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lastbluetardis · 3 years ago

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Sacred New Beginnings (1/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU, @doctorroseprompts

This Chapter: Teen, ~5500 words

Note: Er... surprise? This idea has been in my head for months but my brain took it and ran with it this weekend. I plotted the whole thing and am gonna try to update every weekend. I don’t anticipate this being more than like... 7-10 chapter? I’d love to keep it under 5 chapters but that might be trimming things down too much for my liking. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this little story!

AO3

Flashing lights and shrieks of his name greet James the moment the back door to his armored car is opened. His head of security ducks out first and James can only see a mass of feet and legs but it’s more than enough to let him know it’s a heavier than usual crowd. Not surprising, considering the news of his latest break-up just dropped while he’d been flying back from a visit to America.

He slides out of the car, helped by hands that pull him as much as guide him through the throng. He ignores the shouts of his name—telling him to look left or right or up or down or every combination therein—and the barrage of questions and jokes that aren’t funny.

Was it you or him that ended it?

Three weeks, is that a new personal record?

Another notch in the bedpost, eh James?

Got another beau lined up yet?

If you’re looking for candidates, what do we have to do to get our names in the running?

“Ignore them,” he mutters to himself, too quietly for anyone except his security team to hear.

In answer, one of them gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as they reach his front door. Someone has already unlocked it for him and the darkness within is a blessing he’s all too willing to be shoved into. The cacophony muffles once the door shuts, and finally he’s alone, a rarity for him. If it’s not his security, it’s personal assistants and writers and producers and photographers and the paparazzi.

Or his lover of the month, as the papers have taken to calling his partners.

But nope, his home is empty and quiet and bloody freezing. A shiver ripples up his spine as he treads to the thermostat controller. Summer finally released its hold on London, and the muggy heat has been replaced with a damp chill that burrows down into his bones.

Several button-presses later, James hears the familiar clank of the radiator and he can smell the heating kick on. It’ll take a while for his house to warm up, so James keeps his peacoat on for the time being as he putters around his home, checking the fridge and the cabinets. As always, they’re well-stocked. He hasn’t had to do anything as mundane as grocery shopping in the five years since his YouTube channel full of acoustic covers of popular songs went viral and landed him a lucrative deal with a prestigious record label. Only in his wildest dreams had he expected to find fame and fortune in the hobby he loved so much—for it to have actually happened still took him by surprise, as though any minute he’d be told “it was fun while it lasted, but it’s time for you to leave wonderland now.”

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he goes to the antique dining table that can easily seat ten people, which is great for holidays or in-home meetings, but just plain depressing every other day of the year. A stack of mail has piled up, and he spends the next five minutes attempting to sort it before giving up and telling himself he’ll look at it in the morning, once he’s not quite as groggy—transatlantic flights always take it out of him.

Instead, he rootles around his fridge until he comes up with the necessary items to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. With the prospect of food in front of him, James realizes he is starving. He shoves a whole slice of ham in his mouth while he assembles his pitiful meal, heaping on lettuce and sliced tomatoes as though that’s enough to negate the pile processed protein and greasy chips he layers in for crunch.

It’s tastier than any sandwich as a right to be, and he nearly makes himself a second one before catches sight of his phone screen and the slew of incoming notifications. His work is never finished, is it?

There are several texts from his publicist, Donna, welcoming him home and congratulating him on not making an arse of himself just by trying to walk up the front drive of his home. (To be fair, he felt entitled to channel his inner crotchety old man and tell reporters to get off his damn lawn if they encroached on his personal property.)

“Though some photos are surfacing of your trip to New York… Anything you need me to get ahead of?”

He rubs his fingers into his eyes, knowing she’s probably referring to his last night out in the city, where he went bar hopping until the wee hours of the morning to try to forget the text his subsequently-ex-boyfriend had sent him.

Thanks for everything, but I need to focus on my career. Cheers mate.

The career that James had kickstarted for him by introducing his rising actor boyfriend to several of his friends in the film industry, because James had been so damn desperate for affection that he’d once again let the wool get pulled in front of his eyes.

And so James had reached out to mates who lived in New York and they’d all gone out and acted half their age and had a wonderful time once James forgot about why he’d gone out in the first place.

But none of that now. Nope. No sir.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replies. “Let me know if you catch wind of anything.”

Despite the fact that he only just got home and he’s jetlagged and still feeling the effects of his night out in New York, James can’t stay in his house right now. It’s so quiet that his brain is creating its own white noise. He can’t stand being in his head on a good day, and today is not a good day.

He grabs his keys and wallet and makes for the back of the house. His property is landlocked with the back gardens of other houses; the paps have learned the hard way that James is dead serious about protecting his neighbors’ privacy and will not hesitate to phone the police to arrest and sue anyone caught trespassing on private property to snag a photo of him. James hosts dinner for his neighbors several times a year and buys them gifts any chance he can to show his appreciation for their patience and tolerance.

In the dead of night, he slips out into his back garden, the crisp October air burning his lungs in the best way as he ducks his way through the neighborhood, his feet taking him far away from the crowd of reporters that are still stationed in front of his own home. Hopefully they’ll all have dispersed by the time he gets back. Perhaps he should have turned on music or a movie or something, made them think he was settled in for a lazy night in.

He wanders aimlessly for a while, enjoying this taste of freedom and trying to remember the days when he could leave out the front door of his flat without any fanfare.

It’s dark, and thick clouds obscure whichever moon phase they’re in, but the street lamps glow yellow on the damp pavement, lighting his way forward. A crisp autumn breeze ruffles his hair and the leaves, sending them tumbling around him and skittering across the residential street that’s so much quieter than the bustle of New York. It’s good to be home, though.

He arrives at a bus stop and catches one headed into the city proper. It’s no secret that James lives in London, and therefore the general population has gotten used to glimpsing him on the tube or walking on the street or frequenting pubs. He knows people snap quick photos of him, and he’s always happy to stop and pose for a selfie with respectful fans, but mostly he’s left alone when he’s out by himself like this.

Nevertheless, he hears the excited undertones of people trying to inconspicuously point him out to their oblivious friends. He keeps his head down, mindlessly opening and closing apps on his phone for something to do as he pretends he doesn’t notice them. He won’t be on the bus much longer anyway.

Several people get off the bus with him, including a group of teenage girls who are whispering heatedly among themselves. It’s almost funny, watching them debate amongst themselves before one of them approaches him.

She’s red-faced but determined as she blurts, “Can we get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he says good-naturedly, inclining his head for them to come closer. “Need me to take it?” He holds out a lanky arm and flops it around a bit. “Got a longer reach than any of you.”

He’s certain one of the girls is about to start crying with joy as they all nestle into his side and hand him a new-model iPhone. Damn, it’s fancier than his own. When he was their age, he had an old flip phone that lost reception if he breathed on it wrong. It was a tank though—he’d dropped that thing hundreds of times, and nary a scratch.

“Do me a favor,” he says, handing the phone back to its owner, “and don’t ping our location if you post to social media, yeah? I appreciate it.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” one of the girls squeaks.

His face splits into a grin and he tucks his hands into his pockets. “Is that so?”

The girls spend the next five minutes chatting with him about music and how they’ve been following him ever since his YouTube days. He listens and chimes in every now and then when they ask him a direct question, but he prefers being passive in exchanges like this, content to hear peoples’ stories. It makes him feel normal, if only for a little while.

Finally, they take their leave, and James turns in the opposite direction even though the destination he had in mind is down the street the girls had just taken. But he’s been burned far too many times by encounters with seemingly innocent fans, only for them to begin following him around and showing up outside his house to talk to him again. He makes a point of not drawing out public encounters with his fans.

He wanders down a street he’s vaguely familiar with, figuring he can backtrack in a couple blocks. The night is too beautiful for him to be upset about needing to take a detour.

Everything looks different in the dark, the glow of neon signs bathing everything in hues of greens and blues and pinks and yellows. Shops and restaurants are mostly shut up for the night, their windows dark or blinds drawn. Dingey motels with pay-by-the-hour rates are in full swing, as are the pubs that have a revolving door of people in varying states of intoxication.

Deep bass that he can feel all the way in his chest catches his attention, and he gets turned around a few times, but he eventually finds the establishment: Bad Wolf Brews. At first, he doesn’t think it’s open, and that he must be mistaken about where the music is coming from, but the heavy front oak door opens, and he realizes the glass on the door is tempered so that the interior lights don’t shine through. The music is clear and heavy and vibrating in his bones. He doesn’t think twice before catching the door before it closes and slipping inside.

The air is humid and smells of sweat and stale beer. Bodies are writhing and gyrating to the rhythm blasting through invisible speakers. The acoustics are phenomenal; none of the layers are lost and the sound quality is nearly as good as if he were listening to the record at home on his own stereo system.

The lights are low, and he’s sure he trips into a few people in the minute it takes for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, but finally, he’s at the bar. There are three open stools, and he claims one between a blonde woman and a red-haired man as he wonders what the hell this dive bar serves. He can see beer taps, but he’s more of a cocktail guy. He must look as lost as he feels, because the bartender hands him a menu that looks like it was hand-written and then photo-copied. It jives with the overall vibe of the pub.

The bartender checks in with him a minute later. James opens a tab and orders a sidecar sans sugar, and is pleasantly surprised by the quality. Not to make assumptions, but he’d figured an establishment such as this would have cheap liquor. If the alcohol in his drink is cheap, it’s well masked.

When he’s drained the last drop and about to signal for another, a hand rests on his shoulder. “Can I buy your next round?”

James looks up into the face of a stranger. It’s a woman with striking green eyes and a disheveled pixie cut. Judging by her crimson cheeks and glazed eyes, she’s three sheets to the wind. There’s buzzed, then there’s drunk, and then there’s plastered. He prefers not to let himself get to that last category, and by extension, he doesn’t really like to associate much with people who won’t remember the night come morning.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” he says with his most charming grin. “G’night.”

He has no idea if the woman knows who he is, but the way she shrugs and saunters to the gentleman sitting beside James, he doubts it.

He gets clumsily propositioned a few more times and always politely declines with a smile. So far, nobody here seems to recognize him and he is going to ride out this anonymity for as long as it’ll last. It has been too long since he’s been able to sit in a pub and drink quietly. Well, quietly, insofar as crazed fans or paparazzi aren’t harassing him—the music is loud enough that he’s sure to have ringing in his ears for a few hours once he gets home.

But he’s not really in any rush to get home, and so he orders his fourth cocktail before making his way to the loo. Alcohol goes right through him, and it’s nearly gotten him in trouble on tour a time or two.

There’s no line, but the loo is crowded, and he tries to ignore the double-takes as he stands in front of a urinal to take care of business. If he wakes up tomorrow morning to find that someone snapped a photo of him having a piss, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Bladder tended to, James keeps his head ducked and shoulders his way back into the bar. His stool is unoccupied, and when he steps forward, he realizes why. A purse sits on it, seemingly reserving the seat but he can’t figure out for whom. He’s about to take the cocktail the bartender hands him and stand against the shadowed wall when someone picks up the purse.

It’s his blonde-haired stool mate. She flashes him a broad grin that lights up her entire face and squeezes something deep in his stomach.

“Saved your seat for ya,” she says with the ease and confidence of someone who’s known him his whole life.

“Thanks,” he manages through a suddenly dry mouth.

Feeling like an idiot for standing and gaping, he slips into his seat and downs half his new sidecar in one go. It’s as though the ice has been broken now, and she turns to him, her elbow on the counter and her cheek propped on her fist.

“Pretty sure you could outdrink a fish, mate,” she drawls, smiling again in that easy way that does too many strange things to his insides. “You’ve been knockin’ ‘em back for over an hour now.”

Has it really been that long? James checks his watch, and yup, it’s half past ten. The paps should be gone from his house by now, but he feels no draw to leave this place. The alcohol has left him pleasantly tipsy and warm, but he’s more drunk on the fantasy that he’s just a normal bloke having a nice night out in a newly-discovered dive bar.

“Fish don’t really drink though, do they? They absorb water through their gills via osmosis,” he replies, and he wants to bite his tongue off because what the fuck was that??

This woman, whatever her name is, doesn’t seem to mind his answer though, because her face scrunches in a giggle. His body is hot and throbbing with more than drink now, and he wants to hear that sound again but his brain has stopped working.

“Is that so different from you absorbin’ alcohol through your bloodstream?” she muses, finishing off whatever is in her short tumbler.

“Can I buy your next round?” he blurts rather than responding to her question, which he’s almost certain was rhetorical.

Her smile melts into something softer, something private and a little shy. “If you’d like.”

“I do.” He flags down the bartender and glances at his new companion expectantly.

“Gin and tonic,” she says. She thanks the bartender, then James when she takes her first sip. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

“James,” he says, feeling stupid because his face is plastered all over London, which likes to boast that it’s the home of international celeb James Noble. But wouldn’t he seem more of an arse if he just assumed this gorgeous woman knew who he was?

Nevertheless, his stomach sinks a bit when she snorts into her drink and says, “I thought it was you.”

“Yup, it’s me,” he forces, his voice flat. He hides his frown with his glass, knocking back the rest of his sidecar like it’s a shot. The room sways slightly with the violent motion of his head, and maybe he’s slightly drunker than he’d thought.

If Rose catches on to his sudden sour mood, she doesn’t mention it. “What brings you here to Bad Wolf?”

He shrugs and blows out a noisy breath. “I dunno. Went for a walk, ended up here.”

“Those are the best sort of adventures.” She hums wistfully. “Sometimes you find what you didn’t know you needed when you let yourself get lost.”

That observation is far too astute for his current state of mind, so instead he says, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her eyes flicker across his face for a brief moment before she says, “Okay.”

He hops down from his stool, but Rose hesitates, clutching her purse and coat awkwardly. The bartender helpfully tells her to keep them on her stool, and he’ll keep an eye on it. Rose flashes him a grin that James would rather she flash at him, but he realizes that is utterly absurd, so he simply rests his coat on top of her things to better hide them from view. He then holds out his hand for her. Her palm is soft and warm against his as he leads her to the crowded dance floor.

They find space towards the back of the pub, hidden in the shadows of a hallway that states it’s closed off to patrons. And of course, of fucking course, right when he rests his hands on her hips to find the rhythm of the song, a new one comes on, and his own voice belts from the speakers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. He loves his music—he made it, after all—but he can’t help but feel pretentious and more than a little silly to dance to it like this.

Rose, however, grins and says, “Oh, come on, this is one of my favorites.”

She catches his hands where he’d loosened them at her waist and forces him to grab hold of her. She’s wearing high-waisted trousers and a top that leaves a sliver of her belly exposed. His thumb grazes the skin of her bare side, and it’s enough to send tingles through his body. Rose, meanwhile, slings her arms around his shoulders and begins to rock her hips from side to side in sync with the bass, embellishing the motions until she looks absolutely ridiculous but so, so beautiful.

He can’t help but grin and laugh, and he mirrors her movements until they’re both dancing like idiots to his music.

“This is how my baby brother dances,” she explains, bouncing up and down while twisting her hips. “We have regular dance parties together.”

“How old’s your brother?” he asks.

“Just turned four.”

He blinks, and blood rushes from his face. “And… and how old are you?”

“A perfectly legal twenty-four,” she drawls, reaching up to flick his nose. “You can start breathing again.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s quite the age gap.”

“My mum got remarried when I was nineteen,” Rose says with a shrug. “She and my stepdad didn’t waste much time.”

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath.

“It does feel a bit like they’ve started over,” Rose confesses with a too-stiff shrug. “New family, new life, and I’m the interloper.

There is no way this vivacious woman in front of him could ever be considered an interloper, but before he can tell her that, she continues, “Mum does her best to assure me otherwise, but still. It’s hard to watch all the things Mum and Dad are able to do for Tony—that’s my brother, Tony—when Mum struggled so much as a single mum with me.”

“Your dad’s not in the picture?”

A sad smile pinches her face, and he regrets asking.

“No, I never knew him. He died when I was a baby.”

“I… I’m so sorry.” Well, he’s totally buggered this all up, hasn’t he? He wracks his brain on how to salvage the easy banter they’d had at the bar, but draws a blank.

Rose seems to realize they’ve lost the mood, but she breaks out into a lazy grin and says, “Since you seemed so opposed to dancing to your own music, it’ll please you to know a new song’s on. C’mon, show me your moves.”

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he follows her lead, watching her dance her heart out until her cheeks are pink and her hair is damp with sweat. He’s sure he doesn’t look much better, since he can feel the perspiration beading down his back and beneath his arms, but he can’t bring himself to care. Tonight has been the most fun he’s had in a very long time. Clubbing in New York had been a lark, but he’s been swarmed by his American fans half the night, and had been busy drowning his latest heartbreak to fully enjoy it. But here, now, with Rose, it’s like he’s any other bloke in a pub, chatting up a pretty girl he wants to get to know.

Their bodies are wrapped around each other with the ease and grace of partners who have known each other for years, and he forgets that he has known Rose for all of a few hours. He never wants this night to end. He wants to cling to this fairytale and pretend that the clock isn’t about to strike the proverbial midnight.

But time marches on as always. The clock really does strike midnight, and the bartender begins to clear people out of his establishment. James is as exhausted as he is exhilarated, no longer drunk on booze but rather the company of Rose and the magic they made together by simply dancing the night away.

They head back to the bar to retrieve their coats and her purse, and to close out their tabs. James slides his credit card to the bartender and asks him to charge everyone’s tab to his card. If the bartender is surprised, he hides it well. A few minutes later, James is signing off on the receipt of purchase of several thousand pounds-worth of alcohol. His personal assistant is sure to be confused as hell when she wakes up to see the charge. He fires off a quick warning text to her so she doesn’t open up a fraudulent charge claim.

James salutes the bartender, knowing he’ll come back to this pub as often as he can until he’s found out and this place once again becomes somewhere that’s overrun with his fans.

The night is refreshingly cold when he and Rose emerge into it, a nice change after the stifling, sweaty heat of the bar. However, she hunches her shoulders against the chill, prompting him to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her into his side, all too eager to lend her some of his body heat.

“Can I walk you somewhere?” he asks, glancing around the street that is now full of the drunken patrons who’d been in the pub with them. They all disperse in different directions, stumbling home or to a different bar that is still open. “Or wait with you ‘til you catch a cab?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, pulling up her phone to order a ride. She taps on the screen for a few quiet moments then says, “Done. Should be here in a few minutes.”

They descend into a slightly awkward silence that James wants to break, but he can’t think of anything clever to say. So he says nothing, and finally headlights wash over them, momentarily blinding them before a taxi pulls up.

“D’you wanna share?” she asks, opening the door to the back seat.

Is she as reluctant to leave him as he is to leave her? Or is she being polite and eco-friendly by ride sharing? Nevertheless, he nods and slides into the back seat beside her.

There is something incredibly intimate about sitting with Rose in the dark interior of the taxi, and he feels like he’s fifteen and wondering how to hold his date’s hand after a cheap night out at the cinemas. He fists his hands together, knotting his fingers until his knuckles pop.

The driver goes to the address Rose provides first, and all too soon they’ve arrived.

“I’ll cover the fare,” he says when she makes to hand over some bank notes to the diver. “It’d be my pleasure.”

She hesitates, but nods, then opens the door to climb out of the car. His pulse quickens as he watches her walk away with nothing but a, “Goodnight.”

“Can you wait just a minute?” he asks the driver.

“Meter’s still runnin’,” he grunts.

“That’s fine.”

James scrambles out of the taxi. “Hey, Rose?”

She turns back to face him, frowning.

“I… er… I had a great time tonight,” he says lamely, but her frown relaxes into a smile. “It was fun. With you. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too,” she answers.

He licks his lips; his mouth is bone dry and his pulse pounds in his ears, making his vision throb with each frenzied beat.

“Do you… do you maybe wanna do it again some time? Hang out together? I… I’d really like to see you again,” he says, cursing his clumsy, fumbling words.

She scrutinizes him for a long moment, her expression indecipherable. His stomach sinks. Maybe this was a one-off, a story for her to tell her mates.

You’ll never guess who I met at the pub last night. James Noble! He paid for all my drinks and we danced like idiots.

He stews in his misery of doubt, and just when he’s about to tell her to forget about it, she slowly nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

“Really?” he asks, a hopeful edge creeping into his voice.

She laughs. “Really.”

“Brilliant!” James fumbles in his pocket for his phone, and he thrusts it at her. “Give me your number? I’ll text you. Or call.”

He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, waiting for her to finish up with his phone. He has a sudden, potent bolt of panic that she’s snooping through his private messages or photographs for something to use against him to make a quick profit, but before that panic can take root, she hands his mobile back to him. It’s open to a new texting conversation.

From: 🌹 Bad Wolf Girl 🌹

Now I’ve got your number too 😉

He beams at the name she’s given to herself in his contacts, then he pockets his phone.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“You better,” she replies with that knee-weakening smile he’s grown to love over the course of the night. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

He stands there like a moron until she’s safely inside, then he turns back to the taxi and climbs in. The deserted streets streak by as the driver takes him to his neighborhood. He never gives his address though; he always chooses a destination a few streets away, just in case.

James generously tips the driver and bids him goodnight before slipping into the night to his home. He was right: the paparazzi are gone. There is no fanfare as he slips his key into the lock and lets himself into his house. It’s warm and cozy, but still too quiet for his liking.

Between the plane ride and his night out, he feels greasy and disgusting, and indulges in a hot shower before bed. He washes Rose’s scent off of his body, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that’s as sweet as it is musky.

He’s groggy by the time he crawls into his giant, king-sized bed and burrows deep into his mounds of pillows and duvets. One of his ex-girlfriends once teased that he turns into the marshmallow man when he sleeps.

