's arrive.” Will countered, reaching up to rub her cheek. “I love you.” Smiling, he let her get situated back in the bed, ditching the rolling chair for one more comfortable as he let the doctors finish up. He grabbed his goody bag from the counter and went through it, making a mental note to thank his wife again when she woke up.

Dorothy was momentarily watching Will open the overnight bag to find the ‘Dad’ kit for him. She smiled at him and his kiss to her hand, “You’re welcome, honey,” but when Victor came in and began preparing for the epidural, her attention shifted. After doing what she could to help the nurses with her sitting up, Dorothy placed her hand back in her husband’s and nodded at his words. “Okay,” she replied to him with a few nods. Her inclination was to look down but she knew she would be more likely to focus on the needle that was about to go into her spine, so she listened to Will and lifted her brown eyes to meet his sage pair. She softly gasped from being injected with the numbing anesthetic but it was notably more audible by the second needle; the numbing didn’t seem to help any more than novocaine for a cavity filling did. Unable to help herself, Dorothy squeezed her eyes shut but did her best to remember to breathe, especially as another contraction came on during the process. She managed a few small nods to Will when he agreed to her resting and promised to wake her if necessary. Once the epidural was in place and Victor handed her the device for her to periodically administer more of the anesthetic, he explained about her needing to occasionally rotate her position in the bed if the pain starts to feel worse on one side of her body. She appreciated his thoroughness explaining it all, not just for her but for Will as well; soon, after everything was in place and she was laying down again, Dorothy offered the remote to the room’s small TV, and then tugged her blankets up to her chin. She wasn’t counting on getting a very restful sleep but anything she could get was bound to help once it came time to push.

Will wasn’t used to not doing anything but as he watched Victor and the rest of Dorothy’s team help her prepare for the long wait, he felt useless. He felt like there was something he should’ve been doing, anything to help his wife feel more comfortable. But he was just a baker. Good with dough and not much else. Holding his wife’s gaze as the needle was inserted, he gave her hands a gentle squeeze, hating that she was in so much distress but knowing that it would also be over soon. Once it was done and the instructions left for what they needed to do, he watched as everyone slowly left, leaving the two of them alone for the time being. Will had no idea how long it was going to take, wasn’t sure if it would even be today but he wasn’t going anywhere. Not when his wife had taken such great steps to prepare him for the long wait. Hearing the soft breathing coming from the hospital bed next to him, he smiled, bending down to plant a soft kiss to her temple before sitting in the more comfortable chair. He grabbed his laptop bag and The Phantom Menace, popping it into the DVD player on his computer. For a distraction for his wife however, he managed to find a soft classical music channel and he set the remote down next to her so the soft piano tones could hopefully help her get what little bit of rest she could before the hard part was to start.

Once Will had the remote, Dorothy closed her eyes and pulled the sheets and blankets up on herself. She was starting to get a bit drowsy as the epidural kicked in, gradually subduing the contractions enough for her to possibly get some sleep, but before she got too comfortable, she looked to Will and asked, “Hey, can you grab my socks and put them on me? My legs are going numb but I do feel a little bit cold.” As she rested against the thin pillows, Dorothy poked a finger out from underneath the blankets and to point to the room’s television and told him, “You know, you can put the movie in there? I don’t mind. And it can spare you from having to hold your laptop.” Shutting her eyes, she tried hard not to focus on the jitters and all of the questions she wondered about; what would Quinton look like, would he look more like Will, more like her or neither of them; was this going to be an easy labor or a difficult one, and most importantly: was she ready? She carried an abundance of knowledge, mostly because of her job, and she had a little bit of hands on experience from a little babysitting in college, and more recently from spending time with her nieces. Those were temporary situations though. Quinton was going to be fully reliant on her and Will. They were about to be his parents. They were responsible for his wellbeing, and would be the first influences and teachers in his life. It was impossible not to think about any of this as she laid in the bed, eyes shut and appearing to be asleep. It felt like hours had passed before she actually fell asleep. The discomfort from being in the hospital bed didn’t make that much of a difference for her, considering she was used to napping at the hospital during extensive shifts, and with everything on her mind, Dorothy’s sleep was rather restless. The afternoon turned to evening, which swiftly became nighttime. A couple of nurses had come in and out during her sleep, but they did their best not to disturb if they could help it The only times she really stirred in her sleep was to press the button administering the medicine for her. It wasn’t until she was being checked on by a doctor covering Daina’s break that Dorothy had teally woken up again. The doctor confirmed that she was dilated eight centimeters and guessed that Quinton would be born early into the next day. Hearing that brought a sleepy smile to Dorothy’s face as she looked to Will. “We’re getting closer. How are you doing over there, honey?”

Will had just gotten settled into the movie when he heard his wife’s groggy voice in his ear. He offered her a warm smile and nodded, setting the laptop down on the stool before rummaging through the bag for the matching socks she’d packed. He chuckled at the look of them and shook his head, walking over to the foot of the bed. He slowly pulled the covers back, grabbing one of her feet and slipping the thick sock onto her ice cold foot. “Damn babe, they’re freezing.” He smiled, slipping the other one on before gently rubbing them to warm them up quicker. “There you go, love.” He whispered, pulling the covers back over and tucking them underneath her legs. “You sure? I don’t want you to go into labor during a jedi fight scene, although that would be pretty awesome.” He teased, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “But okay. I’ll put the accommodations to good use.” He chuckled, grabbing the DVD from his laptop and putting it into the player on the TV. Grabbing the other pair of socks, he kicked off his shoes and slipped them on, shaking his head at the silliness of it but still loving that she had thought of him. Grabbing the spare pillow and blankets, he pulled out the hideaway bed, and stretched out, his eyes on the screen as he listened to his wife’s steady breathing and tie fighters buzzing through the air. He was getting so caught up in his movie marathon that he almost didn’t realize the time shift from day to night. It wasn’t until his stomach started grumbling that he realized just how late it was. Keeping the movie playing, he quickly slipped away to go grab a bite to eat. Half an hour later he found himself wandering the halls, his body immediately drawn to the nursery. He stood outside the window, the soft smile playing across his face as he looked at all the newborns. It hadn’t fully sunk in that this was it. There were no more false alarms, no more waiting. In just a little while, his son would be here, lying in that room, being taken care by the best doctors and nurses in New York. Running a hand through his hair, he let out a sigh, not wanting to be gone too much longer, and quickly returned to his room. He changed out the DVD, glad that the story of Anakin was now over, and put in A New Hope. He had just returned to his seat when a doctor walked in and woke up Dorothy. Hearing the news that Quinton would be here soon, his heart thumped in his chest, his excitement building as he looked over at his wife. “I’m great. Actually just went to get something to eat. What about you? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?” He asked, his questions all spilling out at once.

Slowly blinking, she watched Will set his laptop aside and rifle through their bag for her socks. She cast a grateful smile when he found them and got up to pull the festive socks on her feet. Her brows sloped together when she heard him comment on how cold they were. “Are they? I mean I feel a little bit cold but I can’t feel it that much… thank you, honey.” Dorothy’s eyes fell shut soon after and her lips curled at the corners when she felt his kiss to her forehead. “Mmhm..I’m sure. It’s why they’re in your kit. Plus these TVs can’t get too loud, so enjoy.” It surprised her that she was able to drift to sleep; the pain from the contractions wasn’t completely gone but it was significantly dulled thanks to the epidural, and she slept well enough to have been oblivious to Will’s brief absence from the room before she woke up. When she did and the doctor checked her progress, Dorothy felt her heart leap with excitement and anxiousness. As she asked Will how he was doing, a couple of the nurses had come in and out of the room, preparing it for the delivery to happen any moment. One wheeled in a hospital bassinet while the other brought in a cart full of materials and tools for the process. She watched a little bit of it but her attention was soon back on Will. She smiled at him, appreciating his attentiveness, but shook her head. “Thank you, cowboy. I can’t really eat anything besides jello or popsicles until he gets here, but maybe a little water?” One of the nurses overheard and offered to get it for her and Dorothy thanked them as they left the room. Her gaze lingered on the bassinet, thinking about how before the weekend was over, Quinton would be in there. The longer she gazed at it, the more she thought about that fact until a question arose for her. “Oh, honey I don’t think we went over this with a birth plan for Quinton but after he’s born, we have the option of having him stay with us until he and I are discharged, or he can stay in the nursery.” The nurse returned with a small plastic pitcher full of ice water and two small cups, and once she set them on the tray beside Dorothy’s bed, she left again. “I’d like him to be here with us,” she explained and paused only to yawn, “but if you would rather he be in the nursery, I’m okay with that too. I’ve no doubt he’ll be safe and sound either way.”

