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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years ago

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Standards of Performance, Chapter 8: Heartbreak and Lattes

From the Beginning, Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Only announcement for this week: I've started a new job, and my schedule is such that a weekly update is unlikely without the quality being verrrry questionable. Therefore, I've decided to move off a set schedule, but I PROMISE I will update at least twice a month. Thank you for your patience and understanding; I know a set schedule is preferable but I wanna make sure this doesn't go to shit. Also... apparently this isn’t showing up in the tags I use, which sucks - so reblogs help a lot if you’re able. I love you guys <3

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary: In which decisions are made and overturned and many cups of coffee are drunk.

Words: 2666

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

You were sulking.

Not enough to affect your work - you’d have to go through something much worse than heartbreak before you risked your internship. But your home life was beginning to resemble a timelapse straight out of an overdramatic teen movie wherein the protagonist’s crush asks someone else to prom. Your apartment was a pile of half-done laundry, takeout containers, and case files; your evenings filled with sad Spotify playlists and too much red wine.

And work? Not much better. Seeing him stride into the office every morning, filled with power and purpose and completely oblivious to the fact that he had shoved your heart into a metaphorical blender with a simple response to a seemingly innocuous question was really starting to wear you down. You had been so sure, that was the thing - so convinced by the team’s reaction to your story that it had all meant something. And maybe it had. But he had looked you in the face and told you it didn’t, so that was the answer that mattered.

So maybe sulking was the wrong word. ‘Spiraling’ was more accurate. A controlled spiral, mitigated only by the fact that 1. you had appearances and responsibilities to maintain and 2. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t actually the reason you showed up to work every morning, despite what it had seemed lately.

And it had seemed like that. You remembered getting the phone call that you had been accepted for an interview for the BAU internship, and the phone call that you made it to the final round, and finally the phone call that you had gotten the position - each more exciting than the last. You remembered meeting him, shaking his hand, completely oblivious to how much he was about to fuck up your life. Even when you first started to feel something for him, you convinced yourself it was nothing - a harmless crush wrought from your veneration and respect for one of the best in the field. Someone you admired. Someone you wanted to be one day. But then he’d made the unfortunate move of revealing bits and pieces of himself to you, exposing tiny slivers of humanity and emotion you were convinced didn’t exist, until you realized he was a person, an incredible one, and it wasn’t just admiration you felt anymore. It took all of a few months and a handful of genuine conversations until you were this far gone, and after he made it clear that your pining was one-sided, you knew you had to stop your fall there.

So you tried.

You kept your conversations strictly professional. Avoided driving with him or sitting next to him on flights whenever possible. Disallowed yourself lingering glances. But it was still too goddamn much. He was still too goddamn much.

The next case pushed you over the edge. It was bad (not just normal bad, BAU bad), and it was no one’s fault, not really. You got called in late, the evidence was shoddy at best, and when all was said and done, you caught the unsub, but only after he’d killed 4 women. The last one died moments before you arrived and apprehended the killer, and despite the delay of those few minutes being, again, no one’s fault, the team was at each other’s throats the whole trip home.

You were slouched in the corner of the plane trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Morgan and Reid were sniping viciously about something completely unrelated to the case, because despite everything they’d just endured, they would never outright blame each other for what went wrong. Hotch, deciding he’d heard enough, raised his head slightly and said quietly,

“They’re not always going to end the way we want. We did all we could.”

And you were just done. You couldn’t stand to be around this pillar of strength and compassion and resolve. You needed to hate him for rejecting you, and you couldn’t. So you marched over to his seat, and, steeling yourself, you said what you’d been wanting to say since he broke your heart:

“I need a day off.”

It had sounded more dramatic in your head.

“A day off?”

You nodded. Hotch gathered himself, seeming to realize that such a request wasn’t unheard of (though perhaps in his department it essentially was) and nodded.

“This case was difficult. I wish I could say exceptionally so. Get me your paperwork by tonight and take tomorrow off.”

You went back to your seat, relief overshadowed by disgust that it wasn’t, in fact, the 4 deaths you’d just been privy to that had broken you - it was the crush on your boss. You’d handled this case like a champ, in fact, because you were so absorbed in self-pity that you couldn’t feel anything else.

You needed to fucking recalibrate.

***

You were determined to make the next 24 hours the most self-indulgent, healing 24 hours you’d ever experienced. Quiet breakfast at a cafe? Planned. Self-improvement books? Downloaded. Vibrator? Fully charged.

No man was going to keep you from focusing on the internship you’d been gunning for for years. No man was worth that. You were going to cry, you were going to journal, you were going to masturbate, and you were going to get him out of your head.

You were going to march into the quaint little coffeeshop two blocks away that you’d Googled last night, you were going to order the cinnamon spice latte that an indie food blog had called “the epitome of fall,” and you were going to go for a nice, early morning walk.

Except you weren’t.

Because the next morning, when you turned to leave after grabbing your drink from the barista, you saw Hotch sitting at the table by the window. And Hotch saw you. And you weren’t equipped to handle this situation, because you were only 4 pages into your self-help book so far and honestly, the smile that lit up his face when you made eye contact would’ve broken you even if you’d read all the ‘how to move on’ manuals the literary world had ever produced.

So you obeyed his beckoning hand and sat down.

“Thought you’d be up to something much more exciting on your one day off.”

You smiled wryly. “This is exciting. I haven’t had coffee that wasn’t made out of an ancient breakroom pot or a hotel carafe in months.”

Hotch chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake by coming here. Breakroom coffee is going to be impossible to tolerate now.”

“That good, huh?”

“Better. Try it.”

His eyes on you, you took a sip of your latte, and swallowed the most delicious concoction you’ve ever tasted in your life.

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed,” Hotch confirmed, ignoring your vulgarity. “I’ve been coming here before work for years.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I impose on your hangout,” you laughed. “I haven’t tried many coffee shops around here, but I imagine this is hard to beat.”

“Not at all. But just know - this is my table.”

You grinned. “Understood.”

You still went on that walk. Still read that book. Still spent the day trying to think about anything else but the softness of that moment - you and Hotch sipping lattes, bathed in the light of the early morning sun.

But on Thursday, the next day, bright and early, you found yourself at that coffee shop again. This time, you took a seat at the table adjacent to his. He looked up and smiled.

“Glad you heeded my advice.”

You smiled back and gestured to the heaping pile of files in front of him. “Not like there’d be much room for me anyways.”

You finished your coffees in relative silence and left at the same time for the office.

Friday, you learned Hotch’s coffee order: flat white with an extra shot of espresso.

Saturday, you happened to arrive before he did, so you ordered his drink and set it on his table. Ten minutes passed and you thought he wasn’t going to show up, but he soon bustled in looking frantic. You waved him over, and he smiled when he saw the coffee waiting for him.

“Sorry, got stuck on a phone call,” he apologized. Like you were expecting him. Like this was something you guys did now.

You supposed it was.

Sunday, you got called for a case before you even made it to the coffee shop. You sat down in the conference room at 6 am, groggy as all hell. Hotch entered after you and handed you a mug, saying nothing before moving to address the team.

There was a small sticky note attached to the mug that read, “It’s no cinnamon spice latte, but it’s caffeine just the same.”

You fought to keep a grin from splitting your face, and ignored the team’s knowing smirks.

The case was in a small town in Colorado. The motel the team was staying in was less than ideal because of the location - bare bones, broken heaters, probably had the same bedsheets since its opening over 50 years ago. There was a small coffee pot in your room, and after you arrived Sunday evening, you walked down the street to the small convenience store and bought a bag of ground coffee.

When you handed him the cup Monday morning, he looked at it like it was salvation itself. Which, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, it may well have been.

“Long night?” you asked, loading into the back of the SUV.

“Always,” he responded from the front seat. He took a sip of the coffee. “I don’t mean to offend, but this is terrible.”

You gasped in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that is genuine Folgers pre-ground gas station coffee.”

“It tastes like it was made in a toilet,” he grumbled. He took another sip and smirked at you in the rearview mirror.

You’d long stopped trying to get over him.

After the case in Colorado, the team was given a merciful break from the rapid-fire calls they’d been caught up in the last few months.

You and Hotch continued your pre-work ritual, showing up to the coffee shop earlier and earlier each day. For you, it was a conscious attempt to spend more time with him. He didn’t acknowledge the extra 20 minutes that had worked its way into the morning routine, but you could only hope his intentions were the same.

One particularly chilly fall day, you burst in the door 10 minutes later than your unofficial meeting time. Hotch shot you a patented raised eyebrow as you unwrapped your scarf and took your seat.

“Overslept?”

“No,” you retorted, “I was trying to make breakfast and my stove stopped working. Again. Maintenance can’t come fix it for two days.”

“Did you eat?” he asked.

“No, I was just gonna grab a muffin or something here.”

He nodded and went back to his laptop.

The next day, you sat down to a metal thermos on your table.

“What’s this?” you asked him.

“Oatmeal,” he responded without looking up. “You said your stove was broken.”

You opened the thermos to a puff of brown sugar-scented steam and the feeling that your heart was going to burst out of your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered, afraid your voice would crack if you spoke any louder.

He looked over at you with an expression softer than you’d ever seen him wear. “You’re welcome.”

A week later, you’d miraculously worked your way through the backed-up deluge of paperwork from the last few cases, and after clicking through the morning’s emails, you slammed your laptop shut.

“We should go for a walk,” you said to Hotch, who somehow still had a stack of files in front of him that was threatening to surpass the table’s weight capacity.

“A walk?” Hotch asked, looking at the aforementioned files as if he were afraid they’d hear him considering the idea of a break.

“Yeah,” you responded. “Come on. It’s so pretty outside, and it’s gonna be too cold soon. Besides, we’re more caught up with work than we have been in months.”

“Speak for yourself,” he quipped, but he packed his briefcase just the same.

It really was beautiful outside. As soon as you stepped out the door, a gust of wind sent red and orange leaves skittering across the sidewalk at your feet. You wrapped your scarf tighter around your neck and motioned to the park across the street.

“Want to walk through the park?”

Hotch shrugged, a noncommittal ‘yes’, and followed you.

The park was sprawling, packed with massive trees in the midst of displaying their autumnal colors. Despite the early hour, there were joggers and dog-walkers populating the dirt path that meandered through. You strolled side by side, making idle chat about the weather and the holidays coming up, until you came to a bench set beside a pond in a small grove. Hotch took a seat and you followed his lead.

Reclining your head against the back of the bench, you exhaled. “This is the closest I’ve come to being out in nature in forever. I need to do this more often.”

Hotch murmured his agreement. “I’d apologize for the lack of free time, but I’m afraid it only gets worse.”

“When you officially join the team, you mean?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Assuming that’s something you’re interested in.”

“Of course I am,” you said, “but I didn’t think it was really up to me.”

“It’s not - I give the final recommendation.”

“Better start buying you more coffees then,” you teased, looking over at him.

“Unfortunately, as Unit Chief, I have a responsibility not to accept bribery.” He smiled back.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You studied his face - the stern curve of his brow, the carved structure of his jaw, the stress lines set in from decades of sleepless nights and unspeakable losses. Despite the increasing time you’d been spending in close proximity, you were mesmerized, as always, by the stormy intensity of his eyes meeting yours. You were close enough to smell his cologne, and you were reminded of the night in his apartment when he told you about his family. If you thought you’d fallen for him then, it was nothing compared to how you felt now, after starting each morning sitting beside him in the quiet peace of that downtown coffee shop.

“We should get going,” he murmured, not checking his watch, not shifting his gaze from yours. You nodded, not fully comprehending his words, feeling dazed at his nearness.

It was impossible to tell who made the first, imperceptible shift. All you knew is you scarcely had time to think before his hand was on your jaw, cradling the back of your head, bringing you to him. His mouth met yours and you closed your eyes instinctively, melting into his warm body beside you, fisting the front of his jacket in your hands.

You couldn’t remember ever having been kissed so decisively before. His fingers gripped into the base of your skull, his forehead nearly pressed against yours, and despite the chastity of your closed mouths, you whimpered into his. He stiffened at the sound and pulled back, still holding you, inches away.

You saw the shift in his eyes before he moved. It was as if he consciously closed some gate, walling himself off. His pupils, blown, started to retract to their normal size, frown returned, hand drew back. You watched, heart still racing, unable to speak as he turned to grab the briefcase sitting at his feet. Only then did he look back at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and if his low voice was meant to betray any hint of emotion, you didn’t hear it.

He stood, walked around the back of the bench towards the path, and paused.

“I’ll see you at the office.”

You were too shell-shocked to reply.

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pikemoreno · 4 years ago

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if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter V: Lightning Strikes

a/n: it’s startingggg. it might be good to read up on the events of the mentalist... to avoid any confusion for the next few chapters... i’ll just say that. also the lightning metaphor is a callback to chapter 1. it’s been a while so i wouldn’t blame you for not recalling

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 4k

warnings: none, and i don’t expect there to really be any serious ones in upcoming chapters either... well actually, there’s a wee bit of angst here...

wanna join a taglist? | masterlist | series masterlist

The sun was hardly over the tree-lined horizon when you pulled up to the Elizabet Ney Museum. It was a consequence of your team being requested to come before the museum opened, allowing business hours to go on as usual during the investigation. That was making you wonder exactly how busy they thought this place was going to get on a Monday morning during the school year-- and how they expected the investigation to be successful when they had guests tramping all over the scene-- but you didn't question it.

Being a few minutes early, you took some time to traipse around the property to see if anything looked note-worthy. The sand-colored castle-like complex was bathed in soft early morning light and a haunting fog; the grass was dewy and squeaked against your shoes as you circled the grand building. The most likely entry and exit points-- the door and windows on the far side-- yielded nothing. Nothing on the wooden door nor the brassy knob was broken, and there was no sign of trampled dirt around it, nor was there anything amiss with the paned windows. However, the security camera just above the back-door threshold made you raise an eyebrow. They had full security cam coverage and couldn't determine how their stuff had been stolen? Odd.

You were far too distracted with your thoughts as you walked that you didn't hear the car pull in out front or the person getting out of it or the footsteps coming around the side of the building. So when Marcus appeared right in front of you as he rounded the corner, he had to grab your arm to steady you as you almost fell on your ass in surprise. You almost ripped your arm out of his grasp as the electricity of the touch shot through your arm, surprising you far more than his sudden appearance.

You almost did. But you didn't. It felt too nice in the end.

"Sorry," he laughed, "Didn't mean to scare you. Coffee?" He held out a drink carrier containing two travel cups. "Should be the one on the right." You took it.

"Does it have--" you took a sip before you finished your question.

It was exactly the way you liked it. You regarded Marcus with wide eyes.

"You know my coffee order?" you gaped. He shrugged nonchalantly. You followed him as he made his way back to the front of the museum.

"Yeah. What about it?" he laughed, sipping from his drink.

"How do you know it?"

"From when we were at Copper Coin last week." He looked genuinely confused as to why this was a shocking discovery.

"And you remember what I ordered?"

"Of course." His eyes shone with sincerity and just a hint of something that said, "duh."

You wanted to ask if he knew all of his co-workers' coffee orders by heart, but you were interrupted by the arrival of Adrian, followed closely by Wendy. You blinked a little.

Did they come here together?

You'd heard nothing from her since they had "gotten together" a few days ago. Now, this little scene had you wondering exactly how "together" they had gotten. You shot Wendy a questioning look around Adrian's shoulder, and she mouthed "later" with what was quite possibly the biggest grin you'd ever seen from her. Her whole demeanor had changed in the days since you'd seen her. Even if your plans for getting them together didn't work out as planned, the result was the same. Standing in front of you were two people finding at least the tiniest bit of healing in companionship. And that is all the set-up was about in the end.

Mission: success.

"Hey guys," Marcus greeted them, reaching a hand out to shake Wendy's, "You must be Wendy?"

"That's me," she shook his hand, smiling, "And you're Marcus." He nodded. "Hang on. How do you two know each other?" She studied the two of you carefully.

Oops.

"Oh well, a couple of weeks ago, we were out of coffee, so I snuck over to their break room to get some. We talked for a minute. And now I just see him everywhere, I guess," you laid out as casually as possible.

"I see." You couldn't tell if she actually sounded unconvinced or if your incredible paranoia just made her sound that way. "Well, this is Adrian, who I told you about already," she beamed, you shook his hand.

Be cool, be cool. I definitely haven't been interfering in your love life for the past two weeks.

"Nice to meet you, Adrian. You're on the Art Squad?"

Good playing dumb, me.

"I am."

"Great. Pleased to work with you."

The museum owner arriving saved you from further pleasantries. Adrian, being the one who had talked to her the most, ran ahead to greet her while the rest of you hung back. Wendy looped her arm through yours and started her quiet detailing of her night.

"So last night I went over to Adrian's place just for a little home-cooked meal and a movie," you nodded along, smiling at her excitement, "It was so great, you know? My perfect relaxed evening. Of course, then I accidentally fell asleep there-- thank God I keep an extra set of work clothes in my car. But what do I wake up to? Breakfast from Rick's!"

"Very impressive!"

"Right?" she sighed, "He made sure he was up before me and snuck out for breakfast. Ugh, what a keeper! How did he know?" You shot a quick look over to Marcus but gave a nonchalant shrug to Wendy.

"Everyone likes Rick's, I guess."

"Either way. It was very sexy of him. Find yourself someone like that." With that, she patted your shoulder and stepped over to join Adrian and the museum owner.

Marcus laughed a little as he fell into step with you. You cocked your head as you watched him

"What?"

"I'm the one that told him to do that."

"Really? Been giving him pointers, oh great love master?" He put a hand to his chest, feigning offense.

"Ouch. Of course, I have. He was with his ex for so long he doesn't remember how to date anymore. I had to tell him all of my tricks."

"Oh, is that how you charm all the women? Surprise breakfast?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes other meals. But always breakfast food." You laughed. "Seriously. It's unassuming, comforting. Anyone can go out to dinner and a movie, right? Breakfast food is both more relaxed and more intimate. No one is putting on airs or trying to impress with diner breakfast food. No one is ordering healthy to look good. No one is on their best manners. They're getting their chocolate chip waffles, and they're piling the syrup on it no matter what you say about it, and that tells you way more about someone than how they act at a fancy restaurant."

"That's… Actually, really profound."

There was an indiscernible look in his eye as you gazed at him and him back at you. Like he knew something you didn't, and he was just waiting for you to figure it out.

Remember when I took you to Rick's?

***

The case was a pretty difficult one.

The robbery occurred on one of the busiest days they'd had all year. Guests had been pouring in for one last little family day before school started back, enjoying an educational experience and the beautiful weather the day brought as they walked the grounds. The security cameras were down for the entire business day. The only lead was that the Ney family members-- a distant cousin and niece who had donated the heirloom and the bust-- had come right before closing. They would've undoubtedly noticed that their precious items were missing. Therefore, the items must've been stolen after they left, after the museum had closed.

But that's where things got tricky. The doors to the museum were locked, as were the windows, and there were, as you'd seen this morning, no signs of forced entry. The only suspects, then, were employees and volunteers who could've gotten access to the keys. That left the owner, a bunch of high school and college students keeping a summer job, and a couple of elderly art lover volunteers. Logically, you could pretty much eliminate the students immediately, though everyone would be brought in for questioning for the sake of process anyway. There was little reason for a student to steal those items. This wasn't a Monet and the Hope Diamond. They wouldn't have sold for much, certainly not enough to make it worth the risk of robbing their own workplace. Frankly, the motive was unclear all-around. The family was ready to sue the museum for their negligence, and the museum wouldn't last very long if it came down to a money battle. The owner probably wouldn't have sabotaged themselves like that, unless there was some sort of a deeper issue. And the elderly volunteers… You guessed could've done it if they were art fanatics, but, really: why? It didn't add up.

The owner told you as much as she could as she led you through the property-- she wasn't sure either. You were able to eliminate her as a suspect as she spoke. She was outright begging you to find the thief, nearly in hysterics over the prospect of losing the beloved museum and her livelihood.

"We'll do our best, Mrs. Moa," Marcus calmed her, "Do you know anyone who would want to sabotage you or the museum or the family?" She shook her head weakly.

"Not offhand. You'd have to ask them as well, though."

"We will. Don't worry, Mrs. Moa. You have four of the FBI's best here, we're gonna figure this out," Adrian beamed.

It was a blatant over-promise and gross exaggeration, but as you looked around at your new-found little crew, you almost believed him too.

You all shook Mrs. Moa's hand as you departed, telling her that forensics would be along shortly to do their thing, and you would start questioning suspects the next day. She once again gave her most gracious thanks and went back to anxiously prepping for the museum opening. The news of the theft and the subsequent lawsuit was spreading, and she was going to be getting a lot of hard questions thrown at her today. Poor thing.

"Would you all like to come over to my place later?" Adrian started as you all made your way back to your cars, "I'll order pizza, grab some drinks, and we can maybe talk about this case?" His "maybe" was not particularly convincing. This was strictly going to be a social event, and you all knew it.

You all gave your confirmation that you would be there and headed back to the office to finish out the workday.

***

Despite the in-office workday being a mere half-day by the time you made it back, it felt like it was dragging on forever. You had plenty of other files to work through and close, but you couldn't get your mind off the Ney case. There was a missing piece, and you had to get your mind off of that sinking feeling before you could do anything else. Wendy had been on the phone since she stepped foot in her office, and you frankly didn't know Adrian well enough to be comfortable going to him. So that just left Marcus to go to.

You'd been thinking about him all day. Now that Adrian and Wendy were together, was that going to change your relationship too? Would you still talk like you do now? You certainly hoped so. You'd bared your soul too much at the coffee shop for him to turn into a casual acquaintance now. And honestly? You'd gotten sort of attached to him. He really did make you feel important and wanted and cared about, just as you'd craved back at the beginning of all of this. Some sort of feeling had sprung up. Not necessarily, feeling feelings. You don't fall that fast. But there was something. Enough that you didn't want him gone. You wanted to learn more about him, experience more with him beyond just being a co-worker... Whatever that meant.

You hopped up from your desk and got into the elevator before anyone noticed you'd left, finding him where you now knew his desk to be. You leaned a hand against the front of the mahogany, and he looked up curiously, waiting for your explanation he could see forming in your brain.

"Do you feel like there's something missing in the Ney case?" You asked finally.

"Sure, a perpetrator," he responded in a deadpan.

"Alright, then. Good talk, smartass." You took two steps away from his desk before he grabbed you lightly by the forearm to bring you back.