His sleep is deep and dreamless, and when he awakes with the sun the following morning, he feels more refreshed and invigorated than he ever remembers being. He’s got a full day of meetings with his songwriting team to brainstorm his next album, and he is ready.

But first, he checks his phone. There’s nothing from Rose, which makes him a little sad, but also nothing from his publicist, which is always a good sign. If ever she messages or calls him first thing in the morning, it always means there’s some sort of dumpster fire to put out. Usually a dumpster fire full of compromising photos of him.

He makes a point of not Googling himself, but he does occasionally check his social media pages for new posts about him, wanting to know when, where, and how his fans came across him in the wild. He easily finds the photo that he took with the group of teenage girls, and makes a point to like the original post and type a quick, “Nice to meet you all. Thanks for chatting with me last night - J” in the comments section. He snorts to himself as his comment blows up within seconds.

But other than some grainy photos of him riding the bus, he can’t find any other photos of himself. Nothing of him wandering the streets or drinking in the pub or even having a wee in the mens’ room. And best of all, there’s nothing of him and Rose. No photos of them dancing together or sharing a cab. If Rose has a social media account, it didn’t post any sneaky photos or bragging stories about dancing all night with James Noble.

He can’t quite believe it; he managed to have a fun night out drinking without it all being thrown back in his face the next morning. Within seconds, he’s grinning to himself and pulling up Rose’s contact information. It’s still in his phone, further proof that his night with her wasn’t some sort of jetlagged fever dream. She was real.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well. Thanks for last night.”

She responds almost instantly. Good morning to you too. I should be thanking you for paying my drink tab and taxi fare 😉 And for being an excellent dance partner.

“The pleasure was all mine, on all counts.” He sends that message, then types out a new one, “I’m gonna be in meetings all day (yes, I know it’s Sunday), so please don’t be discouraged if I don’t reply. But I’d really like to see you again. Want to do dinner or drinks or coffee or something?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, needing to make himself presentable for when his driver picks him up in an hour. Yet he can’t help but check his phone every three seconds, until finally there’s a message from Rose.

Yeah, I’d like that. I work ‘til five most nights, but I’m free after that. Or we can wait ‘til the weekend.

With spirits lighter than they’ve been in months, James steps out of his house with a broad, stupid grin that the ever-present crowd of paparazzi are all too happy to photograph.

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctorroseprompts #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #yet another iteration of james and rose lmao #romance #meet cute #light angst #musician au #my fic #sacred new beginnings

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9layerdevilfoodcake · 4 years ago

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Some Of A Kind

Chapter 1: Virgin in the Chapel

(Michael Langdon x reader)

Summary: When you accompany your friend to a black mass at the Church of Satan. You pick the wrong time and place to let him in on the fact that you’re a virgin, garnering the attention of the ‘chosen one’ himself.

Warnings: murder, mentions of drug use, poorly represented Satanism

Word count: 3,666 (that’s right)

It was a typical Wednesday night when you got a text from your friend Tyler.

‘So what do you say? Is tonight the night?’

He had been bugging you for weeks to come see a sacrifice at the satanic church. And since the first time he asked, the conversation always went the same way.

“I’m telling you, just one slice and then you can have whatever you want”

“You mean I can have powers beyond compare?”

“Yes” he answered back, in a hopeful tone. Clearly he hadn’t picked up on the sarcasm in your voice.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the excitement in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you do whatever you want over there with your edgelords but I’m perfectly happy in my boring powerless existence”

“First of all we aren’t edgelords, we're satanists. We just see the world for what it is. A dreadful place full of selfish people.”

“Well I can’t say I argue with that”

“Exactly, so give in to being selfish, and start doing what you want. You work so hard, and for what a one bedroom apartment you can barely afford and bags under your eyes that are only getting bigger by the day?”

“Hey” you interrupt, slightly offended. Which only earns a laugh on his end.

“I’m just saying, you put in so much effort for no pay off, when you could do this one thing and have everything you deserve”

“What a cable package and a ‘skip the line’ pass at Disneyland?”

“I also get unlimited snacks!”

“Oh sorry how could I forget, well if one soul is all it takes to get a free waffle cone then what are we still doing here?!” You ask back, your tone full of mockery.

“Have you ever wondered why I can snort as much coke as I want and have never OD’d? Or why every girl I bring home is a certified 10?”

Actually you had, the two of you had met the year prior in a religious studies class when you were partnered to write a paper on whether morality was dependent on a god. He could barely get through a sentence without tripping over his words or looking away in embarrassment. It was sweet really, and by the end of the class you two had basically become best friends.

But about 2 months ago things started to change. There was almost always a girl leaving his house when you would come over.

You swore at least two of them you recognized from Victoria Secret runways.

One night you even saw a man leaving whose resemblance to Ryan Reynolds was suspiciously uncanny.

He got a new car without any explanation as to where he got the money, and he had so much coke in his living room you assumed he started dealing, before he told you it was just his stash for the weekend.

At first he was vague about everything, but eventually he told you the truth, or at least what you assumed was a version of it.

For his final project he wrote a research paper on the church of Satan.

You went with him to a couple of services when he was writing it, him being too nervous to go alone.

You both thought they seemed a little kooky, but relatively harmless.

Yet what you didn’t know was that he kept going back after the class ended and had gotten himself sworn in, and eventually given the honor of participating in a black mass.

Where he had sacrificed a school teacher in order to get these new “gifts”.

Now you weren’t naive enough to think he actually killed someone!

You were sure his new lifestyle was a part of some religious Ponzi scheme, and one day the debt collector would come calling.

You’ve watched enough documentaries to know better than to get involved with this.

But he is still your friend so you take it upon yourself to be supportive and let him have his moment, while simultaneously letting him know you’ll be here for him if the day comes that he gets excommunicated.

“I love you and I am so happy for all you’ve gotten, especially when you share it with me, but I’m good, really. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind”

That dropped the subject for a while.

That is until a few days ago when you lost your job.

Well actually when your job was stolen from underneath you by your boss's son.

All it took was one night of bitching to your best friend for the talks of satanism to start up again.

So here you were bored on a Wednesday night actually considering his offer to watch a black mass.

‘Well…’

He texted back after a few minutes of no response on your part

‘Fine’

It’s not like he’s ever going to let up, you might as well go see what all the hubbub was about.

After he picked you up, you made your way to the church.

More precisely the back alley with a hidden door. Not at all unsettling.

And the rain pelting down on the robe he gave you just adds a nice ominese touch to what you're sure is going to be a long night.

Now inside you sit in a pew in the back. While the choir above you sings as the others file in.

They actually sound pretty good if you’re being honest. Maybe on your way out you’ll pick up the album you saw for sale in the lobby (for $6.66 no less).

You haven’t been sitting more than 10 minutes before the mass begins.

And in that time Tyler roughly explained what you were about to see.

You weren’t paying too much attention though. More enamored with the atmosphere.

It was a sea of red cloaks and black pentagrams. And the thunder outside appeared to clap along in sync with the crescendo or the choir.

This place seems vastly different from the shabby collection of misfits you encountered when you visited the first time. Who spent most of the service complaining and handed you a stale donut on your way out the door.

“...Y/n are your listening?!”

“Hmm Yea”

“Really?”

“Yea the guy’s gonna sacrifice some ‘innocent soul’ say a few hail satans and voilà he gets his hair back and starts getting laid again” you answer back, waving him off. You’re more interested in watching two Satanists in the front of the room give each other the “sign of the cross” gesture in reverse order.

“This is serious, the things you see might shock you but you can not react! If they think you’re some sort of threat to our secrets or even just afraid of them, it won’t end well. I’m kind of taking a risk by bringing you here”

That brings your attention back to your friend.

“So you hound me for weeks to come with you, but I’m not even allowed to be here?” You ask back, starting to wonder why you actually said yes to this.

“Well yea, I just really want you to see what I’ve seen, I want what’s best for you”

That was actually really sweet of him.

Now you felt a little bad for making fun of this so much.

That is until you see a man in the next row pull out a flask with “unholy water” written on it and rub it on his chest like Vick’s.

But before you get the chance to ask Tyler where he keeps his flask(which you're certain he has). The choir stops singing and the Priestess has the room's attention.

Everything goes as Tyler explains at first.

The “sacrifices” are brought in in their underwear. (They couldn’t even keep their clothes on, what does the devil give them a level up if the victims are humiliated before they die?) and tonight's chosen one, Phil, is about to take his position, before you hear a voice behind you.

“Wait!”

You turn your head to see an older woman rushing in, but it’s not her that steals your focus it’s who walks in behind her.

He is quite possibly the most attractive person you have ever seen. With cheekbones that could slice butter and soft blonde hair falling around icy blue eyes.

She says his name is Michael and this honor belongs to him.

You look over to Tyler to see what’s going on. He didn’t explain what part of the performance this was, was this some sort of second act surprise?

You were expecting this night to follow like a church service, watching Phil take his vows and minimal audience participation. Now you wonder if this is all rehearsed, or if the Satanist’s are partial to improv?

But Tyler pays you no mind, he can’t take his eyes off the blonde either.

It’s not until the Priestess mentions the “mark of the beast” and that he is the chosen one, that you get why Tyler is looking at him like he’s some sort of god.

Because to him he is, this guy is supposed to be the Antichrist.

Tyler says nothing only glances in your direction when he sees you’re the only one still standing, before he pulls you down to your knee like everyone else.

The rest of the performance is really top notch.

The flickering of the lights was a nice touch, but you can’t help but feel a little uneasy wondering how they keep getting the thunder to time up with everything they do.

Plus the bodies of the sacrifices fell to the ground almost too well.

How did they manage to get their bodies to look that lifeless, and why did those cuts look so deep?

But you try not to focus too much on it as you walk to the ceremonial Wednesday night potluck.

After the Antichrist has dismissed his followers from fawning all over him, you sit with Tyler at the end of the table and dig into your lasagna.

“So does the antichrist part happen at every sacrifice or is this one special? Is it some Satanic holiday I wasn’t aware of?” You ask, breaking Tyler out of whatever trance he appears to be stuck in.

“What?”

“I gotta say the dramatics were very entertaining, but if you really wanted to get me here all you had to do was tell me the guy who plays the Antichrist is really hot” you snicker under your breath.

“Play? Y/n your don’t understand he IS the Antichrist” he explains in a hushed voice before continuing

“That doesn’t happen every time, he really has come. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Don’t you see?! I think it was fate you came here on this night!”

“Ha, why do you need a virgin to sacrifice or something?” You laugh and take another bite before you look over and see Tyler staring at you with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not serious are you?”

“Well yea, what’s the big deal, I didn’t realize you were so caught up on a social construct”

“I’m not, but you can’t say things like that around here” he looks around the room nervously and you follow his path of vision until your eyes land on Michael, who’s own gaze is locked on you.

There’s no way he heard you, you were across the room and you were whispering.

Still he continues to stare with eyes that speak only of intensity. No smile, no nod, no hint emotion whatsoever.

It’s only after you raise your brows and mouth a “What?” That he looks back down at his plate with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Oh Satan, I think he heard you. You should go” Tyler’s tone becoming more erratic by the second.

“What?” You’re sure he's joking, but when he looks at you there is nothing but worry in his eyes.

Now you’re starting to get nervous, this is too far.

He actually thinks these people are going to do something?

He’s practically shaking with fear, and because of the man in the turtleneck? Who barely knows how to hold a spoon?

Okay you’ll play along for tonight, but tomorrow you are having a serious talk, he might need professional help.

“Alright let's go then” you huff out as you start to grab your belongings.

“I can’t just leave, especially since our savior is here, but I’ll make sure everything is good and you’re not followed or anything”

“Okay, is there some sort of satanic shuttle bus that can take me home? Or should I call an Uber? Does this place have an address or should I just send them an inverted cross?”

Still unamused by your inability to grasp the gravity of the situation, he just shakes his head and hands you his keys.

“Here just take my car, I’ll get a ride later, in fact stay at my house incase you’re followed”

He’s basically pushing you out of your seat and nodding to the door.

“Okay...bye I guess”

And with that you take off down the hall.

You know you’re supposed to go straight to the car. You’ve never seen Tyler look so serious in his life.

But when you walk past the chapel you can’t help but stop. You can still see the bodies up at the altar.

Why are they still there? Was there a trap door you missed and these were just doubles?

Or were these people so committed to the role and as crazy as your friend that they had to stay in the character of “dead sacrifice” all night?

Curiosity got the better of you, the car could wait, you had to see for yourself.

Closer inspection did nothing to stifle your suspicions.

It looked so real.

They weren’t breathing, so there was no way they were still the two actors, but you had never seen fake bodies look so real.

You're reminded of an anatomy class you took last semester.

Those cadavers looked suspiciously close to these.

Just colder and with less life left in their faces.

And there was so much blood, the iron was thick in the air.

But that couldn’t be true. Your friend wouldn’t kill someone would he?

He didn’t actually think they would kill you?

If you got a closer look, if you just swiped some of the “blood” with your pointer finger it would surely taste like corn syrup and not like…

“Are you afraid?”

You whip your head around, blood still staining your finger and beginning to drip onto the linoleum. To see Michael walking in the same way he had an hour earlier. Only this time without the cloak, but with some newly added confidence.

“They’re really dead aren’t they?” You know it’s true, but you still wait for his confirmation.

“Yes, that tends to happen when you slice someone’s throat” He acts as if this shouldn’t be a shock to you. It didn’t shock any of the other members of the congregation. Yet you know without him saying it, that he’s well aware you’re not like the others. That you don’t belong here.

“So you really sacrifice people, just to get stuff” you blurt out. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that everything you witnessed tonight was real. Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken that last crescent roll you’d seen another satanist eyeing at dinner, you definitely have a curse coming your way. That is if you live through the night.

“Well not me” Michael says, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

“Oh of course, you’re the one they do it for”

“Well my father more specifically”

“Does that upset you?” You know you should be more careful about how you proceed with this conversation, but the words leave your mouth before your mind can stop them.

The question seems to catch him by surprise as he ruffles his brow, you’re not sure if it’s in anger or just shock at your brazenness. But he doesn’t answer. Just goes on to question you.

“Have you ever witnessed a murder before?”

“No”

“How did you feel watching it before your eyes?”

“Well I didn’t feel much, considering I thought it was all fake” That earns you a smile from him.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Curious”

“Really? Not scared?”

“No. Why should I be?” You’re really digging your own grave here. But your mouth seems to have a mind of its own.

“It seems your friend would say otherwise”

“Ah so you did hear.” You say, seeing his smile grow wider. “These aren't the days of the Old Testament, virginity doesn’t equally purity. Just ask sacrifice number one over there, with a body like that I doubt she was a virgin” you laugh, partially at your joke and partially out of sheer uncomfortableness. Michael doesn’t even spare the bodies a glance, eyes latched onto you, you go on to add

“I’m no saint. Despite my sexual history, or lack thereof”

“No, I’m sure you’re not” he emphasizes by swiping some of the liquid from your finger with his own, before taking it into his mouth. Making a show of it by closing his eyes as he releases it from his lips, slow as molasses. Smiling when he opens his eyes and sees you’re practically drooling.

Before his little show can go any further, you continue with your own questions.

“Have you killed people before?”

“Yes”

“How many?”

“You don’t have the time”

He’s looking at you waiting for your response. Waiting for the shock to subside and the shrieks of terror to take over.

Instead you just pause thinking everything over.

You should be scared, you know you should.

In one night you have watched two people die, found out your friend is a murderer, and that the Antichrist is not only NOT a myth, but is standing in front of you, conversing with you like he’s nothing more than your new neighbor.

Yet you search and search in your mind for any hint of fear and come up empty. All you feel is curiosity. You must be losing it too, you feel bad for judging Tyler so harshly. Maybe it’s his youthful face and the little outburst in the dining hall earlier, but Michael seems like more than simply the ‘incarnation of evil’. He seems so...human.

And more than anything he just seems confused and dare you say, lost.

“Do you like killing people? Or do you do it because it’s expected?”

“It depends”

“Would you like to kill me?”

Now it’s his turn to take pause, looking like he’s trying to decide if he’s “in the mood” to take your life.

“Not right now”

You can’t help but laugh at that (yea you’re definitely in shock). Soon enough he joins in too, and the mood feels lighter than it has all night. You might even say you feel comfortable.

That is until the laughter subsides and you meet his eyes. He’s now staring at you with the same intensity you’d met earlier at dinner.

It’s like he’s looking right through you, into your soul. You feel on display and more than anything afraid of what he might find.

“Stop that”

“Stop what?” He says with a playful tone and a tilt of his head.

“You’re..well..I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t like it. You’re trying to get a read on me or something.”

He just smiles at that, because of course he does.

You know there is no avoiding playing into his hand. He wants to get a rise out of you, in one way or another.

“And what do yo-”

“Y/N!”

At the mention of your name you both turn to see Tyler standing in the doorway.

Antichrist or not, the look Michael gives him is enough to send a wave of fear up your spine.

He appears as though he’s about to snap his neck through just a look(and you're afraid to find out if he could).

Noticing his anger, Tyler stops and bows before Michael, apologizing incessantly for interrupting him.

You don’t miss the twitch of Michael’s lips. He’s clearly loving the effects he has on his followers.

You just roll your eyes at your friend.

“Calm down Tyler, get up”

He just let’s your words pass over him as if you hadn’t even spoken. If he hadn’t been the one to call your name a moment ago, you wouldn’t be sure he even knew you were in the room.

Every sense he had was aimed at Michael, and it was only when his precious dark lord gave him a nod that he got up and looked your way again.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going home?” He says through clenched teeth.

If he weren’t so worried about keeping you alive he would be pissed at you for not listening.

“I was. I am” you reassure him turning to Michael.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Michael, I’ll see myself out”

You are scurrying out of the room, grabbing a frozen Tyler and tugging him along with you, when Michael calls after you.

“No y/n, the pleasure was all mine.”

You’re at the end of the hall, and in the middle of Tyler’s scolding session, when you realize there is still blood on your finger.

It feels like it’s vibrating where Michael touched you, begging you to take notice.

Just wipe it on your jeans, you tell yourself.

Wait until you get to the car and find a napkin.

Do anything rational other than what you're thinking.

As you pass through the exit door, you cave and take a taste of the crimson on your finger.

Although you can’t see him, you know Michael is smiling. You can feel his smugness in the air around you and you're sure he knows what you just did.

This started out just as me wanting to make some jokes about Michael and the Satanists and has somehow turned into a multi-chapter fic. I still don’t really know where it’s going I’m just letting it take on a mind of it’s own. If it looks familiar it’s cuz it’s been on ao3 for a little bit now, so sorry it’s not a “new” new story! If you liked it that makes me very happy, and if not I hope it was at least entertaining! Either way thank you for reading!

(I wasn’t sure who wanted to be tagged just in my Xavier fic and who did in general so I didn’t add a tag list to this one)

#Michael langdon x reader #Michael langdon #ahs apocalypse #far too much sarcasm

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writerwrites · 4 years ago

Text

A Cruel Tide

Pairing: Steve Rogers (nomad!Steve) x Reader

Summary: A lost hero thinks she needs saving, but this divorcée’s needs were different, fleeting, and then full of attachment. Can they overcome the burdens on their shoulders and keep their word?

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Smut 18+, specifically unprotected sex, soft Dom Steve (if you squint), some mentions of a divorce and criminal father and hints of winter holiday cheer.

A/N: *THIS IS A ONE SHOT* This is the Week 1 prompt to the Optimistic Captain Donut Challenge created by @captainchrisbaby @captain-a-rogerss , @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho , and @donutloverxo ... The Week 1 Prompt was based off of the moodboard below and “What Could Be as Lonely as Love” by Amber Run

“Please come back, Baby. It’s Christmas! Where are you going to go?” She heard her ex plead on the other end of the line as she stood soaking wet in the lobby of a cheap hotel. Even the weather had turned to shit on the first holiday since the divorce. “You didn’t even take your bag. What am I supposed to tell them when they come out of the kitchen with your favorite dessert?”

“The truth.” Her words were as cold as the sleet pelting the glass door by the empty concierge desk. A few taps on the phone screen and it was over, screen black. Silent. Merry Christmas, no more lies. Just as her hand went for the bell again a stranger cleared his throat. Hand snapping back to her side, her gaze caught the movement out of someone by the vending machines in her peripheral vision. It took a minute to place him, the grown out blonde hair seemed darker and his thick beard certainly changed the alter boy appearance that the world had made synonymous with his Captain America persona. Then it hit her like a ton of bricks: this was a wanted man. She could have pulled her phone back out, could’ve called for help or ignored him, but when her eyes met his, despite the long disheveled hair and thick beard, the softness to him was undeniable. The only thing she could muster was a simple, few hours too early, “Merry Christmas.”

“You just missed him, the manager. He left to get a good seat at midnight mass.” His blue eyes flitted to the window and back to you. It was like he was waiting for the woman to say something as he flipped a coin in his hand and tucked it back into one of his pockets. “You’ve got to be cold. No point in waiting around or paying for a room when I’ve got an extra bed.”

Even with his nod for the young woman to follow him she was reluctant, wondering why he had a second empty bed and why he wasn’t with someone for the holidays- even as a fugitive. She couldn’t remember all of their names, never really following all the ‘super terrorism’ headlines, but knew there was at least a half dozen of Stark’s former friends that had stood against him, were arrested, and went ‘missing’ from some prison facility she couldn’t recall the name of. Despite her mind trying to dredge up whatever fleeting bit of news she’d heard, her feet were still following him through the dim hallway until they made it to his door. “What were you doing in the lobby if you knew he wasn’t there?”