He couldn't help but laugh at just how ridiculous and adorable the Christmas socks were. “Babe these are crazy, you know that right?” He teased, as he put the on her cold feet. “Let's just say if I was passed out in the bed and you touched me with those, I'd jump up so fast.” Chuckling to himself, he knew that she might now appreciate the jokes but he was willing to do anything to try and make her feel like she wasn't about to push a baby through her vagina, even if she was. After he was sure she had dozed off and was sleeping soundly, he went back to his movie. He wasn't even sure when he had nodded off himself, or why, he never slept during Star Wars but the exhaustion of the day had finally caught up with him. He wanted to be awake for it all in case there was something he needed to do for her but he couldn't deny that between the preparation over the past few weeks and the holiday orders at the bakery, he hadn't been sleeping so getting some shut eye to the sounds of space was kind of funny to him. Waking up to the sounds of movement in the room, he felt his heart leap at the sight of the bassinet being pulled into the room. Letting the movie continue to play, he nodded at the nurse who offered to get his wife some water, he followed his wife's gaze over to the small bed that would hold his son when he arrived. It was hard to believe that the day was finally here, that whenever he was ready, Quinton would be here, and Will would finally be able to lay eyes on the child he already loved so much. After the nurse brought her the water and left the room, he let his mind focus on her question. While the idea of putting him in the nursery seemed like a good idea in retrospect, not having him in the room with them didn't sound like a good idea either so tearing his eyes away from the bassinet, he focused on his wife. “He's not going anywhere. He can stay here with us. If something happens, he'll be just as safe here, like you said.”

“You saw your Christmas sweater, right? I think they match quite nicely. Besides, tis the season! You’ve got to do something a little crazy for accessories like socks,” she stated with a sleepy smile. She was starting to nod off as Will told just how cold he thought her feet were but she was lucid enough to crack another smile at him before slipping into unconsciousness. At whatever point that she woke up again, Dorothy did what she could as instructed and was happy to hear about the progress thus far. She was feeling some pressure with the contractions but was certain the epidural was dulling it greatly. Once she and Will were alone again and she asked him what he wanted to do once Quinton was here, Dorothy reached for the remote to sit herself up in the bed while watching Will think over her question. When he answered, her smile returned slowly but brightly. “That sounds great, honey. We’ll have to make sure we let Daina and the nurses know after he’s here.” One of the nurses soon returned with paperwork to be filled out--just the birth certificate application since the hospital already had essential information from from Dorothy being employed there, so it was less fork them to have to worry about. The nurse gave it to Will and explained that it didn’t need to be filled out right away but the sooner, the better. Meanwhile, Dorothy poured herself a cup of ice water and sipped some of it down, only just realizing how dry her mouth had become. She looked up at the digital clock on the wall while pressing the medicine button again and mused in between sips, “Well, it looks like Quinton’s going to be born on the fifteenth after all. Which reminds me… Ryan and I were going to surprise you and Eric. Ryan and I got the four of us tickets to The Last Jedi and were going to make you and Eric dinner.” She scrunched her nose and pouted a little, and then the look vanished. “I don’t know if this is the universe’s way of saying I’m not meant to surprise you, but maybe you three can go see it sometime next week.”

His nose scrunched and he nodded, his dimples becoming more pronounced as he pictured it in his head. “I did yes. And it's quite ugly. In only the best way possible. I plan to wear it to work as soon as I return. Speaking of, are men allowed to go on maternity leave as well?” Will laughed, shaking his head. “As the owner, I could just not go back at all. Quinton will be worth it.” He teased, laughing softly. “I suppose I'll have to get some crazy socks like this for my Secret Santa because it is so hard to shop for people I don't know much about. Hell, I have a hard time buying for you and we're married.” Grinning, he sat back down on the chair and focused back on the screen as she slept. When a few hours had passed, the nurses came in with some paperwork and he signed where needed and made sure to tell them that Quinton would be staying with them. As the time ticked off, he was growing more and more anxious and as the movie ended, he debated going for a drive to take his mind off the negative thoughts currently plaguing him but then he heard Dorothy's voice breaking through. “Wait you were? Honey that is so sweet. I'm sure I would have been very surprised! I am surprised but I also can't be sad because the birth of my son is worth missing Rey and the Porgs. We can postpone it until later. Next week is a possibility if they can peel me away from you and little Quinton” Bending down to kiss her, he shook his head. “Don't give up. I'm sure it'll happen one day.”

Dorothy smiled, “You can wear it whenever you want--now, if you so desire. Eric thought it was a good addition to your kit, since it is that season, plus I know how cold the hospital is and how much you hate being cold. So all of the warming things were added for those reasons.” She then giggled at Will while shaking her head. “Paternity leave, baby. And you do have that privilege of a more flexible schedule than me. I won't be back to work until the end of February, and then after that, I have a month’s-worth of baby bonding time that I can spread out over the course of a year. Other than that, I'll have to be careful with my time off.” She knew that at some point, she and Will would have to talk about what they were going to do once her leave was up, but at the moment, Dorothy was too tired. She slept and after she awoke again and was checked on how close she was to delivering, she set her mind to that, sipping her water while Will filled out the birth certificate application for their son. Once she had the opportunity, she also signed and reviewed it to make sure all the necessary places were filled out. Her recalling the surprise left the pout on her face until she spoke up again. “If you end up feeling up to it, you should go and see it. Besides, it would only be for a few hours, and you said yourself about not knowing people very well. That might include bonding some more with Quinton’s godfathers, right?” Not long after, Dorothy yawned and wondered if she might get some more sleep. Unfortunately her attempts to do so over was short-lived through another passing hour as she was starting to feel pressure to push. Pressing the button for the medicine didn’t help ease the feeling any and as much as she put off saying anything out loud, her face was scrunched tight from trying to fight the feeling. Frowning and letting out a sigh from the growing return of pain and, Dorothy. The remote to her bed and television functioned as a phone as well; she blindly groped about he edge of her bed for it while moaning, “Will, can you call Daina?” Her fingers didn’t come in contact with the phone but she gave up and feebly pointed over to the whiteboard on the wall where the current staff’s names and extensions were written, along with Dorothy, Will and Quinton’s names. Dorothy was gesturing to the phone extensions but she soon let her hand fall to her chest and set her focus on breathing as deeply as possible again.

Knowing that seeing him in the ridiculous sweater might make her feel better, he nodded, walking over to their overnight bag and fishing it out. For good measure, he also grabbed the other pair of socks and slipped them on, thankful for the no slip grip on the bottom. Gosh, would he be a sight come delivery time. Slipping in on over his T-shirt, he stood back and let her look him over. “Well? How do I look? Don't be jealous if the nurses come by more frequently because of this awesome sweater.” He teased, walking over to plant a gentle kiss to her nose. “But don't worry love. I only have eyes for you.” Knowing that she'd taken enough thought to pack him a few things in a bag meant for her and Quinton meant a lot and as the bells jingled on the shirt, he laughed and sat back down, his eyes darting from his sleeping wife to the Star Wars movie playing. It would be easy for him to hand over the reins at the bakery to his General Manager and let her run the store, he wasn't quite sure if Dorothy would be as keen to let him take all that responsibility. He had no qualms about being a stay at home dad because owning the store meant he made money regardless. And he could still bake, just at home for his family. It would be something they could discuss later but to him, it seemed better than putting their child in daycare or hiring a sitter. He wanted to be as present in Quinton’s life as he could be. “We’ll play it by ear, babe. If nothing else, we can just go out for drinks to celebrate and I'll catch it when I have time.” After a few hours of sitting, he got up to walk the halls, letting his wife rest while they waited to see when Quinton wanted to be born. Soon after his return he heard the uncomfortable grunts from his wife and he headed over to her side. At her command to call Daina, Will nodded, hitting the button on the remote as well as heading to the nurse’s station. “Hi yeah. We, um, we need Doctor Ivanova. I think my wife is ready to have our son.” He tried to stay calm but inside he was freaking out. It was time to meet their son. Their Quinton.