"No, no. Come back. I'll be serious now, I promise. What are you thinking?"

"Doesn't it just seem like something's missing? I feel like there's no motive in any of the suspects we have."

"Well, that's what the interrogations are for, right?"

"Yeah, but--" you bit your lip for a moment, considering, "Do you think that the family would have anything to do with it?"

"How do you mean?" he folded his arms now. You didn't realize his hand was still on your forearm until he removed it. You felt the warmth leave as the overdone air-conditioning immediately chased the feeling away.

He did, of course. He knew his hand was still on your skin. And for every moment his hand remained there, it grew a little more difficult to not slide it down to where his fingers could fully intertwine with yours. But that would have been too much. His ex-wife-- and admittedly, multiple others-- had chided how he was too overbearing. He had been feeling that something as well, terrifying as it was. And it was taking everything in him to not fall into his usual, "overbearing" ways. Your mind towards him was completely indiscernible so far. Sure, there had been moments that it seemed that you'd be more than happy to have your hand held by him, but, more often than not, the friendly, playful banter you shared moments later completed nixed out those moments to him. He had no idea what you were thinking and was maybe a little hesitant to find out at this point. Right now, he needed to test the waters, play it cool, and maybe one day he'd feel he could do that without scaring you off.

"Well," you started, "I guess I'll have to question the family too to confirm this, but wouldn't they maybe have something to gain from the lawsuit? Money? Power over the museum?" you tapped your fingers lightly on the desk, then your eyes widened with your 'aha' moment, "Maybe I'll research if they've had any past disputes with Mrs. Moa. Thanks, Marcus, you've been a big help."

"I didn't--" you'd already run away, booking it back to your floor, "do anything."

He shook his head fondly.

You weren't at your desk trying to dig into the museum history for very long before Wendy walked up and sat across from you. She did so incredibly coolly, taking a moment to look around the office and give the chair little half-spins before she finally spoke.

"So, how do you actually know Marcus?"

You almost choked as you sucked in a too-quick breath.

"I'm sorry?"

"How do you actually know Marcus?"

"Exactly what we said earlier," you shook your head, "We met by chance in the breakroom a couple of weeks ago, I've seen him around, chatted occasionally, and now we're on this case together."

"Sure."

"You think I'm lying?"

How could she have possibly known about the set up?

"I do. But I don't know if you know you're lying." You gave her a questioning look, inviting her to continue. "I've never actually seen you truly smitten with someone. But I would imagine it'd look something like this."

"Oh come on, you've seen me with him one time." She laughed. Loudly.

"What? Do you think I don't have eyes? I've seen you two talking around the office. I've seen you laughing and looking nothing short of flustered. I've seen your phone go off with a text message when you leave it on your desk. It's from a 'Marcus' pretty damn often. Am I right in assuming you don't know two Marcuses?" It was rhetorical, but you shook your head anyway. "I saw that you were together when I came into Copper Coin the other day. I saw you both with the very same Copper Coin travel cups this morning. And I know for a fact that when you were gone from your desk right now, you were with Marcus."

"I mean, that's all true. But so what? It's not what you're probably thinking it is." She hummed, thinking for a moment.

"Do you want it to be?" That stopped you in your tracks.

What did you want from this?

"I--" you sighed, throwing your head back against the back of your chair, "Undecided."

"That's ok. Hey, it's only been two weeks. I just... I really have never seen you act like that with someone before. I had to ask." You nodded along. You had a strange feeling all of that actually meant: "You've been so ridiculously obvious that I had to make sure you knew how obvious you were being."

"It's not out of the question. I just don't know yet. It takes time. Do you think he… Feels that way about me?"

She sighed. "I can't say for sure. I'll have to keep an eye out tonight."

***

It was by total accident that you arrived to Adrian's at the same time as Marcus, but it happened nonetheless. The autumn air around you was finally cooling down. Marcus had his hands in his pockets, and you were kicking pebbles up the sidewalk as you walked down the parked-up street and up to the little yellow house. Its golden porch lights beamed brightly as the sun was falling behind the horizon so much quicker lately.

"Kind of a funny turn of events," Marcus mused. "We've been casually interfering in their lives, trying to bring them together, making sure they don't know that we know each other. And now they're together in spite of us, and we're walking into Adrian's house together."

"Yeah… Wendy kinda already knew that we knew each other."

"She did?"

"She did. She saw us together too much, I guess. But I don't think she suspects that we were up to anything."

"Oh good… So what did she say?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she obviously brought something up to you. So what was it?"

"Uh, I-- I guess she thinks there's more to it. I don't know." He laughed.

It was a nervous laugh, but you didn't hear it as such. You moved on before any of the rest of that conversation could be discussed.

"So has Adrian said anything to you about this little relationship of theirs?"

"Just that he has no idea what he's doing and needs help." You laughed. "So, I've been helping him out a bit."

"So… The pancakes are a part of that. What else have you been telling him?"

"You know, some date ideas. I remember you saying that a walk around a museum would be more her speed? I told him to do that. He knows all about the art in any art museum and could talk her ear off about any of it. Do you think she'd like that? Him telling her about the art?"

"She would love that, I think. That's very romantic."

"You think?"

"I do."

Is it something you'd love too?

There was no chance for him to ask. Wendy greeted you at the door with a raised brow. You didn't intend to arrive together, but that wouldn't convince her for a second.

***

The evening went by without a hitch. Adrian and Wendy's budding relationship was genuinely adorable. Watching them dance around the kitchen as they warmed up slices from the already-cold pizza, they looked like they'd already been doing it for months. The conversation shared was breezy and comfortable.

Until.

"Oh, Adrian, don't forget. Floor renovation starts tomorrow. We're on the 5th floor with Special Crimes for a bit," Marcus reminded as you all sat around Adrian's kitchen table-- pizza long gone, finishing the last sips of your drinks.

"Good to know," you interjected. He looked at you quizzically.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what if I wanted to come bother you after finishing the interrogations? I would've gone to the 6th floor and would've never found you. Now I know." You grinned, taking a smug sip of your drink.

"What a tragedy that would've been." His smile was fond. When you looked over to Wendy, she had a peculiar expression-- her "thinking face"-- as she looked between you and Marcus. Her expression shifted to express exasperation.

"What?" You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

Of course, you knew what it was. Once Wendy took off your blinders, you saw everything: the way Marcus interacted with you, the way you interacted with him. Every action tonight was tinged with nervous, flirtatious energy: from the way you laughed at every terrible joke of his to the way his arm was seemingly permanently fixated to the back of your chair.

You understood now what Wendy meant earlier, but you still didn't yet understand how you felt about it.

"Will you come with me for a second?" she asked you. You got up with her, moving to the foyer, leaving Marcus and Adrian mumbling amongst themselves to figure out what the hell was happening. She didn't waste time in confronting you.

"I've been watching you two all night, and that does not look like nothing. It's clear that he is very into you. I know you said you need time on it, but if you don't feel the same way about him, you need to stop leading him on."

"I'm not leading him on."

"You are. You may not realize it, but you are. The joking and laughing, the gazing, everything."

You opened your mouth to speak, but closed it, crossing your arms.

"You can't be wishy-washy on this. I'm not letting you run from this this time. So, once and for all: what's going on in your head, and what are you going to do about it?"

"You know what? Nothing. And nothing." The words came out a little sharper than you intended, tired of this conversation and…

Scared. You were scared. You felt the distinct static tingle of lightning about to strike, and you were running from its impact once again.

"Nothing?"

"No. I know what I said earlier about needing time, but I don't. I've made up my mind. Nothing is going on here; there never will be anything going on here, alright?" You turned around to stomp back to the kitchen, but someone was standing there.

Marcus.

He heard you; there was no denying it.

His face was unmistakably downcast. You looked to the floor to avoid those ever emotion-betraying eyes of his.

He was sure the whole neighborhood could hear him swallow his hurt.

"Excuse me. I was just heading out. Have a good night." He brushed past you both coolly and stepped out through the front door behind you. You think Wendy said goodnight in return, but you couldn't hear through the fog. You said nothing.

Lightning struck.

But you ran indoors, and he was a lightning rod.

series taglist: @whiskeyslasso @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @dindjarindiaries @absurdthirst @roxypeanut @fioccodineveautunnale @dirty-dancefl00r5 @starryeyedstories @buckysalefty @wickedfrsgrl @the-feckless-wonder @buckstaposition

forever taglist: @acomplicatedprofession @hdlynn @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @princessbatears @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives @mistermiraclee @marydjarin @seasonschange-butpeopledont @miss-leto @spacegayofficial @winters-buck @phoenixhalliwell @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @mrpascals @aerynwrites @jigglemiwa @manda-but-not-lorian @dindjarindiaries @pancakepike @huliabitch @sammiesweet @randomness501 @king-belamy @opheliaelysia @the-silver-iris @lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache

#tw: flashing gif #marcus pike x reader #iyewbil #bri writes

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mizumelona · 4 years ago

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set me up | atsumu x reader

SYNOPSIS: You’re an ambitious career woman, who’s got everything…except a significant other. Your mom, sick of you showing up to family functions alone, sets you up on a series of (terrible) blind dates. You make these dates meet you at your favorite restaurant, Onigiri Miya, but for some reason the owner’s jerk of a twin brother always happens to be there exactly when things crash and burn.

NOTE: This chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend Sharon who encouraged me to start this blog and helps me with my writing. @Sharon I kept my promise hehe.

MASTERLIST

PREV | WFH 1 - THE TRUCE | NEXT

TAGLIST: @awkwardali6106 @kasandrafaye @veggytaled @svtbitch @stinkyobeymerat @hollypastl @differentballooncollection @o51oc @sunboikyo00 @justxanotherxshipper @kaisemieita @rizamendoza808 @tomo-uwu @sugardaddykenma

You tossed Atsumu’s sweater into the washer with your other juice covered clothes and made your way to your bedroom. You picked up your phone to text your mom.

Lovely Daughter:

I think I need to take a break from these dates

You still wanted to find a boyfriend and flex on your cousin, but this blind dating thing wasn’t exactly working out. You cringed remembering that your favorite cream shorts might be ruined for good. Taking a step back seemed like a good choice for now. Maybe you’d spontaneously run into someone worth your time. Blonde hair and a cheeky smirk flashed in your mind.

Huh. What was that? You shook your head. That was definitely not happening.

As you finished sending the message you got another notification.

Boss:

Reminder that our team is working from home this week while they replace the carpets in the office. Can you send me the updated prototype of your project by Friday morning?

Ugh. Working from home was bad news for you. Despite being an overachiever, your home was a safe oasis that was completely separated from your work life. When it came to trying to work while your favorite blanket and TV were 2 feet away, you had no self-control. You tried to look on the bright side. Who knows? Maybe this is the week you learned a little self-control.

Onigiri Miya. Thursday 6:27 PM

It wasn’t.

You had plenty of inspiration on Monday but took a break to watch one episode of your favorite sports anime and ended up binging the next two seasons. Tuesday you’d pulled up the files you needed to work on but you saw a manga spoiler while browsing Instagram and decided to binge the manga too. Yesterday you were shook about the most recent cliffhanger and got carried away reading fan fiction. It wasn’t until 5 PM that you realized that the prototype was due in a day but by then you were already fucked.

Cut to you grinding like crazy for the past 24 hours. You’d pulled an all-nighter last night except for 20 minutes at 5 in the morning when you crashed and knocked out on your keyboard. When you woke up there was an imprint of the spacebar on your chin. Finally you had most of the prototype completed, so you were crawling out of your cave for some food.

Sweats, glasses, hair messily pulled away from your face. You haggardly stumbled toward the restaurant. You’d exhausted your instant noodle supplies and had been so focused on finishing the damn prototype that you didn’t stop to eat today. You were pretty sure you were going to pass out if you didn’t get some food in your body ASAP.

You pushed the door to the restaurant open.

“Welcom- woah [Y/N]…you doing okay?”, Osamu paused mid rice ball roll and looked you up and down.

“Holy shit ya look like a zombie!”, Atsumu exclaimed from his usual seat at the bar.

You ignored Atsumu’s comment. You had no energy left for making snarky comebacks. “Osamu. Three Minced tuna onigiri and an iced Calpico please and thank you.”

“Sure…”, Osamu gave you a concerned look before turning to get started on your order.

You dumped your things onto an open table and sunk into the seat. You flipped open the laptop that you’d brought with you and started tapping on the keys. There was a big fat error alert on the screen. Great. You tried to edit the file. Another error. Ugh you were so close it was frustrating. You typed a few more edits in. Success! Loading…

Finally. You leaned back into the chair, staring at the ceiling. You heard some familiar footsteps approaching you. Here he comes.

On cue, Atsumu slid into the seat across from you. “Yo what happened?”

“I’m an idiot. That’s what happened.” You closed your eyes and massaged your temples. Your head was aching from staring at the screen for so long.

He snorted. “I know a lotta idiots but you aren’t one of them” He peeked over at your screen. “What’s with the laptop? This isn’t a coffeeshop sweetheart”

“Work.” You bluntly replied. You scrunched up your face. Sure his voice was smooth as ever, but right now anything but complete silence was making your head pound.

“You’re in a good mood aintcha?” He smirked. You glowered in his direction, your dark circles making you look extra ominous.

“Stop irritating my customers ‘Tsumu” Osamu smoothly shut Atsumu down. He placed a tray of food on the table. “I got three minced tuna onigiri and an iced Calpico”

“Bring me a drink too ‘Samu”

“Get it yourself ’Tsumu”

An upbeat ringtone started playing from Osamu’s pocket. He pulled his phone out and took the call. “Hey babe…I’m just at the restaurant…no, it’s not that busy…wait…what!” Osamu raised his eyebrows.”…Okay yeah I’ll be right there.” He turned to Atsumu. “‘Tsumu close the restaurant. I need to go help Sharon”

“Huh? Ya can’t just-“, Atsumu tried to protest, but Osamu took his Onigiri Miya hat off and shoved it on Atsumu’s head. Osamu scrawled a note about closing early and taped it to the door on his way out. Atsumu stood there looking irritated as he watched his brother run off through the window.

He turned to you. “Well ya heard him. You’re gonna hafta take your rice balls and work home sweetheart”

Wait. You checked your screen. 15%. Rip. Starting the process while you ate dinner probably wasn’t the best idea, but you needed this to finish loading and couldn’t risk it getting messed up on the trip back up to your apartment. You turned to Atsumu, “I’m sorry about earlier. Please let me stay a little longer. I really need this thing to finish loading”

“No way”

“It’ll only take a second” You pleaded with him. He turned to walk away. “Please. Atsumu”

He paused. Wait, was that the first time you’d called him by his real name? He turned back to you with that devious smile he got whenever he had one of his “brilliant” ideas.

“How ‘bout this? You help me clean, I’ll letcha stay here even though I really should be closing up”

“Deal”

Onigiri Miya. 45 Minutes Later.

“I’m pretty sure when we made our deal you said it would take ‘just a second’”. The bashful smile from earlier had long been wiped off his face replaced with the current impatient scowl. You’d finished eating your onigiri shortly after Osamu left, and you two had been sitting at the same table sipping Calpico and watching the loading bar for the last 45 minutes.

“It’s really almost done now.” You were running out of excuses to stall for time.

“Hurry it up. I got things to do sweetheart”, he said and took a noisy sip of his drink.

Okay [y/n] we need to think of a way to stall. You went through your options. Hm. Actually, complimenting people usually works pretty well, especially when that person has as big of an ego as this blondie. Okay you decided on your plan of attack.

“Hey” You smiled innocently at Atsumu. “Thanks again for waiting with me. You’re a lot nicer than I thought”

“How many times do I hafta tell ya that that creepy smile isn’t fooling me?” Atsumu set his drink back on the table. “And was that supposta be a compliment? When did I ever do anythin’ to piss you off?” He leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Says the guy who crashed not one but two of my dates”

“I didn’t do nothin’”

“You were the reason the strawberry juice was on the table to begin with”

“I’m also the reason why you’re still here even though I could’ve kicked you out an hour ago.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“Touche” You leaned forward. “How about we call a truce then.” You held out your hand.

He looked at your hand skeptically. “Truce? That implies we were fightin’ in the first place”

“You gonna take it or not?”, You smiled slyly and waved your hand. “Let me tell you now. I’m not someone you want as an enemy”

“Jeez that’s pretty scary sweetheart.” He leaned forward with his trademark cheeky grin…and was he blushing a bit? “Fine. Truce.” He reached out to shake your hand.

“I know the perfect way to celebrate” He said, rising from his seat. He walked behind the counter and rustled around in the fridge. You heard him mutter, “Where did ‘Samu put it”, as he continued digging around. “Aha. Here it is!”, he declared, finding whatever he was looking for. Atsumu walked back and plopped down in his seat, setting two cups of pudding on the table.

“Haha. Nice.” You picked up one of the pudding cups but noticed a little note stuck to it. “Huh. What’s this?” You pulled off the note to read it. Osamu’s pudding: DO NOT EAT. “Wait a second we can’t-“

Atsumu took the container out of your hands, broke the seal on the cover, and handed it back.

“Atsumu!”, you exclaimed.

“You’re welcome.” He opened his pudding cup and shoveled a spoonful in his mouth. “Mmm”

Well it’s not like you could put it back now that it was opened. You scooped a spoonful into your mouth. Your face lit up. Osamu’s pudding preferences were on point.

“I have a question”, Atsumu asked. “Why were ya tryin’ so hard on those dates anyways? Those guys were obviously trash, and ya don’t really seem like the type that’s desperate for romance.”

What he said wasn’t wrong, and you two were kind of having a moment here. You figured it’d be fine to tell him about it.

“Ugh the thing is” You gulped down another spoon of pudding. “I’m trying to prove something to my family”

“Huh?”

“They don’t think I’m capable of romance, and my shitty cousin loves to rub it in my face. I’m trying to find a guy so I can flex on them”

He smirked. “Hah, that’s real petty”

You pointed your spoon at him. “I don’t wanna hear that from you.”

“Fair point”

Your computer chimed. You both turned to look at the screen. 100% Loaded.

“Yes!” You pumped your fists.

“Finally” Atsumu sighed, scraping the last of his pudding out of the cup. “So, ya gonna help me clean?”

“A deals a deal. Where should I start?”, you said combing your hair out of your face.

“I’ll take the tables. You’re on dish duty”

Atsumu went into the supply closet and came back with a rag. You caught yourself staring as he pushed his sleeves up. Okay the man had beautiful forearms, so what? You quickly looked away.

“You okay [y/n]?”, Atsumu interrupted your thoughts, cocking his head. Shit. You hoped he hadn’t noticed your little slip-up.

“Uh yeah! I got the dishes!”

You’d emailed the final prototype and you two were almost done tidying up. The only thing left to do was mopping the floor.

“[Y/N], How about we have a lil challenge”

You raised an eyebrow.

Atsumu brought two mops out of the supply closet, tossing one to you. “I’ll race ya. Last one to mop to the other side loses”

This was stupid there was no way you were about to have a dumb mopping ra-

“Unless you’re too scared”

You gripped your weapon. “Hah, You’re on”

You both stood at one end of the restaurant. Mops in hand.

“Ready” Atsumu clenched his mop. “Go!”

You realized that challenging a pro-athlete to a fair race was stupid. That’s why you didn’t intend to play fair. As soon as Atsumu motioned to take his first step you swiped your dripping mop in front of his foot. He lost his balance.

“Fuck!”

“Haha Loser!”, you turned to laugh at him. Thwack!

Atsumu collided with you knocking you backward. You hit the ground with a thud, securely pinned under him. Shit. He hauled himself onto his hands and knees, looking down at you.

“You cheated!”, he shouted.

“That doesn’t give you the right to tackle me!”, you shot back.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to tackle you!”

“So what!”, you grabbed his collar pulling him back so your foreheads were touching. You both paused. Shit. Did you just do something weird?

You were suddenly very aware of the nice smell wafting off his hair. You gulped. There was a pink blush creeping over Atsumu’s nose. He looked dumbstruck at first but soon a cheeky grin spread across his face.

“Wow [y/n], you’re pretty bold huh.”

“Shut up!”

The chimes jingled and the door opened. You both jumped and turned to the sound.

“Oolala”, the girl who came with Osamu was snickering.

“…is that my pudding?”

After that, you’d both apologized to Osamu, properly mopped the floor. You were getting ready to go home now. Luckily neither of you had been seriously injured in your little incident, but any time your eyes met Atsumu would shoot you an infuriating smirk.

As you were about to leave, Atsumu called out to you. “Hey [y/n] I’m gonna need my sweater back soon”

“Oh right! I forgot it at my apartment but I washed it so I’ll bring it by tomorrow”

“Sounds good. Good night [y/n].” As he turned to walk away, he looked back over his shoulder and smiled at you. It was a sincere smile like the one he gave you as he handed you his sweater the other day. You couldn’t help but smile back. This guy.

Your phone buzzed as you started walking back toward your apartment. You pulled it out.

Jerk Cousin:

Family brunch two Sundays from now. Don’t forget you’re in charge of fruit. My mom told me to remind you. She also said to tell you that you can bring a plus one, not that you’d need it lol

Onigiri Miya. Friday 11:15 AM

You’d slept like a baby that night, and woke up more refreshed than ever. It was like your 24 hours of hell never happened. You pulled open the door to the restaurant.

“Hey Osamu is Atsumu here? I have the sweater I kept forgetting in my apartment” You rustled through your bag pulling the sweater out. Looking up, you suddenly noticed that the restaurant was more packed than usual, and most of the occupants were looking at you.

“Oya?”

“Oya oya?”

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #atsumu #atsumu x reader #set me up

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ficsxreaderr · 5 years ago

Text

Music to my Eyes [4]

Pairing: Single dad!Bucky Barnes x reader. (Modern day AU)

Summary: As a simple worker at a record store, there’s so much you want to do in life yet, which doesn’t involve a serious relationship and much less a relationship with a guy who’s a father. Once you meet Bucky Barnes you’re not sure you can live up to that anymore.

Warnings: None? Fluff?

Requests are open. Tagging for a permanent list and this fic are open.

Reblogging and feeback are welcome and appreciated!

Series masterlist | Masterlist

The thoughts you had last night still wander around your head, and given you couldn’t put them to rest, you get up early to visit Sam before the place gets too crowded.

“Heeeeeeey,” He says, rather loudly, as he hears the bell ring, making you smile.