“Vending machine. No room service tonight… I’ll get you some clothes and head back over. Do you want anything?” The grit in his voice was familiar, the sound of exhaustion, and her eyes moved over his frame as he spoke to the door handle and then the closet rather than looking at her. Where had he been while the world was looking for him? She mused as she watched him dig through a duffle bag and pulled out some extra clothes. When he turned to give them to her, the Avenger’s eyebrows knit together. The look of concern made her shoulders turn in self-consciously. “You’re shaking.”

In the subtle exchange of a flannel button up and worn in sweatpants her hands brushed over his, finding them rough with soft and slightly raised scars at his knuckles. “Sorry.” She looked for the bathroom door and stepped around him, pausing before reaching for the handle, talking to her heels. “I’m sorry. Uhmm, no thank you, I had dinner. I’m just cold, wet… Thank you for being so nice to me.” She couldn’t do it, couldn’t pull her gaze off the floor, and with nowhere to go she couldn’t run. An apologetic smile found her lips and he saw it but gave her some space, leaving the room to go back to the vending machines before she walked into the bathroom and changed.

Steve stood at the vending machines, texting on his phone while he dropped money into the machine. His thoughts were on the phone call his superior hearing had overheard and the subsequent stammer in the young woman’s heartbeat. He knew the feeling of love lost too well, but to see it written on her face, to see even her dark skin pallor, it brought back a sorrow he’d thought he’d buried when Peggy died. By the time his ordered assortment of chips, cookies, and honeybuns had thunked to the bottom Natasha and Sam had joined him in the lobby. “I’m not sure she’s going to talk to me.” Steve started, only to be interrupted by Natasha.

“I told you that I should have gone in. You’re not as clever as you think you are, Rogers.” Nat smirked, leaning against the wall after catching a bag of chips he tossed at her. “We’re running out of time. The longer he’s out there…”

“It’s not that. She was on the phone when she came in and it wasn’t about her father. Something doesn’t add up. Why would she even make this trip?”

“Eavesdropping on phone calls? Step up your game. She’s been tapped for a week, we don’t need your ears, we need a conversation. You got this, brother. Do what you’ve got to do to get her to talk.” Sam gave him a smirk and clapped Natasha on the back. He heard Steve, but time was of the essence and with no one at the prison talking, their targets only connection to the outside world, that they knew of, was sitting in this hotel room and they needed answers. “If you can’t make it happen then send Nat a text and we can pretend she’s back for the other bed early.”

“Whatever it takes,” Nat crushed the empty bag in her palm and chucked it over the concierge desk and into a waste bin as Steve nodded and walked past his comrades, but the blonde grabbed his arm. It would have been an understatement to say she hadn’t taken the agreement to have Steve lead the interrogation felt a little personal, but she knew he could do it, perhaps just not as quickly as her. “Try and have a little fun while you’re at it, Cap.”

The jacket dripped into the tub as it hung over the shower curtain rod. It was on sale, a thoughtless gift from her father three years ago, but the only coat she owned with lining since the separation led to a move to Miami. The knee length silver dress was new and now ruined, tag discarded in the trash and the heels next to it over the vent. As she looked in the mirror, water running for what seemed like an hour before it reached lukewarm, she twisted her dark locks so that they were out of her face and less likely to frizz. The waxy soap doing little to rid her of the full face of make up which hadn’t budged in the fray of arriving at the one hotel in the small town that she could afford. Despite freshening up, her body was still shaking. The flannel’s too long sleeve flapped past her fingertips and the sweats kept riding down to the widest point of her hips, making her look like a tired college kid.

With both of the beds made, she couldn’t be sure which one to take and settled for the one nearest the bathroom. As soon as she collapsed onto it she could smell the same scent as the shirt she now wore. The distinct sweet woody smell of patchouli, slightly cloaked in a hint of fabric softener. Her teeth chattered as the door opened, but she didn’t bother to move outside of hiding her face. She felt the weight of his body slumping onto the mattress at her side, the sound of plastic raining down on the sheets was what made her peak her head out. “Oh, wow! Was there a malfunction in the machine?”

His steely blue eyes looked at the young woman with worry but it seemed to melt away in a blink or two. “No, I couldn’t decide and I remembered you said you’d had dinner but not dessert, so Merry Christmas.” Both of their fingers moved toward the honeybun and he laughed a little, “A deal? One of us gets the honeybun, the other gets to pick the movie?”

Her chin quivered, as she tried to smile while she reflected on the options. “No deal. We split the honeybun and agree on a movie.”

Taking her lip in her teeth to stop the chatter and anxiety, her sad eyes looked up at him. “All right, you win.” He got up and passed her the remote, taking his time to go back to the closet where he turned up with a stack of clothes under his arm and socks in his hand. “Here, I forgot these. I’m just gonna hop in the shower, maybe be five minutes. No stealing my half or starting a movie without me.”

By the time he emerged, warm steam poured out of the bathroom with him. Steve thought she would have warmed up and calmed down, the sound of her heartbeat and shivering no longer ringing in his ears. Instead, he found all of the food in a little pyramid on the nightstand and a black and white movie waiting for them on the television. “You can have the whole honeybun if we can watch this…”

The glimmer in her eyes and swollen red bottom lip, she could tell he knew she’d been chewing on it the whole time. He slumped back onto the bed next to her, his damp hair dripping down into his beard. His brow furrowed thinking she’d leaned in when it was just his weight on the cheap mattress sliding her in. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t pulled away immediately and then she felt the shiver of his warm, minty breath on her skin. A wave of relief washed over her when his features warmed. “No deal, we split it and we’ll watch your movie.”

His words had been whispered and he didn’t pull his blue eyes from her face. She felt naked being looked at so seriously and her eyes moved down the slope of his nose to the beard. Reaching up, her small hands brushed the droplets of water out of it, surprised to find it softer than she could remember a beard being. Her thoughts immediately went to the last beard she touched, the last hotel room, the last person she wanted to think about and her thighs clenched together with want while her eyes pressed together to hold back the emotions she had been running from for a year and had literally sprinted from an hour ago. “It’s The Lemon Drop Kid… it’s the Silver Bells movie.”

Steve leaned his face into her palm and offered up a simple grunt of acknowledgement before he opened his eyes again. She watched him in shock, that little act of intimacy making her aware of how lonely she was in this world. He seemed to notice, covering her hand in his. “Your hands are still cold.” The tension between them, the unblinking gaze, the whispered words, both of their hearts were racing. Steve caved, giving her a choice. “Want me to stay? It would probably be easier to share snacks?”

Before she could stop herself she was nodding and he was leaning over her, taking the honeybun off the nightstand before collapsing back on the pillows. Steve watched her lick her lips but assumed it was a natural reaction to the honeybun passing her nose. With her hands pulled to her chest, she swallowed when his solid frame hung in front of her for that fleeting second and when it was gone her hands covered her mouth to stop herself from taking in a deep breath of the intoxicating smell of him. Her eyes stayed glued to the television as she blew shaky breaths onto her fingertips. The monologue in her mind about all the little anxieties of life that led her to the desperate place where she was okay sharing a hotel room with a fugitive stranger over Christmas was louder than the man opening the plastic, chewing, starting the movie, and then talking to her about her half of the honeybun. Her dark eyes blinked at him when his face was in front of her again, her thick lashes fluttering in confusion. “Hmm?”

Steve set the snack down and took her hands in his, rubbing them gently as his callouses brushed against her soft skin and his beard tickled her palms when he brought them to her full lips. He only let one hand go with a nod to the food before he continued on his little mission. She nibbled at the sticky treat and watched him, holding it out every bite or two for him to steal a bite for himself until it was gone. Nothing made sense to her anymore, she wasn’t a flirt and certainly never fell into the category of being overtly trusting. He picked up on the nerves, the expression of her being trapped in her thoughts, it reminded him of Bucky and a pang of guilt to his closest friend being in an icebox in Wakanda fleetingly hit him. Neither of them needed to be alone with their thoughts on a holiday, he decided, so he tried to get to work and strike up a conversation, “Why’d you pick this movie? Not trying to make me feel good by picking an oldie, are you?”

“I used to watch it with my dad… Everyone has a go to Christmas movie, I guess. I just didn’t think I’d see it on television. When it comes to holiday movies, I guess most channels play Miracle on 34th Street if they’re doing a classic… most do the newer films. Do you have a favorite?” She watched him settle in next to her once more, reaching for his hands as he pulled away and, to her surprise, he took it back in his and draped the other arm over her shoulders.

She grabbed a pack of cookies with her free hand and Steve’s blue eyes watched her more than the movie. The woman no longer shook or shrunk in on herself with a little bit of reassurance and comfort, again, reminding him of Bucky. “Why aren’t you with him this Christmas? Why aren’t you with anyone?”

The questions felt immediately too intrusive, despite the casual tone in his voice and her body tensed against his briefly before she decided they were totally normal questions. “I haven’t heard from him in two years. I don’t really have people… I gave up most of my friends over a relationship that ended a year ago.” Her gaze fell to her hand in his, the ring finger glaringly naked as the Avenger’s thumb brushed over her knuckles. “You have a lot of scars too.”

He was processing every word and micro-expression when his gaze followed hers to his hands, initially wondering if she’d heard something about his story. “Part of the job. I take a lick just fine though.”

She nodded, noting the present tense to his response before deciding she hadn’t meant just the scars on his hand. Though she didn’t really know the depth of it, there was some mutual sentiment she couldn’t put her thumb on with him. “Doesn’t make it right. There’s enough pain in the world to not need to carry the memory of it on our skin until the end of time.” Her own were hidden under the long sleeves of his flannel and she’d almost forgotten how she swam in it despite her curvy frame. “Have you seen this one before?”

“No, I missed out. I’m sure I’ll love it. I’ve always been a fan of film.” He stole a cookie, mulling over how to keep the conversation on her father, “I’m sorry you haven’t talked to your father. Have you thought about calling him tonight? Tis the season, right?”

“It’s easier said than done.” She sighed. “I don’t have a number to reach him and he doesn’t have mine. I… I don’t even know if he’s alive.” The words came out in such a broken way, at first rushed and full of closed off frustration- not at Steve but the situation. Then came the familiar burn of grief and the internal conflict of trying to determine how much information was too much information to share on the subject. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be,” He quickly interrupted her apology, but he felt the damage had been done. Steve pulled her to his chest in a slow but gentle hug and again she didn’t fight it. She rested her head against his chest, listening to his strong pulse beneath the hard muscles and her legs tangled in his as his sweats slipped lower on her hips. “For what it’s worth, I can’t get a hold of the person I’d like to spend the holiday with, too. Missed a lot of Christmases.” He swallowed down the knot in his throat, “Maybe we can just focus on being present and what we can change.”

Resting her chin on his chest, she looked up at him, “If you want to talk about it, you can. I’m a better listener than a talker.” It was true, after a year of keeping a massive secret about an ended marriage full of them, she became a master of doing as she was told.

Steve moved his hands up her back, inadvertently sighing when she pressed herself closer. They were both touch starved and though he thought he should keep his guard up, that this was work, the way she looked at him made his new hard exterior feel like a facade. Looking at her through his long lashes, he felt torn for the first time between the job and physical needs, his thoughts trying to just find some balance. His palm brushed against the skin peaking out at her lower back, “I don’t really have much to say about him. My best friend, he’s getting some help and I can’t be with him while he’s doing it. I feel helpless about it and then a bit torn up about missing more time with him. It’s a complicated relationship and complicated circumstances.”

Reaching up, she scratched her fingers through his beard, “But does he know that you’d be there supporting him if you could?” Steve nodded and she offered up a small smile and a few more words, “Then that’s all that really matters. You’ll be there for him once you can. I may not know anything about you outside of this room or by any names except ‘Steve’ or ‘Captain America’, but I can tell the news read you wrong.”

Her dark eyes searched his as she chewed on her bottom lip. Though she’d never thought of herself as a good judge of character and had certainly found good in horrible people, the man’s little gestures and something in those blue eyes told her that she didn’t need to be afraid of him. His hands moved up her back, under the flannel shirt massaging the soft expanse of her supple curves. Just as slowly, she untangled her legs from his, the sweatpants slipping down her thick thighs with the traction. She left them there, climbing onto his lap with little regard to the fact that she was now in her silky knickers on a soldier’s lap, fingertips still pawing at his beard. Steve’s hands moved over her waist, her body as pliable as his wasn’t and he watched her throat and savored the hiccup in her pulse every time his hands brushed over a new part of her skin. “We should probably…”

With a nervous laugh she agreed, but her hips were still rocking against him and his mouth was still inching closer to hers. “…or we could ju-”

Steve wouldn’t be able to explain why he’d crossed this line later when Nat and Sam asked him about the lack of intel. A part of him didn’t care. Her full lips were soft against his and the way her wanton whimpers poured into his mouth when his tongue drew across them made his cock twitch. Every little sound and taste of her made his body react. Steve’s hands reached up her full frame, opening the buttons of his shirt and discarding it until the curvy young woman was on his lap in nothing but her bra and panties. His bright blue eyes were alight as they gleaned over her frame. His sex life wasn’t anything to write home about, chaste in comparison to Sam, Nat, and even Bucky; it also happened to revolve around work- agents in peak shape. He ached for her, a natural beauty with soft edges. Steve palmed up her back and she followed his fingers, helping him undo the clasp before helping the silky number join his shirt somewhere over the edge of the bed. Her eyes were on his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed at the dry knot there, as she continued rolling her hips against his. The woman’s were cheeks pink with embarrassment at her level of exposure in the warm light of the room, the tips of her fingers slowly plucking at his own clothes before Steve leaned in and pulled her mouth back to his. “You’re beautiful.”

The sweet words pouring from his lips just before they latched onto her breasts made her laugh and then gasp for air. His tongue drew circles around her nippled before he nipped at them and his hands caressed the soft flesh. As he marked her with three wine stained blemishes on her chest, she finished removing his shirt, only laughing again at the contrast of his toned body to her swelling curves. Her laughter filled the room as he smiled against her skin and she responded by reaching into his pants and stroking him until he was completely hard in her hand. She couldn’t help herself, panties soaked from every touch. She pulled them to the side, rubbing her wet slit against his length. Like animals they both pawed and groaned over the new friction. “Do you want me?” Her nervous whispered words brushed against his ear and Steve lifted her off his lap just enough to pull shimmy off his pants and line himself up to her entrance. Pulling his mouth to hers she kissed him softly, slowly lowering herself onto him despite his firm grip on her waist a clear bruising plea for more. “Be gentle with me.”

Steve groaned as he filled her slowly and completely, her warm wet cunt milking him as she gasped into the curve of his neck. His lips ghosted across every inch of her skin as he stretched her out, hardly moving or encouraging her to move, simply appreciating how good it felt to be inside her. When her breathing steadied, Steve palmed over her ass and pulled on the silky fabric of her panties like they were reins. Her back arched and she started to grind on his cock, her clit taut against the fabric and his pelvis only causing her to moan loader as she gripped the soldier’s broad shoulders. With a firm clap and squeeze to the round soft skin of her cheeks she picked up her pace, eyes closing with satisfaction as his thick cock filled her and stroked her walls again and again. “Good girl.” He groaned, his hands moving down her thick thighs, the veins in his arms prominent as he helped lift and drop her down on his length. Steve’s blue hues settled on the view of her dripping down his length, so wet for him. How long had it been since he gave in to just wanting someone? His thoughts were fleeting, drawn back to the reality of the stranger riding him like she hadn’t been satisfied in her entire life, now her fingers pulling his mouth to her, but he nibbled on her lip and pushed her back, his mouth drawn back to her full breasts.

With here hands clutching the bedsheets behind her, back arched as she rode his slow deep thrusts into her, she couldn’t help but tighten around him, watching him hold her was one thing… a simple delight she’d not had in a year. It was listening to him grunt and growl when her pussy throbbed around him because of the little delights. As he sucked on her breasts and he squeezed her ass holding her down on his thick cock with every thrust, she felt him hit her sweet spot, sending little heat waves through her core until she was begging. “I’m so close. I need you, Steve. Please, please make me cum.”

Steve obliged, easily laying her back on the bed and tangling his legs in hers as he lowered his weight onto her small frame. His hips rutted against her and he grunted against her mouth between greedy kisses while his hands, which had been pinning her to the bed spread her legs further apart, giving him complete access to push her over the edge. She bit her finger on one hand as the other pulled at his thighs, muffling her pleas for release, “Come on, sweetheart. Let me hear you. Let me hear that beautiful voice say my name.”

His thumb brushed over her clit in teasing flits, back and forth and her hand left her swollen lips, clutching his wrist as he continued to rub her sensitive bud through her release. “Steve! Please. I…” Her orgasm came hard, pouring her juices over his cock he kept warm and deep inside of her, savoring that tight pussy now clutching him like she’d never let go and all the subsequent little earthquakes from his ministrations on her clit. Her thighs shook and she laughed and purred and pleaded, but he gave it to her and when she was undone on the bed, his hard length still deep inside he laid down next to her, and rubbed her back. “Don’t stop.” She whispered after a tired soft kiss up his neck to the scruff of his beard at his jaw. Her leg slid over his hip and, again, he abided her request, his hand moving down that leg and back until he was sure she was ready. Her soft kisses confirmation as he began to rock into her once more.

This wasn’t just a fuck, it was slow and sensitive, pleading. He worshiped every inch of her as he felt her soak his cock two more times from the slow, deep grinding and nipple play. Each time he marked her skin with another hickey, groaning into her neck and shoulder and mouth about how sexy listening to her cum was, how good she felt around him, how perfect her soft curves were. The praise made her throb around him and he pulled her onto his chest, asking her where she wanted him to finish. Her pleading to stay inside her, the purrs of how much she loved being full of him set him off. She rested her body gently against him and, cradled there, he claimed her in broken and hungry thrusts, his coarse hands holding her tightly to his frame as a final thrust to the hilt and he poured hot spurts of his seed into her. Her lips brushed across his salted skin before she let out a satisfied sigh. His blue eyes closed, a sleepy laugh passing his lips, “It doesn’t get better than this does it?”

Her tired eyes peaked open at him and she giggled as his hands flopped to their sides, only his finger tips tickling her tired thighs. “I’ve never had better.”

A peaked ‘hmm’ passed his lips as if to ask, is that so, but neither of them had energy to spare for conversation. Steve managed to tuck one arm under his head, his heavy eyes watching her slowly fall asleep, the unprofessionalism of his decision to sleep with her now sinking in as the charm of her melted into a warm, silent comfort. In bittersweet introspection he thought of how to rectify the interrogation that needed to happen. Knowing she wasn’t from this city and likely to go home under the circumstances, he settled on making plans to find her in a week. Nat and Sam wouldn’t be happy, but he’d find a way to keep them busy with other leads until he could talk to her again. Silver Bells echoed through the room and Steve fell asleep, just for a little while, basking in the comfort of being adored and held rather than objectified or idolized. For the first time, he dreamt of a dance with a partner that wasn’t Peggy.

The familiar quiet buzz of her phone woke her up with a cat-like stretch and sigh, momentarily forgetting where she was. Clumsily smacking her hand around in the direction of the sound she quickly hit the wall of muscle at her side. “Good Christmas morning. You’re up early.” He smiled with a quiet laugh on his lips. “I plugged your phone in when mine stopped charging. I think all your messages are coming in.”

Her eyes sheepishly looked up from the pillow at him, processing the fact that the night hadn’t been a dream. “Merry Christmas morning, Sir. You’ve been up long?”

With a shrug, he let her process the fact that he was in dark tactical gear. He broke her thought process with the soft whisper of her name, waking her up with delightful surprise and curiosity as his expression looked hopeful. “What are you doing New Years Eve?”

She bit her lip and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling with no desire to look at her phone or confess how dull. “Home alone, I guess.”

“Don’t have to be if you don’t want to.” Steve set his phone next to hers and slid down next to her, “All you have to do is ask.”

Her heart raced and she felt like she was still dreaming, but he reached out and brushed her dark hair from her eyes and met his gaze as Steve waited for her answer. “Find me in Miami and kiss me at midnight?”

With a satisfied hum, he closed the space between them. Steve hovered over her, craning his neck down for a quick peck when she shyly pressed her lips together. “That explains the coat.” He laughed, unpinning her so she could get out of bed, watching her as she slipped out of bed and picked up clothes from the floor as she tiptoed to the bathroom. Though she hadn’t gotten the door closed, she already saw her things neatly folded on the edge of the sink, a little travel kit set atop it all. As if he could see her smile, he hollered toward the door. “I hope you don’t mind that I spoke to the manager when they came in this morning about needing some basics.”

The rest of the morning went by too quickly for either of their liking. He didn’t join her in the shower, distracted by a disagreement in a group text with Nat, Sam, and the other nomads about trying to interrogate her again in a week. Meanwhile, she was glad for the privacy to do her hair and clean the night from her brown skin, the only reminders left were the tender aches and the plum bruises. Just thinking about it made her wet again and, despite the work related distraction in his hands his superior hearing made him hear her moan more than once, making his twitching cock semi-hard in his tac suit. He sat with her while she waited for her ride, he took her number, and when he kissed her goodbye, his flannel shirt tucked into her purse, both of them found a slice of happiness in a lonely holiday.

The loft apartment felt vacuous compared to the cheap hotel room, but she managed to make the most of the long week. Decorating the place with a small tree draped in tinsel and silver bell ornaments, draping the window sills and counters in twinkling garland, and counting down the days to New Years Eve. Each day felt like a month, trying to reconnect with her father while juggling her meaningless job. Each night she pulled on his shirt and her hands slipped between her thighs until she fell asleep blissed out in the memory of their night together. There hadn’t been a single word from the nomadic Captain until a dozen roses waited for her on the doorstep of her apartment, a small card with silver bells detailing the corners that simply read: One more day, doll. - S.