Through the pressure bearing down in her body and the discomfort that came with it, there was a surreal moment happening in her mind over the fact that Quinton would finally be here. They would be leaving the hospital with their son. All the months of waiting--the morning sickness, the mood swings, the aches and cravings and excessive naps all allowed her to grow a miniature human, made from hers and Will’s love. The elation and anxiousness eclipsed the physical ailments but only for a moment. Dorothy really wanted to push but knew she had to resist until she was coached to do so by Daina. Thankfully her friend showed up soon after Will made the call and prepared to check Dorothy’s cervix. Dorothy shut her eyes and focused on her breathing as best as possible but when Daina confirmed that it was, indeed, time--she was 10 centimeters--Dorothy’s breath hitched and her eyes flew open. She tried to make sure she didn't go floating away with her excitement and leave behind a bundle of nerves for everyone else to deal with; meanwhile, Daina and the nurses did some final preparations for the delivery. While that happened, Dorothy looked to Will, biting her lip a little. She felt like she should say something to him but she didn't know what to say; her mind was all over the place. One of the assisting nurses came to one side if Dorothy's bed, opposite Will and helped sit her a little more upright while telling Will, “Hey dad, if you wanna help out, you may want to hold her leg out of the stirrup. Just hold it steady towards her chest--it’ll help Dorothy.” As the nurse took Dorothy’s other leg to do the same, Daina began coaching Dorothy, letting her know to start pushing in the next contraction. Her nerves were more rattle than ever but she had to believe that she could do this. Quinton was coming one way or the other and she needed to do her part getting him here. Her hands held onto the bed rails and as the pain and pressure soon swelled inside her again, Dorothy lowered her chin to her chest and bore down with a determined look. She pushed for as long as Daina counted and when she had a break, she let out a heavy sigh mixed with a pained whimper. Epidural or no epidural, from the time she had gone into labor to now was the most physical pain she had experienced in her entire life. It was taking everything in her not to say, or try to say, just how much it all was hurting but she had to literally and figuratively push through the pain, especially as another contraction hit. Dorothy took a deep breath, pinned her chin to her chest and pushed again, her mind becoming one-tracked even as Daina let them know Quinton was crowning. The encouragement for just a few more rounds of pushing barely registered in Dorothy’s ears or mind during her second break. The work was causing sweat to bead along her neck and hairline; a sheet of sweat was soon covering her forehead as she caught her breath again, just long enough to assume her position start pushing again, gripping tight to the single-most important objective of the night.

This was it. In just a few, what minutes? Hours? No not hours she'd already done the hours part. In just a few minutes, my wife will be delivering our son. The idea popped in his head and for a few quick seconds, he froze. Everything leading up to this day, from the scare, although he didn't see it that way. More like a false alarm. From the false alarm to the botched surprise, the baby shower to the late night baby book cramming, it had all been preparing him for this moment. Looking down at his wife, he felt a sense of relief, mostly for her but also to know that they'd made it through it all. Quinton Michael Turner would be born in just a little bit and all of their planning, all the preparation, will have been worth it. Holding his wife’s hand while the doctor's confirmed that it was indeed time for her to start pushing, he smiled down at her, planting a soft kiss to her forehead. At the nurse’s urging, Will grabbed her leg, giving it a quick rub as he held it steady. He kept his eyes focused on his wife, the bundle of nerves in his gut giving him reason enough not to look. Sure he'd seen it before but this part wasn't pleasant for either party but mostly Will. Breathing in time with Dorothy, as they'd been instructed during the classes, he kept telling her she was doing great and to keep going. Looking back, it probably wasn't helping and if he'd been in her shoes, he would have been more angry about it but she stayed quiet, focusing on pushing rather than hurting him. He felt awful, sad even, that he couldn't do more to help ease the pain but knowing that they were in the best place for this put his mind at ease. When Daina announced that their son was crowning, his heart beat wildly in his chest and he smiled down at his wife. The sweat dripping off her forehead and down her face gave him pause as he grabbed a towel with his free hand to wipe it away. “You are doing so good, love. Just a little bit more and he'll be here. Our son. Quinton.” He whispered, kissing her forehead. Holding her leg tight, he watched as her latest push brought their son's head out and he couldn't help it, he let a tear slip from his eye. “Oh my…” He didn't have time to finish before she was pushing again, his eyes darting back and forth between the two most important people in his life.

Dorothy didn’t know where the stamina came from but she kept going, even though she felt like she wasn’t making much progress with all the pushing. The urge to sob was strong and she about did when she cried out from the pain and exhaust of it all. It had taken subsiding contraction for her to momentarily calm down from it, at which time she became aware of Will breathing in time with her. As he dabbed her forehead, Dorothy looked over at him--a mix of determination and worry on her face and the shakiness from crying still in her voice as she breathily demanded, “Don’t you pass out on me, Bartholomew.” Her grip on the side rails tightened as another contraction started and she was urged on by Daina to push again. With all her might, she did as she was told and although she was mostly focused on just that, she did hear that his head was out; she was almost done and Quinton was almost here. She had gotten one more break and then began pushing again. An undetermined length of time passed before she felt a new weight on her chest and stomach. Disbelief hit her that it was all over until she heard his cries. She opened her watery eyes and looked down as one of the nurses started to wipe Quinton clean. Dorothy still hadn’t quite made out his face but she fell back against the pillows behind her and reached up to wipe her eyes. She was so overcome with the bundle of emotions in her that she hadn’t yet found her voice to say anything but just listen to Quinton’s low but new and persistent cries. While Daina clamped his umbilical cord and stayed attentive for the passing of the placenta, the nurse cleaning Quinton off asked Will, “Do you wanna cut the cord, Dad?”

Will had known from the get go that his wife was strong and able to handle pretty much anything thrown her way but watching her now as she strained and pushed, he felt helpless. There wasn't much he could do besides tell he how good she was doing and even then he didn't think it mattered much. Wiping her brow again, he tried to concentrate on anything other than the baby crowning between her legs. He felt queasy, yes, but that was normal for this part of the process. It was different when it was an animal giving birth but that was his son and as much as he hated seeing it, he focused on the process, willing himself not to faint and prove everyone right. At his wife’s words, he looked at her and nodded, eyes staying on hers. “I'm good. I'm just sympathetic to your plight.” He grinned, watching the final seconds leading up to Quinton’s arrival. One final push and he was out, his constant cries quickly filling up the room. Watching as the nurses wiped him off, he got caught up in the moment and almost missed the woman speaking to him. “Huh? Oh right. The umbilical.” Grabbing the scissors with shaky hands he stuck the metal where she pointed and paused, looking up at her. “It doesn't hurt right?” He asked, his nerves quickly dissipating when she shook her head. Cutting the cord that would separate him from Dee, he chanced a glance at their son, emotions high as he sat back, eyes attentive and focused as they whisked the newborn away to finish cleaning him up. Looking over at his wife, he smiled, fresh tears forming in his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her. “He’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Quinton was here. Even with his cries and the slight bustle of the two nurses assisting Daina through the birth, it felt so surreal. Yet it was also the most invaluable moment of her life to date. Dorothy briefly shut her eyes and pressed her lips into a soft smile. When she opened them again and wiped a thin stream of tears away, through cloudy eyes, she witnessed Will cutting the cord and then he was whisked a short distance away. She looked up at Will and met his lips with a returning kiss and when he spoke up, Dorothy smiled. “Of course he is,” she replied sweetly and tiredly. “I can’t believe he’s finally here…” She smiled a little more and in what seemed like no time at all, Daina was bringing a swaddled and cooing Quinton over to the new parents while the nurses finished cleaning up the room and preparing to move them upstairs from Labor & Delivery to Recovery. Quinton was offered over to Will first but while he was being passed to his father, Dorothy caught a glimpse of his chubby, rosy cheeks and dark wisps of hair peeking out from under his pale, striped cap. She tucked her lips in, still smiling and then whispered, “He’s so beautiful, honey.” Her eyes fell half-lidded and she relaxed back against the pillows again, exhausted from the labor but too overjoyed to sleep at this time. They were told that the family would soon be moved upstairs and were allowed as many visitors as they wanted for the remainder of Dorothy and Quinton’s stay. Dorothy knew this and was sure that once their family and friends knew, that there would likely be a parade coming through. She didn’t mind it, but for now, she basked in this moment--just her, Will and Quinton, their new family.

#para: Made From Love #ch: WillT

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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 7 years ago

Text

Frimer

Note: There are sentences in here using foreign languages. For translations as you read, please refer to: Frimer Translation Guide

Frimer – French. (vrb) “to show off”

Summary: Your helpless crush on Neal gets worse when he starts spending more time with you… and talking to you in other languages, which he knows you love.

Words: 3,241

“Hey, Neal,” you greeted, coming up to his desk and working hard to make sure your face stayed its normal color.

He looked up at you with a polite smile. Once he realized you weren’t one of the agents that would bust him for the doodles he was making in the margins of his paperwork, the smile turned into a wide beam. “Hey, Y/N! How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been well,” you answered, biting you lip so you didn’t smile. “So, um, Peter says you’re multilingual.”

He canted his head proudly. “Sí, es cierto.” You blinked. Other than the ‘yes,’ you had no idea what he’d said. His smile went from smug to amused and he chuckled. It made you blush, despite your best efforts. “What do you need?”