“Hi, Sam.” You use a fake-annoyed tone and roll your eyes. He’s placing some records that came in this morning apparently, since the box beside him is still full, so you decide to help him.

“So…you stayed at his place until late, what happened?” He nudges you and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Nothing happened, Sam! We…talked and I kind of said I wanted a therapy session…” You press your lips in a thin line, waiting for Sam to say something but all he does is release a laugh. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious, I…don’t know what I’m doing, Sam, I just blurt out what I feel when I’m with him. It’s annoying.” You sigh deeply and he finally stops laughing.

“Wait, has he texted you today?”

“He hasn’t! And that’s why I feel like an idiot, he’s right not to talk to me, I wouldn’t want to talk to me.”

“Do you want to know why he hasn’t talked to you?” He quirks up an eyebrow and you shrug as if what he’s about to say has no effect on you. “Because he’s as much as an idiot as you are!”

“Well, thanks?” You widen your eyes and cross your arms over your chest.

“No, I mean, he’s probably into you too and he has no idea what to do because he hasn’t dated since Sarah’s mother.”

“Where is she anyways? You know what, I don’t want to know because I’m not trying to date him, it’s just too much for me.” You shrug and return to your task, but then get interrupted by your phone ringing. You leave the records in their place and when you look at the screen your body freezes and you get a quick impulse to decline, but you don’t. After three rings, you roll your eyes at Sam who’s already smiling at you and finally pick up.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, hi, it’s me.” Even if you hadn’t had his contact, you would’ve recognized his voice saying your name in a heartbeat. “Listen, about the session we talked about last night…” He’s cancelling! Yes!

“Oh, yeah, you know what, if you don’t have time today it’s okay, we barely mentioned it, it’s no big deal.”

“No, no.” He quickly cuts you off. “I just wanted to say I have time at 4 PM if that’s okay with you.”

“Oh…” You close your eyes for a moment, biting your lip as you think of a response.

“But I understand if you don’t…”

“No, it’s…4 PM is okay, I’ll be there…” You let out a breath you hope he doesn’t hear, and you glance at Sam to find he’s covering his mouth to refrain from laughing.

“Great! I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah, see you later.” You hang up and groan in frustration.

“What the hell was that? You got a date?”

“No, it’s the stupid session I stupidly mentioned last night.” You put your fists at your hips and shake your head.

“I thought you didn’t want to be with him, why did you agree?”

“I don’t know, Sam! I wish I knew.” You throw your arms in the air and then run a hand through your hair. “He speaks and asks shit and suddenly I can’t say no, it’s like a curse. I’m like a 15-year old in love.” Sam and you widen your eyes at the same time and you cover his mouth before he says something. “NO! NO! I did NOT say I’m in love with him, I just said like, I’m not in love with him.” You shake your head as you take your hand off his mouth and he laughs for the billionth time at you.

“Okay, whatever you say, honey.” He holds up his hands and you snatch a record from him, which tempts you to hit him with it. “Don’t hit me with that if you’re not paying it.” He points a threatening finger at you and you hand it back and cover your face with your hands.

“I hate myself, Sam.” You mumble and then uncover your face. “You should slap me for being such an idiot.”

Bucky went to bed last night thinking about how you’re not going to see him as something more than a friend, he kept playing the image of you walking away in his head, the way you said you had to leave in the exact moment he knew he had to kissed you. He remembers Sarah waking up for a moment as he tuck her in and saying, “Daddy, I think Y/N really likes you. She smiles a lot when you talk.” He didn’t respond to that, he simply told her to get to sleep and kissed her forehead before turning off the main light and leaving the room.

He went to bed with your voice in his head, with the memory of your skin against his when you held hands, he wonders what you’re doing to him, he can only hope you think of him that way but he quickly erases that thought, I’ve only seen her twice, he thinks.

Sarah jumps over his bed and startles him, and he quickly throws away the covers and sits up.

“Sarah, what are you doing? I’ve told you not to do this, you can hurt yourself.” He speaks firmly, making her sit in front of him.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and gets up, putting on a t-shirt.

“Daddy, I want waffles for breakfast.” She doesn’t move from his bed and he bends over and brushes off strands of hair from her face as he smiles to her.

“Whatever you want.” He kisses her forehead and then picks her up, carrying her on his hip.

“Is Y/N coming today? I like her a lot and we have fun with her, don’t we?”

“Yes, sweetie, we do, but I’m not sure if she’s coming, I’ll have to call her.” Bucky responds as he walks downstairs and to the kitchen.

“Then call her! You can be alone with her today if I’m going to Uncle Steve’s.” Sarah bites her thin lip in excitement, making her father chuckle as he puts her down on a chair.

“Alright, I’ll call her but I can’t promise she’ll come.”

It’s 4:05 when you ring the bell, you’re never unpunctual but this time you didn’t want to seem so eager to get there and scare him off, so you take a deep breath and wait. A few seconds later he opens the door and you feel air has been knocked out of your lungs at the sight of him wearing black scrubs with James Barnes embroidered at his chest.

“Hey.” His wide grin warms your heart and eases your anxiety. He steps aside to let you in and you do, still silently.

“Hi.” You finally speak. You brain has clearly stopped as you can’t think of anything to say.

“Come in, you can leave your bag on the hanger.” He points at it and you decide to leave your jacket too.

“Where’s Sarah?” You finally came back to Earth as you walk behind him to the kitchen.

“She’s spending the weekend with Steve and Peggy.” He looks back at you and you quickly separate your hands as you were squeezing them in nervousness. “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

“Um, no, I’m good, maybe just something to drink.” You don’t want to bother, much less today that you feel a lot less confident than last night. He nods and opens the fridge to take out a pitcher of lemonade and pours both of you a glass. You thank him and take a sip, wondering if it’s too much of stupid small talk to compliment how good it is.

“So, do you work at one place or freelance all the time?” You ask, at the risk of asking the wrong thing.

“I work at a place not far from here from Monday to Thursday and then the other days I freelance…like today.” He clears his throat and you finally realize he’s probably as hesitant as you are, but he’s much better at hiding it. How you wish he had gave you alcohol to loosen up a bit.

“That’s great! Extra money is always good.” Bucky curses himself for pouring full glasses of lemonade because it feels like an eternity before either of you is done drinking, but he discreetly takes big sips so it’s over soon. He doesn’t know it, but you’re doing the exact same thing and after a painfully long moment, both of you are done. He takes both glasses and puts them in the dishwasher.

“Follow me.” He speaks with an easier tone and you oblige. You see he’s set the table in the living room, where he’s moved the couches and the coffee table to make some space. He gestures for you to sit and you do, waiting for him to give another instruction but you just wish you could cut the tension. “Um, some people like to…take off their shirts because it’s more comfortable but I also have a gown…like a hospital gown that’s comfortable too and that way you don’t have to…”

“Uh, yeah, the gown’s fine.” You respond before he says anything else and he nods and walks away from you, to go get the gown. You let out a breath once he’s out of sight and cover your face with your hands in exasperation. What the hell are you doing? You hear his footsteps approaching and put your hands down, pretending to be looking away.

“Here it is. You can change in the bathroom or…here and I can…look away.” He hands you the gown and you take it, hoping he doesn’t see your hand shake.

“Um…you can look away…it’s just my shirt so it’ll be quick.” You hope you didn’t come out too strong by saying you practically want to strip off your clothes in front of him…or behind him…anyways, he gives you a smile that indicates he’s not freaked out by you and nods, turning on his heel and telling you to start whenever you’re ready. You take a deep breath before taking off your button-up shirt, which you now officially hate because you couldn’t have chosen a worse shirt to wear today.

“I’m done.” You speak with a lower voice than you’d like and he slowly turns around and walk towards you again.

“Alright, so, you’ll want to be laying with your face down, resting your forehead here.” He pats on the head rest and you do as he says, making yourself comfortable. “Are you okay there?” He asks.

“Yeah, I am.” You reply and wait for him to start.

“Okay, so where exactly are you having trouble? You can try to point at the spot and I’ll make sure to find it.”

“Um…I think it’s at the middle, at the side of my spine, I’m not sure if it’s my muscles or my bones…” You speak and roll your eyes at yourself for having no idea how to interact with a human being at this particular moment.

The way his hands fall over your back like a feather makes you flinch and he doesn’t move for a moment.

“Is everything okay? Are my hands too cold?”

“No…no, everything’s fine.” You respond.

“Alright, you tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” You hum as you understand and he continues. He starts by looking for the right spot and he doesn’t even need to ask you when he’s sure he’s found a huge knot right below your shoulder blade and he’s glad you can’t see how his lips curl up in a smile when he sees your shoulders relax at his touch.

An hour goes by but it didn’t feel like it, Bucky’s got the softest and most gentle hands, he’s really an expert at what he does, and he even made you forget you have feelings for him at least for that hour. You dozed off, you’ve never been more relaxed and at peace than today, and you’re sure it’s not only because of getting therapy but because he made you feel like that with his presence. He won’t say it, but he relaxed along with you, he felt an energy that he’s never felt before, he wished he had told you it could last longer than an hour because his heart stopped the moment the clock hit 5:10.

Once he’s let you put your shirt back on, he turns around and helps you hop off from the table. You smile at him and he gestures to the couch, and you both sit facing each other.

“How do you feel?” His eyes look lazy, and his smirk is captivating, every single time you look at it.

“I feel…amazing, you’re a true expert.” You chuckle nervously, fidgeting with your ring, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes. He chuckles too, discreetly sliding some inches closer to you, but you don’t even think of moving, unconsciously, you’ve been wanting him to do that.

“I’m glad I could help.” Both of you smirk, and his beautiful features are just as relaxing as the massage you just had. “Do you want to stay for dinner? Sarah kind of ditched me tonight.”

“Oh, so I’m just your backup?” You tease him, crossing your arms over your chest, making him chuckle.

“No, it’s not like that.” He shakes his head. “Please, stay, I enjoy your company.” If he only knew how much you enjoy his.

“So, I got to ask, when did you learn how to cook?” You take a sip of wine and wipe your lips with a napkin, sitting back on the chair after you’ve finished your food.

“Um, actually Steve’s mother taught…us.” He responds as he takes a sip of wine, too.

“Steve’s mom? You guys go way back, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’ve been friends for as long as I can remember.” He shrugs. “She was on her own so she taught us so we could take care of ourselves if we were ever alone.” You smile at the thought of a very young Bucky standing beside a woman and learning to cook and maybe lots of other things to make it on his own. He tilts his head to one side and frowns, “What’s that smile for?” His voice deepens.

“Nothing, I just think it was so nice from her to teach you. She did a great job.” He chuckles, leaning over to rest his elbow on the table and rest his face on his palm.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He stares for a moment and the smile you’re holding makes him feel lucky, just to be around you, to share things like these with you and feeling like he can share so much more without blinking.

“I did.” You cross your arms over the table and fix your eyes on his for a moment. The thought of kissing him quickly crosses your mind but that’s all it does because you erase it in a second. Take it easy, Y/N.

“So, how did you meet Sam?” He asks, thankfully continuing with the conversation so there’s no more tense moments between you.

“Um, he was new at the store and I had to train him for a while. As you might expect, he kind of hit on me but well, you know Sam, he can hit on anything that walks so I noticed that and decided to make him my friend.” You shrug, making him laugh.

“He hit on you? What line did he use?”

“I don’t even remember, it was stupid but he’s a nice guy and a very reliable friend.” And he led me to you.

“Y/N, I…was thinking.” He clears his throat as you frown, waiting. “I’m having this Tuesday off work and I’m going out with Sarah, she really likes you and I’d like you to come with us to have lunch and perhaps some coffee.” Is he asking you out?

“Oh,” You chuckle. “I have to work that day but I’ll definitely ask for the day off, I’d love to go if it doesn’t mean I’m interrupting the only day you have alone with your daughter.” You’re dying to go on a date with Bucky, and maybe it’s not exactly what you should be doing if you wanted to stay away in the first place, but he’s asking you to go with his daughter and you can’t tell him no to his face.

“Y/N, you’re not interrupting, I want you to go.” He smiles softly, instantly warming your heart and earning a huge grin from you.

“Okay, I’ll call you on Monday to let you know if I find someone to cover for me.” You sigh deeply and realize, you better get out of here before any of you kisses the other and it leads somewhere you don’t want it to go. “Bucky, I should go, it’s getting late.” You press your lips in a thin line, reluctant of leaving, but he simply nods.

“I know.” He says in almost a murmur. “I could drive you tonight, Sarah’s not here.” He frowns in expectancy that you might say no, he doesn’t want you to say no, he wants to drive you and spend just a few more moments with you. He’s so infatuated. Damn him and his eyes to which you can’t say no to. You hate yourself, you know you don’t want to get involved with him but you let him in, and it’s not fair.

“That would be nice.”

The memories of a wonderful night keep playing in your head, just like those dreams that are so perfect that you can remember them so vividly when you open your eyes in the morning. It’s all so easy with Bucky, talking, sharing, laughing, it’s natural. It’s almost…unreal. You wish you had met Bucky at a different time of your life…or his life, before he was a dad, and you hate that you wish for that but it’s the only way it would be easier for you to be falling for him like you are. Sunday feels like a hangover, a memory hangover. You spent the entire time you’re cooking breakfast thinking of him and how he probably wants a family, a mother to his child, not just some stupid fling. Wait, but you don’t want just a stupid fling either, he means more to you than that. After so many thoughts about your life, his life, and how different they are, you decide you’re not going to lunch with him on Tuesday, you can’t keep playing this stupid game with him or yourself. You need to stop seeing him and that’s final.

| Tagging some members of the fam I think might enjoy this (feel free to ask me to remove your tag)

@sebbbystaaan @chloerinebarnes @stuckonjbbarnes @mushyjellybeans @honeyvbarnes @babblingbonky @mrwinterr @valkyriesryde @mypassionsarenysins @livyourextralife

Permanent taglist: @imma-new-soul

Fic taglist: @eliza5616 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @93generation

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #single dad bucky #single dad bucky x reader #sam wilson #steve rogers #peggy carter #captain america #marvel #mcu #the falcon #winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier #sebastian stan

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clansayeed · 5 years ago

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Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 2: The Gallery

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Nadya’s first formal event goes about as well as to be expected. At least there are pretty girls to look at.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“You know, these are the kinds of events that incite supervillains and large gangs of jewelry thieves.”

“Are you a supervillain?”

“I was waiting for the right time to tell you.”

“Do I not pay enough?”

“Being a supervillain has crappy benefits. Raines Corp. dental, though? Top notch.”

Nadya doesn’t want to imagine what she’d be doing if Adrian weren’t here. Or — even worse — if he wasn’t able to match her joke-for-joke. He could very well have been the type of boss who was enjoyable in private but had to shove the proverbial stick up his butt when it came to public events like these.

But nope. Adrian Raines, one of the top bachelors in New York City, is skirting the wall near the chocolate fountain right along with her.

Sure, he did his rounds when they first entered the ballroom of the Gallery. “If you want I can introduce you,” he had whispered before the first wave of Estee Lauder and old money came their way, “but these types… they don’t really expect the assistants to talk.” He’d been ashamed — maybe not for himself but for society.

But that was fine by her. “I don’t like being introduced anyway.”

So for each newly greased palm or sharp-cut suit that came their way she took a step back, zoned out for the brief-but-polite conversation, and made sure to give the alarmingly attentive college kid who always seemed to have one extra refill glass of champagne just for her a tip that would make the oldest crone here wither and fall into an early grave.

Every once in a while Adrian would point out a prominent figure here or an only-famous-in-Europe artist there. It was hard not to feel overwhelmed at the number of famous faces in the same room as her.

“That’s Adam Vega. You’ve heard of him, right?” Adrian points to a set of too-white pearly whites attached to the Senator across the floor.

“Presidential hopeful next election, yeah,” she shrugs, “he’s not given a clear stand on his support of the queer community yet, though, so Lily and I are leaning towards Representative Hartley from California.”

His eyebrows raise; visibly impressed. “I agree. Politicians hate giving direct answers. Vega especially.”

There’s a hint of a personal vendetta there that Nadya notices but doesn’t bring attention to. It wouldn’t surprise her if Vega’s campaign had asked for donations from the company — or if, after tonight, she would see that very email at work Monday evening.

Off to the left corner — where she remembers seeing some marble sculpture, something to do with Venus maybe — it looks as though every photographer allowed into the event flocks around an obscured figure.

“Mademoiselle! Over here!”

“Wonderful, absolutely stunning!”

“Look this way next, Miss Lacroix! Over here!”

Standing on her tip-toes does nothing to help reveal the hidden subject, but that doesn’t stop her from trying.

“Don’t bother,” mumbles Adrian under his breath. “feeding her vanity is the last thing anyone should be doing.”

“Feeding whose vanity?”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Have you tried one of these pineapple slices in chocolate?”

Before Nadya has a chance to respond a voice comes purring behind her.

“You could at least try and be unpredictable, Adrian. This is the third event you’ve spent sulking by the sweets.”

Though Adrian brightens considerably at the woman who lurks behind Nadya, her reaction couldn’t be more opposite. Chills down her spine and the air in her lungs catching in her throat — desperate not to be let out in the same space as that familiar tone. She’d heard the woman named Kamilah only twice since the meeting-that-shall-not-be-named and both were phone calls. No name, no caller ID, just Nadya’s usual greeting of “Raines Corp., desk of Mr. Raines speaking, may I help you?” and the curt reply: “he’s expecting my call.” It was as though Adrian had been waiting with his ear to the door — the line transferred before she even had a chance to ask the woman to hold.

And now in person the voice was as unmistakable as it was beautiful; a soft yet commanding tone with a slight accent that curled on the tip of her tongue. If she hadn’t first been introduced to Kamilah by snooping on a meeting that may implicate her boss in murder, she’d be smitten. But falling for killers was morally wrong.

Though that was a moral stance that goes right out the window the moment she turns to meet Kamilah face-to-face. If Amazons existed, they were modeled after her. The statue of Venus across the ballroom would probably start weeping if it laid eyes on her. Nadya’s entire female celebrity hotness scale, which went from sweet Lady Hana Lee to sexy AME star Bianca Sandoval, was thrown horrendously off-kilter.

Is she gaping? Oh crap, she’s gaping. But there had to be laws against dresses that form-fitting on such attractive people. And if there weren’t then she needed to have a talk with Senator Vega at some point that evening.

Then Adrian’s arm is around her shoulder and he’s squeezing her gently against his side. Her name might have been thrown somewhere in there.

“And this, Nadya, is Kamilah Sayeed, CEO of Ahmanet Financial and a very close personal friend of mine.”

Kamilah’s nose scrunches up ever-so-slightly and she rolls her eyes.

“Adrian you make it sound so… tawdry,” she scolds, “when honestly the very thought of you very close and personal with me threatens to ruin my evening meal.”

There’s a private laugh between the pair — something Nadya is witness but not privy to — but it’s enough to wake her from the stupor of sudden racing thoughts concerning her sexuality.

“Uh—n-nice to meet you. I’m Nadya, Nadya Al Jamil.” She offers Kamilah her hand. Kamilah ignores it.

“Yes, though I suppose we’ve met before.” The comment sends her blood running cold; leaves Nadya gaping like a fish for excuses, apologies, anything that would keep them from silencing her for what she knows.

Adrian looks between them — chuckles through his confusion. “What? When?”

When all her floundering is for naught, Kamilah takes the reins.

“On the phone. If you’d call that a proper meeting, that is.”

Her exhale is a little too long, a little too relieved. Adrian’s used to the quirks that she’s made of; stacked like a game of Tetris abandoned near the end. But Kamilah — she notices. Combining the lights overhead and her makeup; Nadya could swear her pupils narrowed into slits.

“Something the matter?” She doesn’t even pretend flippancy and that Adrian notices. The way he looks between them makes her erupt in goosebumps.

Nadya shakes her head hastily. “Just not used to these sorts of things, right? Am I right?” But before she can drink for something to do Adrian’s hand snakes the champagne flute from her grasp. It lands delicately on a passing serving tray and is whisked off into used-stemware oblivion.

“Maybe that’s enough for you, tonight.” He’s teasing but the concern is genuine. Nadya watches a look pass between the mutual moneymakers — hopes to dear god whatever isn’t being said isn’t about her.

When a greying gentleman takes the podium up front the entire floor goes into a hushed silence. His first words, “I’m sure I don’t need to introduce myself,” are followed by snooty, nose-up polite laughter and that’s all anyone feels obligated to say while he drones on about donations to the Gallery, funding, and various sponsored artists featured tonight. The silence in the room is so thin a dropped pin might send the roof crumbling down on them — so there go Nadya’s hopes of asking Adrian what the man was talking about. One chocolate strawberry turns into two, and by the time the room breaks into restrained applause and the man takes his leave, her fingers meet an empty tray.

Doors open off to the side to the Gallery’s displayed collection. Large canvases filled with blurry vibrancy that, even from her distance, Nadya can tell is skill unparalleled.

She’s already several paces towards the beckoning beauty when she notices she’s alone. Turns with a frown — until she spots Adrian speaking to Kamilah in hushed tones.

“Adrian, you coming?” calls Nadya — when she catches the slightly desperate crack in her voice she wishes she hadn’t.

His infallible smile reaches her even at their distance. “You go on ahead. I’ve just got a bit of business to discuss first.”

That’s when she notices the portly man in a too-tight tuxedo behind the glamorous pair. He’s average, curly hair and beard shaved just a little too short on the right side. But he moves in a strange, graceful way — like Adrian and Kamilah. They congregate and then like statues remain still, close; secretive. Despite the movement towards the exhibition around them.

It brings a chill down her spine. “Are you sure?”

Something in Kamilah’s brow furrows; her annoyance clear. Adrian remains nonplussed.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he nods, gestures for her to follow the crowd, “I’ll catch up with you in a moment.”

At risk of her own neck Nadya leaves them, despite every bone in her body screaming at her not to turn her back.

At first Nadya was surprised at all of the faces shown at the event. It gave her a little hope that art was still appreciated in the world. Hope that she found dashed when she realized the truth: that the majority of people looking at the blown-up photographs in all their high-definition only cared about the people looking at them.

The majority of attendants skirt around the edges of the works; file strangely in the middle of the gallery’s hall like some opposite-day weirdness. Every once in a while someone will step forward, alcohol in hand, and air a compliment or observation that their party agrees with in nods and murmurs and subtle toasts. Gallery workers, all identified by their matching ties and lapel pins of the Gallery’s logo, stand here and there with clipboards at the ready and wearing rolls of stickers like fashion statements.