Though Steve thought a week’s wait to see her again would have been painless compared to the lifetime he’d missed in ice or the subsequent years he’d spent mindlessly droning on until he joined the Avengers, but the task had been anything but speedy for an unexpected reason. Sharing the limited information he’d gathered, Nat and Sam took new perspectives on getting the answers they needed for their mission, all three of them tasked with finding people connected to the family. All the digging, shared intel, pointed to an intricately planned prison escape gone wrong. While Nat and Sam thought his worries for their target’s daughter were unfounded due to estrangement, Steve had every intention of keeping his word, simply too busy moving and looking for answers to engage in the formalities of modern flirtation. Every day was busy with work and every night, surrounded by pictures and papers, he’d wonder if she was drowning in thoughts of him too. The roses were his way of making it up to her, his confession, and every detail was carefully thought over.

As she sat in the twinkling holiday lights, the sun long since set. She clicked on the television to a channel showing the Ball Drop in New York, muting it to play her own playlist of holiday songs. To be fair, Steve hadn’t given her a time he’d show up. Cracking open the red wine, she danced alone in the shimmering silver dress that ghosted across her knees and hugged her hips, time slipping by mildly unnoticed with each sip and song. Just as she’d descended into the cushions the door to the apartment opened, startling her and causing her wine to spill across the cushions. It was the broad shoulders filling the doorway that made her hold in her scream. The familiar silhouette stood speechless and her mouth bobbed open and closed like a fish when they closed the space between the living room and front door. Her eyes moved to the television, expecting to see some sort of red tape Breaking News alert that pigs could now fly. Instead, her eyes fell on the time, bright white in the corner and reading seven minutes past midnight. She ran her tongue across her painted lips, closed her eyes, and laughed. Fate, she decided, had little regard for New Year promises.

Taglist: @caplanbuckybarnes

#captainsweeklychallenge #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #fic: steve rogers #writer: writerwrites

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rons-hermiones · 4 years ago

Text

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Three

The train was leaving at eleven.

That gave Ron breakfast to do what he needed to do. More than enough time if you ask him. He wasn’t exactly planning on reminiscing with Lavender.

“Good morning Harry.” Ron said a little too chipper, making the green eyed boy groan. He’d been up for sometime packing his trunk.

“Beautiful day to chuck Lavender Brown, isn’t it?” He said, despite his demeanor his voice was a bit shaky.

“Today’s as good as ever.” Harry added, slightly amused at the new air around Ron.

With a fierce determination he headed down to the great hall and for once was anticipating something unrelated to food when he entered.

He was ready to do this.

Until he was attacked the moment he opened the doors.

“Won-Won!” Lavender explained, rushing over and draping her arms around his shoulders, “I was so worried. Why didn’t you walk me to breakfast?” She questioned, pulling away with a pout.

He shucked her off as gently as he could, “look Lavender, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t look upset, instead excited, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you too! Should we step outside?” She suggested, but before he could agree she was tugging on his sleeve.

Once they took residence on a bench in the hallway, they turned to each other and spoke at the same time.

“You go first.” He told her with a nod.

Eagerly she starts, “I know what you’re going to say, you’ve been trying to tell me for weeks, haven’t you?” She questions.

Again, he nods.

“Well,” she pauses, eyes almost shyly meeting his before she breaks out into a smile.

Do all girls smile while being broken up with?

“I love you too!”

He didn’t even have time to retort or process how delusional the blonde truly was, because just his luck, Hermione walked by at this very moment.

And the look of pain that came over her features didn’t even measure up to that night in the Astronomy Tower. In fact, comparing the two expressions made it seem like the night of the match was her wedding day.

And probably not his brightest idea, but without a thought, Ron calls for her, “Hermione!”

In his wake is a confused Lavender as a mass of brown hair disappears around a corner and toward the Great Hall.

Thank Merlin for his long legs because he’s able to catch up to her in no time. Grasping her wrist lightly and halting her to a stop.

She snatches his hand from hers like she’s been burned. He drops them awkwardly, the ginger didn’t think of what he was actually going to say.

“I have to eat.” She announces rather loudly, and too stiffly for Ron’s liking. When had things become this way?

“Look, I just wanted to tell you,” that I’m really sorry about your grandma. I know we haven’t really talked but I’m always here for you. Also about what you just saw, I don’t love Lavender. I was trying to chuck her, please believe me. I wanna spend holiday with you!

And just like so many conversations he had with Lavender, the words never left his lips. Instead, someone he loathed almost as much as his current girlfriend appeared.

“Ah! Lovers tiff!” Malfoy exclaimed, the most lively he’s seemed in weeks. Not that anyone missed this from him.

Instinctively he moved closer to Hermione as she spared him a glance.

“You know, when I heard you were sucking face with Lavender Brown I will not lie I was a bit shocked!” He exclaimed dramatically, “I just wouldn’t think you’d go for a pure-blood, thought you fancied mudblood scum!” He cackled.

His brow twitched as he stepped closer to Malfoy, not caring if Snape saw him pound Draco into the floor.

“But then again, who would touch that thing.” The blonde whispered loud enough for Hermione to hear.

Angrily, Ron pulled his fist back, and shockingly, Malfoy looked as if he was going to welcome the punch.

(Unbeknownst to anyone, he knew he’d get this kind of reaction from Weasley and he was so determined to feel something rather than the dread consuming him as of late.)

But before his fist could connect with the Slytherin’s nose, the slamming of a door was heard as Hermione hurried into the grand hall.

With a pained look he flicked his glance between Draco and where Hermione just stood.

Reluctantly releasing his robes, he made his choice to finally do the right thing and go after her.

He spotted her next to Ginny, the seat he hadn’t occupied in months, absently forking around some eggs while her nose was stuck in some old looking book. She wasn’t crying, but the distant look in her eyes was evident. Hermione hadn’t even acknowledged him as he walked over.

(And normally something, Malfoy, of all people, says wouldn’t bother, but the past twenty four hours haven’t exactly been a picnic.)

As he lurched closer he and Ginny locked eyes. His sister just shook her head, telling him not now, her expression wasn’t sour, but more sad than anything.

Promising himself he’d truly sort this out on the train ride home, he ventured again to set Lavender straight.

...

He was a coward. The ruddiest bloodiest one of them all.

After his run-ins with Lavender, Malfoy, and Hermione, he sought out to find the first girl. However, his attempts were failed as she had holed up in the girls dormitory to finish packing her things.

And just his luck, when the blonde finally emerged, she was joined at the hip with Parvati. He wasn’t cruel enough to break up with her in front of her best friend.

On top of it all, Lavender seemed completely unfazed by the events that occurred this morning. You’d honestly think that after saying those three words to someone, it’s a red flag if they run off to see another girl moments after.

But no, instead, he was boarding the train sans Lavender, sans Ginny, Harry, or Hermione as well. Alone.

Reaching the narrow corridor and lines of compartments, he knew he had a few choices to make. Breaking up with Lavender was at the top of list. He would hopefully have the next month to let Hermione know how sorry he is about her grandmother and to amend their fractured relationship.

First, he had to put his trunk down.

Sauntering down to the compartment that he, Harry, and Hermione always occupied, Ron hadn’t considered the fact that the bushy haired witch might be in there, warranting for an awkward confrontation. He really wanted to get it all sorted with Lavender as a way to show Hermione he’s serious about all this, about her.

Someone else.

The phrase Ginny had reiterated on behalf of Hermione had been ringing his head for the past twenty four hours. There was still hope, even if just a little.

Shoving the sliding door aside he didn’t see Harry in sight, who he did see, was Hermione.

At first she didn’t notice as she absently took notes on that same book he’s seen attached to her hands for weeks. He’s itching to ask her about, just to get her to talk about something, anything.

“Hello.” He was surprised she spoke first. She sounded awkward and stiff, a little shaky, but it was something. Small victories.

“Hi, uh, I’m just putting this away.” He commented in return as he shoved the thing over head.

Ron wanted to wait until he had chucked Lavender, but his morals were screaming to say something.

“I’m really sorry about your grandma Hermione. I know you two were close.” He told her genuinely sorry.

For a moment her face softens from the stoic expression, but he blinks, she snaps her book shut, and the look, it’s gone.

“Yes we were close, but I suppose people grow apart,” and just like that they weren’t talking about her ill grandmother, “sometimes something more interesting, better, comes along and you can’t find time anymore.” She’s spitting venom. Any sadness replaced by pure rage.

“Hermione,” he didn’t wanna row with her, though he surely deserved whatever she had to throw at him.

“It makes you think maybe you never meant that much to them. That you’ll always be the fallback plan. Second best.” Though still sounding furious, her voice rocks over the last sentence.

As soon as the words left her lips, she looked horrified.

“I’m sorry.” She says quickly, stuffing her hands onto her lap and clasping them. A nervous habit he knows she has.

What in the bloody hell is she sorry for?

“Look Ron,” it’s the first time she’d spoken to him in weeks, it evokes a chill, “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“I don’t either.” He agrees quickly.

She ignores that, “I think we both should just put this all behind us and do what’s best.”

Suddenly excited, he nods his head. If Hermione was saying all this now then maybe she’d jump into his arms when rumors of the breakup hit her!

“Good, I’m glad you agree,” her eyes are watering, her lips are a thin line, “I’ll stay out of your way at the Burrow, won’t bother you. Wouldn’t want to ruin your holiday, after all it is your house, I’m intruding.”

That is certainly not what he agreed to!

For the brightest witch of her age she could be so daft, Hermione would never be a burden to him or his family.

The ginger quickly shakes his head, “what? Hermione, no, I,”

And luck, as usual, isn’t on his side because Harry decides to enter at this very moment.

“Hello.” He announces, far too chipper for both Ron and Hermione’s taste.

At this she stands, needing to get away from what just transpired.

“Hey, where are you off to?” Harry questions, eyes flicking momentarily to Ron worried they might’ve rowed.

Now he wishes they did. Passionate fiery Hermione was easier to watch then this version of her. Quiet and sad.

“Loo.” She mumbled, scrambling for the text.

The second the door shut Ron groaned, beside himself.

“How’d it go?” The chosen one asked as he plopped across from Weasley.

Ron scoffed, “how do you think it went?”

Harry nodded awkwardly, “right...”

“Didn't even think things could get worse, she was going on about how she’ll stay out my way, some bollocks about how she’s intruding.”

There’s a pause, “have you chucked Lavender?”

The ginger just grunts.

And like it’s the world's biggest secret Harry speaks quickly, “you’ve got to sort that out. You and Lavender make Cho and I look as in love as your parents!” He exclaims recalling his disaster relationship in fifth year.

Ron let’s put a butter laugh, “I’m daft Harry, but not that daft, I know that!” His anger sizzles, he drops his tone, “why haven’t you said anything until now?”

Harry sighs, he doesn’t even know what to say. A stiff silence falls upon them before he can manage anything, “I didn’t want anyone to think I had been picking sides or anything. It’s not like Hermione said much about you or you were saying much about her. There wasn’t much to tell the other.” He drops his head, “I reckon some of this is my fault.”

Ron’s taken aback, “what?” if anyone’s at fault it’s him.

“You’ve been walking around for months miserable. Hermione, she barely has anything to say these days unless it’s about You-Know-Who.” He doesn’t say the name for Ron’s sake, “you two clearly haven’t been great communicators with each other but I could’ve done more. We could’ve talked about it sooner, I could’ve helped to cheer Hermione up.”

The ginger doesn’t have time to assure Harry, not yet anyway, “is she... is she sad?” He feels stupid asking.

“She’s Hermione you know, she does her best to not let it show, but I can tell it’s gotten harder for her. I haven’t seen her cry since the night it happened then yesterday with her Gran. You know she never likes to show anything ever bothers her, but she let it slip sometimes. Everyone’s noticed.” Harry states awkwardly.

Ron feels like his throat is closing. He never wanted to cause this type of pain. Between her clear distance from everyone, Harry being torn, Lavender following his every move, his own sister disappointed in him, along with most of Gryffindor, and a war bubbling, well he feels awful. No one needed this on top of everything else.

“Don’t blame yourself, alright Harry, that’s the last thing I need.” He says with what he hopes is a convincing tone.

The chosen one leans forward and pats his friends knee, “you too Ron. You’re in this situation because you don’t want anyone to get hurt.” He points out. Ron’s reluctance to chuck Lavender was because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, no matter how irritating she may be. However, in the process he had been hurting Hermione.

“Look how that worked out? Our best friend doesn’t think I give two farts about her.” He says bitterly.

“Ron,”

“She sleeps on the common room couch every night because my girlfriend taunts her! Cormac McLaggen thinks it’s alright to force himself onto her and she probably thinks I think it’s alright too considering I did nothing!” He booms.

No one speaks for a moment, it’s a little tense.

“Okay, so you didn’t know, but you do now! You know and you care. You care so much so that you’re planning to break up with your girlfriend, sort this all out over holiday, and probably punch McLaggen along the way. So you do care, you just were late to the party. Better late than never, alright?” The dark haired boy rambles.

Ron digs the heels of his palms into his now watering blue eyes, “I think I might love her, but I’m not sure.” He admits hoarsely.

“Why not?” Harry whispers a little taken aback at the admission, but not surprised.

The ginger peels out from behind his hands, “how can you love someone so much and hurt them so bad?”

In response, Harry does nothing but leans forward and places a box of Bertie Blotts Bean’s he bought on the way in.

A small smile manages its way on Ron’s face. Harry has never been great with words, neither has the red head. It’s usually Hermione's thing. This gesture shows everything they don’t need to say.

That Harry’s here for Ron no matter what and he’ll do whatever he can to help him fix is.

“Cheers.” Ron mutters opening the cardboard.

“Hey, maybe if you eat a vomit Lavender won’t try and snog you whenever you speak.” The green eyed boy jokes lightly.

His friend manages a small chuckle at this before turning serious, “I should probably go handle that right?”

Cringing, Harry nods as Ron stands and wipes his jeans.

“Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, you’ll need it.” The chosen one says as Ron groans and the compartment door slides shut.

Sauntering like a man being sent to death, Ron eyes each of the compartments looking for a head of blonde hair probably adorned with a vibrant colored headband.

After about five minutes, he finds Lavender chatting animatedly with Parvati as the pair look over a Witch Weekly. Before he can announce his presence, it seems as if the girl has noticed, jumping up and squealing.

“Won-Won!” He hears her yell through the door as she throws it open, throwing her arms around her as she does.

“Vati isn’t it so sweet he’s come to see me!” She brags turning to her friend who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Sure Lav.” Parvati says dryly as she stands up and gathers her things.

It seems as if the twin can sense she should be anywhere else but Ron wants to make it clear, “could I talk to you alone Lavender?” His voice comes out firmer than he thought.

“It’s all yours.” Lavender’s best friend says as she motions to the seats and stalks down the trains corridors.

“Oh she’s so sweet!” The blonde gushes, “come in.” She instructs as she begins to drag his hand behind her.

Lavender takes the liberty to fall onto one of the cushions folding her legs in what seems to be an attempt at a seductive matter.

Ron just slides the door close and sits across from her. As far as he can manage.

“Why don’t you come over here?” She pouts.

He shakes his head, “I need to talk to you. I think it’s best I do from here.” Part of him is absolutely babbled. She's not upset about this morning.

“Well alright silly!” The girl giggles.

Ron clears his throat, “Alright Lavender look,”

“Is this about this morning?” She soon cuts in, “I can understand it might’ve made you nervous but that’s okay, I’ll wait.” Lavender smiles, it seems genuine.

Oh wow she was delusional.

“No, Lavender I just needed to,”

“I already told you Won-Won I can’t come to your house for holiday. Next time I promise.” She begins to lean forward as he presses himself back into the seat.

“That’s not it,” he sees her open her mouth to say something else before he stops her, “please Lavender, please don’t interrupt me.” He says a little forcefully, not not enough to come off as rude. Though at this point, the situation may warrant it.

“I’m all yours.” She says batting her eyelashes and tucking her hair behind her ears for emphasis.

“This isn’t working. I really can’t see you anymore.” Finally he gets the words out.

“Oh,” she breathed a little shocked before the expression left her face, “no.”

“No?” He says scrunching his brow.

Lavender nods vigorously, “No.” she repeats.

“Lavender you can’t say no, I’m breaking up with you.”

She shakes her head slowly, “no you’re not.”

“Yes I am!” His voice grows louder, it’s becoming very hard to remain calm.

“No you’re not,” her voice is turning shrill, desperate, “this is about her isn’t it? That cow, that freak,”

“Don’t you dare!” Now he’s mad.

“Well it’s true! She’s useless in just about all aspects. When will you ever need to recite Hogwarts History, or whatever it’s called.” She says airily.

Doing his best not to correct her he goes on, “were you ever gonna tell me she doesn’t stay in your dorm anymore because you make fun of her?” He’s doing his best to level his voice.

“Oh, so this is about her?” Lavender jabs.

For a moment he doesn’t know what to say, “yes, yes it is!” He’s yelling now, “I can’t be with someone who’d say such horrible things and about my friend no less.”

The blonde scoffs, “it’s not like she doesn’t deserve it! Practically throwing herself at you like, like a little,”

“Don’t you dare finish that.” He bites out above a whisper, “I haven’t even spoken to her since I started seeing you. She hasn’t even looked my way.” He points out, not liking the insinuation.

She rolls her eyes, “so you have been watching have you?”

“That’s besides the point! I’m through having this conversation, me and you, we’re done.”

Lavender is wearing a hurt expression. Ron really can’t find himself to care after what just transpired. He thinks she’s going to concede, call it quits, but nothings ever that easy.

“No, we’re not. Merry Christmas sweetheart.” Her sickly baby voice is back as she leans forward and kisses his cheek before disappearing from the cabin.

Too shocked to even go after her, he sits there and tugs at his hair fiercely.

How were things so fucked up?

#rons-hermiones come find me #ron x hermione #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron and hermione #6th year #romione fanfic #hp

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brooklynislandgirl · 3 years ago

Note

Beth and UARF!Billy - ❤♡❥ღ💕💘💝💓💌💟💙💚💜💛

Heart-Eyes || -

Five A.M.

Beth’s barely awake as she comes into the office, coffee in hand, only to come face to face with the widest grin she has ever seen on Hal Gates’ face. Dark eyes dancing, he relieves her of her thermos cup, takes both her arms in his hands, and swing-dances her around the cramped space where they work.

“We’ve done it, girl!”

Though abjectly confused, Beth can’t help but grin in return. “Wha’ve we done?” She wants to be just as thrilled, wants to share in the old man’s joy. “We’ve got data on white pointer mating! I’m running the compile now, we should be able to parse it and watch the video footage within an hour or two!”

She’s floored.

The shock is clear on her face, even her mouth drops open a little. Often bandied about as the Holy Grail of marine biology, great-white mating is known to exist. Despite decades of research into the habits of the species, that particular bit of knowledge has eluded marine biologists.

“Wha...? How?”

“Mate of mine, Crawford down in New Zealand has taken a fisherman’s eye-witness account on our elusive little friends, and shared video. Crawford sent me all of the data.”

“Oh, Hal.”

Dr Gates nods at her eagerly and once again promenades her around some tables, brushing past a stack of hastily shoved aside folders with charts of migration patterns, weather reports, and feeding data. Then, far more carefully, he hands her into a seat and plops down into an office chair, slapping his knees in pleasure and pride.

“Speaking of mating rituals...”

Beth laughs but blushes at the same time, eyes askance. She suddenly knows what he’s going to ask, or at least of whom.

“...And since we have so little to do until all the research is collated and complied...”

“Must we?”

“No finer time, girl.”

She holds her hands up to stave him off until she gets up, crosses the room and takes a sip of her coffee. Not exactly how she wanted to start the day, but there’s no real reason not to humour her mentor.

“Have at, den.”

“Excellent.” Hal Gates really is an inveterate old gossip.

~*~

❤: who is more affectionate in public? in private?

Beth laughs. Okay, so this isn’t really so bad. “I t’ink I gotta say...I’m more affectionate in public. Mos’ of da time, Doctah Manderly... just doesn’t know what t’ do. Very stiff, hands in his pockets or stand at parade rest.”

The last cocktail party had been a half disaster, between trying to get William to mingle with the public attendees and not leave to check on his seals at first opportunity. The one time he surprised her was when he put a hand on the small of her back though the illusion was broken when she found that the six-foot-six man was trying to ultimately hide behind her. No amount of mock-tails were going to spare him any acute discomfort.

“Probably for da best. No offence, but he’s very definitely...ah....British.”

“None taken.” Hal offers her a wink and taps the side of his nose.

“But even behind close doors? He just... lil uptight, I guess. I sometimes wonder if mebbe he’s worried about havin’ an episode, and some affections are difficult when you have a service dog nearly t’ree-quarters ya size intent on doin’ her job, but I’d say he at least tries when it jus’ da two of us. Fingahs in my hair, brush against my arm. Da kine.”

Hal nods, knowing the specifics without having to drag them out of her.

♡: who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?

"I t’ink,” she begins, carefully considering this one. “Dat anyone who loves da sea so much dat dey would give up a whole life to dedicate demself to it...got a big romantic soul. What is da ocean, if not love an’ life, an’ all dat we dream of in songs an’ poetry? I only t’ink it’s harder for him to express dat because well..”

She makes a dismissive gesture.