You held out the folder. “Peter needs this translated, but if we go through the normal channels, we won’t get it back until tomorrow – and that’s if we’re lucky. Would you mind?”

Neal leaned over his desk. “Por supuesto no. Cualquier cosa para ayudarte, mi corazón.” You nodded like you understood, but you were sure he could tell it went over your head. He reached up for the folder, so you assumed he was saying he didn’t mind, and handed it to him. Neal let your fingers brush as he took it from you. His skin was warm and soft and you didn’t think it was possible to be any more in love with a person as you were right then.

“Gracias,” you squeaked, because you figured pretty much everyone knew that word, and you hurried to go back to your desk.

You had always loved foreign languages. You thought they were fascinating. More than that, though, you had a secret: you loved listening to people talk in them. It was something your friends mercilessly teased you about when they found out. You didn’t know what it was, but some languages just sounded so romantic, and when you didn’t understand the words, it was a great opportunity to just listen to someone’s voice.

You already had a crush on Neal about the size of Canada and Russia combined (because that’s a totally normal unit of measurement) and you could listen to him read a phonebook to you and still just be happy that he was talking to you, so hearing him speak to you in Spanish just made everything worse. Or better, depending on your perspective, but since you were trying not to embarrass yourself by making it obvious your dream guy was your coworker, it definitely made things worse.

Unfortunately, it seemed like your flustered response to his Spanish was enough for him to cotton on. He showed off whenever he got the chance. It was doing very little to help you with your predicament. In the words of Tumblr, your ovaries were unable to take it.

“Kon’nichiwa,” Neal said brightly, making himself at home by sitting on the edge of your desk. He set a cup of coffee by his leg. Judging by the scent wafting from the lid, it was your favorite order from the coffee shop nearest to Federal Plaza. “Watashi wa kōhī o motte kimashita.”

You blinked owlishly. Neal put his hand down by the coffee and pushed it a few inches closer to your hand.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you replied, understanding the gesture. Though you took the coffee anyway (you didn’t want to be rude) you were both flattered and embarrassed. Yay, he was paying attention to you! … He was paying attention to you. What if he realized you liked him as more than a friend?

He shrugged his shoulders and somehow made a careless gesture look elegant. “Watashi wa shitakatta. Daisukidesu.” His beautiful eyes stayed locked on you until you started to feel your face turn pink again and you turned your head away. His low chuckle rang in your ears, even as he stood up and left.

You made sure he was all the way back at his desk before you muttered, “Tumblr is on to something.”

You didn’t know anymore if Neal was messing with your head on purpose or if he just saw it as a friendly game. Every day, you woke up, you promised yourself you weren’t going to let him make you feel romanced and special, and every day, you failed. He would saunter over, purposeful and charming, and hell, you felt romanced and special just when he looked into your eyes. It was just the icing on the cake that he would speak to you in whatever language he thought of first. You’d identified six different ones so far, not including English, and you had to say that, everything else aside, you were very impressed.

You’d always been friendly with each other. If Neal had been a jerk, you would’ve been able to get over your crush in less than a week. But no, he had to be the most sensitive guy ever, who brought you coffee and chastened Peter on how his romantic gestures weren’t romantic enough and who got really offended when he heard about someone cheating on their lover, no matter who the person was. It certainly didn’t hurt that he looked like Adonis might’ve, had the ancient Greeks developed their belief systems in a time when Colgate and Armani existed.

Things were just harder now than they had used to be. Neal had been broken up with Sara for well over a year now, and you were having trouble showing signs of having a social life of your own, much less of getting over the man you weren’t allowed to have. Your life revolved around very few people: your best friend from college, Peter (your boss), Diana, and Neal.

“Languages!” Your friend gushed over the phone.

You groaned and slammed your head back against the headboard, then grimaced. “I know. And he knows, that’s even worse. He found my weakness and he’s exploiting it shamelessly.”

“He’s showing off,” she pointed out to you, her voice sounding all cheerful and optimistic. It made you feel queasy. “Guys do that when they want to impress someone. At least your guy’s not showing off by acting macho and mean.”

“Color me impressed,” you grumbled. “I wish he would stop, but at the same time, I love it. It feels like he’s flirting with me, but instead of those stupid lines boys used in university, it’s… sweet. Cute. Tailored specifically to my interests because he knows I like hearing him talk.”

“Then why want him to stop?” She snorted over the phone. “He sounds like a keeper.”

“He would be, if he was mine to have. Look, he’s a people person. I have a hard time believing he hasn’t figured out how much I like him, so teasing me like this seems mean. I’d assume he was being a brat, but… he’s not that kind of person.” Neal was a lot of things, but he had never been a douche. You looked over to the window and saw that it was much darker than you’d thought. “Ugh. It’s late. I have to go.”

There was a pause before her response as she checked the time. “Time flies. We need to talk again soon. I miss living in the same city.”

“You’re the one that moved,” you reminded. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Y/N.”

Your next day at work began with a pink piece of paper on your desk. It was folded up into an origami tulip. Immediately, your eyes went to Neal – he was the only one in the WCCD that would hand-deliver cutesy arts and crafts. He was focused on his computer.

Regardless, you’d met Alex Hunter, and you knew how these worked. You unfolded the little flower and smoothed out the creases in the paper. Your first reaction was surprise that the ink hadn’t smudged. The second was exasperation – it was a full handwritten letter, but it was written in an Asian dialect you couldn’t even begin to read.

“Really?” You called across the aisle, holding the paper up so that the script was facing the conman. He bit his tongue between his teeth as he grinned and giggled. It was adorable and cute and you so didn’t have time for this. “I don’t even know how to pronounce this, let alone understand it!”

“Zhè shi yī fēng qíngshū, qīn’ài de,” Neal responded, swiveling his chair around to face you. Now that you could see his face better, you could see the dimples. Dimples. Either you got incredibly lucky by somehow earning his increased level of interest, or someone up there was really enjoying taunting you.

No matter what was happening, his voice never failed to awe you, and regardless of whatever the Chinese was (it sounded like Chinese), he’d still given you a flower. Sort of.

“Why?” You asked simply, sitting down hard in your chair. You just wanted a reason. You just wanted to know what you’d done to deserve this weirdly enjoyable torture.

Neal’s wide smile faded slightly. You felt a little bad – you hadn’t meant to upset him, you just wanted to know how much longer this was going to last. Being Neal’s friend was hard, but you valued him as a person too much to walk out on friendship just because you were pining for more. Having him play around with you so much was difficult to handle. Suddenly you had him talking to you and engaging with you, and you didn’t really know what to do. You would’ve been confused but delighted except for the fact that you weren’t able to catch onto any clues, because they were all coming at you in conversational Swahili or whatever.

More seriously, he glanced at his desk before meeting your eyes again. “Yīnwèi wŏ xiăng ràng nĭ dui wŏ tèbié.” He lifted one shoulder halfheartedly and pressed his lips together tightly as if unsure whether or not to stop. He must’ve decided not to, because he let his shoulder fall. “Wŏ xiăng yào tèbié gĕi nĭ.”

You were definitely still as clueless as before, but it seemed important. And it sounded gorgeous falling from his soft, kissable lips.

You kept the Chinese letter. Your original intention had been to have it translated by some online service. Right before you’d taken a photo with your phone, you remembered the earnest, open expression on Neal’s face as he explained what it was. You didn’t need to know the words to know that you needed to treat it with care. It felt… personal. It had started out as a joke, but Neal had made it feel like it was something special, just between you two, so you moved it somewhere safe and didn’t upload it to the internet.

On Friday, you had a special dinner plan: you were going to meet a friend’s boyfriend. Knowing Peter, you weren’t going to be given leeway to leave work early just to dress up, so you went ahead and wore your nice dress to work. It wasn’t too revealing or too clingy, but the gentle flow of the skirt made you feel comfortable and confident, and the color went well with your eyes.

When Neal came in with Peter – both of them after you had already arrived – he made a detour to your desk (common these days) and placed a hand casually on the back of your chair.

“Sembri stupefacente, amore.” Neal looked down at your dress with a polite smile on your face. His soft and sweet tone gave you a pretty good idea that it was a compliment, and you looked down in vain hopes that he wouldn’t realize how delighted you were that he complimented you.

You swallowed and looked back up. “Thanks. That’s Italian, right?” It was another of the romance languages; you could tell that much by the smooth way it rolled over his tongue, but the accent was wrong for it to be French, and you’d heard enough Spanish from him at this point to recognize when he was speaking in something else.

His mouth quirked in delight that you guessed and he nodded enthusiastically. “Continuo a farlo a te perché mi piace dire quanto ti amo e non preoccuparmi di come reagirai.” He held his tongue and looked down at you expectantly.