One woman stands passive beside a beautiful canvas of a sprawling rocky valley. The grey of the sky is dark but the grass underneath it shines bright like the sun was just out of view. Nadya approaches — notes her high-and-tight blonde bun and is briefly reminded of how grateful she is Adrian didn’t invite Nicole along — and offers her a friendly nod.

“Hello.”

The woman arches a brow but says nothing.

Twenty-eight agonizing seconds of awkward silence pass. She tries again.

“This is a really pretty piece.”

The woman’s jaw sets at pretty, features then easily schooled into a complacent smile. She’s seen people look at garbage with kinder eyes. “Indeed, miss.”

“Where was this taken?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, miss.” The worker’s responses grow terse; clipped. A flush of shame floods over her cheeks.

“Oh. Of course. I—”

There’s a familiar click-clack of stilettos that stop just behind her. Nadya sucks in a breath but before she can continue a crisp voice interrupts.

“Wow, you’re serious right now?”

Nadya whirls around but the woman and her shock of vibrant violet hair are trained on the Gallery worker.

Who seems to have found the only person in the room she likes less than Nadya herself. “Pardon me, miss. I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Violet-Hair raises her glass of wine — near empty — and points a nail at the piece.

“Pretty sure I was speaking English, was I speaking English sweetheart?” She looks to Nadya; who nods dumbly. “Right. Yup. English.”

The worker’s patience is wearing thin. “Indeed you were, miss. What I did not understand was your… exclamation.”

Violet-Hair laughs; loudly, unabashedly, not caring that she’s drawing the attention of at least a dozen people standing nearby. In fact she seems to relish in the attention. “Oh! Right! Silly me. I guess I was just, I dunno, like, super surprised to hear that you work here and you don’t know where this shot was taken.”

She’s spoken just loud enough that anyone else having a conversation either has to wait until she’s done or abandons it altogether for something more interesting. Two women loudly arguing with a Gallery employee must never happen at one of these things, Nadya guesses, that or they figured it would happen later on in the evening. But it’s safe to say they’re the current stars of the proverbial show.

“I mean isn’t that what you’re trained to know? Jeez, at least stand next to a big old hunk of art you’re familiar with.” With the crowd at her advantage the woman jerks her thumb at the employee, now flush with offense, as if to say ‘get a load of this.’

The half-moon around them murmurs around one another and it’s the final straw. “Of course I know — these are some of the most detailed photographs of the Scottish Highlands ever taken. I’m offended at your insinuation, miss.”

If she had a dictionary on hand Nadya was suddenly sure that the face of the violet-haired troublemaker would be the picture definition of ‘cat that got the cream.’ Her eyes narrow, painted lips turned down into a sultry frown, and there’s a poisonous edge to the sweetness in her voice.

“Wow. You don’t say?”

“Despite this being one of the most acclaimed shots taken by the photographer, to think I would not know the piece I’m auctioning off is — well — it’s affronting to say the least.”

She sips the last of her wine; forces a pregnant pause on those looking on. Then her hand falls on Nadya’s shoulder with nothing short of intimacy.

“Then why’d you tell my friend here you didn’t know?”

If she had the courage or the voice, Nadya would try to smooth the situation over as best she could. Instead she just stands there, a statue, and wishes she hadn’t eaten two dozen chocolate strawberries.

“P-Pardon?” asks the worker; eyes flicking between the pair.

“If you knew, why didn’t you just tell my friend where it was?”

“Well, I—”

“Why’d you have to be such a stubborn bitch that I had to get involved?”

“Your language is—”

“I may curse like a sailor but at least I’m not a cunt.”

“Miss!” she gasps at the curse, thrown for a loop. Unsure of what to say next. She looks ready to call for security, but the violet-haired vixen made sure to tear down her confidence first. She’s left hanging and Nadya is absolutely awestruck.

“But you know, I think I’m gonna be generous today. I should be generous today, right,” she glances briefly at Nadya who nods like it’s somehow her decision, like she’s culpable in the absolute slaughter of the worker’s self-esteem, “yeah, I’ll be generous I think. I won’t tell your boss you were being horrible to a potential buyer just because she looks like she bought her dress on a clearance rack.”

Nadya could object. She doesn’t. It’s not entirely false but still hurts to hear it.

Then she steps forward and coaxes down the gallery worker with one perfect finger. Wordlessly bats away the woman’s hesitance and whispers something in her ear that lasts long enough for the attending crowd to mill back into their own circles of conversation and for Nadya to watch the blonde woman go absolutely pale — almost sickly green with what she can only assume is fear.

She passes something like a business card between them and Nadya watches while the worker scribbles something down on her clipboard and places a bright orange dot underneath the plaque bearing the photograph’s title. Orange, she recalls, means a purchase. No bid worth it, apparently.

A tender hand on her arm brings Nadya out of her thoughts, looking up into the eyes of her apparent rescuer and her tender-yet-sultry smile.

“Come on, let’s get out of the snake pit.”

She didn’t know she needed the fresh air until it hits her in a chilly wind. She follows the woman onto some outside terrace overlooking the Gallery’s gardens; a strange and fragrant floral oasis in the middle of a bustling metropolis.

“Katherine, by the way, since you forgot to ask.”

Katherine’s hand is offered in a polite way — soft skin hiding a surprisingly firm grip when Nadya takes it.

“Nadya.”

Her new friend wanders to the balcony’s edge and leans over. There’s no invitation but somehow she feels expected and plants herself beside.

“I just hate people like that, you know? People who think they’re better than everyone else because maybe they had more opportunities, or got lucky and were born with money, or whatever. Man, let a girl look at a fucking picture and think it’s cool!”

Nadya silently agrees to Katherine’s whole rant. “I’ve always wanted to go to Scotland. Nearly went on a year abroad in England during college but, uh, something came up, exams, maybe… and I had to cancel the trip.” And she hadn’t thought about it since. Not until she caught sight of those craggy sloping hills that looked so much like the photos in the brochure she kept on her pin board for all four years of her degree.

Katherine leans back on her elbows; her smile almost pitying. “There’s nothing special over there, hon. Trust me.”

“You’ve been?”

“Too many times.”

“I’m still jealous.”

There’s no one around to refill their drinks — either they aren’t supposed to be out here or the free booze is limited to the indoors. Katherine’s definitely sad about her empty wine glass but the scent of the garden down below is enough of a high for her.

“So…” she fumbles to try and fill the silence, “you come here often?”

Katherine’s laugh is demure and restrained. She can’t help but think the woman is containing herself from something. Brick by brick an invisible wall is being formed to keep them at a distance. It makes no sense but Nadya isn’t one to judge. Well — out loud, anyway.

“No, not really. Didn’t know if you could tell but I hate these rich people types.”

“So why are you here?”

“Meeting clients.”

“Oh? Are you an artist?”

She pauses like it’s the most important question in the world. Finally shakes her head and releases Nadya’s bated breath.

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Why do you —”

The door opens behind them and a sudden breath of relief catches their attentions.

“There you are, Nadya, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Adrian emerges into the night and though his face is the picture of casual calm she could have sworn there was the briefest flash of panic in his eyes — now hidden far and pushed down deep.

“Here I am.” She teases, offers him a casual shrug. Hoping, praying to any listening god that there isn’t a weird flush in her cheeks at the way he talks. “Just needed some air.”

“Of course.”

He brushes a stray bit of hair from her shoulder — a passive, familiar touch that means her shiver has nothing to do with the outside breeze — and in his smile everything seems alright again. He’s just one of those people blessed with a disarming charm.

“A-hem.”

Katherine’s fake cough doesn’t fool anyone. Draws Adrian’s attention away from her and to their guest. It’s an irritation Nadya’s only seen on his face a few times in the months they’ve known each other but it doesn’t settle well regardless.

“Can I help you?”

Katherine looks at Adrian the way all women look at Adrian: like he’s a prize. Her eyes comb through the polished shield of him and linger on his face with predatory accuracy.

“Well you’re kind of interrupting girl time, so —”

“Katherine,” scolds Nadya in a single word, “this is my boss.”

“Hm. I see. Well hello, boss.”

The tension doesn’t dissipate. Fight-or-flight mode kicks in and leaves Nadya looking between them frantically. “Erm… Adrian, this is Katherine. We met on the floor. Katherine, this is my boss: Adrian Raines.”

If she had seen him only as a hot man in a suit before, now she knew his name — and it shows. Something changes in Katherine’s stance — all ease gone. But rather than focusing her energies on Adrian, her eyes flick to Nadya — suddenly hot under the collar.

“W-What? Something on my face?”

“No, sweets, you’re perfect. Just… small world, it turns out.”

Nadya frowns. “What do you mean?”

When Katherine and Adrian shake hands they meet eye-to-eye. She catches sight of their white knuckles and wonders why they’re trying to have a competition over a handshake.

“Well I’m obviously not here because I like the crowds, kitten,” Katherine speaks to Nadya but her eyes remain trained on Adrian, “since the real reason I’m even here is to meet with, well, you Mr. Raines.”

She doesn’t give Adrian the chance to ask, “I’m Ms. Sayeed’s private contractor.”

That invisible brick wall slots into place with a thundering silence. Locks Nadya on one side and Katherine on the other — Adrian caught with her. She can’t remember a time she felt so invisible, so utterly removed from a moment in time. It makes her sick to her stomach.

Adrian’s voice is low when he finally replies. “We’ve been waiting for you for over an hour.”

“I showed up, didn’t I?” quips Katherine.

“Not a very good way to impress your potential employers.”

“If it’s my punctuality you want, and not my skills, then you hired the wrong girl.”

“Perhaps we have.”

The silence is considerable before, within seconds of one another, Katherine and Adrian remember they aren’t alone. Adrian looks to her, flustered, but Katherine’s cool is never-ending.

“I’ll catch you some other time, Nadya. Mama’s got business to take care of.” Her passing wink, easy to miss, is Katherine’s only farewell.

Now the terrace seems stifling — the breeze blocked by all the things Adrian isn’t saying.

“I—well, you see…”

He stops when Nadya holds up a hand. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Adrian,” her sincerity is true; and thick enough to hide her hurt, “I’m just your secretary after all.”

If he says anything she doesn’t stick around long enough to hear. The heat of the bodies milling around the photographs makes her skin crawl but Nadya forces her way back into the event like nothing strange happened. Like strange isn’t her life’s new normal.

It would have been nice for her to turn and see Adrian following her through the displays — a silent apology was better than none at all. But a brief glance over her shoulder tells a different tale. Across the room she catches the sight of Katherine’s shock of violet hair and the pretty mauve of Kamilah’s dress.

Probably something you don’t want involved with anyway, she tells herself.

Nadya continues on.

The event starts winding down around one in the morning — she suspects half the guests have secondary parties already plugged into the navigators of their limos. She walks around the emptying gallery for half an hour; partially enjoying the fact that she no longer needs to look at the pieces from a distance but also on the hunt for Adrian, Kamilah, Katherine, anyone.

Two laborers are in the middle of dismounting the purchased photograph of the Highlands when she gets Adrian’s text.

[TEXT]: Had to move a business discussion to Ahmanet Financial. Car waiting outside to take you home whenever. Sorry for leaving you high and dry. I’ll make it up to you Monday. Promise.

Sincerely, Adrian.

At first his official-sounding texts — which he always signed ‘Sincerely, Adrian’ like he forgets assigned contacts are a thing — were funny, charming even. Now she just looks at his name in LED pixels on her work-issued phone and wants to throttle him. Not for abandoning her — okay, maybe for abandoning her — but also because it seems like a cathartic release of her pent up frustration.

But making her way to Ahmanet Financial, which was hella far across town, would cost her energy she simply didn’t have. Wouldn’t life be nice if she could buy energy packs like in Lily’s games…

Just like Adrian said there’s a car waiting right in front of the Gallery when she makes it to street-level. Like, right in front — she doesn’t even want to think about how long he had to wait or the fights he had to get into for such primo vehicular real-estate. She recognizes the driver — Benjamin, William, Robert, something old-fashioned like that — from late nights escorting Adrian to the car for his meetings outside the office. The familiar face relieves her in a way she wasn’t expecting.

Maybe-Benjamin smiles and opens the back door for her. “Have a good time this evening, Miss Al Jamil?”

She glances back at the looming figure of the Gallery; now ensconced in shadow and the faint lights of buildings on either block. It looks like a dead thing stuck in the middle of a party. Like taxidermy.

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

He closes the door behind her. The darkness is warm, inviting. Nadya throws propriety to the wind and lays down on the buttery black leather seats. She’s out before they pull away from the curb.

#kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #adrian raines #bloodbound #choices #katherine nightbound #mc: nadya al jamil #; my fics #oblv: bound by destiny #oblv: new chapter

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youremeimyou · 5 years ago

Text

The Bet (pt.2)

Part 1 - Part 2

pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader genre: fluff, a little more angst than the first part word count: 4k warnings: none other than stressful college life

Description: Taehyung and Y/N have managed to form a strong bond over their years of college. According to their friends, the chemistry between the two is undeniable. But the duo would rather not risk the close friendship. The very friendship that’ll be put to test by the boldest of bets, it seems.

A/N: This part turned out to be more like on the “college au” side of things. I enjoyed writing it so much. The ending parts killed me everytime I read it :’) So I really hope you guys like it. I’d love it if you guys let me know what you think of it. Enjoy!

When Y/N woke up next morning, she didn't feel the least bit rested. Considering it was already next morning when she finally came home and went to sleep, it wasn't that surprising. She grabbed her phone to see if there were any texts from.. well, someone she wouldn't admit to be expecting texts from. Instead, a long list of missed calls from both her parents greeted her on the screen. Do I have to meet them? Do I have to get up and shower right now? Her brain answered yes to both. She quickly got ready and rushed to the little café they always met up at.

"So, how was finals week?"

"Do you have to shout mom?" Her mom wasn't shouting but boy was Y/N hungover. Her parents were confused. Both because she was being a prat and because she was wearing sunglasses inside.

"Sorry. I just have a migraine."

"Oh sweety, didn't you take your medicine. You probably ran out on finals week didn't you?" And bingo. Somehow her mom knew how her daughter struggled with exams and still wanted her to do the best.

"Let's buy you some new ones from the pharmacy down the block."

"It's okay, dad. I'll take care of it. How are you guys doing?"

"We're doing just fine sweety. Your mom made-"

"Let's tell her! I can't wait any longer." Her mom cut in. Then she continued with a wide smile.

"Remember the lab you were talking about last mounth? The one you said you loved the work they did."

"Yeah, BioGrid. Why?"

"You know your dad's friend Ryu used to be the driver of the CEO. And turns out, once he drove his wife to the hospital when she went into early labor and saved her life. Anyway, I saw on the newspaper that they were opening a new lab here in our city. So I had Ryu send them your CV. And they want to have you start as an intern."

"What? Mom when did you- and how did you-" Y/N was confused to say the least with all the information she was fed in just a few seconds. "But, I have school."

"I know, dear. They also know you're still a student. They agreed on making the schedule in a way you can do both. I mean with how well you're doing, damn right they should."

Both her parents had proud looks on their faces. It was endearing. But the fact that no one even thought to ask for her opinion beforehand, frustrated her. She was -like always- just suppossed to find a way to handle both. Always had to exceed expectations let alone meeting them. And yes, she'd really love to work there one day. Not this day though. She already had enough migraines regarding school. But, she wasn't gonna argue. This was a topic she could never be found right about. So she just expressed her gratitude and everyone went on with their brunch.

.........

Y/N's phone screen lit up with back to back messages. She rolled to the other side of her bed to reach it.

Tae: Sorry, I was out at the backyard shooting hoops.

Tae: Didn't hear you call.

Tae: Whassup?

She was relieved he got back to her. Hoping it would mean he wasn't avoiding her.

Y/N: No problem. And nothing's up. I mean something is but I'd rather not text about that right now.

Her phone started ringing a few seconds after she sent the text.

-‘Taetae’ calling...-

"Hey, Tae-"

"What happened?"

"I just wrote that-"

"You said you didn't wanna text about it. So I called. Now, tell me."

Y/N smiled. He always just knew how to make it better. So Y/N told him everything that went down and how she felt about it.

"Sounds to me like a great opportunity. Yet, also a great deal of work, huh?"

"Yeah."

"What're you gonna do?"

"What can I do but comply?"

"You can try to talk to your parents-"

"When has that ever been an option? And I already contacted the lab. They said I start Monday. Monday's like tomorrow!" He could tell she was frowning and scrunching her cute little nose, through the phone. "Anyways, what're you up to?"

"Gotta hit the library from now on. Full-on study week awaits. I've to take the make up test next week for plant bio. After I handed my paper to the teacher after the exam and saw the look on her face, I knew I should've given an empty paper instead of writing any kind of answers."

They both chuckled to that.

"Can't be that bad.." after Taehyung didn't reply for like five seconds, she continued, "can it?"

"Oh, it is." Both giggled again. "I was actually gonna ask you to tutor me this week. But you’re starting the internship. I gotta pull it off by myself somehow."

"No way am I letting you suffer plant bio alone. Of course I'll help you."

"You don't have to really. You already have that nanobiotech article review thing Professor Ling assigned you. When's that due again?"

"Shiiiittt. I forgot about that. That's next week.."

"You should get started on it."

"I will. I mean.. first I gotta find an article to review but I got this. And I'm definetly helping you out." She laughed. It was a nervous laugh but a laugh nonetheless.

"Just get started on your stuff. We'll talk later."

"Okay. Text me when you're headed to the library. Bye."

It turned out the next day was indeed Monday. So Y/N started the internship. BioGrid was really nice. She felt happy to be there, witnessing the new frontiers of her field. First they discussed the schedule, then they started working. She never imagined her first day to be this tiring.

After the busy first experience, Y/N finally got on the bus home. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. It was a set of links sent from Taehyung. All the links were of articles related to nanobiotechnology. She felt her heart flutter.

It was Friday and the week went by in a blink of an eye for Y/N. She was so busy all the time. She mostly went to sleep with headaches and woke up with them still there. Only could drop by the school for a few classes. Oh yes, she was also taking summer school for extra credit. It was easily the most worn out she had ever been. But she was glad she made it to the 9.15 class today, In hopes to finally see Taehyung who she hadn't seen whole week. So naturally, it was dissappointing when he didn't show. As she was walking out of the class she saw the announcement paper hanging on the notice board.

'Classrooms determined for Saturday's Plant Biology make up test'

Holy shit. Y/N completely forgot about tutoring Taehyung. She quickly called him but no response. Again and again she called as she practically ran to his apartment but he never picked up. Once she knocked on his door, she heard someone else alongside Taehyung's familiar voice through it. Then, there was the sound of footsteps getting closer and closer until the door opened.

"Y/N? Hey-"

"I know we only have one day, well even less than a day till the test but we can do this." Y/N brushed past Taehyung and let herself in. "Now step aside and let me force every single bit of knowledge I have upon you abou-"

She swallowed the rest of her sentence when her gaze met Jessie's who was sitting comfortably on Taehyung’s couch.

"Oh, see Taetae? And you thought smartypants forgot about you."

Jessie was being her usual irritating ass self towards Y/N. Y/N didn't have any beef with her, though. She was just another chick who’s sore about the fact Taehyung spent more time with Y/N more than any of the girls in school. Y/N knew being hated by most girls on campus came with the Taehyung friendship package.

"I never said that. And don't be annoying, Jess."

Jess? Really? What happened to Jessica or even Jessie at this point?

"What are you guys-"

“I’m teaching Taehyung stuff.” No one spoke for a brief moment. Because this was definetely not something anyone would consider normal. So, Y/N was kinda right to be baffled.

“Yeah well, who knew? Jess knows school stuff and she can share it with others. Wow, right?”

Jess. Tch….

Jessie just glared at him. “I guess you know all you can fathom at this point. I’m done here.” She started walking towards the exit. She stopped suddenly and turned back to say something she forgot to. “Breathe a word of this me tutoring thing to anyone and you can probably guess that it’ll be ugly.” And with that being said, she walked out.

“So.. are you really ready for the test?”

“As ready as I can be, I guess. I almost peed my pants when Jessie said she could help. But she really knows her stuff, I gotta say. Guess plants are just her thing.”

“I did see her trying to hide her results paper in plant bio once.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her. Hiding good grades to keep from ruining her reputation.” Taehyung smiled. And Y/N couldn’t believe how much that annoyed her. It was just a simple comment about the girl and a simple smile. And Y/N didn’t understand why but she was openly hurt.

“Why didn’t you call me Tae?” she asked with a frown.

“I knew you were busy.”

“I can unbusy myself for you. You know that. Instead you go to Jessica. No wait, what was it? Oh right, Jess.”

Her voice contained anger and dissappointment. And it was coming on much too stronger than she intented to.

“I told you she was the one who offered to help-“

“Yeah, because you confided in her. Not me, not any of our other friends but your Jess.” She practically yelled this part. And as soon as the words came out, she regretted every single one. Y/N knew it was her that messed up, not Taehyung. She supposedly came here to apologize but what greeted her when she came in made her see red. And the rest was history.

“She’s not my Jess. That’s not and will never be a thing.” Taehyung on the other hand remained calm. Even through the bitchy exterior, he knew Y/N was just stressed. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her when she had dark circles around her eyes like that.

“And speaking of our other friends, hyungs were asking about you the whole week. So was Chungha. I thought you would’ve at least talked to her at some point.”

Y/N couldn’t speak to anyone lately. Not even her best friend as Taehyung pointed out.

“Anyways, they figured out we hung out last Saturday. The hyungs gave me a ton of crap cuz they didn’t see you since like last month or something and I didn’t take ‘em with us to the party.”

Y/N knew she had a lot to make up for. It was true that she didn’t really hang out with her friends for almost a month. First it was the finals week, now she had the internship. It was starting to get really lonely.

“How are you doing with the article review? I hoped I could take some of the weight of your shoulders but I doubt the ones I sent were helpful.”

Taehyung continued the conversation like the arguement never happened. He wasn’t making eye contact with Y/N though. He went to sit on the table and looked out the window. The way sunshine landed on his face and made the brown locks of his hair seem blonde was perfect. The way his long eyelashes brushed his cheekbones as he blinked was perfect. There he was being all beautiful in front of her. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

“Once again, I forgot about that assignment. But the second one you sent was perfect, actually. I’ll go on from that. I only have to clean two labs and write reports on the devices in those labs before, that’s all.”