It isn’t that he grasps the concepts of language and expression, they’ve certainly entertained passionate arguments, verbal jousts that have filled the air with sign and countersign.

“Romantically speakin’ I jus’ don’ see him as da type dat I’m gonna find outside my window wi’ an ole boom box, playing In Ya Eyes by Petah Gabriel, ya know? But I also don’t believe he wouldn’t t’ink about it. So secretly? Him. Openly, me.”

❥: who is more likely to plan something big for valentine's day?

“Honestly, Hal...I’d have t’ say him. He’s a planner. Wants every detail to be perfect, will second guess himself a hundred times jus’ to make sure dere no wrinkle in the research. Me? Always been da spontaneous kine, except when it came to really wantin’ to work wit’ you.”

Hal pats her lap, his face soft.

ღ: who is more likely to initiate hand-holding in public?

“Again, it would be William. I don’ know wha’ he’s t’inkin’ a lot of da time, if he’s even aware dat I am dere sometimes. An’ I don’ really wanna make a big deal about it, don’ wanna ovahstep. For me, it’s a much more difficult proposition, is like...touch is where I’m most comfortable, outside of typing endless notes or readin’ data.”

She nods toward the words scrolling along the screen. She fully disclosed her disabilities when she applied for the position so thankfully she doesn’t have to explain now. Most of the other people at the facility don’t even really notice. Except for maybe Ben who sees too much and maybe says too little. That’s to be expected though when you gather a bunch of scientists and stick them in one beautiful place.

“You want him to initiate more, don’t you?”

“I would, yeah. But dere always more important kine and so really guess it nevah really matter.”

💕: who is more likely to make huge declarations of love in front of other people?

“Fair question an’ I guess dat would be me. We...we agreed not to make a big t’ing about any of dis, you know how quirky everyone here is, an’ in case it doesn’t work out, we don’ want da kine t’ get weird. Especially wi’ James an’ Miranda. So if somet’ing like dis were t’ happen it’s probably because he push all my buttons an’ my tempah got da best of me, right? Could see it happenin’ over breakfast. On da beach. Mebbe by da pools.”

Which is why she tries so hard to keep her passions in check. She doesn’t want to blurt out anything that can’t be taken back.

💘: who developed a crush on the other first?

“Couldn’t say,” and in those two words it is the breadth and depth of her honesty. Beth doesn’t have crushes in the same way most people do. She’s never seen anyone and instantly found herself immersed in fantasies, desires, a desperate need to be around them. She might find someone intellectually stimulating and enjoy the conversation. She might notice that something about them calls to her artist’s eye and be aesthetically pleasing in its symmetry, someone might make her laugh but she doesn’t dwell. And by the time there is the first inkling that she might want more out of a situation or relationship, she’s already become close friends. Or she watches as that object of her affection drifts beyond reach and she tells herself she’s happy because they clearly needed something more than she’s even capable of giving.

And sometimes, Beth wonders if she isn’t really broken or damaged in some way. Because she can’t even say she ever had a crush on Billy. She doesn’t know that she can say she has any expectations other than they look good together on paper, and it’s been drilled into her since birth that appearances *do* matter. “Mo’beddah you should ask him.” Gates doesn’t say anything, he only nods.

💝: who spends more time (possibly overthinking) what presents to get the other?

“William. For same-same reasons as Valentines Day, an’ da need for everyt’ing to be as exactin’ as he can make it. Like, how hard and how long it take him to find...or more likely, *breed* dem two purple neocardinas in my office?” Shrimp like the two in her tank, deliriously happy and spoiled and free of predators, are rare in size and colour, and yet… there they are. Then there’s the allegorical evidence of his severe and frothing dislike of mass consumption marketing, the complete commercialisation of every secular and religious holiday, the pastiche of feelings tacked on almost like an afterthought.

💓: who initiates most physical contact?

Beth hesitates. That’s slightly more personal than the other questions so far and truth be told she’s a little ashamed of having to answer without specific parameters. But it is a question, and she did agree to answer them with the same honesty as she offers Hal in all their other work and conversations. “I’ve always done well wi’ sensory input dat was based in kine oddah dan auditory. Smell, taste, seeing… but of alla dem, touch has always been important to me. Textures, near imperceptible data processed t’rough skin. An’ I guess dat I use dat wi’ him. Way to express ideas or sensations dat might not come across ordinarily. Enthusiasm, excitement, humour, rage, disappointment. I wan him to feel an’ understand when I don’ have da words in me, or know how to express. A lot of da time, it’s accidental or at least….subconscious.” A beat goes by. “I don’t believe he really cares much for it.”

💌: who is more likely to send cutesy texts to the other?

This one is hard for her to answer because they aren’t really cutesy text people. Most of their days are too filled with very real world drama, service to the greater good, the understanding and conservation of the most vulnerable environments and animals within. There’s weather, there’s reports, there’s an entire litany of experiences that don’t leave much time to play around until well after hours when they can finally seek well deserved liberty. However, Billy does sometimes send her pictures of the seals doing very cute seal things, or Annie shepherding him and his charges with the boss-vibes of the Queen Mother. In the end she only offers her mentor a smile and a shrug.

💟: who spends time reading their zodiac compatibilities?

“Oh absolutely I do. Find da whole pseudo-science of it fascinatin’, especially when da stars are not in da same position as dey were when it was invented an’ da psychological impact it has on our species is jus’ totally wild, you know?”

Beth knows that she’s the textbook definition of a Cancerian woman, and Billy does a good job providing a counter-argument on being a Libra. Further there’s a bit of an annoyance factor; he thinks junk science ‘belongs in the bottom of the bin with the rest of the rubbish.’ And he has a point, to some extent, even if she doesn’t agree with him. Not everything can be cold facts and numbers. Sometimes a little playfulness was in order and he absolutely needed to be reminded of that.

Hal laughs and shakes his head. “You’re going to do my chart then, aren’t you?” “Wit’out a doubt, Doctah Gates.” She wiggles her brows.

💙: who is more protective?

“I think objectively, I am. You know William’s troubles, and I have to keep them all in mind dough it’s not like he can forget dem, right? Some of his facts aren’t… I’ve consulted with some medical doctors and if we are careful, dere’s a lot he can experience dat he sees out of reach but I don’ like bringing dem up because I don’ want to agitate him. Only can lead t’ problems.” She does wish though that he’d trust her a little more, that he’d let go of some of his well deserved fears. That he’d let himself out of his shell and accept that even with limitations he can do many of the same things as the rest of the group does. But he seems content enough to hang back, ever the observer. And she doesn’t know if it’s her place to try to drag him into things though she might be better at it than anyone else. Miranda has told her as much.

💚: who tends to get sick more often? who is better at taking care of the other?

Hal’s question is really a continuation of the previous one and once again she has to call Billy out on it. Because she’s never really been sick a day in her life, not since early childhood and the culmination of that was the test bite that nearly lost her the leg she keeps tucked away, hidden out of sight whenever possible. “Dat seems a small kine ingenious, he no can help his seizure disorder. An’ I feel like he really ought to have a good psychologist. I t’ink some t’erapy would do him good. Spends too much time in his own head an’ mebbe not enough taking charge of his life. I know he can be afraid of lots of t’ings but it nevah really *has* to be dat way. But I also don’ wanna push him, for same-same reasons I mention before. You can lead a shark to chum but no can make him frenzy, know what I mean?” The analogy is silly. Billy wants so much more than what he feels he has. And a darker current in the back of her mind wonders if they would still be the same if he felt he could reasonably have them. That feels so selfish and toxic and she really has no place casting judgement on him when maybe she’s no better off than he is, only expressing it differently.

💜: who said "i love you" first? or, if neither has said it yet, who is more likely to say it first?

It’s strange how perceptive he is and goes in for the killing bite. The honest truth is that neither one has said it. And neither one likely will. Billy has layers of guilt and trauma, has beliefs that she cannot get a single foothold to try and tear apart. He doesn’t feel deserving of such a finer emotion. And Beth? She has her own reasons. She doesn’t even know if love is a thing that exists or if it’s some fairy-tale people tell themselves to make it easier to get by. She believes in affection, and she believes that people bond the same way packs and pods and herds do. But she feels the concept of love is poisonous. Ruinous in the way it can destroy someone from the inside out. And how any time she’s ever thought she’d felt it, it was ripped out from her grasp. She won’t say it. She won’t hear it.

She doesn’t answer him immediately, but instead gets up and paces away, appearing as though she’s checking on some of the cameras situated around the bay. The wall that she’d left down for Hal goes back up, slamming into place.

“Research from both psychology and neurology fields have found that there are twelve different areas of the brain that light up and work together when two people are attracted to one another, releasing chemicals like dopamine, adrenaline, oxytocin and vasopression. All the symptoms people experience are simply animal-instincts provided to guarantee that we as a species survive by either wanting to mate, or flee.”

💛: who believes in soulmates?

And Gates understands he’s made an error in judgement, though he’d only been trying to be helpful in a meddling kind of way. Anyone at the facility could see that Billy and Beth were two sides of a very quirky but ultimately needed coin. That they’d both changed each other in the two years she’d been a research fellow, and how they’d both blossomed for it. Well, anyone but the two of them. And this had seemed like such a good idea at first, tied into shark mating habits which he’d hoped she’d take better than she is.

Her answers have thus far matched up quite nicely with the boy’s.

Sadly, especially this one. She doesn’t turn to look at him. “There are no such things, Doctor Gates. And even if there were, statistically it would be almost impossible to meet a soul mate. Within the same general age group there are about a half a billion potential companions all over the world. One would have to travel the entirety of the world, every remote pocket of the planet. Secondly, there’s no scientific proof that souls even exist, and enough studies across various disciplines to prove that they don’t. Believing in such nonsense only makes a person unhappy. And all that aside, most mammals are not biologically programmed for monogamy and I doubt human beings are either.” Because if they were, why would anyone leave someone they claimed to love?

#Mahalo!Crow <3333 #A Star to Sail Her By|Doctor William Manderly #No Man's Land|Billy and Beth #Urca Aquarium and Research Facility #Aloha'aina|Hawai'i

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saladejin · 5 years ago

Text

Call An Uber? | 01

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader | Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary: Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: Mild swearing, hysterical fan behaviour

Word Count: 7.1k (Chapter 1 is longer than usual)

A/N: Okay, so in my next phase of finally crossposting my works to tumblr, I’m adding this massive multi-chapter fic.

I began this slow-burner (emphasis on slow-burn) a couple of years ago, so it’s easy to see how my writing has changed and evolved throughout.

Basically, I wanted to imagine what it would be like to have one of those ‘chance encounters’ every fan has thought of at least once. Thus, this fic was born, and though it is full of coincidences and wishful thinking, I always try to work realistically to make it enjoyable (and not as foolish as the premise makes it sound).

I hope you enjoy the ride, and feel free to check out the rest on my Ao3 in the meantime while I try my best to transfer everything in an orderly fashion! <3

»»————- << masterpost | next >>　————-««

Reader 1st person POV

Imagine being asked to remember the most boring day of your whole existence. If you're anything like me, then it's a bit hard to recall...but for once I was certain.

Today was that day.

Or it was, until something outrageous happened. Something so unprecedented and so unbelievable that I struggle to recall it at all.

I suppose I'll give it my best shot anyway.

A clear and uneventful morning leading straight into the annoyingly peaceful afternoon, and I had still only picked up and dropped off a measly number of people. Yes, being an Uber driver had its ups and downs, and I had been one for about a year and a half already. It paid decently enough most of the time, and the job just worked hand-in-hand with the flashy new car leaving a gaping hole in my bank account.

Despite all these alleged perks, today had been an obviously gruelling exception.

The lack of activity could be blamed on a number of scenarios, for instance a public holiday or event stirring attention somewhere else. Whatever it was, it was decreasing the number of customers in this usually bustling city of Seoul much to my dismay. I needed good cash, and I’d been working my ass off lately in order to get exactly that. Even closing myself off to social media and other forms of communication with friends helped me focus solely on working nowadays.

I need a real job…

Then suddenly, even as cliché as it sounds, God decided to answer all of my prayers. A loud ding emitted from my phone and I almost veered off the road in sheer astonishment.

“Thank the Lord!” I pulled up quickly onto the curb and examined the Uber request, almost questioning if I had imagined the whole thing out of desperation.

The name read ‘J’. Literally just the letter, boldly sitting in the middle of my screen. I raised an eyebrow, and normally would have considered declining the request if it seemed too prank-worthy, but I needed this job. I didn’t think the person had even registered or used the service before, as there wasn’t a clear rating to be seen anywhere. Once again...I needed this job.

The pinpoint appeared nearby, and luckily it was only about a five-minute drive to reach the destination. It was located just outside a large shopping mall in central Seoul, and even though this was a seemingly quiet day, it shouldn’t have been this empty. There were of course a few groups of people and individual shoppers wandering about, in and out of the entrance looking for easy buys. Even so, I knew this place to be quite popular and to say I was astounded would be an understatement.

There must be something going on in the city somewhere.

Making a grab for my phone about three minutes after looking around for ‘J’, I considered sending him or her a text to ask where they were. The place was basically empty, so spotting someone on the lookout for their ride shouldn’t have been too difficult.

“They mustn’t be out yet.” I clucked quietly to myself, typing out a message to indicate I had arrived.

The gentle hum of my engine was the only sound accompanying me as I waited. After another thirty seconds, I received a short reply of “there soon”. I glanced at the simple words a second time before lightly scoffing.

“Okay ‘J’, I’m in no rush.”

Still amused over the less than eloquent reply, I leant back into my comfortable leather seat and hummed to myself to pass some time. I would’ve usually had the radio going, but for now I wasn’t really in the mood for any background distractions. I liked silence when it was comfortable, and especially in a place such as this shopping mall, it was rare to come by.

The reverie was soon shattered when faint sounds of various screams erupted from somewhere in the distance, and I instantly jerked my head up with squinted eyes to observe the area. Tinted car windows revealed just enough of the area to discern an overall lack of movement.

The paved courtyard outside the mall wasn’t occupied by a single human being, which was even stranger than before. The only moving things I could eventually see where a couple of dirtied napkins being thrown around in the slight breeze, and a ripped paper cup from a popular juice bar rolling around caught in the same fate.

The frantic screaming continued. Should I be worried? The shouting wasn’t in terror or anger, that much I was sure of. I usually would pin it on some brawl breaking out nearby, but these sounds where mostly female when I listened closer. In any sense, it definitely sounded extreme.

I wondered briefly if there was some massive sale happening at a famous clothes brand down the street, causing a flurry of panic within female shoppers. The anticipation from the sounds caused me to tap my fingers on the steering wheel in curiosity.

Then it happened. An enormous group of Korean women and probably a few men, some looking fairly young, flocked around the corner of a building in an intense hurry.

Was the sale here or something??

My eyes widened in shock, as the group only seemed to be growing in numbers. Many were holding their phones out, as if recording something, and I scanned the rapidly moving crowd with anxious eyes to spot the source of the commotion.

Two well-dressed men seemed to be caught in the centre of it all. The pair that stemmed this chaotic crowd were clad from head to toe in designer clothes, including darkly coloured masks and sunglasses, not to mention the hoods covering their heads. The shorter of the two donned a lighter colour palette through a milky white button-up, while the other was dressed in a charcoal black hoodie and black ripped jeans.

They appeared to be trying to escape the bundling mass of people, as they moved quickly and swiftly ahead of the horde in their haste. I gripped the wheel in surprise. The screams where deafening and I could feel them grating my nerves. I hoped my client would not be caught in this mess. I wanted out, and I wanted out as soon as possible.

Maybe they’re famous, maybe idols?

A small excitement sparked at that thought, but I was still daunted by the scene playing out in front of me. If they were idols, I felt incredibly sorry for them. This was a clear breach of privacy and personal space, and they didn’t deserve it at all. This was the reason for hatred against K-pop fandoms all around the world.

“Who do they think they are?” I found myself muttering, eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

Suddenly, the more brightly dressed man glanced around and pointed directly at my car, turning to his well-built friend to shout something following a flurry of gestures. I stiffened and my breath hitched when both started sprinting towards me, their fans following desperately to try and at least touch them.

Oh no.

My breathing sped up and the situation finally dawned on me. The empty mall, the shady name and blunt text response. The timing…

I unlocked all my doors and gripped the wheel harder, if that was even possible. The mass of people followed the two guys as they drew closer to my car, and I prayed to God that they didn’t leave any scratches or dents by the time I was gone. The one that acknowledged me first reached the car, and I jumped slightly when he opened the passenger door and clambered in swiftly. The other darkly dressed one threw himself in the backseat next and I jumped again when both doors slammed shut simultaneously.

“Hello!” The first guy cleared his throat from where he sat next to me and I could see he was bouncing his knee in apprehension, obviously wanting to scoot the fuck out of there, but still trying to be polite towards me. His breathing was shallow, and I could see large beads of sweat rolling down the side of his half-hidden face. I was in no mood to sit around and ponder about him.

“To hell with this!” I exclaimed with a squeak, and the second after the passenger door closed I shifted the gearstick and floored the pedal. Making sure that no people were in my way before skidding slightly around the pick-up bend. Only the sound of one singular hand slapping the boot of my car made me wince, but I was glad there was no other physical contact on my precious red Hyundai.

Only the sound of laboured breathing could be heard amongst sighs of relief as we pulled away from the mall. I looked into the rear-view mirror to see some people giving a hearty chase down the road, but most of the fans had broken away and were just waving towards my car as we rolled down the street.

Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and I could feel a small smile resting on my face at the thought of escaping something like that. What a turn of events for this tedious day! A muffled gasp caught my attention and I looked into my mirror again to see the darkly dressed guy’s eyes screwed shut as he laughed breathlessly, one hand slapping his knee. His friend was just leaning his head back against the headrest as he gulped in large breaths of oxygen through his plump lips. They had both pulled down their masks and lifted their shaded glasses to catch their breaths, but the sight caused my own eyes to widen dangerously.

Holy shit on a stick, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook are sitting in my car. What in the ever-loving…

My breathing hitched at the realisation, but I continued to drive steadily. The thing I needed to focus on most of all was getting away from the crazy population of the city. I knew internally I was freaking out a little at the thought of members of my favourite boyband sitting in my own car, but I kept it under wraps knowing they would definitely not appreciate another bout of whatever that shemozzle was before.

I guess nothing goes unnoticed when you’re that famous. Why the hell were they alone?

Jungkook stopped laughing as he looked at my wide-eyed and slightly terrified expression. He suddenly grew apologetic due to his unexplained laughing.

“Sorry, uh, just how you drove off… sorry.” His voice died down as he gradually started to regain his composure, and I watched a shy demeanour suddenly take over his form, as if he had been hit with a realisation of overstepping his bounds. Jimin just turned and glanced pointedly at him, and then back at me to search wearily for a response.

“No it’s fine, I’m just a tad shaken,” I huffed out an exasperated breath, amusement showing on my features at the maknae’s sudden behaviour change. The idol next to me cleared his throat as I turned another corner, luckily no traffic barred my way and I was easily able to fly down the main road.

“We’re very sorry for what happened back there, that was probably quite troublesome for you. We apologise for the inconvenience.”

“Seriously don’t worry. You guys definitely needed an escape from…that. I’m glad to help, honestly.” I smiled to ease any worry radiating from the two flustered boys. “J, right?”

I glanced upwards into the mirror to lock eyes with Jungkook, not missing the way Jimin tried to conceal a smirk from the younger member. “Ah, he’s not that creative with names it seems.”

The older boy’s melodic speaking voice caused my lips to part in an involuntary breath of awe. I had always loved Park Jimin’s voice, whether it be singing or speaking or doing literally anything. Jungkook’s amused exhale and gentle chuckle also made me quite soft.

“Ah, sorry about my rude message too.” He looked downwards and bowed slightly. I noticed how politely he spoke and my insides turned to jelly once again. I felt warm and fluffy from their pleasant mannerisms.

“Don’t worry guys, how could I expect an essay when you were running for your lives?”

The two boys couldn’t contain their amused smiles as they exchanged another glance, seemingly conflicted. I could tell they didn’t know quite what to do with themselves in this situation, as they surely seldom had to get rides from anyone else other than their own personal drivers. I saw Jimin’s brows crease in concentration next to me, as if he was trying to figure out how to maintain his sense of professionalism. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt anxiously.

“You guys may want to start with an explanation, if that’s alright?” I decided to help them out a small bit. If I could establish a comfortable atmosphere here, it would be much easier to converse and work out what to do.

“I notice that you put the next street over as your destination, but I’m fairly sure you’d both want to go further than that.” I made my point with a raised eyebrow and gestured to my phone sitting on the dashboard, destination showing clearly across the bottom of the screen.

Jimin clicked his tongue and leant in to read my phone more clearly. My skin tingles at his closer proximity.

“Seriously Jungkookie, any other place would’ve been better,” he eventually spoke, and although his tone was whiny with complaint, I could see the traces of a smile dancing across his features. He was obviously trying his best to remain stern.

“Ah, sorry hyung. I didn’t have all that much time in this case, did you forget?”

The cheek of this boy.

Jimin turned around and pointed at the younger boy while failing to hold back a giggle.

“Oi, show some respect you brat.”

Jungkook was snickering to himself, and I couldn’t help the smirk from tugging at my lips involuntarily. The group these guys came from always had this certain dynamic of playful teasing that won over so many fans. I included myself in that list honestly, as I always managed to have a good laugh watching their energetic interactions. It made me feel so youthful, as though an inner child would come out to play even though I was still adolescent at the age of 22.

They were fine joking around with themselves for a bit, but I could tell they were still very conscious of me and my presence in the car. They stopped chuckling and Jungkook cleared his throat noticeably in the back, silently handing over the responsibility of the situation to his elder.