Your temporary pride at following along evaporated. “Too many words,” you complained, but then attempted to stay on the same page. He’d complimented you, so… your turn? “Your suit is nice,” you ventured.

Neal chuckled. The sound came very close to giving you the shivers – it was so attractive, and so close to your ear. If he were just a little bit closer, you could’ve felt his breath. “Non cambia mai, la mia preziosa.”

You made a complete guess and gave him a nervous thumbs-up.

“Veux-tu aller au resto italien que tu aime?” Your gorgeous blue-eyed friend showed up beside you while you were fixing subpar coffee in the bureau’s kitchenette. He came out of nowhere, like an ambush. He leaned on the counter and crossed his ankles. “Seulement nous.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you tried deciphering what he was saying. It wasn’t like he spoke in tongues all day, every day – you still knew how he was, what was going on in his life, and all that, as much as you had before. Now you just had the added challenges of acting normal while he behaved in a manner that would’ve convinced you to ask him to kiss you on the spot if you didn’t work together.

“Um, italien, Italian… something.” You puzzled. Neal raised an eyebrow but nodded confirmation. “Italian… suits. Shoes.” While those were surely of interest to him, you couldn’t think of why he would be asking you a question about them – you knew as much about Italian fashion as you knew of Italian language. And, just to show how far off the mark you were, you were ninety-five percent sure he wasn’t even speaking Italian. “Coffee?” You asked hopefully.

Neal, trying not to laugh, shook his head. His eyes were bright and playful and his smile was contagious. To your surprise, it wasn’t as hard to keep your cool, and you didn’t feel like you were blushing. You loved being around him as much as you always had, but you were gradually growing more accustomed to his interest.

“Um… wine? Food?” You guessed.

His face lit up and he nodded quickly. “Très bien, ma belle mademoiselle!” He had been leaning with his elbow on the counter, but he propped his hip up on the side of the cabinets instead to free his arms, gesturing as he spoke. “Veux-tu manger le diner avec moi?” He pointed at you, made a motion like he was bringing something to his mouth, and then pointed at his own chest.

“Dinner?” You asked, and his smile grew to show his teeth while he nodded again. “Okay.” You felt your face warming again.

It seemed like he’d decided enough was enough, and Neal was giving you a break. He hadn’t said a single word in anything but English since that morning, and now you were sharing a small table in an Italian restaurant not far from June’s.

“Do you have any preferences for champagne?” He asked courteously, turning the wine list around so you could see.

In truth, you were no connoisseur. You would leave that business to Neal. If a friend placed something in front of you, the odds were high that you would drink it without critiquing its wood-like qualities or whatever it was wine tasters talked about.

“Order for me,” you suggested. “That way my unsophisticated palate won’t offend your delicate tastes.”

Neal laughed and turned the list back around, moving his eyes down the page. You knew it wouldn’t take him long to decide. Even if it was a long process, he was too nice to let you sit in silence for very long. While he was distracted, you looked around as subtly as you could.

You’d let him choose the restaurant because he was the one who’d invited you. In your head, this dinner had been more like a quick meal at Fazoli’s. You couldn’t have been more wrong. For starters, there was a wine list. Appetizers began at a larger monetary value than any appetizer had a right to cost. The menu boasted fresh ingredients and meals made to order in an authentic Italian style. The ambience romantic and soothing, the lighting rosy and the soft classical music full of harmonized violas.

Would you have agreed if you’d known this was where he’d take you? On one hand, it was a dream come true. Not literally (you weren’t that far gone), but it was like one of those cute daydreams you would’ve loved to fantasize about, had the idea occurred to you. On the flip side, it was hard enough just being friends. Now he was bestowing you with unexpected trinkets and gifts, inviting you to five-star restaurants, playing around for fun, acting like he was romancing you- oh my God, he’s romancing you.

“This is a date!” You blurted suddenly, your eyes wide. You covered your mouth instantly, embarrassed. You felt stupid for not realizing sooner and silly for saying it so loudly in an already-quiet public place.

How dumb could you be? You’ve wanted to date him for what feels like forever and you didn’t notice when he asked you out? What the actual hell, Y/N?

Neal slowly put down the wine list. “What gave it away?” He asked sarcastically. There wasn’t a sting to the question, but it still made you feel even worse. You wondered what the odds were of there being a sudden fire in the kitchen that you could go put out and decided that they weren’t in your favor. Neal gave a long look to your chastened expression and reached across the table, taking your hand in his and stroking your fingers with his thumb. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t feel bad. I’m the idiot who had to ask in a language you don’t even speak.”

“All of that… the languages, they were all just to ask me out?” You asked unsurely. That seemed like a lot of effort that you weren’t sure you were worth – especially from Neal, who could easily have anyone he wanted.

“Not at first,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. He glanced down at the table as if he was embarrassed, too. “I was just playing around. When I saw how much you liked it, though, I kept at it. I thought if I impressed you, you might be more likely to say yes when I did ask.”

You turned your hand over so that you could gently squeeze his. “You didn’t have to do any of that. I’ve had an insanely inappropriate crush on you since you asked me if your hat made you look like a cartoon.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “I was proving a point to Peter.”

You took your hand away. “My turn to ask something,” you decided bravely.

He leaned forward and tilted his head. “What’s that?”

“Will you kiss me?” You almost lost your nerve, but managed not to cop out at the last minute.

You watched him to see his reaction and were relieved and thrilled when he licked his lips and grinned. “And here I was, thinking I’d have to ask first.”

Requested by anonymous.

So I took a request for little scenes and made it into little scenes compromising a ridiculously fluffy plot. Sorry…

Send in requests!

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userlando · 8 years ago

Text

Hazy Glow (Ethan x Reader)

Summary: Requested by anon: “can you do an imagine of daddy ethan? he’s trying to do something without you noticing, influenced by your two year old daughter. like, having ice cream for breakfast, or eat candy before dinner. if you’d like to write this, all i’m going to ask for is the baby pronouncing with ‘w’ the ‘r’. 😹 melting just by the thought of it.” Word Count: 2,513 Warnings: Pregnancy, lots of cute daddy!Ethan fluff. A/N: This is more than you asked for, but it’s cute and I hope you like this. Also, I hope it’s okay that I made the little girl older than two years. xx

You shivered, pulling the cover up over your naked shoulder and trying to stifle a yawn that was desperately trying to get through. It felt like it was too early in the morning and you groaned quietly as you cracked an eye open, squinting at the clock by the nightstand. 11:03 A.M.

Usually by now your little girl would’ve been up and alert, bouncing around and on the bed begging for “pancakes, pwease daddy!”. At the thought of your husband you turned and found the space that was usually occupied by him, empty. He must’ve woken up early because this was the first time in a long time that you slept in, and although you weren’t a morning person, you felt spectacularly well rested.

With a small smile you rolled out of bed, grunting as you bent down to retrieve a pair of grey sweats and a shirt, pulling them on as you stumbled your way through to the adjoined bathroom.

When you’d gone through your morning routines you proceeded to the hallway, shuffling your bare feet across the floor and trying to fight off the smile that threatened to stretch across your lips at the sound of your daughter’s high voice echoing through the house.

“Papa, do you think they have those swiwly cups wide?” You heard her ask curiously and you stopped just by the corner, just out of sight to listen it to their conversation. You already knew what she was talking about because she’d been babbling about it ever since last week when Ethan promised her he’d take you both to the state fair. She’d already made a list of what rides she would go on, and what kind of candy she was planning on eating and what stuffed animals she was aiming on winning.

“You mean teacups, baby?” Ethan answered her and even though you didn’t see him, you could hear the fond smile in his voice. That kind of smile he got whenever he was around Daisy. Where his eyes would glitter and the dimples would appear by the cheeks and that little endearing smile. You could just picture it so easily in your head, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Can we go on those, daddy?” Your daughter’s voice brought you back and that was your cue to make yourself known. You stepped in, smile already on your face as you spotted Daisy dangling her tiny legs as she sat on her chair by the kitchen table.

“Make sure you go on it before stuffing your little tummy full of sweets so you won’t get sick,” you said and watched as her tiny head turned to you, her eyes glittering emerald as she laughed. “Good morning, baby.”

“Hi, mummy.” You went up to her and ruffled her already knotty hair, kissing her cheek while bopping her on the nose with your finger wearing a playful smile.

Your smile disappeared, however, when you noticed what Ethan had given her as breakfast. It hadn’t been the first time, Daisy had always been a daddy’s girl, mainly because he could never say no to her.

“Ethan!” You turned toward your husband, frown on your face. “Ice cream for breakfast, really?”