“Wow. I hope you get paid for that shit.” He smiled a beautiful smile and their eyes met.

“Not enough, if you ask me.” She returned it with a grin.

“Try not to forget about the artice again.” His smile became a part frown to show his worry for a quick moment. Then he broke the eye contact again and continued looking out the window. Y/N felt like it was time to go.

“I’ll see you after your test. We should gather everyone to hang.”

He replied with a nod.

“Good luck.”

She went home after that. And announced a gathering in the group chat as promised.

-‘Chungha monster’ calling…-

“Before you yell, I’m sorry I didn’t check in with you since forever Chungs.”

“You think I’ll yell about that when there’re more important things? You went out on a date with Taehyung!”

“It wasn’t a date! This is why we don’t invite you guys anymore-“

“Yeah yeah, sure. I heard from Cho that he was all over you, so spill.”

“And he said there wouldn’t be anyone there who knew us.”

“Why? So you could do piravate stuf-“

“Chungs stop!” Y/N felt flustered.as.fuck.

“Fine, I’ll force the details out Monday when we meet. I missed our gatherings. Good thing you planned it.”

“I know, me too. See you then!”

Swiftly, the weekend went by with Y/N cramped up in a ton of work again. On her mind was Taehyung. How’d he do for the test? Why hasn’t he called since last time? And why do I miss him like this? She decided to give him space after going kinda crazy on him last time. She just had to wait till Monday. And Monday came but Y/N didn’t know cuz she was still stuck at the lab. In fact she couldn’t go home Sunday night, watching over some plants crucial to an experiment.

This internship had a way of making her lose track of time. Until she saw the 38 missed calls from Chungha. Then she asked for the rest of the day off and ran to her best friend’s aparment.

“Sorry I’m late you guys. I missed you sooo much.” As soon as she walked in, the gang gave her a collective hug. Then each of them scolded her for being absent for such a long time. Especially Jin, he gave like a whole lecture on it.

Jungkook, Jimin and Hoseok trapped her between their bodies and took a bunch of selfies, calling it her punishment. Y/N was giggling as she tried to free herself from three koala bears. Once she finally managed to do so, she gave them a questioning frown.

“Where’s Taetae?”

Jungkook and Jimin immediately looked at each other, then on the ground. Hoseok just shrugged.

“He cancelled last minute. Family thing I guess. We were gonna celebrate him passing plant bio but sadly he can’t make it.” Chungha answered. Y/N’s heart sank. She waited all weekend to give him space. But now it felt like he was out of reach. Even though he was calm and collected last time they saw each other, she felt like he was distant. After what happened at the party, Y/N was more drawn to him then ever before. Like a switch was flipped and she wasn’t able to put away the attaction she felt like she used to be. But he was acting like it didn’t even happen. Like nothing changed for him. It drove her crazy.

“Oh, Y/N. Proffesor Ling told me she loved the review you sent her. She just couldn’t put in the marks due to a problem in the system. She says grades will be up there in a few days.”

“What? I didn- I mean I forgot about that again and I- but how-“

“Girl, you’re blabbering. Let’s start the movie guys.”

Y/N didn’t even focus for a moment during the movie. She checked her mail and saw that the article review was indeed sent. But it wasn’t her who did that. Apperently it wasn’t Chungha either so that left only one person. The one guy that wasn’t here right now. The guy who made Y/N’s heart beat out of her chest.

After the movie everyone went their own way. It was already dark outside. Despite being tired Y/N didn’t want to go home. Ever since she started as an intern, it felt like she had no time to do stuff. She decided to take a stroll down the riverside. Tonight was also too breezy to be a summer night and Y/N didn’t have a coat, again. The river happened to be really close to Taehyung’s place. Would you look at that coincidence! There was nothing more Y/N wanted than to see him at that moment. So she went to his place and knocked his door, waiting anxiously.

A messy haired, puffy faced, confused looking Taehyung opened the door. Great, now I wanna snuggle up to him.

“Were you sleeping? Sorry-“

“Hey, no it’s okay.” His voice deep and raspy, its affect on Y/N indescribable. “What’re you doing here?”

“Umm.. I was just by the river and it got kinda chilly but I couldn’t find a cab and I thought you might be up but you must be tired I should’ve just-“

“Breath Y/N. Come in.”

Taehyung plumped down on the couch. Y/N sat next to him a second later. But like really next to him. No space kinda next to him. Taehyung’s gaze was fixated on the floor. Until he jumped up suddenly. “I’ll make some coffee or something.”

“Did you do my assignment and send it to Professor Ling?”

Taehyung paused for a moment. “You remember how you logged in to your account on my phone? Well, it kinda stayed there. And I just wanted to check if you sent anything and saw you didn’t. So you know, I mean you already said you liked the second article I sent y-“

“Breath Tae.” they laughed after that and the mood lifted up thanks to it. But Taehyung kept busying himself on the counter and not making eye contact with Y/N still.

“I can’t thank you enough. I wish you would’ve called me and reminded me instead of going through all that trouble.”

“You already had a lot to do. And you had already forgotten about it despite me reminding you like 8 times. I just scrabbled some stuff, it wasn’t like any trouble. Let’s hope you actually get a good mark.”

“Professor Ling loved it. And she never gives compliments to me. It must’ve been more than a scrabble.”

Taehyung actually made a lot of effort. More effort than he ever made for his own work. Not that he’d admit it to her face right now.

“So how was your day?”

“Oh, I didn’t do much. In fact I don’t think I even got out today. Kinda feeling under the weather a little.”

“Wait. Didn’t you have a family thing?”

Shit. He just exposed himself. He dropped the porcelain mug and cut his hand on the broken pieces.

“Tae, are you okay?” Y/N ran to him in worry. “Let me see.”

She saw it was bleeding and cleaned the wound for him. Taehyung pointed to the cupboard where first-aid stuff were. She wrapped bandages around his hand. She didn’t let go of his hand when she was done though. She stood there, really close to him and looked him in the eyes. Like trying to transmit a message from her eyes to his. It was just like their many moments back at the party. Full of tension, suspense and longing. Taehyung panicked and stepped away.

“Thanks for the-“

“What’s going on Taehyung? Cuz it seems to me like you’re trying to avoid me. I mean you won’t even make eye contact. And I don’t get it because you’re also looking out for me, doing my assignments for me without even making it known. You’re making me confused. And driving me crazy!”

“I’m driving you crazy? That’s rich.”

“What do you mean-“

“Friends look out for each other don’t they? And since I’m your friend I try to do my part. You know.. as a friend!”

“Taehyung I-“

“And yeah I’m avoiding you. I’m trying to stay the hell away from you because I can’t-“ he paused and lowered his loud volume before he continued. “After the party I just can’t stop thinking about you.”

Y/N felt like her voice was ripped out of her. She wanted to say something, that she also had him on her mind. How she felt so grateful for his help, how she was so sorry for not being around. But she just couldn’t utter a word.

“Look I- it wasn’t just impulses that night. It was a long time coming for me. Because you drive me crazy. But you were right. We’re close friends. You’re practically my best friend. And I can’t lose you. I just have to pull it together.”

“Tae-“

“Don’t feel awkward. Please don’t feel awkward okay?”

“Let me speak dumbass.”

Taehyung couldn’t even look at her. It was unbareable to wait for what was about to come. He, who was a known campus fuckboy -which he may or may not have taken pride in- never developed these kind of feelings for another girl. Well since they met freshman year, he didn’t really have much emotional availability for other girls. Not like this girl right here. The girl he bought a blue jacket for.

Once again Y/N walked to him but slowly this time. He was standing next to the kitchen counter. She went next to him, leaned back on the counter, then looked at him.

“You won.”

“Wha-“

“You won the bet.”

She could swear she saw Taehyung’s eyes sparkle for a second.

“I did?”

Feeling embarrassed, Y/N lowered her gaze to Taehyung’s chest who was now standing in front of her.

“In a way, you didn’t. Because c’mon, how could I not have developed feelings for you this whole time? It’s just, after the party I couldn’t keep it in anymore. But I thought you were being distant because you thought of it as a mistake or something.” Her voice got smaller towards the end of her sentence.

Taehyung lightly grabbed her chin and made her look up to him. Okay, his eyes are definetely shooting stars. Then, he put his hands on the counter behind her, his arms softly trapping her on both sides.

“You’re looking at me like you’re about to kiss me.”

“What makes you say that?” Taehyung said as he started getting closer.

“Cause last time you were looking at me like that, you almost did.”

He paused. But this time he gave a little chuckle and closed his eyes. Then, their lips met. Y/N melted into the soft, warm and wistful kiss. Taehyung’s lips were honey, they hugged hers perfectly. Y/N moved her hands up from his chest to the back of his head, pulling a little on the tips of his hair. It made Taehyung hum lowly into the kiss and deepen it, pulling Y/N even closer by her waist. Until they finally broke apart to breathe. Taehyung leaned his forehead against hers.

“Wait. This means I have the right to brag about how I made you fall for me for the rest of eternity.”

“But what about the part I romantically declared that I was already in love with you?”

“I’m still telling everyone that I made you fall for me on the dancefloor with my smooth moves, babe.”

Y/N pulled him in for another quick kiss. Taehyung smiled against her mouth.

“I don’t know why we ever worried about ruining our friendship. We get to be best friends who can also make out! How amazing is that?”

“It’s the best idea your smart little brain full of IQ points have ever produced, love.”

Taehyung knew there was no way he’d let her go anywhere tonight after all that.

“So, how ‘bout I get started on that coffee again and you pick an anime for us to binge on my bed till we fall asleep?”

“I wanted to snuggle up to you since I saw you when you opened the door.”

He quickly brushed his nose against hers and then took two mugs from the cupboard.

“Here, you have the blue mug.”

“Yay! I love blue.”

“I know.”

...

Author’s note: I can’t believe I just finished my first fic aAgghhH. If you guys bared with me and read that whole ass thing, thank you so so much I hope you liked it. Once again I”m sorry if there are any mistakes. I wish you all a beautiful dayyyyy :)))

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themangledsans0508 · 5 years ago

Text

Lumberjanes Cafe AU: Cup of Coffee

“You know Mal, I think you’re the queen of coffee.” Mal rolled her eyes.

“April, I’m just following the recipe.” The redhead leaned against her fist on the counter, smiling at Mal.

“C’mon Mal, just admit you’re royalty.”

“April, it’s literally from a machine,” Mal laughed, “nice try, but you’re still not getting a free coffee.” April grumbled, rummaging through her pockets. She dropped a few dimes and two dollars onto the counter.

“The usual, but I’ll get that free coffee eventually.” Mal laughed.

“Maybe on your birthday.” April’s ears perked up. She looked around the cafe briefly before turning to Mal again. “Can I stay up here? It’s basically empty in here.” Mal sighed.

“As long as Rosie doesn’t see, sure.”

“Rosie is really chill though,” April stated. Mal looked up from her machine.

“I don’t want to risk it. Remember when the old manager came by while you and Jo were up here?” April scoffed.

“That’s an angry old grizzly, anyways she’s not the one in charge here. The CEOs are calm too.” Mal laughed.

“We’re a local company, the grannies don’t ever come down to visit. Also, calling them CEOs makes it sound like we’re a big company. And don’t forget about Jen.”

“Got a point there,” April said. Mal turned to the machine and continued to pour the coffee, while April messed with things on the counter. “But CEO is a position held in every business, not just big ones.” Mal rolled her eyes.

“Okay, where’d you learn that?” she asked.

“Google.”

Mal laughed. A bell caused her to stop. The bell was connected to the door, and rung whenever someone entered or exited. She looked over. A tall woman stood in the doorway.

She had long blonde hair, tucked behind her in a braid. Her eyes were green and darted around, taking everything in. She wore a green shirt that had sleeves that went just below her elbows. Her tan cargo shorts looked empty asides from her hands that sought refuge in them. She seemed to be about the same age as Mal and April, and the bags under her eyes screamed that she was in college. She slowly approached the counter.

“Could I have one decaf vanilla latte please?” Her voice was soft and quiet, like she was trying to speak as loud as she could in a whisper.

“Comin’ right up!” Mal flashed a smile, and got straight to work. She heard April attempting to strike up a conversation with the blonde, beginning with introducing herself.

“Rats! That reminds me. Can I get a name for that latte?”

“Molly.” The girl blushed.

“My name is Mal, your order will be right up!” Mal could see April’s grin out of the corner of her eye as she went back to work. April went right back to her self-assigned job, which was interacting with customers and occasionally accidentally scaring them off.

Mal worked swiftly, maybe more than she normally did. She wanted to give her the latte as fast as possible, she didn’t like to keep pretty girls waiting. However, as much as she thought the woman is the shop was pretty, she wasn’t bold. While it crossed her mind for a split-second, to write her number on the cup, she didn’t know anything about Molly asides from her name. She also wasn’t into cliches like April was.

She put the order on the counter and hit the bell.

“One decaf vanilla coffee!” she announced. She knew she didn’t need to, there were maybe two other customers in the shop so just ringing the bell would have been enough, but it was a habit.

Plus, she liked to be a little extra.

Molly walked to the counter, fishing out a small damaged leather wallet.

“S-so how much will it be?”

Mal mentally slapped herself. She was supposed to ask for the money upfront with the order itself, not the drink or food. She had gotten too distracted. Dummy. She pushed the mental insults away, she didn’t have time during work.

“Three dollars,” Mal smiled. Molly took out a few crumpled bills, counted them, and put them on the counter. She gave a shy smile and hurried out of the store. Mal counted the money to see if there wasn’t enough (she was willing to pay a dollar to help a customer out) and saw that instead of two or three, there were four.

She debated for a second, take the extra or put it in the register? Was it a tip or an accident? April looked over the counter and immediately recognized the mental debate in her friend.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“She overpaid,” Mal stated.

“Accidental? Maybe it was a tip?”

“I don’t know April, she didn’t say anything.”

“She barely said anything anyways, I think it was a tip.”

“Why would she tip a cafe worker?” Mal questioned “it’s not like we do anything. We just make drinks and give people their morning donuts.”

“Well maybe she thought you went fast so you deserved extra,” April said “maybe she thought you were just pretty.” Mal blushed at that statement.

“Doubt it.”

“So, are you gonna take it?” Mal hesitated.

“Sure, what’s a dollar to the grand baristas?”

When Mal’s shift ended at last, she headed back to her dorm. She was a freshman in college, and she hadn’t chosen a major. She couldn’t decide on something, she didn’t know what she wanted to do or become. April, her dorm mate and best friend, was majoring in women and gender studies. She wasn’t sure why, and neither was April. When asked, she simply said: “women and other genders? Sounds cool to me.”

Mal tossed her bag onto her bunk and grabbed clothes to change into. She walked into the bathroom and not a minute after she shut the door she heard it swing open and slam into the wall.

“MAL WASN’T SHE PRETTY?” Oh no.

“APRIL I’M CHANGING I’LL TALK IN A MINUTE.” Mal didn’t know why she shouted whenever the door was closed, she figured she subconsciously thought it would help her be heard better, but she knew the walls in the dorm rooms themselves were thinner than a piece of paper and not insulated.

She exited the bathroom and saw the mark from the door handle hitting the wall had gotten bigger. She figured it was only a matter of time before they could see through the wall into the hallway.

“Wasn’t she pretty Mal?” April’s voice was lower than it was when she first came in, perhaps because they were now in the same room.

“Yes, she was pretty, but we’ll probably never see her again,” Mal mumbed.

“You should’ve taken your chance when you had it.” Mal rolled her eyes.

“I’m not like that April, you know that. I want to hang out with the person a bit before I ask them out. Plus, we don’t even know if she liked girls.”

A few moments of silence passed between them.

“You’re right Mal, but I’ll find you a girlfriend someday.” Mal laughed.

“Good luck.”

The blonde woman, Molly, had completely faded from Mal’s mind as she returned to work the next day. She checked to make sure everything was in order, the tables were cleaned, and they had the adequate amount of supplies. Finding everything to be in order, she opened the shop and stepped behind the counter, ready to tackle the first hour without her co-workers.

It was five minutes before her first customer arrived. A regular to the cafe, she would come to the cafe early in the morning and not long before closing.

“The usual Wren?” she nodded.

“Extra dark today. Got a class in about half an hour.”

“Ouch. At seven forty-five? What class is it?”

“Physcology.”

“Gotcha. It’s coming right up.” Mal got right to work.

The hours passed, but they weren’t long or tedious. Mal enjoyed her job. Her co-workers came and went but after the first shift there was always at least one other person there with her. The door opening and closing, the ringing bell and the humming coffee machine blending together.

It was around 3 o’clock that she got grounded into reality during her shift.

Normally it was Hes who took her out of “the zone”. She would arrive at seven and work with Mal until the end of the day, except Mondays. They would make small chat during the day but nothing big or to really grab Mal’s attention. They had never really hung out outside of work, but she was friends with Jo so they saw each other often.

The door opened and the bell rang and Mal threw up her generic “hi! What can I get you today?” However a green shirt with a blonde braid grabbed her attention. She looked up to the customers face and recognized it. She racked her brain for her name. Mary? Marnie? Molly.

“Umm. One vanilla coffee, please.” Mal gave her a smile and got straight to work.

After she received her order and handed Mal the money she hurried out of the store and Mal checked to make sure the amount was right. She was surprised to see that there was an extra dollar once again. She decided to put it in the register today.

This cycle continued for almost a month. On slower days, Mal and Molly would engage in banter. When April was there, she would too. She began to learn more about the once mysterious woman. She hailed from Washington DC, and wouldn’t explain why she came to the overgrown state for college, but did imply she wished to stay there after school. She explained she was majoring in wildlife science, and going to a different college that was still nearby.

One early morning, after the usual rush had filed out, Mal and Hes were cleaning their station and chatting.

“So, Mal, who’s that girl who keeps coming to see you?” Mal shrugged.

“Her name is Molly. She’s a newer regular.” Hes nodded.

“She seems to like you.” Mal’s back stiffened.

“Doubt it,” she muttered, “don’t even know if she’s gay.” Hes raised an eyebrow.

“Why don’t you ask?” Mal laughed coarsely.

“Really? I can’t do that. What about that girl who comes to see you? Why don’t you ask her out?” Hes blushed.

“You know what? I’ll do it if you do.” Hes smirked confidently. Mal weighed the pros and cons of what she intended to do next. If she accepted Hes’s challenge, she could get Hes with her crush, but she’d also have to ask out Molly.

“Fine. Next time they come in?” Hes looked a bit surprised for a second, but then determined.

“Yes, but if you chicken you gotta pay for my date.” Mal laughed.

“If you get one! If you chicken, you got to pay for mine.” Mal put on a false air of confidence, but she was nervous. She wasn’t going to bail out, she didn’t have the money to pay for Hes’s date if she did get one. Two, she also wanted to see if maybe, just maybe, Molly would say yes.

The next day when Molly came in Mal hadn’t really thought about how to ask her, only that she would. Molly ordered her usual, and went to take a seat. Mal noticed she seemed a bit off, compared to how comfortable she had become in the shop lately. It wasn’t that it was busy, there was someone asleep on a table with their laptop humming and another person writing down something in a notebook. Mal looked at the cup she had picked up to put the coffee in and decided how she would do it.

She reached over and picked up the sharpie she used to write names on the cups. She tried to steady her hand and finish the word she had started. Cutie. She continued her writing onto a napkin. Would you be interested in going out sometime? Text me. She wrote her number and hesitated for a second. She could back out, this was her last chance.

She took a deep breath and filled the cup.

She decided that instead of calling out that the order was up, she’d walk it over. She carefully made her way across the shop, trying to steady her whole body from shaking. She carefully put it down on the table and smiled weakly. She started reaching for her wallet but Mal stopped her.

“I-it’s on the house,” she blushed. Molly smiled.

“Thank you.”

Mal walked back to her counter and tried to avoid staring at her to see her reaction. The bell rung just in time as Mal watched her notice the writing. Hes patted her shoulder.

Mal read over her essay for what had to be the seventh time. She frowned. Something seemed wrong with it but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe she’d ask Jo to read it over. She heard her phone buzz and snapped her attention to it. Grabbing it, she tried to keep her hopes down in case it wasn’t Molly.

H - did it

M - you did? what did she say?

H - she said yes. has she texted you yet?

M - nope

H - ouch. good luck with that. See you tomorrow

Mal groaned and put her phone onto the table. She looked at the clock hanging above their door.

8:56

Damn. She put her hands on her head and looked at the desk. She was right. She wasn’t gay, and even if she was, she didn’t like her. It wasn’t like she had made a bet with anyone that she was going to win, she just felt like crap.

BTZZZZ

She looked at her phone and saw a number instead of a name.

Is this Mal?

She snatched the phone and typed like lightning.

Yes, it is. Who is this?

She let her hopes up a little bit.

This is Molly. Do you still want to meet up sometime?

Yeah, would you like to?

I’d love to.

Check out my wattpad for more!

#Lumberjanes #Mal #Molly #Lumberjanes Mal #Lumberjanes Molly #Lumberjanes April #April #Mally #Hes #Lumberjanes Hes #I kept forgetting to post this #Chara writes

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mirrerover · 5 years ago

Note

PROMPT PALS ✌🏻Domestic! Taekook edition: Taehyung thought he was helping when he said he’d do the laundry. Thought he’d get things extra clean if he just added a bit more detergent than it said on the pack (why else would that empty coffee mug be next to the machine??). Twenty minutes later he questions his decision-making skills.

Taehyung has discovered there’s small and big ways you can miss someone. Miss Jeongguk. The big way is a constant feeling, ebbing and flowing, sometimes merely background noise and almost forgotten, but always there. Jeongguk’s absence.

The small ways are scattered throughout the day, like individual water drops slowly collecting into waves of missing him. Habits and rituals that are broken. Jeongguk not making their morning coffee on his allocated days (Jeongguk‘s days are Monday and Wednesday, because of his early classes, and the weekends because he’ll go for a run in the park and take a shower before Taehyung has even taken his first piss of the day). Jeongguk not being in their bed at night so Taehyung is back to cuddling a pillow to his chest like he did when he was younger. Jeongguk no longer cooking dinner so there are no dishes for Taehyung to wash.

Jeongguk not immediately replying to his texts because of time zone differences and bad cell reception.

Taehyung redirects his frown from his phone screen to the laundry machine and back to his phone again.