“Um, sorry about that as well,” Jimin began to launch into a heartfelt apology, his bouncy blonde hair lowering with his head in a meaningful bow. I stopped him softly with a smile and made steady eye contact for a couple of seconds. His oak-brown eyes were confused, and I knew he was trying his best to deal with the situation properly. Just as his leader would.

“It’s fine, no more apologies please,” I requested warmly, easing the tension as he leant backwards in his seat to relax.

“I just want to know how you both ended up there, if you don’t mind sharing that is. Also feel free to give me somewhere to drop you both off.”

Jimin glanced over at me once more as if calculating my chances of being a threat. I made sure to keep my expression calm and clear while focusing on the empty road in front of me.

“Do you know us?” the sudden question from behind caused Jimin’s head to snap backwards, and my heartbeat to speed up incredibly. It wasn’t an accusing tone Jungkook used, but more on the curious side. Jimin still showed slight disapproval before turning his gaze back to me, a newfound curiosity also flashing across his features. It seemed he became a little shy after the topic of their fame rolled around, but I could tell he still wanted to know pretty badly.

“I’d consider myself a pretty big fan, not insane but you get what I mean,” I managed to force out, swallowing the lump in my throat at the thought of explaining my admiration for them.

They were literally sitting in my car and I never thought I would be shy, but here I was with an embarrassed blush alighting across my face. Jimin widened his eyes next to me, his mouth parting slightly in his shock. Jungkook inhaled a sharp breath before letting out another hearty chuckle.

“Wow! I never would have known.”

“Neither, I guess you must not be as emotional as many ARMY are when they see us,” Jimin smiled at the thought, and it was easy to say he didn’t mean anything bad by the comment.

“I’m just here to do my job. I’m not usually one to express my emotions that intensely, but I’ll let you both know that you’ve made my entire day.”

I saw Jimin turn his radiant smile towards me with an abashed sound falling from his lips. “Thank you, you’ve done so much for us already. Thank you for rescuing us.”

I saw him throw a questioning glance at Jungkook, who in turn squinted his doe-like eyes in confusion.

“It’s (Y/n). You can use honorifics if you want, but I don’t care much for them,” I explained softly, easing his sudden bout of guilt for not even knowing my name.

“Ah, thanks once again (Y/n)-ssi.”

Both of the boys were nervous, as they had just learned that I was a fan and were probably expecting me to flip out on them at any given moment. I knew Jungkook was shy around girls especially, but even he was kind of uncharacteristically silent in the back.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to freak out on you,” I assured them, keeping my eyes fixated on the road with a mostly amused expression. “I’m curious as to why you guys were alone with no protection out there. That usually doesn’t seem to happen.”

“No, definitely not,” Jimin sighed and I heard Jungkook hum in agreement.

“We didn’t mean to get separated from the others, we were all meant to just be shopping,” Jungkook huffed, and I could tell the young man was still shaken from his escapade from the mall. His large dark eyes were still slightly widened from the adrenaline spike.

“Yeah, everyone was together, and then we weren’t. Then the fans appeared and all we could do was run. Jungkook had to download Uber and make an account and everything on the spot. Lucky you were there because our drivers weren’t going to be around until a few more hours,” Jimin provided, his voice rough and raspy with weariness and relief. I could tell the shorter member was finally beginning to relax in the presence of the vehicle.

“Shit, I gotta call the Boss!” Jimin whipped out his phone and groaned when he discovered a couple of missed calls from his manager already.

I gave him a nod to let him know he could make the call safely. I wouldn’t record it or anything shady like that, I respected them too much and it wasn’t in my nature at all. Jimin gazed over a final time before finally deciding to place his full trust in me. I was already driving the car he was hitching a ride in, so trust honestly couldn't have mattered less when both of their lives were pretty much already cradled in my hands.

“I’d like to thank you as well (Y/n)-ssi, you really did save us back there,” Jungkook commented quietly as he leaned forward so I could hear. Neither of us wanted to interrupt Jimin as he fell into a heated discussion with his manager, or possibly Namjoon from the sounds of his replies over the phone.

“It’s okay Jungkookie, I know you guys deserve a much-needed break after all that. Sit back and enjoy the ride is all I'll say,” I said with a sigh, and finally decided to relax as well by releasing the tension in my muscles to sit more comfortably. I noticed Jungkook smirk cutely at the nickname accidently slipping out, and was just glad that he didn’t find it inappropriate.

“No, I swear she’s fine. She won’t do anything like that hyung,” Jimin’s suddenly louder response caused my smile to drop and my eyes to swivel around to the blonde boy. His temperament had grown agitated and I could see he was having difficulty trying to convince his managers and group leader. His round cheeks were blown out in exasperation, and I could clearly read the worry flitting across his expression.

“Jimin-ssi, if he wants to talk to me he can,” I offered softly so I didn’t spook him, raising my eyebrows in encouragement. We’d travelled a fair way, so pulling over was an option even though it was probably still too dangerous to linger in one place for long.

“No thanks it’s fine, I do trust you.” Jimin shook his head and I couldn’t help but smile at his kind, yet stubborn nature. These boys had no idea who I was, yet they put their faith in me and my driving ability for longer than they even needed to.

Jimin finished up with his call after another few minutes of stressed reassuring.

“Um, (Y/n)-ssi? I have an address I need to put in. If that’s okay.” He turned to me after letting out an explosive sigh, and I nodded towards the phone resting on the dashboard.

“Go ahead, distance isn't an issue.”

Jimin smiled at my response and shyly reached forward for my phone, still trying to be respectful.

“Hyung said it would be ideal if you dropped us off somewhere nearby the dorms so there’s no suspicion, but apparently all nearby areas are swarming with fans trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“Shit,” I breathed, the full realisation dawning on me. If their fans found out who I was, I wouldn’t be left alone for a while. I could imagine receiving threats and loads of unwanted attention, possibly not even being able to leave my house for a few days at the very least.

“So, you’ll have to drop us at the actual dorms then.”

“What?” I questioned in an instant. That sounded like the dumbest thing I’d ever heard.

“Isn’t that the area where most of the fans would be?”

“Well, most likely, but there's security.” Jimin ran a hand down his face as if trying to rub away the sudden bout of stress brought on, and I could fathom just how tired he was from all the rambunctious disorder.

“Why not drive you somewhere far away and get your driver to pick you up or something?”

“I did suggest that, but they just want us back as soon as possible so they can calm everyone down. I don’t mean to be rude, but they can’t exactly know or predict what you’ll do.”

That definitely made sense. Watching another car pull out of the building might also cause the fans to suspect the worst. They could even believe that I kidnapped the two band members instead of saving them. Well, that and there was absolutely no reason for their company to trust me with two of their idols that much.

“Okay, but one of you lend me a mask or something. I’m not going in there with a death wish.”

Jungkook chuckles from the back seat, and I’m slightly startled due to not hearing from the younger boy for a while.

“You’re right though, here you can use mine. I have my hoodie anyway.” A hand appeared next to me holding a familiar black mask, the faint but fragrant smell of a rare cologne wafting around me at the action. Of course, anything he’s worn would smell this expensive. Seeing how normal they can act, it’s hard to remember just how rich they actually are.

“Thanks.” I slipped on the mask and the smell was now stronger. I almost swooned.

“It’s actually not as far as I thought,” I commented when the map displayed the route to take. I knew the traffic was most likely to be more congested in this area than the city mall was before, so I decided to take a couple of back routes.

“Good plan,” Jungkook piped in with a nod and I saw the excited grin plastered on his face.

“What are you so happy about?” Jimin scoffed with a raised brow.

“I dunno, just this whole thing is so… exciting? Nothing like this has ever happened before,” Jungkook replied while trying to smother his grinning, but failing miserably.

“True, you guys would usually be living a careful life, right?” I decided to join in. Jimin and Jungkook didn’t seem to be shy or guarded around me as much as they were, but I knew they were still keeping face amongst all the drama.

“Of course, we don’t want our precious fans to worry about us,” Jimin went on in a level tone, his hand flying up to emphasise his point. I still couldn’t get over how captivating his voice sounded in person, and how it was this close to me...

“Speaking of fans, you’re an ARMY?” Jungkook’s cheeky lilt gained my attention and caused me to look up and lock eyes with him in the rear-view mirror.

“What of it?”

I try to suppress my sharp exhale of amusement, but fail miserably as well. Kookie’s adorable expression of playful confidence, bordering on egotistical even, made the laughter bubble up.

“Well, obviously you’d have a favourite, a bias.”

The question causes me to now laugh loudly, smacking the wheel once.

“Ah, I should’ve seen this coming honestly.”

Jimin clicked his tongue at his junior band member. “As if it matters.”

His voice is also playful, and I can tell he’s just as curious as the maknae by how he looks across at me with raised eyebrows and a small knowing smirk adorning his full lips. They were both taking this as a joke, and I was not going to be any different.

“Of course it matters Jimin, this is the question that decides my fate,” I feigned offense, and watched as his smile caused his eyes to disappear in the cutest, squishiest way imaginable.

Before I could say anything else, an embarrassed blush swarmed my cheeks as I spluttered, “Oh crap, I forgot the honorific.”

“Its fine,” Jimin assured. “You mentioned you don’t care for them before, so I can live without it.”

I smirked at him and shook my head slightly. “You’re actually too nice.”

His melodious chuckle was then interrupted by the mischievous maknae in the back.

“Hey, don’t change the subject hyung. Who’s your favourite member (Y/n)?” I noticed he took instant advantage of the honorific drop, and almost slipped an amused snort.

“Well it’s not either of you, that’s for sure.”

I knew they could tell there was a certain level of sarcasm in my tone, but they still let out varying noises of defeat.

“What, no way. It must be Jin-hyung then,” Jungkook groaned and I couldn't contain a giggle. His narcissistic nature was showing, and this time I wasn’t even sure if it was a joke or not. Jimin chose to pipe in as well, obviously enjoying the mystery that was my ‘supposed Bangtan bias’.

“Nah, I reckon it’s Tae. She’s weird enough to be a perfect match for him.”

Oh my, he really went there.

Both of the boy’s breath hitched, as if they thought I was going take offense and kick them out on the curb.

“Honestly, if you think Tae’s weird then I’m a whole other level. Although I guess I can never know who you guys are behind the screen.”

Jimin visibly relaxed after hearing me take the joke, but then grew serious again after my last comment.

“We’re fairly genuine to our fans, as much as we can be,” He defended, but wasn’t insulted. Jungkook nodded in agreement from the back, still smiling from the joking around that happened before.

“Of course, that’s why you’re one of my favourite groups, but you have to admit it is kind of impossible for someone like me to make a judgement on someone I’ve never met.”

“That is true, I guess. We really do try hard for you guys. I never thought super hard about that,” Jimin looked upwards as he pondered, and I felt proud that I’d gotten more than enough glimpses of both their true natures just from this simple car ride. Though, realistically they could be phenomenal actors and I wouldn’t know any different.

“We may be one of your favourite groups, but I’m still waiting for the member~,” Jungkook started lowly from the back, his sentence breaking off into his famous high pitched giggle when he saw my deadpan expression staring him down in the mirror. Jimin joined in and I sighed in defeat.

“Okay. I don’t have one.”

There’s a small silence, but both boys explosively let out sounds of understanding.

“Ah, you’re one of those.”

I was about to question what Jimin meant, but Jungkook cut me off.

“I was just about to pin her as a Yoongi stan.”

The sudden and serious statement made me cackle, although the sound was muffled by the black fabric of the mask over my mouth.

“Oh boy, you have absolutely no idea. My best friend…” I trailed off as laughter gripped me, almost causing me to veer off the road uncontrollably.

“Jesus Christ, watch out!” Jimin breathlessly squeaked as he made a grab for the wheel to steady the moving car. I gripped the wheel harder in fear, but amusement washed over me once again.

“Hyung did your voice just-”

“Shut up.”

I couldn’t stop the amused snort, but managed to regain control. My chuckles were now borderline wheezes, and I could hear Kookie in the back sharing the same demise.

“As I was saying,” I began, but erupt once more as the memory of Jimin’s voice crack surfaced back to the front of my mind. Jungkook is in shambles, but Jimin is just sitting with his head buried in his hands next to me, shoulders shaking as he tries to avoid his inevitable embarrassment.

“Stoooop.” He drawled it out and reached behind him to smack the chortling maknae on the knee somewhat harshly. I knew he hated the fact that he just got embarrassed in front of some stranger, who had also been established as a pretty avid fan. Poor Chim.

“You forget I’ve seen videos of your many embarrassments,” I offered in between chuckles, and caught the moment his face scrunched up in an adorable cringe. A sigh of defeat fell from his lips. “Yeah, I give up.”

He still chuckled and shook his head, the tinkling sounds causing me to bring a hand up to clutch my chest dramatically. Both boys laughed cutely once again at my reaction, Jimin’s eyes disappearing as he covered his face with one small hand.

“You sure you’re not a Jimin stan, noona?” Jungkook chimes in. I raised a brow and decided to skilfully avoid the question.

“Ah, so you picked up that I’m older than you?”

Jungkook stopped, his jaw going slack at the sudden question, and I found myself face to face with his widely memed blankness instead. I almost can’t contain myself.

“Oh, yeah maybe? It kind of actually just slipped out.”

I find myself giggling at the return of his shy persona, and he smiled bashfully at the floor in response. His tongue pushed out one of his cheeks in shame.

“Yah, don’t assume such a thing,” Jimin chuckled, obviously grateful that the heat was finally off of him.

“Don’t worry, I’m the same age as Jiminie I believe,” I decided to help the poor boy out, craning my neck forward to check the next turn off for oncoming cars.

We were actually almost to the destination, and the trip had flown by way too quickly. After Jungkook made a noise of comprehension, Jimin looked around suddenly and grunted in surprise.

“Crap, I was meant to call Namjoonie back a few minutes ago.”

“What are you doing hyung?” Jungkook chided in flippant scolding, to which Jimin responded with another angered slap. He brought out his phone and dialled a number quickly, obviously not concerned that I could very well easily read and memorise it in two seconds flat.

As If I would anyway.

I fell silent as Jimin waited for the phone call to connect.

Jungkook 3rd person POV

Jungkook also waited, breathless at the thought of how dire the situation was to their careers as a whole. This was such a strange occurrence to the famous band members, and he thought about how normal and relaxed the car ride had actually been when compared to how awkward they thought it was going to turn out.

When Jungkook had made the Uber request originally, he and Jimin were prepared to face the worst. Anyone who had the opportunity to drive a car unsupervised with two famous idols in tow could easily turn the tables and expose them more, or maybe even do worse things…

He shook his head at the thought and silently swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He glanced over to your form sitting in the driver’s seat, stiffened slightly due to the very important call being made.

You had been nothing but kind and understanding so far, not to mention hilariously easy going. Jungkook found himself respecting you immediately. You could have freaked out and demanded autographs or photos from them at any time. You could have decided to not drop them off where they wanted and just continued to drive for eternity. You could have even taken them anywhere you wanted to, but no, you listened to them, respected their privacy and even agreed to risk your reputation to drive them into their dorms where countless fangirls could eat you alive if they found out.

You were just amazing, and Jungkook knew his hyung felt similarly. Well, considering how he defended you without question before when Namjoon probably jumped to conclusions, it was evident that Jimin trusted you too.

Jungkook was completely numb from bewilderment. Everything could have gone wrong for them in their haste to escape the mob of their excited fans, but it didn’t, and it was all thanks to you.

These types of people drive our purpose, we’re so happy to have reached you.

Although if he was honest, he wouldn't mind at all if you got all flustered and cute while gushing over him. Just a little bit.

Reader 1st person POV

I watched as Jimin jerked the phone away from his ear suddenly, a loud voice booming loudly through the tiny speaker to reach even my ears. Jimin’s face winced as he brought the phone back to his ear hesitantly.

“We’re so sorry for the mess Sir, but it worked out.”

I knew that he was most likely talking to his manager or director with how his language changed. He ruffled his blonde hair anxiously and continued to listen to the voice on the line, eventually digging his teeth into his bottom lip in another bout of anxiety.

“Wait, we’re almost to the dorms, she’s got a mask on and everything-” Jimin was cut off and my eyes darted in between him and the road ahead to try and figure out what was happening. His breathing sped up and I could see his own eyes meeting mine a few times worriedly.

What is going on?

We were getting close to the dorms, and I had already noticed how the housing had become wealthier the more I drove through the city. The streets were becoming beautiful and cleaner. I knew that the boys lived in most likely the richest place in the city, and this place was by far the definition of that.

One thing I also noticed is that there were a few groups of girls dotted here and there that were walking or sitting around the footpaths. Some even saw my car and started pointing and taking photos while jumping up and down.

“Well, there goes my anonymity.” I sighed and slumped further in my seat, as if to hide my face better than it was already hidden. The only sound as I drove onwards was Jimin’s occasional reply into the phone next to me. His responses were becoming less worried, but still sounded unenthusiastic.

“Yes, I understand, okay I’ll tell her,” Jimin murmured and I held my breath at the sound of the call being hung up. My curiosity was nothing short of burning, and I instantly turned to the blonde boy when he looked at me pointedly.

“Um, our manager needs you to come in with us so you can speak with him and sign some stuff.”

I look forward again and nod once in understanding. “Yeah, I knew this would most likely happen. Confidentiality, right?”

I crack a smile at the thought of actually going in and meeting the famous Bang Sihyuk, CEO and founder of Bighit Entertainment.

“Wow,” I breathed after fully wrapping my head around what was happening.

“I guess you never thought this would happen.” Jungkook chuckled from the backseat, and I scoffed in disbelief.

“Yeah it’s not every day you meet two members of Bangtan and their producer.”

The sarcasm was heavy, and the two boys grinned in amusement. Jimin leant forwards to rest his forehead on the dashboard in a weary manner. “Ah, I’m so sorry for forcing you into this mess (Y/n)-ssi.”

“What did I say about apologising? I love you guys and your music; this is the least I can do to repay you for all the happiness you have brought me.” My voice became emotional and quiet as I let out all my pent-up feelings. I didn’t know how exactly I could express my bundling thoughts into formed words, but I felt as though that might have been just enough to let them know how ecstatic I truly was that this miracle had happened to me.

“You must be an angel,” Jimin smiled at me so sweetly and genuinely that I had to rip my gaze away from him in order to prevent tearing up. I heard Jungkook sigh in awe at my words, and I looked up to see him smiling shyly at the ground before glancing forward.

“Devoted fans like you are the reason we have made it this far, (Y/n).”

Jimin turns his head and gives Jungkook a look that says 'Well that was fucking sappy' but I can’t help but smile wider and let out a tiny gleeful squeak unknowingly.

His words had caused my emotions to storm again, and I was so fortunate to hear them in person that I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I gripped the wheel tighter so I wouldn’t let go and do anything stupid. Since I had my mask on, they could only see my smile through how my eyes and cheeks bunched up, but unfortunately the mask wasn’t large enough to cover my entire face.

“Awe you’re so cute when you blush like that!” Jimin laughed loudly, reaching out to poke my reddening skin. I gasped and knocked his hand away softly with one of my own.

“Leave me alone, I can’t control it or anything.”

Jungkook was also sniggering in the back, his cheeky nature making a comeback as I shook my head to try and rid myself of the heat.

“Sorry for that noona.”

Now he was using the word to tease me, and I fought the urge to slap him like Jimin did before. “Silly boy, I swear you’ll never make me blush again.”

“You sure about that? I’ll accept the challenge.”

“And we’re here!” I dragged out the first word to hopefully try and cut him off. I could still hear him giggling in the back, his knowing smile holding an impish quality.

The sight before me was spectacular, if that was even enough to sum it up. The area in which BTS lived was absolutely breathtaking, and I knew that this was in fact one of the, if not the richest place in all of Seoul.

The gardens were marvellously well grown and maintained, while the architecture seemed to gleam and glow in the sunlight, too perfectly constructed to be true. Modern was also an understatement, as this place seemed borderline futuristic. To describe it in one word, glorious.

“I don’t even know if someone like me should go in there,” I stammered, my voice cracking multiple times in sheer astonishment.

“Don’t be silly, how else are we gonna get in there?” Jimin joked and I snorted lightly at his change of demeanour.

“Walk, silly.” I shared a cheeky glance with the maknae behind me when Jimin gasped.

“Rude, and here I thought you were a fan?”

“I’m joking Jimin, alright how do we actually do this?” I looked around and saw a parking space out the front of the main building. Jimin gestured towards it and nodded, giving me the go to proceed.

There were no fans lurking around this place due to the security, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape any photographers if they were there. Luckily we had only a few brief, yet concerning encounters with the fans while driving in to the complex itself.

If Kookie hadn’t given me the mask I would be dead meat cooking on a spit.

I parked the car carefully and fell back into my seat with a sigh. Jimin and Jungkook eyed me with concern clouding their features.

“We’re so-”

“Park Jimin, will you eventually heed my words?” I tilted my head and blinked rapidly at him with a smile on my face. He sees my playful, yet tired expression and shakes his head with an annoyed groan.

“I probably will never stop apologising for the trouble we’ve caused.”

I sighed again and exaggerated a pout, borderline mockery if you will. Jungkook let out a huff and a click of his tongue indicated the long-awaited comeback of his cocky attitude.

“Come on hyung, she already said it doesn’t matter.”

His tone caused Jimin to narrow his eyes towards the back accusingly, and I watched as the younger member sat back down, satisfied with the reaction.

“Thank you maknae,” I rolled my eyes and suppressed a chuckle at his scoff, catching Jimin’s amused and appreciative look. I observed around one more time before turning my gaze upwards to glance at the building next to us.