Ethan smiled sheepishly at you.

“She pulled that face, I’m powerless, Y/N.” He complained and you rolled your eyes. “Fine, Daisy. You’re eating cereal.”

You nodded in approval.

“And then ice cream.” Ethan continued and you scowled at him, sighing when Daisy cheered loudly behind you.

A bowl of sweet lucky charms was set in front of her and she began gobbling it down, paying no attention what so ever to the milk that sloshed out of the bowl.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and turned to your husband, looking as gorgeous as ever with his sweats and sweater, and hair tousled from sleep. The sight of him still made your heart race and your stomach flutter even after eight years of being together.

His rough hands slipped around your waist, landing right on top of your bum as he pulled you closer to him. You put one hand on his chest and one by the side of his neck, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He murmured softly and bent down to give your lips a soft quick kiss. You sighed happily, pressing your lips to his for a second kiss and smiling shyly as you nuzzled your face into his warm throat.

“Hi.” You whispered back and felt him chuckle before pulling back slightly while still holding you close to his body. “You look handsome.” And it was true, he always looked amazing and sometimes you found yourself staring at him from across the room, thinking of how lucky you got.

The crinkles by his eyes appeared as his lips stretched into a shy smile, rubbing your nose against his in an eskimo kiss. “And you look beautiful, babe. Glowing and absolutely perfect.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, feeling the furious blush creep up your neck as he complimented you like he always did.

“I’m still mad at you for feeding her that non-sense.”

“Daddy I want a nose kiss too!” You heard the shrill voice belonging to none other than Daisy from behind you and you both turned to her. She had milk all over her mouth but she still looked adorable. An exact copy of Ethan.

Ethan squeezed your waist quickly and untangled himself from you to get to her. “You, little missy, need to eat up so we can wash up and head over to Uncle Grayson’s.” He said, trying to sound scolding but he sounded way too fond and it made Daisy giggle as he tickled her sides, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

You sat down by the table, hands going to your stomach that was churning with love and adoration for your little family. You fondly looked down, thinking of how you were going to break the news to Ethan about how you were expecting another baby.

* * *

Bright lights and the sound of children screaming in delight. Wherever you looked you could spot smiling faces and people laughing as they won their teddy bear or ate their cotton candy.

This was your favorite time of the year and you couldn’t be happier as you looked at Cameron with Daisy on her back. As soon as you’d stepped out of the car Daisy had been begging to get a piggyback ride, and Cam volunteered immediately which left you to snuggle up to Ethan’s arm as you walked silently with Grayson by Cameron’s side.

“You cold, babe?” You heard Ethan ask as he felt you snuggle up to him and you and you tilted your head up to look at him.

You smiled, “No, just happy.” And a little nauseous, but that was a part of having a little one growing inside of you so you tried to ignore the discomfort.

Ethan grinned and pecked your lips, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek gently. “Let’s go on some rides.”

You hummed in agreement and set off to the Teacups because Daisy was dying to go on them. Ethan bought tickets, and you declined going because you couldn’t risk getting sick and disrupt this day. Ethan shot you a worried smile as you waited in line, but it soon went away as you assured him that you were perfectly content with just watching. That left you and Cam standing by the side as Ethan, your little one and Grayson went on the ride.

You waved to Daisy as she waved from where she was sitting, cheeks flushed from the cold and her excitement, thick jacket wrapped around her and her beanie shoved over her head.

“So, what’s up?” Cameron asked as the ride started and you tore your eyes away from your daughter to give her a questioning look.

“Nothing’s up, I wasn’t just feeling up to going on this ride.” You answered and it wasn’t exactly a lie, but Cam cocked an eyebrow and snorted.

“You always go on this ride, you’ve been doing that since Ethan first took you here 5 years ago.” she pointed out, “Something you wanna tell me?”

“No. Shut up.” You murmured nervously and turned your attention back to Ethan throwing his head back as he laughed at Daisy who was waving around with her arms outstretched over her head and screaming her little head off in delight, the ride spinning them round and round. Just the motion made you a little bit nauseous and you averted your eyes.

“Can we sit down for a bit? I don’t feel well.” Cameron nodded, wrapping her arm around your shoulder as you both walked to a bench nearby. You sighed as you sat down, rubbing your stomach through your thick jacket and silently scolding yourself for feeling like this.

“You’re pregnant again, aren’t you?” Your head whipped up, and as you were opening your mouth to protest you could feel the wave of nausea hit you so hard that you only had time to stand up and run to the secluded bushes to throw up. Cameron walked up behind you and went to pat your back as you stood up, feeling a bit better but worrying about Ethan seeing you.

“How the hell did you know?” You asked and looked at Cameron with your eyebrows drawn together, amused smile playing on her lips.

“I haven’t told anybody, don’t worry. I saw the test a week ago on your sink.” She explained and you frowned and watched as he pulled out a pack of gum. You were pretty sure that you’d wrapped up the pregnancy tests in loads of paper and stuffed it deep into the bin.

“But I.. I threw them away.” you stuttered confusedly, looking up at her with furrowed eyebrows. You did, didn’t you…?

“I’m not gonna tell him anything, I figured you’re gonna do it when you’re feeling ready, right? Because you are gonna keep it, aren’t you?”

And before you could answer, a brunette little girl bounded over to you, crashing into your legs and wrapping her tiny arms around you. You gasped as you looked down at Daisy, seeing her two ponytails that you’d done before you went out now so messy that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Hi darling, did you have fun?” You asked her and squatted down to braid her hair quickly.

And there she went into babble mode, talking about how she’d screamed the loudest - because she loved attention just like her daddy - and how she’d let go of her hands and you tuned her out a bit while you fixed her up. You stroked her flushed cheek and put her beanie back on her head. Ethan came back with Gray behind him, looking a bit dizzy but he still had a smile on his face as he put his arm around your shoulder. “Hi pumpkin.”

You smiled back in greeting. Cameron cleared her throat and bent down to lift Daisy up, which she seemed to love because she squealed and giggled as Cam tickled her waist with one hand while propping her up on her side. “Let’s go on some more rides, let daddy and mummy have their own adult time.”

You glanced at Cam, fully aware of her intentions, buts he wasn’t looking at you. Grayson shrugged at you before trudging after the girls. You watched them as they disappeared in the crowd and turned to Ethan once they had disappeared out of your sight.

He was looking at you, searching your face for something. You averted your eyes, opting to slip your hand into his warm one to distract him. He didn’t have it, though.

“So, want to tell me why you threw up or should I just ignore that?” He asked, trying to sound amused but you knew he was only trying to hide the fact that he was worried.

You looked up at him, “Did you see that? It’s nothing, you don’t have to worry.”

“Baby, I’ll always worry about you.” He snorted as if you were being ridiculous and gently pulled you along, walking toward a hotdog stand a few feet away.

You halted your steps as the smell hit you, tugging on Ethan’s hand in process, making him stop. He turned toward you, looking confused and worried.

“What’s wrong?” He asked and your hand automatically flew up to your nose to block out the smell of frying hotdogs. “Y/N?”

You shook your head, not daring to open your mouth. And that’s when you saw it, the realization dawned on Ethan and he let go of your hand, arm falling to his side limply. His eyes grew big and his mouth dropped, sucking in a huge breath of air.

“No,” he stuttered and took a step back before taking a step forward. “You’re? You’re pregnant?”

You smiled, unsure of how to react because he just looked shocked. You couldn’t determine whether he was happy or mad. But your question was soon answered as his eyes welled up with tears, face breaking into a smile.

“You’re pregnant!” He shouted, voice shaky and shrill.

Your eyesight became blurry as tears threatened to escape and you nodded your head, your jaw aching from how big you were smiling. Ethan bounced on the soles of his feet before lunging at you, picking you up and squeezing you into a hug. You sobbed into his shoulder, cursing the hormones.

“How far along are you?” He asked, voice muffled as he pressed his lips to your temple. He pulled back to look at you, eyes shiny with tears and smile so beautiful and big. “Do you know?”

“Six weeks.” You laughed out, closing your eyes as Ethan swiped his thumbs under your eyes to get rid of the tears that were streaming down your cheeks.

“Fuck!” He cussed under his breath, laughing like he couldn’t believe it. “You’re pregnant.”

You nodded, clutching onto him like your life depended on it. As he brought you in for a hug, you heard Daisy’s voice before you even saw her. Talking about how she was hungry and craving a pineapple pizza. You laughed wetly, pulling away to see Grayson, Cam and your little girl walk your way. Gray’s face contorted into worry as he saw both your tear-stricken faces.