Jeongguk doing all their laundry.

The little digital screen at the top of the washer is blinking back a lot of information at Taehyung concerning temperature, the speed at which it spins, and half a dozen other symbols that show up in different combinations depending on how he turns the big dial in the middle. Bedsheets don’t seem to have their own setting and he’s not sure whether to classify them as cotton or coloured.

Taehyung slips his phone in his back pocket with a sigh and decisively turns the dial to coloured.

People spend most of their time in bed with their eyes closed anyway. Low risk first laundry load.

“Who even cares?” Taehyung grouses as he grabs the porcelain measuring cup and fills it to the brim with Jeongguk’s favourite laundry detergent. Something sweet and flowery. And really, really gay as Taehyung likes to remind Jeongguk. “Right, Tannie?”

Yeontan’s nails click nervously on the wooden floor as he hovers around Taehyung’s feet.

Yeontan has always been an unusually quiet Pomeranian with a borderline obsessive fixation on Taehyung. Those stalker impulses hadn’t improved when Yeontan’s other human dad mysteriously disappeared from his daily routine two weeks ago. Taehyung now takes his shits with a tiny dog lying on his feet.

Scooping Yeontan up in his arms, Taehyung retreats back to the couch in the living room, kicking the door closed on his way out.

He’s streaming One Punch Man and is scheduled to wallow in self-pity tonight while he chows down on take out and wears one of Jeongguk’s sweaters. Like he has done for every night these past two weeks. He doesn’t have time for laundry.

——

Taehyung’s ringtone cuts through his sleep with all the viciousness of a morning alarm, startling him bad enough that he almost kicks Yeontan off the couch in his uncoordinated attempts to reach his phone and make it stop. Somewhere between still asleep and vaguely conscious, Taehyung manages to pick the call up and mutter something resembling a greeting. Maybe a curse.

“Tae?” Jeongguk’s voice clears the fog in Taehyung’s mind a little. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Taehyung grumbles as he awkwardly drags his body up in a sitting position, Yeontan immediately climbing into his lap. “I’m here.”

Jeongguk’s giggles sound tinny coming through the speaker of his phone. But they cause a tightness in Taehyung’s chest that makes his next intake of breath a little staggered.

“You sure?”

Taehyung runs his fingers through Yeontan’s fur and smiles like a loser. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk mumbles around a yawn. Taehyung glances at the clock on the wall. It’s early where Jeongguk is. “I got your texts. All 100 of them.”

“We had a moment,” Taehyung says like that explains things. “But Tan and I made it work. We’re independent women.” Another tinny giggle that wraps around Taehyung’s ribs and makes them clench. “You just woke up?”

“Yeah.” There’s some clatter in the background that indicates Jeongguk is up and moving about. Taehyung imagines the messy bed hair and puffy eyes he’s used to waking up next to. How soft Jeongguk looks in the morning. “We’re in a Bed and Breakfast for one night. ‘S how I’m calling.”

They don’t call often. Not as often as Taehyung likes. There’s only one sim card Jeongguk and his brother purchased to share between them as they’re abroad and it’s more of an emergency thing than anything else. Jeongguk calls when he finds wifi. Taehyung always has his sound on.

“Must be nice. Sleeping in a real bed.”

Jeongguk hums softly, a sleepy quality to the vibrations. So similar to when he’s about to fall asleep and Taehyung presses his lips to the nape of his neck to say goodnight.

“How’s Tannie?”

Taehyung glances down at Yeontan staring intently up at his face. “Abandonment issues.”

“Tae,” Jeongguk whines through the line. The sound so pitiful and familiar it makes Taehyung snicker. “Don’t be an ass.”

“It’s fine. He's fine,” Taehyung says as he scratches Yeontan’s ears. He slouches back further in the couch with a sigh. “He just misses you.”

“Miss him too,” Jeongguk says quietly.

It’s been a little hard on him. Both of them. Taehyung knows some people might call them dramatic for being so moody over Jeongguk going away on a 1-month-brother-bonding-camping-trip in the national parks of the USA. People have called them dramatic. (One person. Yoongi.) But Taehyung’s a soft bitch when it comes to Jeongguk and Jeongguk’s even softer. Two losers in love.

Taehyung grabs the remote and turns off the TV. Only wants to hear Jeongguk’s voice breaking the silence. “What’s happening today?”

“Going on a hike,” Jeongguk says. All the Jeon boys seem to do is hike. Taehyung’s messages from Jeongguk are filled with pics of them on mountains, hills, and near lakes. Cheeks glowing pink and sunburned. Limbs tanned and muscular. Lips stretched in wide smiles so similar they could only be between siblings.

“Don’t get eaten by a bear or anything.”

“You know I’d kill to get back to you.”

“Intruding on a wild animal’s territory and then punishing them by murder when they get defensive. That’s so hot, babe.”

“Anything for you, babe.”

Taehyung snorts. “Nothing like a dead animal rug to declare your eternal love.”

“Exactly.”

Taehyung can still hear Jeongguk puttering about in the background. The familiar sound of bottle caps being popped open. The start of Jeongguk’s extensive skin care regime.

“How’s the toiletry bag holding up?” Taehyung got him a new one especially for this trip; big enough to hold all of Jeongguk’s numerous products. Didn’t even make that much fun of him for having more cremes than any girl Taehyung claims to know. Completely caved and told Jeongguk he was absolutely right to take good care of his skin and be consistent with his dermatologist prescribed acne medication when Jeongguk wouldn’t stop pouting.

“Good,” says Jeongguk. “‘S real nice.” He sounds absent and Taehyung can easily picture him leaning in close to the mirror, focused on applying everything in all the right spots. Just like he does at home. “Junghyun says I can’t wear my perfume anymore,” Jeongguk continues. “Says it attracts all the insects.”

“So he’s stifling your gay?”

“He’s not stifling my gay,” Jeongguk snipes, always so easily wound up. “Skin care isn’t gay, Taehyung. Maybe you should give it a little more thought, so it won’t look like I’m taking Grandpa out on a date in 40 years.”

Taehyung chuckles, feels his heart beat warm and sluggish at the thought of still having Jeongguk on his arm 40 years from now. “Bet your ass would be all over big dicks and older men.”

“If I like big dicks then what the hell am I doing with you?”

Taehyung shakes with laughter hard enough for Yeontan to awkwardly scramble around for balance on his legs. “Calm down, size queen.”

“You calm down,” Jeongguk says, but there’s more smile than bite in his voice. Taehyung swallows at the fondness there. He misses teasing Jeongguk in person. Sharing a bathroom in the morning and smearing kisses covered in toothpaste on Jeongguk’s neck. Trying to avoid Jeongguk ripping him a new asshole with the brutal whip of a towel. Jeongguk giving back as good as he gets.

The conversation falls quiet after that, Taehyung content to just listen to Jeongguk starting his day halfway across the world. Petting Yeontan and offering useless clothing advice as Jeongguk gets dressed. Trying to feel close to him from far away.

“So, do you still need help with the laundry?” Jeongguk inquires eventually, trying to stretch a conversation that’s coming to an end.

“It’s all good. Used your special cup and everything.”

“My special cup?”

“Yeah, to measure the detergent.”

There’s a dubious pause on the other end of the line. “You’re supposed to use the bottle cap, Tae. It’s concentrated liquid. What the hell did you use?”

Yeontan does end up on the floor this time as Taehyung launches himself off the couch. But he’s not in time to do anything but admire his floor covered in suds. Sometimes the small ways of missing someone really matter.

———-

@ghouliecruz I just wrote for the first time in over a year especially for your overworked sleep-deprived ass because that’s how amazing a person I am. So you better take me out for Asian food soon.

#taekook is disgusting in this #literally that sappy couple you can't stand #i'm with yoongi #taekook fanfic #bts fanfic #mirre writes #taekook #mirre answers

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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

Text

Indirect Deposit (1/3)

Summary: It’s the oldest story in the world, isn’t it? Falling in love with your neighbor. Killian’s sure that he’s seen hundreds of books and television shows starting off that way, and he’s always thought them all to be entirely unrealistic. That is until he started getting to know Emma Swan, who just so happens to live across the hall from him, and he has absolutely fallen for her in a way that he hasn’t fallen for anyone in a long time.

It’s the oldest story in the world...until it isn’t. Because it’s not just Emma he’s fallen in love with. It’s her unborn child too, and while everyone he knows thinks he’s crazy for falling in love with a pregnant woman, he knows that he’s not. Some things in life are worth taking the risk.

Some people are worth loving. And some things about life may surprise you.

A/N: This fic wouldn’t happen without @csmarchmadness and @wellhellotragic. When you guys get to the end of the chapter, some things may seem familiar, and that’s because this was her fic idea that she has graciously passed onto me to write. She’s very kindly given me lots of ideas that have been incorporated. I know I don’t have her magic touch, but I hope I do it justice! Seriously, thank you for letting me write this even when it made me want to pull my hair out! All of the credit goes to you, lovely!

Found on AO3: | Here |

Tag list: Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the next few parts!

@nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian

The door shakes behind him as he enters his apartment, the pounding sound it makes when it locks into its frame reverberating in his ears while he throws his backpack down on the floor, not caring for its contents or the fact that it’s not his usual spot to keep his things. On any other day, he’d carefully take off his shoes, straightening them next to the door, and purposefully unstrap his bag from his back and place it on the bench seat that he keeps in the entryway of his apartment.

But today is not any other day.

It started as any other day, his alarm going off at six, early enough for him to go for his run and get back home in order to take a shower and get ready for work, arriving on campus a little after eight for his office hours. Very rarely does a student ever come talk to him during Monday morning office hours, which is partially the reason he timed them that way. It gives him time to grade exams, not being a fan of scantrons and their automatic grading when he’s an English professor who gives exams that mostly deal with essays, without distractions as well as helping to fulfill the Boston university-required demands of him having ten hours spent in his office per week.

As luck would have it, though, he had five students waiting for him the moment he walked up to his door, each and every one of them nearly jumping from their seats on the floor and thrusting their newly graded essays in his face claiming how unfair his grading was. But it’s not. He knows that it’s not. If anything, he’s overly kind with his assignments. He’s thirty-three, not that far removed from university himself, and he remembers how much he despised professors who failed students simply because they could. So, usually, he’d take a look at these papers and consider their protests, normally deciding to help the kids, but he knew for a fact that these five never showed up to class, never came to any of his extra lectures, so he said no, not today.

They were not pleased with him, but he didn’t care. He’s lenient, but you have to show up to class or prove that you can do the work on your own if you decide not to come.

That only soured his mood a bit, something he figured he’d forget about, but then his classes were all difficult that day, no one paying attention to a single word he said, no one engaging in discussions, and all of the passion he usually held for teaching seemed to fade away. But it was just a bad day, nothing that a glass of rum at home wouldn’t fix, and then his ex showed up outside of his classroom.

What. The. Hell.

He and Milah broke up seven months ago after he walked in on her, in their apartment, sleeping with another man. That’s a sight he’s never quite forgotten, as much as he’s tried, but it often plays in the back of his mind when he’s up late at night and can’t sleep. He told her to get out then, and that’s the same thing he told her earlier today when she decided to beg for his forgiveness, to ask to come back talking about how much she still loved him. How fucking dare she try to come back, to even think that he’d want to be with someone who broke his heart and betrayed his trust in such a way that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to recover from it all. He had loved her, still loves her really, and he’s never quite understood where he went wrong, where they went wrong. They had a good, solid relationship…and it simply disappeared because of something Milah called one stupid mistake. Maybe he should have listened to her, maybe he should have thought about trying again, maybe it really was simply one moment of weakness, but he doesn’t think he’s ready to try to build up that trust again. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So her face and the memories of her cheating on him replayed on his entire drive home, the only reprieve (or not) being flashes of memories of all of the good times too, and as he walked into his apartment, the place he has completely redone to his own tastes since they broke up, all he can do is see her face and the laughter lines he used to love so much. So no part of him cares if he keeps the place as neat as usual. No one is here but him anyways.

He doesn’t want anyone here but himself.

Huffing, he walks into his kitchen, bypassing the pitcher of water in his fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer. He feels like downing an entire bottle of rum, and not the cheap stuff, but he’s not twenty-one anymore. Hangovers are a bitch, and he’s still got to edit his lectures for the rest of the week, not content with the premade ones his mentor sent him when he took over British Literature at the beginning of the fall semester last month.

He’d really like that rum.

The liquid is refreshing as he tilts the bottle to his lips, letting the alcohol run down his throat, doing little more than giving him the smallest sense of control. But after he downs the one bottle, he tosses it into the bin and pours himself the glass of water he’d just turned his nose up on, grabbing an apple and making his way to his living room, promptly settling himself down onto his couch and turning on his TV, not caring what’s on as long as there’s some kind of noise besides his breathing and the cars driving by outside.

“God,” he groans, running his hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to shut everything out. “What the hell kind of day is this?”

Almost as if the world is out to get him, he hears a knock on his door. The absolute last thing he wants to be doing is talk to someone else, but then they knock again and he stands from the couch, adjusting his pants and shirt before making his way to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing his neighbor from across the hall standing outside of his door with her teeth tugging on her bottom lip and her hands behind her back.

Undoing the locks, he swings open the door, catching it to make sure it doesn’t slam into the wall, not wanting the knob to make a dent.

“Hello, Swan,” he greets, forcing a smile onto his face. He may be right pissed at life today, his mind running the paces of the entire spectrum of emotion, but she doesn’t deserve any of his ire.

They don’t talk often, nothing more than hellos and the occasional friendly small talk. He knows that she’s a lawyer, that her father was a police captain who was murdered in the line of duty on a case that he wasn’t even supposed to be out in the field for. He only knows that because it was all over the news, every local channel covering the story for weeks on end, Emma’s sullen face in the background of every shot. She was always alone, no one standing by her, and in her he always saw himself when he was twelve, standing alone at his mother’s funeral while Liam gave the eulogy. The dead parents club is a club you don’t want to be in, and every time he meets a new member, he wishes that he hadn’t.

But that was five years ago, and he didn’t know her then. He doesn’t truly know her too much now. She just moved into his building a little over a year ago. He figured someone with her kind of money could live in a nicer apartment, not that their places aren’t nice, but they’re not exactly peak Boston real estate. He can only really still afford the place on his own because of the money his mum had put away for him and the extra jobs he picks up.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

That takes him aback, the way she blurted the words out not at all what he was expecting, but before he even gets the chance to answer, she’s pushing past him, running down the hallway and swinging open his bedroom door and disappearing from sight.

This day could not possibly get any weirder.

Sighing, he closes his front door and quickly makes his way back toward his bedroom, not knowing what to expect. She’s nowhere to be seen until he hears the sound of dry heaving from the bathroom.

So this day could get weirder.

He should honestly write a book of his own documenting all of the unbelievable things that happen in his life. Forget writing about academia when he has a best seller about his ex-girlfriend showing up back in his life and making him want to vomit only to have his neighbor actually vomit in his bathroom.

Top of the best seller list. No doubt.

It might need a bit of padding, some more plot, maybe something more unexpected happening, but it’s got potential.

“Love.” He knocks on the door, not really sure why he’s asking for permission to enter a room in his own home, but nothing quite makes sense today. “Swan, are you okay?”

She doesn’t respond, and he can still hear the noise emanating from the other side of the door. Not really sure what to do, he turns the knob, pulling the door open to find Emma collapsed on the floor, her arms resting on the lid of the toilet. For some reason his first thought is that he’s relieved that he cleaned the bathroom Saturday morning.

“Shit, Swan,” he groans, walking toward her and squatting down next to her, tucking her hair behind her ears so that it doesn’t fall into her face or the vomit that he’s attempting not to smell. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously not,” she snarks, her voice shaky and not at all as solid as it usually is, at least from his limited experience of talking to her about sales at the grocery store down the street. “I need – ” she dry heaves into the toilet again, the sound causing his stomach to roll, but he tries to calm himself down by focusing on Emma, holding her hair back and rubbing his hand in soothing circles up and down her back. It’s been awhile since he’s had to soothe someone through something like this, and usually it’s a buddy who’s had too much to drink, but the mechanisms are always the same.

When she’s finished, she leans back against his bathtub, her face covered in a sheen of sweat and all of her color has been completely drained from skin. She looks miserable, and he has no idea what’s going on. So he flushes the toilet and washes his hands, scrubbing up and down his forearms until he feels clean enough. He’s not sure if he’ll ever feel clean enough, so he can’t imagine how Emma must feel. He grabs a washcloth and wets it with cold water, squeezing it out before squatting down in front of Emma and handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she sighs, taking the cloth and dabbing at her face, letting the cloth fall to the floor before she takes her hair, the strands seemingly never-ending, and pulls it up into a sloppy bun, brushing all of the loose strands back and off of her forehead. “I feel like I owe you a million explanations and apologies before I, you know, disappear out of mortification.”

“What? What about this situation could possibly be mortifying?”

She huffs, the smallest of smiles tugging at one side of her lips before she wipes her face down again. He smiles a bit at his own humor. He’d normally find that pathetic, but he thinks he can get a free pass today. “Every bit of it.” “Eh, I’ve seen worse. My ex-girlfriend showed up to my office today, and several of my students witnessed us getting into an argument. Talk about professional.”

He doesn’t know what convinced him to share that, why he thought that would be in any way equivalent to what’s currently happening right now, and the way Emma’s looking at him makes him realize that she thinks the same. There’s not exactly a guideline for how to handle this situation.

Maybe that will be what his book is about: How To Handle When Your Neighbor Vomits In Your Bathroom For Dummies.

“Okay, so bad example,” he sighs, reaching up and scratching behind his ear while his mind runs all over the place on what to say, what to do. “I’ll come up with something better if you tell me why you needed to come into my apartment to vomit.”

Emma scrunches up her face, all of her features distorting, and for a moment all he can think about is how adorable that motion is, how he’d kind of like for her to do it again.

“Well, I lost my key for one. And I’m also having just horrible morning sickness, which is a major lie considering it’s six o’clock in the evening. This sure as hell isn’t morning.”

Morning sickness.

Morning sickness…she’s pregnant. He didn’t even know she was seeing anyone, not that it’s any of his business. She’s his neighbor. That’s all. Sure, he’s always thought she was beautiful, her flowing blonde hair and green eyes calling to him as much as her smile or the way her ass looks in a skirt when he sees her on her way to work. So he has no reason for the way his stomach twists, the way he feels suddenly nauseous as well, the way it has nothing to do with the smell of vomit. He barely knows her.

“Congratulations,” he grits out, wishing he’d been able to express more genuine joy. It’s just a shock is all. And it’s not like there’s really another way to express joy over someone else having a child. He’s not about to tell her congratulations on having sex.

But it is a weird day, so he wouldn’t put himself past it.

“Thanks. I, um, I’m sorry for all of this. I just need to call the building manager and have him unlock my door, so as soon as my legs stop shaking, I’m going to go do that.” “You can stay here as long as you need. I really don’t mind.”

“Look, you’re being nice, which I really appreciate. I was about to vomit all over the carpet outside before I dared come knock on your door. And as great as this little chat has been, I really don’t want to impose on you anymore.” “Swan, I get that, but it could take awhile for Scarlet to get here. He works another job down at O’Leary’s during the evenings.”

“Of course he does.” “So call him, and we’ll hope that he’s not working tonight, but if he is, you can stay here. You can stay in my guest room if you want. It’s got its own bathroom.”

She looks like she could vomit again before her shoulders relax and she reaches up to push her hair back again, catching all of the loose strands and slicking them down. “Thanks.” Emma calls Scarlet, who turns out not to be working, so within an hour, he’s unlocking Emma’s door, griping and moaning about how she should give a friend her spare key instead of keeping it inside her apartment. He only knows this because Will basically screams when he speaks, his voice reaching all the way into Killian’s apartment. He can’t hear Emma’s response, though, but he imagines she pretty much tells Will to fuck off.

What a day.

-/-

“Mate, I’m not bloody doing it.” “It’s been months,” Robin says, taking a sip of his water before twisting on his barstool while Roland continues to color in his book, his curly hair flopping over his eyes. “You need to get back out there.”

“No offense, but you’re likely the last person to give me relationship advice.”

“Yeah, Papa.”

Killian chuckles, reaching out his hand to give Roland a high five, the kid smacking his hand as hard as he can. That’s his best bud, always backing him up even to his dad. “See, even your son knows.”

“That’s because my son is a nosy seven-year-old who agrees with everything his uncle says but not everything his own father says.”

Roland shrugs. “I like Uncle Killian.”

“What? And you don’t like me?”

“You make me eat green beans. Killian gave me a cookie last week.”

Robin sighs, shaking his head back and forth while he smiles. “If you ever have kids, I absolutely cannot wait to load them up with sugar and leave you to deal with the consequences.”

“Considering I don’t plan on dating for a very long time, I imagine that we won’t have this problem.”

“So you really won’t go out with Rebecca?”

He shakes his head before running his hand through his hair, wishing that the thought of dating didn’t make his stomach twist. “I just can’t, mate. I’m still…I can’t. And, honestly, I’m fine with how things are. I don’t need to be with someone.”

“If you say so. But Roland is going to get older, and suddenly single Uncle Killian isn’t going to seem quite as cool.” “Please,” he huffs, rolling his eyes, “I’m always going to be cool.”

He leaves Robin’s house a little after seven, letting him put Roland to bed in peace. Most of his Saturdays are spent at their house after they go to Roland’s football games, even if he cringes a bit at all of the kids calling it soccer. He might have been in America for over a decade, but there are some things he still hasn’t switched over in his vocabulary. Others slip off of his tongue like he’s been speaking that way for his entire life, but the football and soccer distinction is something that’ll likely always stay.

He’s tempted to pull over into several bars on his way home, knowing that he’s not got anything else to do tomorrow since he finished most of his work for the next week Friday afternoon (maybe he really does need a bit more of a social life), but he’d honestly rather go home and change into his joggers and catch up on some television. To some it might make him boring, but he likes doing things that make him happy.

After he parks in the garage a block over from his building, he makes his short walk home, ignoring all of the people passing by who are going out to dinner or going out with friends. He’s spent all day with his best mate and his son, and honestly, that’s how he likes things. He likes being comfortable.

If he had the money, he’d buy a boat and spend his days out on the water reading, letting the waves move below him while he gets lost in the words that others have written.

That would be the perfect Saturday.