“Okay it’s now or never boys, run and don’t look back.”

171 notes · View notes

mosylufanfic · 5 years ago

Text

Five Times They Got Caught Off-Guard (and one time they decided to settle the question)

Hail, @youareiron-andyouarestrong, I am your Secret Santa! Merry Christmas and here's your present! The prompt “WHO KEEPS HANGING MISTLETOE EVERYWHERE WE ARE” just made me giggle, so I wrote a goofy, fluffy, slightly pratfall-y 5 Times fic. I didn't use all your ideas for majors, but I definitely enjoyed hearing them. You said smut was okay, and while this is still T, it’s pushing the upper edge by the end. I hope you enjoy it, and that you have an amazing remainder of the Christmas season!

Five Times They Got Caught Off-Guard (and one time they decided to settle the question)

Cassian was stripping meat from bone with unsettling efficiency when Jyn walked in the kitchen.

"I can't believe you want more of that dusty jerky," she said, hoisting herself up to sit on the counter. "I've still got strings in my teeth." She picked her teeth with her fingernail to demonstrate.

"I'm making soup," he said, tossing a leg bone onto a plate and a few scraps of overcooked, dried-out turkey meat into a bowl. "Might as well get some good out of this bird."

"Ah," she said, reaching down for a carrot stick from the veggie platter that Han Solo, that cheap motherfucker, had contributed to their dinner. "Good idea. Do Americans really eat one of those awful things every year?"

"I think it's usually a little tastier." He shrugged, as unfamiliar with American Thanksgiving as she was.

A big noisy holiday dinner had been Bodhi's idea. Most of them in the elderly, rambling house just off campus were too poor to make it home over the break, and about half of them were international students anyway.

Add in some of the strays that Bodhi seemed to pick up like a magnet picking up leftover paper clips, and there had been enough people, and enough dishes, to make up for the dreadful main event. Jyn rubbed her belly and wondered if there was any of Bodhi's veggie curry left. Or the elote Cassian had made. Or the chocolate silk pie that their landlords Chirrut and Baze had brought. Her mouth watered.

A yell exploded from the living room. They both paused in what they were doing and exchanged eyerolls. They'd been booed down for attempting to veto the American football game on the telly.

"Call that football," Jyn said, and bit the carrot stick in half.

"Que chafa," Cassian said, shaking his head.

She laughed. "Man United is playing, too. Night game. Probably almost done."

"Since when do you root for them?"

"Watch your mouth, asshole, I'm rooting for whoever's playing them."

He smiled to himself, looking over at her. Suddenly his smile faded.

"What?" she said. "What are you staring at?"

"How long has that been there?"

"What?" She grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and tried to use it as a mirror. "I got something in my teeth?" Fucking turkey. She'd taken a slice for politeness, even though it had required a gulp of water after every bite.

"No," he said patiently, "look up."

She craned her neck and squinted at the ceiling, almost directly above her. "That's mistletoe."

"Yes, I thought so too."

She lowered her gaze and met Cassian's, feeling her cheeks heat. "I didn't put it up."

He looked away, back at the bird he was still stripping down. "Neither did I."

Her lips tingled. She bit them, and made herself stop. "Someone getting ahead of themselves with Christmas decorations," she said airily, hopping off the counter and sliding past him.

He lifted his head. "Where are you going?"

"I - " She shrugged. "Dunno, my room or something."

He reached over and pulled a giant knife out of the knife block. "Here. Make yourself useful and chop some veggies for the soup."

"You're actually going to let me help in your kitchen?"

"It can't be insulted any worse than it was today," he said. "Leia Organa will be running the world one day, but she won't be feeding it."

"It was supposed to be her brother," she pointed out, taking the knife. "Just, his flight got cancelled and she insisted on doing it in his place. Why'd you let her?"

"Because I've never cooked a twenty-pound turkey before and I foolishly thought she had. Celery and carrots," he instructed, passing her the veggie platter. "Leave the tomato and broccoli."

"You still would have been salty if Luke had been cooking the bird," she observed, following orders.

"Yes, but we probably would have been able to eat it."

Jyn chopped up the veggies at his direction. When she was done, she leaned against the counter to watch as he performed culinary alchemy, combining seemingly random herbs and spices with the veggies and the remains of the turkey carcass.

"There," he said, covering it with water and setting the timer on his precious slow cooker. "Let it cook overnight and I'll add noodles in the morning."

She almost moaned. Turkey noodle soup while it was cold and rainy out sounded perfect. "Save some for me."

"Cooks' portion," he said and gave her a rare smile. "You make a good assistant."

"Great," she said. "A fallback in case the cybersecurity market goes to shit before I finish my thesis."

They washed the dishes they'd used, leaving them in the drying rack as the dishwasher chugged away at the dishes from dinner. It was comfortable and companionable and if Jyn thought of the mistletoe dangling above their heads about once a minute or so, she felt sure that Cassian didn't notice.

He nudged her as he was wiping his hands dry. "Want to come hang out in my room? Avoid the fake football?"

She felt the blush start somewhere in her stomach. She crossed her arms, smirking at him. "You hit on all your kitchen assistants?"

Behind his beard, his cheeks darkened. "What? I - no - I - "

Oh. Damn. Well. Fuck, this was awkward.

"I meant to watch the Cruz Azul game on my tablet," he said. "It'll be in Spanish."

She swallowed and attempted a joke. "What's the odds somebody's gonna trip over nothing, roll around like his femur is shattered, and get up five seconds later to jog off the pitch?"

"High," he said, sounding like their housemate Kay, who was going for his PhD in statistics. "Very high."

"Well, that's more like it. Yeah, all right."

Cassian rubbed his temples. He had a bitter headache and had just sent out a piteous text to the house group chat, begging for someone, anyone, to bring him a coffee.

He focused on the essay in front of him. "Alicia, I'd like to see you expand more on this point. You gloss over it somewhat. Professor Draven graded you down for that on your last essay, remember?"

The undergrad he was working with shook her mass of blond ringlets back over her shoulders and scooted her chair closer to his. Why, he couldn't imagine, because his office wasn't much bigger than a closet. "What do you suggest?" she asked.

Even though Alicia was in another section of Professor Draven's 202 class and thus had a different TA, she always came to see Cassian for help with her assignments. A lot of international students in the poli-sci department tended to find him, because of the number of languages he spoke. Alicia had been the most regular this semester, dropping by before every test and essay. Her heavy body spray, some kind of vanilla musk, filled his tiny office and intensified his headache.

He made some suggestions and she noted them down. "So what are your plans for Christmas?" she asked.

"Oh, I can't really afford to go back to Mexico for the holiday, so I'm staying here." He scanned along. "Now this conclusion is rather good, but it will only be strengthened if you expand on your earlier point."

"So you won't see your family? That's so sad, Cassi!" She put her hand on his arm. "My roommate and I are having a party after finals, before I leave for Berlin. Would you like to come?"

"Um," he said. "I - maybe we should get back to the essay."

A knock at the door interrupted him, and he looked up. Jyn leaned in. "Got a coffee," she said. "Want it?"

"Yes, please," Cassian said, reaching his hand out to take it. He took a sip. Three sugars, no cream, perfect. He smiled at her. "Do I owe you?"

"Your first-born, as agreed."

"Will you take a rain check?"

"No," she said, poker-faced, "I demand a baby right now. Make sure it's a nice plump one."

He chuckled and took another drink. His headache was already receding.

Alicia was studying them both, narrow-eyed. "Is that your girlfriend, Cassi?" she asked in German.

But it was Jyn who answered, in the same language. "Nope," she said, leaning against the doorjamb and slurping from her own takeout cup. Tea, probably, strong and sweet and milky. She was very English in that way. "Just his housemate and caffeine delivery person."

Alicia studied her for another moment, then shrugged and smiled. "Nice to meet you." She turned her back and said, "Can you tell me more about the parts in the middle that needed work?"

"Actually," Cassian said, handing her essay back, "I think we were about done."

"Oh - but -"

"I have to prepare for class," he said firmly. "Just work on those sections and it'll be an excellent final project."

"I still wanted to ask you - "

Even more firmly, he added, "I hope you have a good trip back to Berlin."

Alicia bit her heavily-glossed lip. "I'd still love to see you at my party. Here's my address." She scribbled on a piece of paper from her notebook and handed it to him. "Lots of fun, I promise!"

Cassian waited until she was gone to drop it in his trash can.

"Frequent flier?" Jyn asked, taking the seat she'd left behind.

Cassian shrugged, leaning over to crack the window. The air that rushed in was bitter-cold, but clean and fresh, chasing vanilla musk out. "She always wants a lot of help, but never really needs it. Her work is very good as is. I think she just wants reassurance." He opened a drawer and found a pack of crackers, offering her one.

Jyn took it and crunched in. "Or she's pursuing you."

He almost choked on his own cracker. "She's - I'm sorry?"

"She wants in your pants real bad."

"I'm sure she doesn't."

"I'm sure she does."

"She's just a very conscientious student, always works hard on her essays, arrives early for . . . office hours . . . " He trailed off. "Oh."

Jyn chortled into her tea. "Wake up and smell the perfume, Cassi."

He made a face. "Don't."

"Why not? Don't you like it?"

"No, but I've given up trying to correct her." He looked at his trash can, the party invitation taking on a whole different cast. "Hell."

"Not into it? She's pretty cute."

"No," he said. "And annoyed you had to tell me. I thought she just really liked international relations."

She patted his arm. "She probably does, but she's thinking of a whole different kind of relations." She looked up and froze. "And she's very determined about it, too."

"What now?" he said rather wearily.

She pointed and he looked up to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from his ceiling. He squinted. "How did that get there?"

"Was she early today?"

"Yes, but how would she get it up there?"

"Was your desk rearranged?"

Now that he thought of it, his keyboard was a little off-center, as if it had been moved and then moved back, maybe when a certain blonde German undergrad had climbed up on his desk to hang mistletoe from his ceiling.

Jyn laughed out loud. "For a journalist, Cassian, you're not very observant, are you?"

"I blame the headache," he said, reaching up for the mistletoe. It eluded the very tips of his fingers.

"I got it," she said, stepping up onto her chair and then nudging the keyboard aside so she could climb on the desk.

"Jyn - !"

"I'm fine, I've got it," she repeated, stretching up for the mistletoe. She had to go up on her toes to get at where Alicia had taped it to the ceiling, and yank hard. "What did she use?" she grunted, "superglue?" She yanked again, and the sprig came free, knocking her off-balance. She took a step into thin air.

Cassian grabbed her waist. "Steady!"

She teetered, folded over, grabbed his shoulders, and they both froze. She shifted carefully, getting both feet firmly back onto the desk.

"M'alright," she said.

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

He became aware that his arms were wrapped around her hips and his face was practically buried in her - ah.

And he'd knocked both their chairs aside when he'd grabbed for her. They were just far enough away that he couldn't hook one with his foot and drag it over, not with their combined balances so tricky.

"I'm going to bring you down," he said. "All right?"

"Uh-huh."

He shifted his grip, stepped back, and for a moment her whole soft, curving weight slid down his front. Her boots hit the industrial carpet with a thump, and they both let go very fast.

"Thanks," she mumbled, her face pink. She snatched up her tea, which had miraculously survived the shenanigans, and backed through the door. "I'm just - I - see you at home, yeah?"

"No problem," he said, watching her go.

Jyn walked in, went directly to the couch, and faceplanted.

Some time later, she heard the door open and Cassian's footsteps on the creaky old wood floors. "Jyn?"

"Ungh."

"Are you alive?"

"No."

He sounded amused. "What killed you?"

"An all-nighter," she groaned into the cushions. "A bitch of a project. Bugs. Bugs everywhere. It's raining and I forgot my umbrella so I'm cold and wet, and I didn't eat lunch, and I may have to do my project over again because like I said, it was a bitch."

"Anything else?"

She considered. "My foot hurts."

"Well," he said. "I guess I'll just leave your deceased corpse there to rot. It'll be very smelly." He walked out again, creak-creak-creak.

"Nice," she mumbled into the cushions. "Spending too much time around Kay, that's what he's doing."

She considered getting up. Changing out of her wet clothes. Heating up some soup. She groaned again, and downgraded her expectations to getting her wet socks off.

She'd just chucked them to the floor - splat - and was attempting to burrow her chilled feet into the divide between cushions when the floors creaked again. Something thick and warm settled over her. She grunted and turned her head, rubbing her fingers against the fuzziness of the blanket. "What - "

"Just in case you might be revived," Cassian said, crouching by her head.

She smiled at hm, pulling her feet in under the blanket. They began to sting and prickle with warmth. "It is the season of miracles and all that."

His hair fell damp and soft over his forehead, and his shoulders were rain-spattered, so he must have come in just after her. He could have changed clothes or gotten his own food, but he'd elected to get her a blanket instead.

She wanted to reach out and brush her fingers over his beard. Would it be scratchy or soft? She wanted to run her hand down his throat and feel the motion of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard.

His eyes flicked up and he frowned.

She pulled her hand to her chest, afraid she might have already been reaching out to touch him. “What?”

He pointed, and she twisted her head on the cushion to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the reading lamp parked almost directly above their two heads.

“What - “ she said, looking back at him.

They both realized at the same time how close their faces were, and he lurched back, almost butt-planting before staggering to his feet. “Anyway,” he said. “I’ll leave you to warm up.”

“Thanks for the blanket,” she said. “You want it back?”

He shrugged, backing away. “I have more.”

When he was gone, she pulled it over her head with a groan.

Cassian was grading papers from his section when Jyn found him in the library. "Just who I was looking for," she said, plopping down.

"Have a seat," he said absently, opening up the next essay that had been electronically turned in at the last possible second.

"Have you thought about Christmas presents yet?"

Who could think of presents when he had forty-two essays to wade through and an analysis of the effects of European colonialism on Egyptian foreign policy due in three days? But he set his stylus down and said, "No, why?"

"Because I found the perfect thing for Bodes." She called up a website on her tablet and passed it over. "Look at it. No really. Look. Couldn't you imagine Bodhi's face when he unwraps that?"

Cassian studied the bomber jacket on Jyn's screen. Buttery chocolate-colored leather with a shearling collar, warm and thick and stylish. "He would love it. But the price - "

"I know, I know. That's why I'm showing you."

"Even half the cost is a lot," he said gently. "My budget is candy canes this year and even then it'll be the cheap ones."

"I can math," she said. "And you don't have to give me anything. Look, the more of us get on board, the smaller the individual cost will be. If I blackmail Leia and sweet-talk Han and you appeal to Kay's sense of logic - oh, hey, have you got anything on Han? Because I'm not so sure about my sweet-talking skills."

"You have this all planned out, don't you?"

"Bodes has had a shit year," she said. "We can't send him back to London to see his mum and sisters, but we can give him something."

He bumped his stylus against his lower lip. “Chewie will be in no problem, so ask him first and he'll make Han do it. And go by the Philosophy department to talk to Chirrut and Baze. They're both teaching this afternoon."

She grinned at him. "Right, I'll just have to catch Chirrut after his capstone seminar but before Baze gets out of his 101."

"Good thinking." Baze was always grumpy after a section of his Intro course, mumbling under his breath about pampered babies who wouldn't know Aristotelian ethics if it bit them on the ass. "Just don't let them pay for the whole thing. I want in. And I'll see who else I can round up."

"You're the best," she said.

Two boys walked up, holding hands. "Hi, uh - "

Jyn leaned back in her chair. "Can we help you?"

"Are you guys using this table?"

"Uh, pretty obviously yeah."

"It's just that we kind of wanted to sit here."

"There's like a thousand other tables on this floor alone."

Although, Cassian reflected, none of the others were tucked away in a sunny corner behind bookshelves, private and quiet.

"I know, but - " The shorter guy blushed. "This one has the mistletoe on the window."

They both looked up. Cassian swore under his breath.

Jyn got up so fast she almost knocked her chair over. "All yours, lads," she said.

When Jyn told her about the mistletoe issue, Leia was supremely unsympathetic. "So? You happen to see some Christmas decorations sometimes, and sometimes you happen to be with Cassian when you do. It's December and we live in a society that pushes a yearly orgy of consumerism with the promise that - "

"Blah blah late stage capitalism, yes, I know, but," Jyn said. "It's getting out of hand."

Leia looked skeptical.

“I swear to you," Jyn said darkly, "that if Cassian comes along, a piece of mistletoe will materialize over our heads within twenty seconds."

"Confirmation bias," Leia said.

"Is not!"

"Is," Leia said. "Mistletoe as a decoration is ridiculously common. Look, there’s some above the door right there.” Leia gestured at the door of the Echo Base Coffee Roastery. “And no Cassian.”

“Give it time,” Jyn said.

Leia rolled her eyes. “It's not that the two of you are making it manifest, It's just that you're hyper-aware of it when you're with him." She smirked at her. "And why is that?"

"Because it's haunting us," Jyn growled.

"Because you want to kiss him so bad you're drooling," Leia said and bit into her scone.

“So what if I am,” Jyn said, and slouched in her chair.

Leia stopped mid-chew. “Wow,” she said. “You really want to if you’re not denying it. So why haven't you just laid one on him?”

“He’s so calm,” she said. “I don’t know what he wants. He’s impossible to read. What if I slap lips on him and he screams and runs?”

Leia arched a brow. “Unlikely.”

Jyn pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know what to do.”

“Slap lips on him, as you so romantically put it?”

“Nope. Avoid him until Boxing Day. You Americans rip everything down at 11:30 pm Christmas Day, and it’s like the holiday never existed. No mistletoe, no problem.”

“Yes,” Leia grinned, “but then it’s all Valentine's Day, all the time.”

Jyn’s face worked and then she huffed. “I’ll see you later.”

“You know I’m riiiiight,” Leia sang into her coffee cup, and Jyn made an obscene gesture. She stomped toward the door. Before she could grab the handle, it opened to reveal Cassian, Kay on his heels.

He stopped.

She stopped.

As if they’d practiced it, they both looked up at the mistletoe at the same time.

“Right,” Jyn said, pink-faced. “See you later then. Bye.” She nodded at their other housemate. “Kay.”

“Jyn,” Kay said, and stepped around her and Cassian both, announcing, “I advise you to get out of the way and permit the door to close. The wind is very cutting today."

“Right,” Cassian said. For a moment, he and Jyn performed a sort of awkward, shuffling dance as they both tried to pass through in opposite directions. Finally, Jyn was out, Cassian was in, and the door was closed.

Through the window to the left of the door, Jyn caught Leia’s eye. She pointed upward and mouthed I told you! Didn’t I tell you?! She was gesticulating so wildly she almost ran into a pole, and Leia made a dismayed sound.

Cassian looked at her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said, watching Jyn scramble out of sight. “Just got some coffee down the wrong pipe.”

He looked doubtful, but turned back to Kay. “This is exactly what I was talking about. Now do you believe me?”

“Confirmation bias,” Kay said, surveying the offerings in the pastry case.

Leia smirked into her coffee again.

Jyn turned in her last final on the Thursday before Christmas, and slept like the dead for fourteen hours.

She wasn't the only one. The house was full of post-finals zombies. When she shuffled out of her attic room and down the stairs in sock feet and ragged sweatpants, she found Chewie, eyes hidden behind his mop of hair, wandering around the second-floor hallway with a toothbrush in his mouth. "Done with the bathroom?" she asked.

He grunted, went back and spit out his toothbrush, came out, and grunted again. Interpreting that to mean all yours, she crawled into the shower and cranked it as hot as it would go. She counted herself lucky that she'd remembered to peel off her sweatpants first.

She felt more human by the time she snapped the water off and climbed out. The sweatpants went back on, but she promised herself that she'd trade them for clean clothes up in her room. Rambling out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel over her hair, she almost crashed directly into Cassian. "Uh," she said. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Hi." Shit, she'd said that already. She slouched against the doorjamb, hoping she looked incredibly casual and not like she was feeling self-conscious about being caught by him in her rattiest clothing. "How's the grading?"

"Turned in," he said. "You? How did your final project turn out?"

"All in. It's probably shit, but it's in."

"I'm sure it's not," he said.

She shrugged. "How's everyone else holding up? Does Bodhi still gibber when you say the words high pressure system to him?" Their friend's aeronautical meteorology class had kicked his ass.

"He's downgraded to whimpers."

Somewhere off in the distance, the doorbell rang, with the four-note sequence of the Addams Family theme. (Chirrut thought it was funny.)

Jyn ignored it. Someone downstairs would get it and she didn't feel like moving. "Well, that's progress. We should go out tonight or something."

"Us?"

She choked. "Uh, yeah, all of us here in the house. Big, uh, big housemate post-finals party. Alcohol and cake and - " Debauchery, she almost said, and changed it to - "Frivolity."

"Maybe pizza to soak up the booze and sugar," he said.

"Right, yeah, that sounds good." She grinned. "The Mill?"

"That's a good choice. Han's so lazy he refuses to decorate for Christmas, so - "

"No mistletoe," she said brightly, and just like that it was all awkward between them.

She thought of Leia's skepticism that she'd be able to bury all this after Christmas. Especially with Valentine's Day coming up.

He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and averted his eyes. "Jyn, I - " He choked on the rest of his sentence, staring at a spot just over her head.

With a certain feeling of inevitability, she followed his gaze to see a sprig of mistletoe, hanging from the light fixture.

She dropped her eyes again and met his.

He said, "I still don't know who's putting those up."

"Me neither."

"At least in here," he added.