“Hey, you guys okay?” He asked and Ethan squeezed your waist before letting go of you, charging at his twin brother. “Eth-ah!”

Ethan jumped on him, both of them tumbling to the ground. You and Cameron laughed as Ethan began yelling in his face, tears starting all over again.

“Bro, Y/N is pregnant, we’re having another baby!” He yelled.

“Mama?” Daisy’s voice came from below you and you looked down to see her staring confusedly back. “Pwegnant? What?”

You squatted down so you were face to face, wiping at your cheeks before leaning over to place kisses on her cheeks. She giggled.

“You’re having a sibling, baby. You’re gonna be a big sister.”

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missnighttigress · 6 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas to All

Characters: Tony Stark, Fem!Tony Stark, Toni Stark, Lee Christmas (The Expendables), Lacy (The Expendables)

Pairing: Lee Christmas x Lacy

Word Count: 1,585

Summary: All Toni Stark expected when she went to her favorite bistro was a quiet night of sipping cocktails and eating steak. She didn't expect to catch wind of a mercenary's fight with his girlfriend...

Warnings: mild angst, mild language, kind of fluffy if you squint

A/N: I wrote this as a drabble for a friend way back when, but I absolutely love it because I am a huge fan of The Expendables series. I really wanted to do a Lee x Toni pairing, but it just wouldn’t work out for me so I had her giving relationship advice. I know! Shocking, right? Let me know what you think!

AO3 Link

Toni Stark had seen and heard everything, and she didn't even mean to. She was simply enjoying a quiet evening out, no problems. She hadn't expected to even run into Lee at the swanky Manhattan eatery.

"I told you, Lace. This job is strictly classified," she heard the balding man's velvet English accent say from the bar.

The freckled brunette pouted her lips as she inched closer to the man across the table. "It's always classified. Everything is so secret with you. How is that even a relationship?"

Lee's jaw locked in place as his fingers gripped either one of his muscular arms. "It's a relationship because it's building our trust."

A tan arm stretched across the burgundy cotton tablecloth and brushed against his in some form of consoling gesture. "I do trust you, and you should know you can trust me with everything, including this."

"I'd be breaking laws, Lace."

"But isn't it worth it?"

Toni pursed her crimson lips and whistled from the bar as she rotated on the black leather stool. She had a feeling this wasn't going to end well. When the bartender came past, she waved her hand. "I'll have a Rusty Sunset, if you please, along with a bottle of your finest lager. I have a feeling this is going to be a long evening."

The man simply nodded and went off to mix her concoctions as her hearing tuned back into the conversation fifteen feet away.

"I thought you were different, Lee."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I thought you weren't some selfish asshole and didn't keep secrets from me. What's so bad that you can't tell me?"

"That would be telling, wouldn't it?"

"You're going to be a smart ass right now?"

"You're not being breezy either, love."

"I'm also not the one keeping secrets from the woman I claim to love."

There was a scoff from the man. "So now you're doubting my affection?"

"Can you blame me? We wouldn't be having this discussion if you just called or wrote while you were away…something!"

"When was I going to find the time? I was busy doing my job morning, noon, and night!"

"'Doing your job?' Is that code for something, Lee?"

Woooooow.

"You know, you're not one to talk. I came back to you to find some other guy in your place, and you're going to accuse me of cheating? A bit paranoid, aren't we?"

There was a long silence just then. Toni glanced over her one barren shoulder to observe as Lacey shook her head with pursed lips. She began fumbling around the table for her things before she rose quickly, causing the black wrought iron chair she was sitting on to land on the dark red carpeting with a thud. "I'm not putting up with this."

"Lacey, where are you going?" Lee asked from behind the shade of his palm.

With a temperamental stomp of her black heel, the brunette practically snarled at her date, "Somewhere far, far away from you."

Chocolate eyes trailed after the high maintenance woman as she stormed out of the double doors of the restaurant, a small smile forming. If she had to be honest, she didn't know how much more of her shrillness she would've been able to tolerate, nor her clinginess. Her nosiness was yet to be desired as well.

It was after her little catty party was over that her focus returned to the gorgeous man seated by himself caddy corner to her current position. His fingers intertwined as he rubbed his hands against the top of his head in aggravation before he rose as well. He grabbed his black, white and red motorcycle jacket, stalking away from the table like a man on a mission.

Toni sipped at her drink the bartender had placed in front of her moments before before finally speaking. "If it isn't Mr. Utterly Lost," she said a tad hopefully.

Another brief silence answered before, "Stark?"

Swinging her denim-covered legs around, Toni swirled on the bar stool and faced him. "Hey, Christmas. Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah," he retorted rather shortly. "Isn't life funny."

"Hilarious, I think," she mused. Giving her body a half rotation, she picked up a grass green glass bottle labeled Heineken, dangling it in an enticing sort of motion. "Come into the church and join me for a drink, would you?"

His pectorals raised and lowered as she heard a sigh release from his nostrils, obviously weighing out his options. "I'm rather busy-"

"I think you both need time to cool off, actually. Come on. Just one drink? Don't make me beg."

His head nodded as some semblance of a smirk played across his face, a soft scoff reaching her ears. "Are you even capable of such a function?"

"Depends. You gonna join me or not?"

There was another bout of deliberation before the mercenary approached the black marble bar, taking the seat to the billionaire's left as her red leather mini jacket took up the right. He graciously accepted the bottle of lager, raising it up in a toasting gesture. "Cheers," he murmured before letting the bottle grace his lips.

Toni sipped once more at her red-to-yellow gradient drink. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

An eyebrow raised at her remark just then, his hazel eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

She chuckled softly before leaning back, turning her face to better view him. "You sure know how to pick them," she repeated, enunciating the stressed syllables. "She's obviously very high maintenance."

"And you wrote the book on the subject. Considering who your long-time business partner used to be, who said you were an excellent judge in character?"

"It doesn't take anyone holding two doctorate degrees to figure it out. I take it you haven't told her what you do for a living?"

He swallowed hard before bringing the bottle back up to his mouth. "I told her a little, just what I thought would pacify her. Obviously, that isn't enough."

"With high maintenance people, they want it all.”

"Says the highest of them all," he shot at her. The slight sign of dimples was the only clue as to the undertone of teasing that trailed in his voice.

"Heh," she scoffed before taking a large gulp of her drink. "So, you're cheating on her with your job, huh?"

The corners of his lips twitched in a small snarl. "Apparently so. I don't get women."

"And women don't get men. It's a two-way street."

"With one lane slightly bigger than the other."

A genuine laugh escaped the lips of the billionaire as she shook her head incredulously. That was a reason she enjoyed the company of Christmas. Someone could match her wit for wit without throwing her out of the penthouse window. That last part was an added bonus. "What are you going to do when you go after her?"

He fidgeted in his seat a bit before taking a swig of his beer. "Hell if I know. I don't even know if I'm going to chase after her this time."

A long finger swirled around the edge of the crystal glass Toni's drink was in as she stared down at the liquid deep in thought. "Of course you will," she mumbled after a few moments of quietness between them.

"Oh? What makes you say that? Judging character preemptively again?"

"Because I have a feeling you and I are cut from very similar fabrics and though you try to be a badass, your emotions still manage to clamor their way out of you in some form."

From her peripherals, she watched Lee's head snap towards her, perhaps slightly taken aback from her sudden honesty. "What?"

Her eyes locked on his, her lips set in a straight line. "You heard me. As brooding and threatening as you try to put off, you secretly have a soft spot. Everyone has one. Mine happens to be anyone that can match me wit for wit and looks damn good in a uniform," she cooed, offering the man a small smile to hopefully lighten the mood.

There was a pause as he stared with a thoughtful gaze at his reflection in the red bar mirror. "You're a clever little prick minx, you know that?" he muttered afterwards.

"That's actually a new one, so no, I didn't. Can I ask why?"

His smirk was much more pronounced now as he slid from the black seat, his feet making contact with the carpeted floor. "It's a free country. I don't see why not."

She waited while he collected his coat and pulled it on, expecting an answer. She pouted a tad when she wasn't given one. "You're not going to legitimately answer, are you?"

"You're the genius, Toni," he teased as he went to lay down a $20 to cover his drink. "You figure it out."

She grabbed the bill and shoved it back in his pocket. "I got this. Use that and buy her roses and attempt to woo yourself into her good graces, Casanova. Consider it a thank you for joining me."

The smile on his face broadened, his head jutting forward in a form of nod. "Always a pleasure, Toni."

The woman chuckled, offering her companion a wink. "If it doesn't work out, you and I could always give that phrase a new meaning."

With an eye roll and a half-step, the man was heading towards the exit, his hand above his head in a gesture of goodbye. "Good night, Stark!"