When he enters his building, he makes a stop by the mailboxes, figuring he should go ahead and check while he’s down here, but then he sees long blonde hair and the red jacket that she’s always wearing. It’s only been a week since he last saw Emma, since she came into his apartment, and he’s almost sure that she’s been going out of her way to avoid him. He understands. It’s not exactly a situation that you want to have to talk about all of the time. If he were Emma, he’d probably want to just forget about it.

Though it’s not something one easily forgets.

He’s just about to turn around and walk away from the boxes, respecting her space, when she turns, several envelopes in her hand that she’s shuffling. He thinks that he has time to move out of the way, to stay unseen, but then she’s looking up and looking directly at him, her eyes going wide like she’s been shocked.

So, yeah, she was definitely avoiding him.

“Hello, love,” he waves, giving her a kind smile while he makes an attempt not to cringe. “How are you today?”

Her eyes slant, almost like she’s studying him, but then they widen again to reveal the green. “Are you asking because you care or are you asking because you’re scared I’m about to vomit all over your shoes?”

He chuckles under his breath, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while he clicks his tongue, not really sure what to say. He does rather like these shoes. “Can I say both?”

“You can, but I’m not sure that I’ll believe you.”

“Fair,” he sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets so that he can stop his fingers from fidgeting. “You get anything interesting?”

Bloody hell. Why is he even bothering to speak? Everything that comes out of his mouth seems like something a teenager who’s never spoken to a woman would say. Or worse, he sounds a bit like someone who’s just never spoken at all. And the way Emma’s eyebrows raise doesn’t exactly help him feel any less awkward than he does right now.

He’s asking her if she got anything in the mail for fuck’s sake.

“I don’t think you could handle all of the interesting things I get in the mail.”

“I can handle more than you think, darling,” he promises, tilting his head so that he can look Emma directly in the eye while he runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

There he goes. That’s more like him. “Right,” she says incredulously, looking up at him before back down at her mail. “So I’m just going to go. Have a good night.”

She begins to walk away, and he’s not sure what comes over him next. But, honestly, once the words start, he can’t make them stop. “What are you doing tonight?”

Emma stops in her tracks, her sneakers actually squeaking against the tile as she turns around. “I’m just going to watch some TV, catch up on some shows. Why?”

“Would you like to come over for a drink?”

She smiles at him then, something soft and subtle, but it’s a smile. “Pregnant, remember?”

Well fuck. How did he forget that? She’s pregnant. Of course he knew that. Of course he knew that she’s pregnant. And she has a boyfriend, so she probably has no interest in hanging out with someone she barely knows, not that her having a boyfriend means she can’t have other friends. That would be ridiculous. It’s just…he guesses Robin’s words about not being alone and watching all of those people go out with their friends outside, they must have impacted him in some way. He likes being alone, prefers it sometimes, but he wouldn’t absolutely hate to have someone watch TV with him.

Probably just not Emma Swan.

“Sorry, love,” he apologizes, having to work to keep his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t scratch his ear again. “I didn’t mean to impose. I’m not sure why I asked.”

He thinks she’s just going to walk away again, but she doesn’t. “Well, there are other drinks besides alcohol, you know? I happen to be a big fan of hot chocolate.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods, taking a step closer to him and uncrossing her arms from her chest. “And I was thinking about watching Big Little Lies. So if you have hot chocolate and like Reese Witherspoon, I feel like I might agree to having a drink with you.” “Aye, I have hot chocolate, and how can one not love Reese Witherspoon? She’s America’s sweetheart.”

“Aren’t you British?”

He winks. “That’s beside the point.”

-/-

Emma knocks on his door a little after eight, and he lets her inside. The similar layouts of their apartments must make her feel at home as she simply walks into his living room and sits down, spreading out the blanket she brought with her over her legs. He’s never known someone to bring their own blanket with them, but it’s actually a good idea. Oftentimes he goes over to someone’s house and is either freezing or is stuck using a blanket with uncomfortable material.

When the hell did he become such an old man?

He joins her with the hot chocolate he was making before she came. He only had the instant packets, not the ingredients to make the good stuff, but he’s never had the need to use anything but the instant anyways. Honestly, he usually adds rum or whiskey to it, but he didn’t tonight. Solidarity and all.

Besides, he’s genuinely confused as to what the hell is happening, so being sober is probably a bright idea. Emma’s been in his apartment twice. Once to throw up, another to spend a Saturday night watching television. He feels like there should be some kind of in between or, really, a better beginning. But it is what it is, so he’s simply going to go with it.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t know.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling up at him before placing her mug on his side table and leaning forward so that she yanks his coffee table closer to her, propping her feet up on the wood. “I promise I’ll move it back before I leave. I just have to have something to prop my feet up on.”

“I’m the same way.”

“Yeah? It seemed a little far away for you to be able to do that.”

He waggles his eyebrows, leaning a bit closer to her. “I’m a tad bit taller than you, Swan, so my legs are longer. It’s part of my devilishly handsome appeal.”

“Well, you have to have something to support that large ego of yours.” “Touché. So tell me about this show we’re watching.”

“Wait,” she begins, taking a sip out of her mug, “you haven’t even heard of it?”

“Well, I have, but all I know is that it’s about a bunch of rich women and there’s something about Audrey Hepburn.”

“And murder.” “Spoilers, Swan,” he teases, feeling lighter than he has in awhile. It’s nice to have a friend (maybe) who doesn’t expect anything from him but to watch TV. There’s no prodding into his life, no encouraging him to go on dates. It’s all purely conversation for the sake of lounging around the apartment and watching television. “Alright then, let’s watch this show where Reese Witherspoon is a murderer. I simply don’t believe that to be true after all that time she spent becoming a lawyer.”

“I applaud your pop culture references, Jones. That’s a good quality in a man.”

“Well, you could also technically be legally blonde, so it works.” Emma groans, throwing her head back against the couch before twisting her neck to look at him with a soft smile. “That is so not the first time I’ve heard that joke. You’ve got to be more original if you’re going to make a joke about my job and my hair color.” He raises a brow, the corners of his lips ticking up until he feels as if his entire face is smiling. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that you’re pretty much the definition of blonde ambition.” “Play the damn show, Killian.”

He’s surprisingly intrigued by the show, but mostly he’s surprised how open Emma is as she talks while they’re watching each episode. He doesn’t think she realizes all of the little things she’s revealing with her statements and with the moments that she laughs at, but he wouldn’t either. Hell, he’s probably doing the same thing. Mostly, though, as the hours pass and the episodes continue, he’s as wrapped up in the show as he is with Emma. It’s an entirely inappropriate feeling, this liking her, and he’s got to stuff it down. He will not be someone who cheats, he will not be someone who has feelings for someone who is in a relationship, but he will be friends with someone…just friends. That’s what’s appropriate, and that’s what he’ll do.

Besides, this is one night. It doesn’t mean anything. She’s likely just bored and saw an opportunity not to spend her night alone, which is funny to him because she’s always struck him as someone who likes to be alone. Then again, how much can he really know about someone from only short, superficial interactions?

Not much, but maybe Emma Swan isn’t as stand offish as he once believed.

Maybe Reese Witherspoon really does bring people together.

When it’s two in the morning, Emma lets out a big yawn, covering her mouth to hide it, and when she’s in the middle of saying something, another yawn catches her. She’s exhausted. Has he kept her up all this time? Don’t pregnant women need more sleep than normal people? They do. He’s almost entirely sure that they do.

“We can stop watching, love. You look like you need to go to bed.”

“No, no,” she protests, another yawn passing through her lips, “we have to keep going. We’re almost finished. I want to know what happens.”

“Swan, you’re practically falling asleep sitting up.”

“Jones, suck it up. We’re finishing the show tonight. It’s what Elle Woods would do.”

So he sucks it up and powers on, finishing watching the show and wondering about how the hell they could end it like that. It’s not a cliffhanger, but he needs more. As the credits roll, though, he doesn’t get up to turn the television off and go to bed. No, he stays exactly where he is because Emma Swan, his elusive neighbor, is fast asleep with her head on his lap, her blanket pulled up over her shoulders while she lets out small puffs of air onto his knee.

He can’t wake her. He just can’t, not when she obviously needed the sleep, so even though he’s deeply uncomfortable, he stays how he is and lets her sleep.

Eventually, he falls asleep too.

And when he wakes up, while he’s not surprised that she’s not longer there, he is disappointed.

-/-

After he woke up alone, he tried not to dwell on it too much, tried not to dwell on the fact that he felt like he’d had a really good first date only to have his date not having enjoyed herself. He knows how to woo and charm a woman, but he’s not for everyone. If he was, well, then he’d be crazy. Or he’d just go on the Bachelor. The men on that show seem to attract several women all at once.

Not that he’d do that or even want that. For all of his bravado and flirting, for all of the times that he’s come home with a woman without knowing more than her name, and sometimes not even that, he actually prefers relationships. He prefers the steadiness of them, the friendship, the way that he gets to truly know the likes and dislikes of his partner. So the Bachelor probably isn’t for him, but if he’s desperately bored enough, he might watch it.

Maybe it’ll make his pop culture knowledge soar. Emma seemed to like whenever he referenced anything, always giggling a bit before telling him something just as clever. No, she was normally more clever. And he really liked the way that she’d look like she was so proud of herself after every joke that she told. That was so endearing.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, resisting the urge to kick his foot against his bedframe from where he’s been folding his laundry. He is in deep after one night to an unavailable woman, and no part of that is okay with him.

Wasn’t he just convincing himself that they were friends? Or really good acquaintances? It was one night.

There’s a knock at his front door, more of a pounding really, and his heartrate increases while his cheeks flush. The only person to knock on his door in the past week has been Emma, and he’s irrationally getting his hopes up that it’s going to be her again. He shouldn’t even want to see her, not after she left this morning, not after he knows that he has feelings for her when she’s with someone else.

It’s a crush. It’s like when he was younger. It’s simply a crush, and it’ll go away.

After he finishes folding the t-shirt and places it in its correct pile, he walks out of his room and down the hall to his front door, unlocking the latches and swinging it open to reveal Emma standing there still in her clothes from yesterday holding two grocery bags. What in the world is she doing here?

“So, I woke up this morning and was thinking.”

“Please enlighten me as to what the brilliant Emma Swan was thinking.”

She rolls her eyes but steps inside his apartment, pushing through him and the way he had his arm propped up against the door until she’s completely inside and standing by the kitchen counters.

“Just let yourself in, Swan.”

“I just did,” she laughs, unpacking her bags while he closes his door and moves to stand opposite of her. “So anyways, I was thinking that we definitely need to finish the show.” He opens his mouth to say that he finished it, and she holds her finger in the air and places it on his lips. “Don’t say that you finished it without me. And I thought if we’re going to do that, I absolutely have to get you the good kind of hot chocolate. And snacks. We need snacks, so I woke up, went home and brushed my teeth and stuff, and then ran to the store.”

She’s been unpacking her bags, chocolate, whipped cream, milk, cinnamon, popcorn, and pop tarts all coming out, and for a moment he’s not sure if he’s speaking with a grown woman or with a child.

“Love, what the hell is all this stuff?”

“It’s the provisions, Jones. I’m going to make the hot chocolate the way my dad taught me to make it, which is pretty much the only way to make it, and then we’re going to stuff ourselves with my favorite food.”

“Pop Tarts?”

“Well, no. I like grilled cheese and onion rings, but the grease isn’t sitting well with me right now. And I know I’m supposed to eat healthy and all that, and I do, but I really want the damn Pop Tarts.”

He picks up the box, inspecting it while Emma goes through his cabinets. They look disgusting, but if it’s what she wants, he guesses that’s what they’ll have. “Then Pop Tarts you shall have, milady.”

“I know. I bought the things. Where do you keep your pans?”

-/-

September fades away into October in the blink of an eye, the leaves morphing into warm oranges and reds all the while the air in Boston dips and chill winds begin to blow through. It’s his favorite time of the year without question, though he does enjoy summer months and any opportunity he gets to go out and spend time by the harbor, possibly even on a boat, and even though he’s spent more hours locked away in his office grading midterms than he’d like, he’s happier than he has been in a long time.

Much happier than some of his students are going to be when they get back from fall break.

He tries to attribute it to the fact that he’s moving on from all of his heartbreak in the past, that he’s not waking up in the middle of the night and seeing flashes of Milah and the life they used to share, and he’s finding a new rhythm that he likes. That he loves really.

In the mornings, he wakes and goes for runs down by the river. Some days he listens to music, other days he lets his thoughts keep him company. Afterward, depending on when his lectures are, he either runs errands or heads to work, both of which give him the same amount of joy. Usually he’s much more fond of his students, but this semester he only truly likes the English comp class that he took up teaching for extra pay.

And he despises teaching English Composition.

But his class is full of bright-eyed freshman who for some reason actually show up to class and ask questions, a lot of them begging to write about something more interesting than your run of the mill essay topics when all he’s trying to teach them is proper grammar and punctuation.

As someone who doesn’t always use proper grammar and punctuation, it’s a bit of a difficult task.

After his lectures he usually goes to his office, talking to some of his coworkers and preparing lectures and grading assignments. It’s his normal day, really, but there’s a pep in his step that he hasn’t felt in a long time. And it definitely comes from the fact that every day a little after seven, he eats dinner with Emma.

Yeah, so that’s a new part of his routine. It used to be that he’d eat alone, going over to Rob’s once or twice a week to join them, but ever since he and Emma started their binge watching sessions and he saw how dreadfully she ate at home, they’ve been eating dinner together.

He’d gotten a little carried away from himself and googled examples of diets for pregnant women, knowing that it was none of his business and that Emma was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and her baby, but he also knew from their time together that she didn’t cook. At all. And she said the things she did occasionally cook were making her feel sick. So one night while making some stir fry for himself, he realized how easy it would be to add a little extra food and have enough for two people.

And maybe after the first few times he offered Emma food, claiming he had extra, he made a little more so she’d have leftovers to take to work for lunch.

So, yeah, he’s got a little pep in his step every day.

He’s making salmon for them tonight, and he needs to get home and get it prepared. He also needs to get some coffee before he gets home. Emma’s trying not to drink any caffeine, claiming she used to drink too much of it to begin with, so he’s been staying away from it when she’s around. He can’t stay away from it completely, so he definitely just drinks it and chucks all of the evidence before she can see it…or smell it. She usually smells it on his breath.

They’ve formed a strange friendship over the past six weeks.

And he knows that it’s a friendship, he does, even if he has feelings that are far from appropriate for her. For awhile, he felt infinitely guilty, like he was doing something wrong, but he and Emma aren’t dating. He’s not doing anything wrong. There’s no cheating involved, and he would never make a move on a woman who’s in a relationship.

It’s just not good form. Not for him. He’s sure there can sometimes be extenuating circumstances that can make it be reasonable, but he just…he can’t. Not after the way his heart was ripped out by having his relationship broken apart.

But from what he’s figured out, Emma’s not seeing anyone. If she is, she’d have to only see him during the day since she seems to spend every night with him, and that would be one of the strangest relationships he’s ever seen. He’s decided, though, that Emma must have been dating someone and when she told him she was pregnant, he bolted. The bloody asshole. He’s not even sure who the wanker is or what exactly happened, but when he thinks about it too much, all he wants to do is tear the man apart. She doesn’t talk about it, though, doesn’t allude to having gone through a breakup, and if she doesn’t want to talk about it, he won’t ask.

They work how they are, and he doesn’t plan on changing anything.

He hears the knob on his door jingle, the lock twisting, from his spot in the kitchen pouring the sauce over the salmon. He’d given Emma a key last week, and just two days ago, she’d come to his door with a reluctantly happy look on her face while she held up a key.

“I need you to keep my spare key for me.”

“What?”

“I need someone to keep my spare key for me, and I don’t have anyone who lives near here who can do it.”

“So you want me to do it?”

“Are you going to steal any of my stuff?”

“No, but I don’t think anyone would answer yes to that question.”

“This is a good point. So no stealing, but I wouldn’t hate it if you left me food.”

“I believe leaving things in someone’s apartment is the opposite of stealing.”

“Shut up, Jones.”

Emma comes into view a moment later, the door opening and quickly closing. She’s already changed out of her work attire and into the sweatpants and sweater she’s been fond of lately, but she hasn’t removed her makeup or pulled up her hair so it’s like she’s a mixture of professional and casual.

He’s rather fond of when she wears her hair down. It’s long and flowing, always a slight wave to it, and it’s soft to the touch. Plus, it smells bloody amazing. He doesn’t know what kind of shampoo she uses, but he hopes that she uses it for a long time to come.

(He may have to vacuum his apartment and shake out all of his throw pillows from all of the blonde hair everywhere.)

“Hey,” she greets, a timid smile on her face. She’s holding a brown paper bag, and he’s really not sure what’s in there, especially since she’s holding it rather closely and stays on the other side of his island with it.

He continues to pour the sauce over the salmon before turning around and sliding it into the oven. When he turns around, it’s to Emma still standing there with her bottom lip tugging between her teeth. “What’s up, love? Why do you look nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Your nerves are practically radiating over your entire body.” He takes a step closer to her, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong, Swan?”

“Nothing.”

“Swan.”

“Okay, okay,” she concedes, raising her hands in the air, “so I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but some of my coworkers brought me a cake today.” “Why is that a big deal? It seems sweet.”

“Because today is my thirtieth birthday.”

“Happy – ”

“No, no, no. Okay, so I haven’t really celebrated my birthday in a long time, and I don’t usually like it. But I figured we could eat this after dinner. It’s, like, a birthday cheesecake or something. And before you say anything, yes, I checked to make sure I could eat it. There’s no funky cheeses in or anything. I just thought it’d be nice.”

He smiles to himself, shaking his head a little bit before stepping toward her and brushing a brief kiss against her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin underneath his lips. “Happy birthday, darling. I’d love to eat your cheesecake.” “How did you manage to make that sound dirty?”

He pulls back and winks before moving his brows across his forehead in the way that he knows makes her laugh. Sure enough, she giggles, shaking her head back and forth as she takes the cheesecake and moves it into his fridge.

“So what are we eating?” “Salmon and a salad.”

“Really?” “Yep, gotta cancel out all of the cheesecake we’re obviously going to be eating over the next few days. It’s good, though, love. I promise. My brother makes it all the time when I visit him.”

“So you’re telling me that you fly to London just for your brother to make you salmon you can make yourself?”

“I mean, I do enjoy seeing my brother too.”

“That seems like it’s not reasonable at all. You guys should be eating, like, tea and crumpets or something.” He raises a brow. “Darling, is your entire knowledge of London based on television shows set centuries ago?”

“Maybe,” she begins, scrunching up her face in the way that he’s really come to like, that he’s always liked. “I’ve literally only ever lived in Boston. I grew up here, went to college here, work here. The furthest I’ve been away from here is Seattle, and I only went for a two-day work conference. I was in conference rooms the entire time.”

“We’ll just have to remedy that someday. I can suggest a lot of places if you and your little one ever want to holiday somewhere.” “Oh,” she gasps, her entire face lighting up. Ever since her morning sickness has waned, he swears that she’s been glowing in all of the stereotypical ways that sometimes pregnant women glow. It could just be her makeup, but he thinks she glows a bit. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’s simply become delusional. Her breasts are rounding out, though. He has noticed that no matter how much he tries to keep his eyes trained on hers. “I have a bump finally. Like, one that other people besides me and my jeans notice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, hold on.” She gets up from her stool and comes to stand in front of him, pressing her sweater against her stomach to reveal the smallest of round curves. He knows that she’s pregnant, has known for awhile, and even with all of the other signs and symptoms, it’s lovely to get to see this. It’s even lovelier that she feels comfortable sharing it with him. “See? I have a bump. I never thought I’d be one of those women who gets excited about stuff like this, but I’m excited, you know?”

“Not from experience, but yeah, I know.”

“Hush,” she laughs, letting her sweater go loose. “Maybe if you were less healthy and sat on your ass all of the time, you could have a little bump too.” “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The salmon is fantastic if he does say so himself, and even though he knew that he would enjoy it, he’s glad that Emma does, especially since it’s apparently her birthday. He’s never been one to celebrate much, but he at least celebrates a little. She seemed mostly averse to the idea, but he’s hoping that she’s having a good night.

He really does.

She deserves to have good days.

God, he’s a goner. It’s ridiculous.

They spend the evening eating and continuing to work their way through the American version of The Office. He’d never seen it, so Emma insisted. Like, really insisted. She’s seen it before, but she sits there and laughs the entire time like it’s the first time she’s watching it. It took some adjusting to get used to Michael, but now that he has, he really enjoys the show.

And the cheesecake is damn good.

“I mean, obviously Jim isn’t going to stay with Karen,” he tells Emma when they’re each two pieces of cheesecake in and it’s one in the morning.

“You don’t know that.” “It’s a TV show, and he’s been in love with Pam for years. They’re going to give them the happy ending. What’s the point of television if not to give people something to root for? To give them a happy ending because life doesn’t always work that way?”

Emma sighs next to him before she scoots closer to him, their thighs touching, and rests her head on his shoulder. He feels the shiver the runs down his spine, the gooseflesh that’s rising on his skin under his shirt, and it’s the most pleasant feeling he’s had in a long time.

“I like happy endings. I used to…my life has been hard,” she admits quietly, the words almost lost in the material of his shirt, “and I thought maybe that I could never have anything happy, never have anything good in my life without having it taken away from me, but then I got pregnant, you know. And while I don’t believe anyone should have a child in some desperate attempt to be happy, I know that this kid makes me happy. It’s something that’s mine, and even though it’s hard, I love having a family again. I love getting to love someone else again.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, how to respond to her quiet admission of all of the heartbreak she’s been through, so he wraps his arm around her shoulder and tugs her closer, pressing a quick kiss against her temple. “You’ll get your happy ending, Swan.”

-/-

Emma: I can’t make dinner tonight.

Killian: Why not?

Emma: I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour, and since it’s making me miss work, I have to stay late.

Killian: Are you okay?

Emma: It’s just my 16-week check up. Nothing to concern yourself with.

Emma: Don’t eat anything good without me.

Killian: I won’t.

“Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you just go all starry-eyed and then look disappointed?”

“I did not,” he scoffs, stuffing his phone in his desk drawer and looking back to his computer where Liam’s got a smug look on his face. Haughty. He looks haughty. “I was just replying to some texts.”

“With your girlfriend?”

“Bloody hell. You know I don’t have a girlfriend, you wanker.”

“What about that woman who you spend your nights with? She seems like a girlfriend.”

“So how’s work?” he asks, rolling his eyes and changing the subject. “You get to captain any new ships lately?” “You know as well as I do that I sit in an office all day filling out paperwork and when they’re feeling the need to put on a show, I have to get all dressed up and wander out to inspect the ships.” He watches Liam slide on his glasses before licking his thumb to turn the page of whatever it is he’s reading. When did his brother become such a middle-aged man? Even more so than Killian and his blanket preferences. “I also know that you’re changing the subject.”

“How’s Loren?”

“Bloody brilliant as always. She’s at her mum’s tonight, but I’m sure she sends her love. So you seriously don’t want to talk about this woman? Emma, right? I think you let it slip once that that’s her name.”

He sighs, running his hand through his hair before tapping his finger against the stubble on his chin. “Aye, Emma. Her name is Emma.”

“And you say you’re not dating?”

“Correct.” “And yet you’ve had dinner with her every night for what? Two months now? Loren and I are married, and we don’t even eat dinner together that often.”

“We like to eat,” Killian laughs, reclining himself in his office chair since he knows that there’s no getting out of this one. “And it’s nice to have company that’s not Robin or Roland, as great as they are.”

“So what’s the problem then? You obviously like her, and don’t protest. Your cheeks are blushing, and every time you talk about her you scratch behind that damned ear. I’m assuming she likes you or else she wouldn’t spend all of this time together. Are you really just so stubborn so that you won’t date again?”

“I’m sorry I had my bloody heart ripped out of my chest, Li. That’s not something I can just get over like it didn’t happen. I was convinced I’d found the woman who I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and she didn’t feel the same way. I still don’t understand it. It hurt, it still hurts, and if I have scars from that, I can’t even begin to imagine the scars Emma must have from her boyfriend leaving her after she told him she was pregnant.”

He knows he’s messed up, that he’s shared too much, the moment the words leave his lips. He doesn’t even know if it’s true, doesn’t want to invade on the parts of Emma’s life that she doesn’t want to share, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have shared her private life with his brother.

“The woman you like is pregnant?”

“Yep,” he answers nonchalantly, looking away from the screen so that he doesn’t have to see the way Liam’s looking at him with slanted eyes and parted lips. “She’s sixteen weeks pregnant, and I think she’s going to find out if she’s having a girl or boy today, if my googling is any indication.”

“Killian,” Liam sighs, the disappointment in his voice obvious, “I love you and support you, but this isn’t one of your best decisions. Her life is obviously complicated, and you need something simple. Because I know you. You’ll fall hard and fast and get attached to both her and the baby only for the father to come back into the picture and you to get left in the dust.”

Liam’s words ring true, but he’s not about to let his brother terrify him away from one of the best friends he’s had in years. And he’s not about to leave Emma to be alone, pregnancy or no pregnancy. They are friends, and him wanting them to be more than that won’t change anything. If he has to, he’ll stay her friend and nothing more for the rest of his life. He simply likes to spend time with her and for her to be happy.

He likes when she’s happy.

She makes him happy.

“I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to be. We’re simply friends, and her being pregnant doesn’t change who she is as a person.”

“Just think about what I’ve said.”

“I will.”

He won’t.

When he gets home several hours later, he takes the opportunity of having the night to himself to clean his apartment. He doesn’t need to deep clean it, but he definitely needs to straighten up and dust off the bookshelves. He probably needs to wash the sheets in the guest room too. It’s been awhile since they were touched, and everything in that room is beginning to feel a bit stale. But he really won’t go down to the basement to do laundry until Thursday when he’s also got some clothes he needs to wash.

So he focuses on the living room, taking all of the books off the bookshelf and dusting underneath them all the while candles burn to make everything smell less sterile. Or like lemons. Sterile and lemons. It’s like a hospital in here.

He’s sitting on the ground in his living room organizing some of his old binders from when he was getting his doctorate that he saves for God knows what reason when his front door swings open and Emma comes into view, her favorite oversized plaid blanket wrapped around her shoulders and dragging along the ground. He doesn’t look up, just sees her mismatched socks, and continues to restack the shelves.

“Killian?”

The sound of her voice, the way that it’s strained and watery, gets his attention, and he’s immediately up off the floor, not caring how much it hurts his knees after being on the ground for so long. He’s by her in an instant, and even though she’s looking at the ground, he can see the tear tracks on her cheeks and the way her eyes are read and puffy, all of her makeup removed. And he doubts she removed it with the wipes she uses.

“Emma?” he questions, placing his thumb on her chin and guiding her gaze up to his. “Love, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

She nods her head up and down before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his middle. He can feel her bump in between them, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her even closer, letting her bury her head in his shirt as he rubs his hand up and down her back. He’s got no clue what’s happening, not a one, and the only thing that comforts him is knowing that the baby is okay. He just hopes Emma is okay too.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she sniffles, the words murmured into his t-shirt. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to c-cry, but I…I had a bad day.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to ignore it?” “Talk about it, but I want ice cream first.” “I don’t have any ice cream.” “Yes, you do. I put it in your freezer last week.”

He chuckles into her hair before pulling back, swiping his thumbs underneath her eyes to wipe away her tears. They’re still watery and puffy, but he hopes that changes soon. He also cannot believe she snuck ice cream in here.

“Go get your secret ice cream, love, and I will put my listening ears on.”

“You’re such a dork.”

He settles down on his couch while Emma gets her ice cream, coming back with the small container and handing him a spoon. It’s banana split flavored, and while he doesn’t love that, if Emma wants him to eat some ice cream right now, he’ll eat some ice cream. Mostly though he just wants her to know everything is okay.

After she’s eaten half the carton, she finally puts the spoon down and the ice cream on the table. It’s going to melt, but he really shouldn’t be worrying about that right now.

“I’m having a girl,” she finally says, the corners of her lips ticking up into a small smile. “I saw her on the monitor today, and God, Killian, it was like…it was like magic.” “Yeah?” he asks, and he can feel the own smile on his face. That little girl is going to be so loved.

“Yeah.” She pulls her knees up to her stomach and wraps her blanket around her knees again. “I’m really excited, which I’m sure doesn’t make sense with the breakdown I just had.”

“It makes perfect sense, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, wiping at her eyes again. “Okay, okay, so I’m going to tell you some stuff, and I really hope you’re not going to judge me for it.” “Never.” “That’s what you say now.”

“I promise I won’t judge, love. This, like whatever that blasted gym is called down the street, is a judgment free zone.”

She laughs a little bit, and he already feels a bit better that she feels better. He’s still absolutely terrified of what she has to say.

“My parents are dead,” she blurts out, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, the surefire sign that she’s nervous. “My mom, I didn’t…I never even knew her. There are pictures I have, pictures from when I’m a few months old, and that’s really all I have. I actually, she didn’t die, not that I know. She left me and dad, and since I don’t like to think about that, I like to think that she’s just…dead.”

“I do the same thing with my dad,” he admits, and Emma’s head shoots up so fast that she must get whiplash. He’s guessing she wasn’t expecting that. “It hurts so much to feel unwanted that you rationalize and try to convince yourself that something else happened.”

“I’m sorry, Killian.”

“I’m sorry for you too. Bet you didn’t expect our parental history to be so similar.” “Not at all. I just…is your mom dead too? Because I’m sure you saw the news of when my dad was killed, and I – I’d hate for you to have been through what I went through.” “Cancer,” he shrugs, pushing down all of his emotions. He’s come to peace with his parents’ deaths...or abandonment, really. They still sting on occasion, but he’s come to peace with them. “She died of cancer. I think we make quite the pair, Swan. So is that why you’re upset? Your parents?”

“In a way,” she admits, curling into an even smaller ball, “but not really. I mean, I miss my dad every day, but that’s not why I told you not to make fun of me. I told you not to make fun of me because well, I…I got pregnant through a sperm donor.”

Well, there goes every single theory he’s had. Like, every single one. He was not expecting that at all, not in the slightest, and he’s not sure what to say. He’s not even sure if he’s supposed to say anything. It’s really not a big deal, but she obviously feels like it is. She wouldn’t be announcing it in this way if she didn’t think so.

“I just…I have been alone for a lot of my life when I really just wanted a family, but I seem to have crappy luck in that department. And the same with guys. God, one day I’ll have to tell you about all of my shitty boyfriends. But I don’t know, I didn’t want to have to wait for a guy to have my own family. I wanted to take it into my own hands, so I did.” “That’s brave of you, love.” “Then why does it make me feel weak? What am I doing to this little girl? She’s not going to have a dad, grandparents. She’s just going to have me, which is what I wanted, but what if she resents me for that one day? What if I screw her up because she doesn’t have anyone but me because I’m alone? That’s why I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out that I’ve been selfish and have already messed my daughter up.”

“You’re not going to, not beyond what’s normal. You’re already a great mum. I promise. And you’re not alone.” “But I am.”

“I know this might be forward, Emma, but I will always, always be by your side if you let me. You don’t have to be alone.” “You say that now, but what happens when I have the baby, when I’m tired and cranky and have this loud little girl that’s going to take up all of my time. You’re young, you’re kind, and I really don’t understand why you spend so much time with a sad pregnant lady.”

He shrugs. “I like you. I like being around you. And if you let me, I’ll like being around your little girl even when you’re both having meltdowns. You mean a lot to me, love. These past few months just cooking with you and getting to know you and arguing over the merits of British television versus American television – ”

“American is better.” “So you say. But these weeks have been incredible, and I really do consider you one of my closest friends.”

Emma opens her mouth to say something, but then her lips close and she’s leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his middle while she settles herself on his lap. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond, just kisses the crown of her head and holds onto her in the way she’s holding onto him.

-/-

Months begin to pass at a quicker rate than they have for his entire life. He’s not entirely convinced that hasn’t entered some kind of time warp because before he knows it, he’s finished with his semester at school and on Christmas break for two weeks. He spends his time between preparing for next semester, hanging out with Robin and Roland as they take Roland around to city to look at decorations, and working in Emma’s spare bedroom to set up the nursery for her daughter. It doesn’t take him long to finish painting and building the crib, but considering that’s all Emma’s bought besides a few outfits, there’s really nothing else to do.

Naturally this means that he drags her out shopping, finding every Christmas sale that he can as he goes down the list of things every newborn needs. He’s put far more research into this than he should have, and as prepared as Emma is with her job, she’s not so much that way in other parts of her life. She kind of just figures that things will work out, that she’ll make them work out, and with what he’s learned about her, she’s not wrong. It doesn’t make him feel better about everything, though, so he helps her go shopping and after weeks of prodding, he convinces her to allow her coworkers to throw her a shower.

It was like pulling teeth, but even Emma will open up to accepting free stuff.

She has off Christmas Eve, and while she apparently had a few offers from some of her friends from work, she’s spending it with him, going to Robin’s house so they can have dinner with he and Roland. It’s not the most festive of celebrations, but for people who don’t have a large friend group or family, having a seven-year-old running around on a sugar high talking about how Santa coming is about as good as you can get for Christmas Eve.

He’s watching Emma talk to Roland about the latest episode of Paw Patrol, showing as much enthusiasm as she does when they’re in a fierce debate over their own shows, and he can feel his smile stretching across his entire face.

“You’ve got it bad, mate.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, not even bothering to look at Robin while Emma quickly glances at him with a soft smile on her face and an elf headband perched on her hair, “I do.”

She falls asleep at his apartment that night, snuggling into his bed underneath all of his covers, and while he’s sure that Emma wouldn’t mind, would probably insist that it’s fine for him to stay in his own bed, he turns on his fan and kisses her forehead, whispering Happy Christmas before he settles down into his guest room, making sure to text Liam before he falls asleep.

January passes in a literal flurry of snow, the new semester starting with everyone having to brush their coats and hats off when they step inside. It’s beautiful yet annoying, and he won’t mind when it finally starts to get a bit warmer.

He decides that he loves Emma like the pathetic fool that he is one night when she comes knocking at his door around two in the morning and asks if he’ll go to the store and buy her bride’s cake ice cream. It’s not at the first store or any of the damn stores he goes to that night, and as frustrated as he is coming home with banana split ice cream since he knows that’s her favorite, he realizes that there’s not a single other person in the world who he’d spend over an hour in the middle of the night looking for ice cream for.

She really likes ice cream.

When he gets back to his apartment, she’s asleep on the couch with the comforter from his bedroom wrapped around her, and he doesn’t even care.

He doesn’t. He just wants her to be happy. They’ll eat the ice cream tomorrow.

“Killian,” she gasps one day when they’re sitting in her living room, the both of them on their laptops doing work.

“Yeah, love? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she promises, looking over at him with her entire face aglow. “You’ve got to feel what she’s doing in here though.” She moves her laptop and grabs his hand, placing it over her stomach where he can feel a definite pressure from where her baby must be doing high kicks. “Do you feel that?”

“How could I not?” he whispers, his voice leaving him with the disbelief that he can feel Emma’s daughter moving inside of her. Emma’s been feeling her for months, but he never has. “That’s incredible, darling.” “It’s insane. It’s like she’s practicing karate or something in there.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” he laughs, moving his hand around her stomach and feeling the movements follow. “Hello, little love. Are you practicing inside mummy? I’m sure that can’t be too comfortable for her, yeah?” He looks up at Emma with a smile that immediately fades when he sees the water that’s forming around her irises. “Swan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she insists, even as she wipes her tears off of her cheeks. “Nothing is wrong. Hormones, you know?”

He doesn’t believe her, but he lets it slide, knowing not to push her right now. “Yeah, little love, I think you really are driving your mum crazy.”

At the end of February she gives him the invitation to her baby shower at work, insisting that he doesn’t have to come, especially since they’re giving it in the middle of the day. But he’s the one who insisted that she accept their invitation to host one, and he wants to always be there for her. So he cancels his classes for the day, citing a family emergency, and heads to her law office with a bag full of small things that no one bought off of the registry but that he knows that she needs.

Seriously, he knows far too much about pregnancy and the first year of a baby’s life.

“How can I help you, hon?” a receptionist named Anna asks him when he walks in.

“I’m just dropping by for Emma’s baby shower.”

Anna’s face lights up, and she immediately gets out of her chair. And comes to stand next to him. “Oh, you must be the daddy. It’s so nice to meet you. We love our Emma, but she is so reserved sometimes. I’m surprised she’s even letting us do this.” “Ah, yeah,” he awkwardly mumbles, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while he’s led to the breakroom. “I’m not – ”

“Killian?” Emma questions, interrupting him from correcting Anna. “What are you doing here?” “You didn’t think I was going to miss this, did you?” He nods to Anna before walking over to Emma and pressing a kiss against her cheek while her perfume invades his senses. She looks absolutely beautiful today, glowing in all of the clichéd ways. “I cancelled my classes for the day. Figured I’d mooch off some of the cake and help you take your gifts home.”

He sees the blush rise on her cheeks, and she just shakes her head back and forth, looking down at her shoes…which are slippers. She must have not bothered changing back into her heels. He doesn’t blame her. Not that he has worn heels. He just can’t see how they could possibly be comfortable.

“You’re ridiculous, but thank you. Ruby’s grandmother made the cake, so you’re in for a treat.”

Emma’s definitely the quietest of all of the people in the breakroom, but it’s nice to see her laughing and spending time with other people besides him and his friends. She may claim to not be the most social of people, but he can tell how comfortable she is laughing and joking around with her coworkers, opening up all kinds of outfits that make jokes about Emma being a lawyer as well as several things that he knows he’ll be unpacking in the nursery.

Emma wasn’t joking when she said he was in for a treat because as Emma wraps her arm around his waist while he carries her last round of presents, he realizes that this has been a surprisingly fun day.

Well, surprising isn’t the right word. He loves any time they get together.

As spring begins, all of the snow fading away and green grass and bright flowers blooming again, he thinks that time really is zooming forward at an alarming rate. At least for him. For Emma, she’s miserable in her last month of pregnancy. He can tell from the look on her face every day when she gets home from work and the way she doesn’t want to do anything, usually snapping at him when he suggests something. He’s completely and totally aware of how odd their friendship is, how he’s basically in a committed relationship without being in a relationship at all, and he really doesn’t care.

Liam thinks he’s crazy, Robin might too, and while he might be, again, he absolutely doesn’t care.

Two weeks before her due date he starts sleeping at Emma’s apartment. She can only get comfortable when he’s wrapping his body around hers, supporting her stomach with his arms while she tucks her freezing feet in between his calves. He’s not even really sure how they figured this out. Like most things with his relationship with Emma, it all just happened naturally.

Emma losing her key and having to vomit in his bathroom may very well be the best thing that ever happened to him.

At three in the morning on April sixth, Emma wakes him up and, through the grit of her teeth, tells him to grab the damn hospital bag because she’s having the baby. He’s never been more terrified of anything than he is hearing those words, and he’s not even the one giving birth. There’s more screaming, crying, cursing, and crushed hands than he expected, but fifteen hours after checking into the hospital, Emma has the tiniest, most precious baby girl in her arms.

Sawyer Reese Swan.

“Hi, my name is Sawyer, and my mummy is a lawyer.” “I am going to hurt Killian,” Emma whispers to Sawyer, running her finger over her face like she’s been doing for the past two hours. “He’s making fun of the name of my sweet baby, and if I wasn’t extremely hormonal and hurting like hell, he would get a nice slap across his face. Yeah, he would, baby.”

He leans down and presses his lips to the crown of Emma’s head, wiping her hair back. “You’re teaching your daughter to be violent from the very beginning.” “Yes, yes I am.” Her eyes move away from Sawyer to look up at him, the green bright even though they’re still red rimmed. “Thank you for being here today, and all of the time. You don’t…you don’t have to be here at all. You don’t have to be so good to me, to us, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.” “Hey,” he soothes, settling down onto her mattress and placing his hand over her forearm while the other tugs at Sawyer’s hat, “there is never any need to repay me. Since the day you knocked on my door and threw up in my toilet, I have been absolutely thrilled to be your friend and to be by your side. I wouldn’t change any of this.” “Yeah?” “Absolutely.” He wants to tell her he loves her, but he can’t. Not like this. He’s wanted to for months. He is absolutely in love with her, but now is not the time. He’s not sure there will ever be the time, but now is definitely not it. But he’s absolutely besotted with she and Sawyer. “You are my absolute best friend. I would say that you’re my favorite person, but that’s this little girl.” He looks down at Sawyer’s small face, the way her lips twitch, before looking up at Emma, who has a tear falling from her eye that he has to wipe away. “You’re my best friend too. And she is pretty great, isn’t she?” “She’s perfect.”

-/-

“Wow, your daughter looks just like her daddy,” the nurse tells Emma when she’s coming in to check how Emma’s healing, and the more he looks at Sawyer, the more he agrees, which is impossible. He’s very much in love with Emma and would love to be a father figure for Sawyer if that’s what Emma allows him to be, but it’s physically impossible for him to be Sawyer’s dad. Emma went to a sperm bank, was artificially inseminated, and besides that, they’ve never even slept together. There’s no physical way for him to be her dad. Emma probably just has a type, dark hair and blue eyes, and that’s all.

But it nags at him for the next few hours as Emma sleeps and he cuddles with Sawyer, walking her back and forth in the room, admiring the petite features and relaxed face that she’s miraculously keeping, the crying at a minimum so far except when she struggled latching the first few times. It couldn’t…there’s no way. He’d donated sperm a few years ago, just the one time, and it had been a desperate attempt to pay for his rent when he was in between jobs right after getting his Masters. It’s not something he was proud of, not wanting to have a child out in the world he didn’t know about, not wanting to be like his father in any way, but Sawyer…she looks like him. He can see a bit of Emma, but he mostly sees himself.

Which is all crazy. Newborns all look the same.

Is he crazy? Is this just some kind of desperate attempt to be the father of his best friend’s baby? Because that sounds like something a lunatic would do.

He is not a lunatic.

Maybe he is a lunatic.

“Hey, little love,” he coos when Sawyer stirs in his arms, her small blue eyes opening up to him, “are you sleeping well? Like mummy? Yeah? You’re already doing so well. An overachiever, I tell you.” Her small arms reach up to him as much as she can, which isn’t saying much, and he gives her his finger, letting her tiny fingers grasp around his larger one.

“I want a picture of you two.”

Emma’s voice shocks him, making him turn to look at her in the bed. She looks exhausted, beautiful but exhausted. She did a lot today…or yesterday. It’s probably five the next morning now, but he’s honestly not sure. He hasn’t checked his phone or watch in awhile.

“Why, love?”

“Because moments like this need to be documented. Come here.”

He steps closer to her, sitting down on the side of her bed while she gets her phone of off the side table and begins taking pictures, just a few before she asks for him to hand Sawyer back to her.

“Emma, love,” he begins, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “can I ask you something?”

“As long as I don’t have to get up out of this bed, you can ask me anything you want.”

“Where did you go…to have her?”

“Huh?” “What sperm bank did you go to?”

“Weird question but okay,” she hums, looking down at her daughter while she talks. “Um, I went to the New England Center.”

Is this…there’s no way. He’s crazy. He has to be crazy. Babies all look the same. How could anyone even tell who Sawyer looks like? He’s just tired and overwhelmed. That’s all. There’s no way that she would have chosen him. There was an entire book full of donors when he was there.

“Do you remember anything about your donor?”

“Yeah,” she cautiously sighs, eyeing him while helping Sawyer latch on to her breast, this time going easier than the first few times, “of course I do. I spent forever picking one out.”

“Describe him to me.”

“Killian, what’s this about?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” “Then tell me.”

“Um, okay,” she sighs, running her finger over Sawyer’s dark shock of hair peeking out beneath her hat, “he had black hair, blue eyes, and I think he was 6’1. I’m not sure though. The details are a little fuzzy right now. He went to college at Oxford, which I thought was super cool. He never had braces, his family didn’t have any hereditary diseases. His mom did have cancer, but it was because she was a smoker, not something he could have passed down. It didn’t say where he grew up or anything, but I figured that didn’t matter. I’m sure there was other stuff, but I felt like those were the highlights. Good genes, smart, healthy.”

His heart is practically beating out of his chest, threatening to break the skin, and he has to take several deep, calming breaths in an attempt to get himself back to normal. He’s not sure he’s ever going to feel normal ever again, especially as his stomach continues to drop only to rise again.

“Did you know his age?”

“I think he was twenty-five-ish when he donated.”

Holy shit.

He thinks that he’s Sawyer’s father.

#cs fic #cs ff #direct deposit #cs march madness #captain swan

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