"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"

#Toni Stark #Fem!Tony Stark #Tony Stark #Iron Man #Iron Woman #Marvel #MCU #Marvel Comics #The Expendables #Lee Christmas #Jason Statham #crossover #Iron Man - Expendables crossover #crossoverfic #crossover fic #fanfiction #fanfic #my wriitng #MNT writing

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berynwolf · 7 years ago

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!!!!! First of all, thanks for the asks anon!! This made my day. I’m gonna go for it and try to answer all of them :))

For reference, I’m answering these questions for Berynwolf at the present time the story takes place, when he's in his late 30s or early 40s.

What position does your character sleep in? ( i.e; stomach, side, back, etc. ) Describe why they do this — optional. Being a champion/yeoman, I imagine Berynwolf has a lot of back problems from all his farm work and whirling around in combat, so he can only really get comfortable sleeping on his side. However, he often drinks too much and ends up flopped on his stomach or passing out any which way (which doesn’t help with said back problems).

Does your character have any noteworthy features? Freckles? Dimples? A scar somewhere unusual? etc. He has quite a few scars, the largest being from the bear attack when he was a child. He also has a scar that crosses over his lips, which people tend to notice the most. He probably has a half-assed tattoo somewhere that he let a surlier friend attempt on him at some point.

Does your character have an accent? What does it sound like? Some light spoilers here: Beryn and Ell have a mixed heritage, one parent was from Dale and the other was an Easterling. They also had an Elvish influence in their life when they were children, before their memories begin. So when they came to Trestlebridge, they probably had very curious-sounding accents. But after spending many more years in Bree-land, they’ve adopted accents a bit more similar to the common dialects of the men of Bree. I’ll leave it up to the reader to decide how that sounds.

Do they have any verbal tics? Do they have trouble pronouncing certain words or getting their thoughts across clearly? Because of all the different linguistic influences they’ve had over the years, there are probably lots of words and phrases that Berynwolf mispronounces or jumbles up. He tends to speak rather slowly and deliberately, and has trouble following people who speak quickly or who use a lot of colloquialisms.

What are their chief tension areas? I’m taking this to mean muscular tension? He probably holds a lot of tension in his neck/shoulders and forehead, and clenches his hands as a fear/anxiety response.

If you were to pick one song — and only one song — to describe your character, what would it be and why? It’s a tie between “Come Sail Away” by Styx and “Yeoman” by Baths. Both these songs remind me of Berynwolf pretty much for the same reasons: they’re kind of daydreamy and upbeat, and they involve leaving your old life behind and sailing into an unknown future.

How does your character perceive themselves? Positive? Negative? Neutral? Oh this is a good question. At this point in his life, Beryn has a rather complicated view of himself. On the surface he’s often very confident, but there are many things about himself he feels ashamed of or wishes he could change. He doesn’t allow himself to think about those things much, probably because he knows it will put him in a very dark place. So he avoids talking about himself to other people, too.

Are they a quick thinker or do they need time to sort through their thoughts? In moments of crisis, he’s a quick thinker. His fight/flight response has a hair trigger. But with more ambiguous matters, he has trouble discerning the right thing to do. He often makes impulse decisions, only to regret or question them later. (Ellwyth is the opposite, she tends to freeze in crisis but makes more collected, orderly decisions in everyday matters.)

Does your character dream or are their nights filled with an empty blackness? Describe a dream they’ve had or a night they couldn’t sleep and what they did to preoccupy their time. Unfortunately, Beryn has a lot of bad dreams. His dreams are usually replays of past traumas, some he can remember and some he can’t. When he can’t sleep or is afraid to fall asleep, he takes a walk to the stable to visit his horse or climbs up on a roof somewhere to stargaze. He might fall asleep in the stable or on the roof, raising many an eyebrow when he’s still snoozing in the morning.

If they had a choice, would they prefer a subway or a bus for public transportation? A subway! He’d probably love train rides because they’re fun and fast and he’d meet lots of people along the way.

What do they think of creation? Do they believe in evolution or do they believe in God? What is their religion like? I have a feeling that some sort of religion figured into Beryn and Ell’s lives before their memories begin. But it’s not something they practice now. Being a farmhand, Berynwolf is prone to superstition and will try any little ritual to make the crops grow healthy or to avoid bad weather. And whatever blessings or songs he learns from travelers, he sings them all when Ellwyth is on the road.

Describe 5 unusual characteristics your muse has. 1. He’s very emotionally sensitive. He’s an easy crier. While there are certain times when he’ll hide his feelings, he generally wears his heart on his sleeve, whether he’s happy or sad. This can make people uncomfortable. 2. God he loves fishing. He loves. To fish. 3. Berynwolf is...rather loose with his affection. He flirts with everyone, and he has a lot of one night stands. While he’s primarily more romantically interested in men, he’s popular with and trusted by many women because of how he treats them. Some of the townsfolk look down on him for this. 4. He has an unrequited crush on Provisioner in the Three-Farrow Crafting Hall. Who is, incidentally, a bit of a shapeshifter (has anyone else ever noticed this???). 5. He fantasizes about sailing ships, but he’s never seen the ocean.

Have they ever been so overwhelmed they had to stop and take a break from something? Two words: Northcotton Farm

Are they a team player or do they prefer to be solo? Berynwolf likes to help others and enjoys having company, but he finds himself alone much of the time.

Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time? One thing at a time.

What are their best school subjects? What are their worst? List five of each. If he’d ever gone to school, Beryn would have been good at music, biology, home ec, and lunch. He would've failed reading and math. He can read and write, but he misspells a lot of words and his handwriting is not great. I can’t think of ten school subjects.

Is your character an introvert or an extrovert? How do they handle big crowds of people? Extrovert by far. Beryn loves a big crowd, he handles it by trying to become the center of attention.

Are they a leader, do they prefer to follow, or would they rather just stay on the sidelines altogether? Sometimes Beryn takes the initiative without even thinking about it, but it’s more an impulse than a well-thought-out decision. Like, he’ll have a stupid idea and try to get people to join in, then realize halfway through that he should have listened to Ellwyth.

If your character was suddenly challenged, would they rather run away or stay and fight? Alone, he’d run away or try to diffuse the situation. But when another person is threatened, he stays and fights.

If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would that person be and why? I can’t see Berynwolf wishing death on anyone. He’s seen too much of it.

Your character has been granted 3 wishes; what would they wish for and why? For Ellwyth to be happy and safe, for all his friends to be well cared for, and for himself to see the ocean. Think of all the fish.

Does your character trust people right off the bat or does it take them some time to warm up to someone? Berynwolf tends to trust people, almost to a fault. He can be easily duped by someone pretending to have good intentions. When he was younger, he was much slower to trust. Something may have happened long ago to cause that, but he doesn’t remember what.

Do they prefer romance or affection? What is the quickest way to your character’s heart? Both, and beer. It is not hard to win Berynwolf’s love. He certainly enjoys being romanced and he treasures his friendships and any expression of fondness. But it is difficult to get to know him on a deep level, because he tends to avoid talking about himself. He wants to love other people without allowing them to connect to him. And this can sometimes lead to pain.

Does your character have any enemies? If so, who and why? Beryn tries not to make enemies, but he’s gotten into situations that inevitably put him at odds with others. There are probably some people in the brigand circles who want him dead. He may have fought them at one time and helped them at another. There are also some townspeople who are especially rude towards him, but he stays out of their way most of the time.

Do they have any weird bedroom habits? Any unusual kinks? Let’s just say he’s creative.

How does your character prepare for bed? Do they sleep at all or can they stay awake for days on end without trouble? Berynwolf is often sleepy, but he avoids sleeping because of the nightmares. Sadly, one of the only ways he will go to sleep is drinking until he passes out. He’s also more likely to sleep if there’s someone with him. Sometimes having another person nearby helps with the dreams, sometimes it doesn’t. He sleeps a little better when he’s traveling or if he’s been working on the farm all day.

If your character had one thing to say to their parents before they died, what would it be? He doesn’t know who they are, but he’d probably want to ask where they went, and if it was his fault.

Are they afraid of death? Do they have any regrets? Yes.

Does your character get restless when things are too quiet or do they favour solitude and silence? Why? Berynwolf is a sociable person, but he enjoys moments of solitude. He likes watching the clouds or the sunset, sitting alone by the river on a summer day, farming or cooking or tailoring by himself. But he doesn’t like to get lost in his thoughts. Instead he focuses on a task or on the outside world.

Finally; if your character was forced to eat one thing for the rest of their life, what would they choose and why? Would it be fish and mushrooms? It would probably be fish and mushrooms.

#story #lotro #this was a lot of fun :))#berynwolf

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