"Right. Yeah. The Roastery and the library were probably . . . some poor worker who's getting paid minimum wage to climb on a ladder and - " She felt herself rambling and hiked up her chin. "Look, it's five days until Christmas. We don't know why these are suddenly turning up around us but it's just making it weirder and weirder, so I say we settle the question."

"The . . . question," he said carefully.

"Yeah. Let's just kiss and get it over with."

". . . That question."

The doorbell rang again, more insistently. Neither of them moved.

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. "Well?"

He swallowed. She followed the motion of his Adam's apple down his throat and felt herself break out in a sweat, heat thrumming at all her pulse points. She wasn't sure when she'd decided she wanted to lick his neck, but she did, she did. Maybe some heretofore unsuspected infection of vampirism.

"Maybe we should," he said in a low rumble.

She unfolded her arms and rested her hands high up on his chest. Damn, he was tall. She tilted her head back to meet Cassian's eyes, sticking her chin out in a dare. Go on, then.

Downstairs, a babble of voices broke out. They could have been in the next zip code for all Jyn cared.

He put his hands to her waist, warm through her worn-thin Gerrera's Gym t-shirt, and leaned down. She shut her eyes just before his mouth brushed hers.

Dry, warm. Fleeting. Tendrils of agreeable heat began to curl through her belly.

Then he was gone.

She swallowed and opened her eyes again, feeling the tendrils of heat curl themselves into nothing.

Her body hummed with tension and dissatisfaction. Was that it? Was that little taste all she was getting?

Even though the light fixture and its stupid, stupid mistletoe was right above their heads, she couldn't read his expression.

She dropped her hands. "Okay. That's done, th-"

The last word was cut off by his mouth covering hers again. Her back hit the wall so hard the light fixture rattled. She ignored it, too busy winding her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him, kissing back hungrily.

This, now. This.

If the first kiss had been a taste, this was a five-course banquet. They devoured each other, tongues and teeth and lips and hands. His hands slid south of her waist, clamping on her ass and hauling her into the arc of his body. She whimpered and hooked one leg over his hip. He pressed her harder into the wall and licked into her mouth.

She gasped aloud when he left her mouth and started kissing her neck. Somehow, both her legs were locked around his hips, and his hands - Jesus, he had good hands. She felt like a volcano, all liquid heat inside and liable to go off at the slightest provocation.

"That's more like it," she said, and nipped at his ear.

"I've been wanting to do that since September," he said against her neck.

"So why didn't - ohhh," she groaned as his teeth scraped her skin.

"I'm usually very good at reading people. But I find you impossible to predict."

She grabbed his head in her hands and stared into his eyes. "Take me back to your room and fuck my brains out," she said. "How's that for a read?"

He rocked against her and demonstrated he had no problem with her proposed course of action. "Your room would be better."

"Yours is closer."

He kissed her hard. "I'm next to Kay."

"So," she mumbled into his mouth.

"He's asleep."

"So?"

"I don't intend to be quiet."

Oh. Oh damn. There went her last brain cell. "Right," she gasped. "My room it is."

Over at the Mill some hours later, Leia watched them snuggle in a booth with a little smirk.

She'd been keeping an eye on that, texting her brother with regular updates. Luke always liked hearing the gossip from her house, especially any news of a certain British-Pakistani aeronautics major. She'd always thought Cassian and Jyn had a certain similarity, under their wildly differing outer presentation. And of course they'd been thirsting for each other practically since they'd met. They made a cute couple.

The smirk turned into a blush when they started kissing and groping each other again. Okay, whenever they got over that in public, they would be a cute couple.

She turned toward the bar and the giant bowl of eggnog that Han Solo had rustled up. Call him what you like - and she did - he could pull a party together.

Bodhi was already there, pouring himself some. "Want one?"

"Absolutely," she said, leaning up next to him. "So - the mistletoe."

He ducked his head and made a sort of grunt.

"You were the one putting it all up in the house, right?" She'd noticed Bodhi decorating for the holiday as early as Thanksgiving morning.

"Yep," he said on a sigh, passing her a full glass.

She chortled and took a sip that threatened to curl her eyebrows. It was very strong. She blinked and shook her head. When her tongue had regained feeling, she pursued her line of questioning. "What, did you just get tired of watching them orbit around each other for the past few months?"

"Actually . . ." He looked down into his own glass. "It wasn't for them."

She sputtered out her next sip of eggnog. "Say again?"

He sighed. "I had a whole plan. Remember how Luke was supposed to come for Thanksgiving?"

"And his flight got cancelled, yeah."

"And then he was supposed to crash on our couch over break?"

"And then his advisor asked him to stay to work on some 'special project'?" She made a face. She wouldn't be forgiving Professor Yoda anytime soon for attempting to deprive her of her twin. "But - "

"Well, I figured if there was all this mistletoe up, it would be sort . . . of . . . romantic," he mumbled.

Her hand stopped. "Bodhi," she said, slowly and clearly. "How long have you been crushing on my brother?"

"Look, I wasn't trying to be creepy - "

"Of course you weren't," she said. "Just - how long?"

He shook his head. "It's dumb, it doesn't matter."

A voice from behind him said, "I'm interested."

Bodhi whipped around to see Luke standing behind him, face bright and hopeful. "What - you - when?"

"A few hours ago," Luke said. "I drove overnight. I was taking a nap in her room until just now." He toasted Leia with his beer. "She left me a text to come on over."

Bodhi was still goggling at him, the tips of his ears going brick-red. "But I thought - "

"I excused myself from the project. Professor Yoda's not too happy, but I don't care. So, uh, what was my sister saying? About you and mistletoe, and me?"

They wandered off, eyes only for each other, hands bumping. No need for mistletoe.

Leia laughed to herself and drank more eggnog.

"Hey, princess, look what I found!" Han leaned over the bar and dangled a sprig of mistletoe over their heads. "Pucker up."

She tossed her eggnog in his face and marched off, refusing to reflect on the not-small part of her that had been intrigued. It would take more than mistletoe to get her to lock lips with Han Solo.

FINIS

#Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #rebelcaptain #rebelcaptainsecretsanta #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #boy it's been awhile since I used that tag #university AU #modern AU #everyone is an overworked and slightly crazed student #fluff #star wars

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copias-thrall · 5 years ago

Text

This is Halloween (Halloween)

Mary expands Suey's world by taking her to a crazy art party.

(Part: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8; 9)

It’s one of the stretches where you actually haven’t seen Mary in a few days. He’d apparently been by your apartment—dishes were done and he took out your trash—but you’d spent that day hunkered down at a coffee shop so you could have sandwiches with a friend who got a job downtown. And while Mary can be lyrical when he wants to be, his texts are usually brief and full of letters that only make sense to him in his shorthand … so you’re not ever going to get any missives from the front lines from him.

Which is fine: you’re super-busy and full of your own hobbies. Like napping. And complaining. Occasionally you’ll round that out with chip-eating. You’ve never been particularly creative—which makes Mary wince at you every now and then (you love art, you’re just not … adept, and sometimes it seems unfair that he can write music AND lyrics AND doodle great sketches)—but you are a voracious reader. You’d been shocked to find out that not only had Mary read Austen, but he also had a love of Persuasion—a novel you yourself found superior to Pride & Prejudice. He’d been similarly chuffed when he’d realized you liked Chuck Palahniuk for more than just Fight Club.

Which is all to say that when Mary’s not around, you like to combine your hobbies—a little chip eating while you read, only to fall asleep with the book on your face.

Tonight is no exception.

It’s nearly Halloween (it’s tomorrow actually, and you’re only slightly bummed that Mary has to work), so in honor of the holiday you’re working your way through an anthology of Lovecraft. Unexpectedly, there's a knock at your door. You check your phone, but there are no texts.

Hmm.

There’s another knock, so you set down the book and sprint to your bedroom to take up what Mary has dubbed your “Masher Hammer.” You make it back to your apartment door just in time for a third series of knocks. When you look out the peephole, however, it’s clear that whoever’s on the other side is blocking the viewer.

Gripping your hammer tight—ready for swing mode—you unlatch your door and open it.

You’re met with the sight of a Jack O’Lantern.

No—

Not a Jack O’Lantern … some guy with a carved pumpkin on his head.

“Ta-d—Jesus Christ, Suey … put Masher down,” says a muffled voice.

“Mary?”

Mary lifts the pumpkin—a real pumpkin, not a plastic basket from the dollar store—a little off his head enough for you to make out his face. You lower your swinging arm.

“Why is there a pumpkin on your head? What are you doing here?”

He spreads his arms out and does jazz hands. “Mischief Night!”

When you just stand there squinting at him, he finally takes the pumpkin fully off his head. His hair is squashed, and he’s only wearing some light makeup around his eyes and on his lips.

“So, you gonna let me in, or … should I duck?”

“Oh, right,” you say as you step back.

As Mary suanters in, you can see his eyes sweep to the couch where you’ve made a nest of blankets and pillows—your book lying face down, and the open bag chips positioned at an optimal angle on the coffee table.

“That looks nice.” He sidles up to you to squeeze your tits through your hoodie. “Almost makes me want to call it a night and get cozy in those blankets … I could crush those chips and lick them off you before I eat you out.”

His hand slides down to your crotch.

You’re trying to take him seriously, but he’s holding a pumpkin under his arm. You snap at his face.

“Mary—focus. What the hell?”

He gives you a put out look, exaggeratedly pushing out his bottom lip—but it’s soon replaced with a wicked grin.

“Mischief Night! Do you wanna go to a weird-ass art party?”

“An art party?” you ask dubiously.

“No, not what you’re thinking.”

He sets down the carved pumpkin on your table and walks to your fridge, rummaging around before pulling out the pisswater beer he keeps around.

“Think of it as a teen-movie house party—but on steroids and no one there got laid in high school. With, you know: art.”

“That’s … very specific.”

He walks back over to you, cradling the beer in one hand, and puts the other on your shoulder.

“We are under no obligation to participate in the orgy.”

You don’t think he’s joking.

He gives you a once over. “It’s also a—hmm—masquerade, so we gotta get you outfitted.”

Your mind darts.

“I only have those stupid headband cat ears my friend got me as a joke.”

He gives you a vulpine smile. “You’re gonna go as me.”

It had been a fun little party of two as you’d put on a YouTube Halloween playlist from your phone. Mary’d given you a dramatic mohawk with his precious airplane glue, then fished around in the pink makeup bag with hearts (that you’d put his stash in as a joke and he’d kept) to give you his iconic look—blood and all.

There was no way you were going to fit in his skinny jeans, but you’d been able to pair one of his well-worn tees (that you hadn’t already stolen) with your favorite denim skirt. Mary had taken off one of his studded belts to wrap around you—it’d needed a couple of safety pins to act as extensions, but Mary had assured you that that just made the style more authentic. Upon Mary’s request, you’d put on your ripped fishnets, and you had your own worn Docs to complete the look.

“Do I get to be a sex-crazed jerk all night?” you’d asked as you’d admired yourself in the corroded full-length you had propped up by the bathroom.

“You say that as if that’s something new and different for you—fuck ow,” said Mary as you’d tapped his balls.

“So where is this place?” you ask as Mary and you head to the train.

It’s in the old factory district, which means it’s a ways away, but still subway accessible.

“It’s actually in a converted co-op. I think they started out as squatters—unclear—but now it’s above board as a residence and shit. I used to know a guy who lived there for a while—they had sectioned off areas with screens—and he had a corner so he slept in a hammock. Most of the space is for their art, though. What a fucking life to live.”

You look at him, incredulous. “Mare. You live in a 2 bedroom with 4 other dudes.”

He scoffs at you. “We also have a couch. It’s a whole ‘nother level.”

You just hum at him.

When you finally get there—after a few mis-turns in this silent neighborhood full of abandoned brick factories—you’re surprised (despite Mary’s description) to see that the place is lit. There’s a guy standing at the entrance to the parking lot (that slopes dangerously toward the river) checking attendees; it becomes clear that not only is he checking for 21+, but for alcohol and toilet paper. Those without either have to “donate” $10.

“Oh—” says Mary right before it’s about to be your turn. “I’m not Mary tonight.”

“What should I call, then? The ‘Great Pumpkin’?”

“Just not Mary,” he hisses as you shore up to the “bouncer.”

The guy is not in any kind of costume—just grey sweats and a sports team hat. He’s sitting on a bar stool, and he has a little flashlight he’s using to check IDs.

“Hey, guys!” he says cheerily. “Welcome to Magical Mischief Mystery at the Factory. IDs? Ah! TP and suds? Cool, cool.”

He checks your IDs, then looks at you, then your IDs … then at Mary’s pumpkin face, then at you.

“OH MY GOD,” he starts chortling and slips off the stool to grab Mary’s arm. “Mary, you old bastard—I haven’t seen you since Dusty left to get hitched.”

You take a deep breath and—in your best screamo voice—you say, “I’m fucking Mary Goore,” (not a lie) “and he’s ‘Late for Dinner’.”

The pumpkin head turns to you. You can feel Mary’s unamused gaze.

The bouncer starts wheezing so hard that you’re afraid he might expire from laughing.

“Fuck, fuck,” gasps the dude. He shakes his head, eyes watery from mirth, and waves the two of you through.

“I hate you,” says Mary.

“I didn’t call you ‘Mary’, though,” you quip as you slip your arm through his.

“Why do I have to carry all the shit? Here. Pull your fucking weight.”

Mary hands you the toilet paper roll he heisted from your bathroom.

“Are we going to TP something?” you ask as you take the roll from him.

“Heh. No, it’s purely functional. This many people? It’s so the bathrooms don’t run out.”

The two of you enter with another mass of people, traveling through the miasma of secondhand smoke from the smokers. You cough, but Mary inhales deep, sighing. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you gape as you look around.

You and Mary stand on an open floor—which is what 5 or so floors look out onto all the way up. The place is crowded, but not jam packed. There’s a makeshift kitchen area where a dude in a bare chest and suspenders is accepting the toilet paper and libations. Above him is a white sheet that’s stretched out, on which an Art Film is being projected. The film has no sound because in the far corner there’s a DJ spinning, and a group of people are “dancing” to his jams. Mary was right: it’s like some kind of frat party for the artsy set. Because of the theme, most everyone is in a mask of some sort, and people—or groups of people—are making out in corners in various states of undress.

Mary grabs two beers, then leads you to a staircase—there’s a freight elevator by it, but it’s got cheesy Halloween “do not enter” tape blocking it.

“The first year too many people loaded into it, and it dropped 3 floors before the emergency brakes kicked in,” says Mary as he notices where you’re looking.

In a loft on the second floor you and Mary watch a woman—nude and covered in white paint—become the canvas to her girlfriend’s landscape painting.

In what’s clearly a shared bedroom, you and Mary peruse some really great paintings and sketches from what must be a number of the co-op residents.

“You should have told me to bring cash,” you say.

“We can always come back. I know a guy.”

You imagine Mary’s probably winking at you.

On the third floor there’s an inexplicable open-air kitchen attached to a bathroom. In it there’s a dude doling out beer from a keg.

“What’s this,” Mary asks him.

“It’s my homemade IPA, dude! Pumpkin for the season!”

He hands Mary a business card.

“We have a small space in the boonies, but we’re trying to get a brewery up and running in the city. Red tape though, man.”

“I fucking hear that.” Mary takes a sip. “Good shit, dude.”

The guy high-fives Mary.

“One for your girl?”

Mary hands you the solo cup, and you take a sip. You were expecting something grassy and hoppy—but the pumpkin actually balances it out nicely without it itself being cloyingly sweet. When you nod, Mary just lets you have his and indicates to the brewer to pump another cup.

The two of you enter what you think might usually be a studio space, but instead there’s a burlesque performance going on. There are some people making out, but Mary and you watch, rapt, praising the skill of the performers to each other.

The fourth floor has the least amount of people. Someone is doing a reading in one corner, and across the way there’s some sort of performance art going on. A woman stands in a white shift and gauze. Every time a dude who looks like a Nazgul rings a bell, she contorts herself to a different pose with a dancer’s ease.

You roll your eyes, but Mary begs your patience—watching solemnly as she continues.

“What is it?” you ask when the set is clearly over.

“Did you not feel it?”

“Uh …”

Even through the pumpkin you can feel his eyes on you.

“She’s a dancing monkey. Bound and constrained, only ever allowed to perform at the whim of her faceless master.”

“Mary …”

“No—don’t scoff. That was meant for you. It’s an allegory for the patriarchy, and I for one found it quite moving.”

You guess you can see it now that Mary’s pointed it out to you. He takes off the pumpkin, and you hold it while he goes over to talk to the woman. You shift uncomfortably as they engage, and she grabs his hands, shaking them profusely. Mary suddenly points over at you, and the woman waves and motions you over.

“Oh my god, look at you!” she squeals. She turns back to Mary. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it—she looks just like you.”

“I liked your patriarchal allegory,” you say.

Mary twists his mouth at you, but the woman just presses her hands to her chest.

“Thank you so much. I’m testing it out here as a protest piece. A bunch of us are going to travel to different cities and perform outside of big corporations.” She grabs Mary’s wrist. “Your boyfriend is wonderful. His song about—”

“—my band’s song—”

“—the nature of performative gender roles is one of my favs.”

You have no idea which song she’s talking about, but Mary looks pleased. So you’re pleased. You wrap your arm around his waist.

“He is pretty great.”

She lifts her veil to chug the glass of water Nazgul hands her.

“It was so nice to meet you person to person, Mary. I’m going to find the ladies before my next performance.”

“Love your work, Lizzy. I’ll put you on the list for our shows. Show up anytime!”

She bows and shuffles backwards as Mary leads you away.

“You have no idea what song she’s talking about do you?”

“I—” you sputter. “Uh. Dead Things?”

Mary looks at you indulgently.

“I’ll let you think about it.”

It turns out that the 5th floor is off limits to party goers, so Mary—back in his Jack O’Lantern—and you wander down to ground level to acquire more beer and to join the crowd of dancers. At some point the two of you take a break to pee, then hydrate as you add your own dialogue to the film on loop above you.

Back on the dance floor, there’s some skanking, some goth writhing, and some line dancing as the DJ spins his own set and sprinkles in some crowd requests. At this point in the night, most of the attendees have already made passes through the upper floors and are now all on the dance floor. Mary does some goth stomping (his pumpkin abandoned and now being passed around), and you do a silly skank until you slip on a slick spot and fall on your ass. After that, Mary pulls you close and grinds against you, his thigh between yours, both of you buzzed from multiple trips to the bar.

“Do you wanna find a corner?” he whispers into your ear.

In any other situation you’d probably say no … but—for all the crowd is packed—this is clearly a private party, one whose hosts don’t frown upon a little bit of lechery. You guess he wasn’t kidding about the orgy, after all.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

It takes a little investigation, but Mary and you find a room that seems to have been either designated or usurped as the makeout room. There’s a writhing mass in one corner, and the bed is covered in rolling bodies. There’re some breathy invitations—and a hand or two lightly caresses your calf as you walk by—but no one insists on participation further than that.

Mary yanks a pillow from the bed and tosses it to the floor. He pulls you down so that you’re both on your knees, his mouth capturing yours and his hands alighting everywhere. A hand of his sneaks down your skirt, and yours slithers down his jeans—the roving fingers of you each more a prelude than anything, stoking you both up to what’s next.

“Can I fuck you?” huffs Mary.

“Kinda drunk,” you say.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—just not gonna be very useful,” you giggle.

Because you wore the fishnets you’re not wearing underwear, so all Mary has to do is rip a hole in the crotch area—they’re not even good fishnets, so it’s not like there’s a liner to contend with. He grunts at your wetness.

“You sure?”

“Fuck me, Mary.”

He fumbles with his dick, finally managing to sink it into you. It’s a very awkward fuck—you’re lolling all about the place, and Mary isn’t being particularly steady.

At one point a light turns on only for a Sorry! to squeal out as it turns off again.

You try to swallow your laugh, but your jiggling belly can’t hide your reaction, and soon Mary is laughing too.

“Fuck … shut up … fuck,” he giggles. “I’m trying to get off here.”

You’re just catapulted into further fits, and before long Mary’s soft cock is slipping out of you as he joins you in snickering.

“Crap. I might be too drunk for this too.”

The two of you lay like that for a bit, a feedback loop of laughter, until your belly muscles ache.

“Fuck. Take me home, Suey.”

“Yeah, ok,” you say.

After some readjusting, you both stumble out of the room. The crowd has thinned, but that’s not to say the dance party isn’t still going strong.

“We should get a cab,” you say.

“Cash?” Mary asks as you guys shuffle out of the building.

“App,” you say as you hold up your phone to poke at your cab app. “My card s’on file.”

“Fancy.”

“S’for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

You give him a lopsided grin. “Like staying too late at a factory party.”

There’s a comedy of errors when the cab can’t find you and cancels, and you have to rebook—only to have the same cab automatically cancel your order again. Mary calls the number for dispatch, and they direct you out to a main street. The cab that picks you up is the same cab that voided your reservation twice, and he yells at you for giving him the wrong address.

You let Mary argue with him (content to doze on his shoulder)—the conclusion seeming to be that while you put in the correct address, the app didn’t like it and spit out a close, but different, pickup address.

By the end of the trip, however, the cabbie and Mary seem to be old friends. He lingers even after the driver validates your card, talking with the guy about where he’s from, until you tug on his arm.

“Sleepy,” you grumble into him.

The cab driver laughs.

“We are beholden to our women, yes?”

“Happily,” says Mary as he wraps an arm around you.

“Have a good night,” says the cabbie, and Mary just raps on the car, waving as it pulls away.

“What a cool dude,” he says as the two of you shuffle toward your building.

“Mhm,” you mumble.

“Jesus, you’re useless when you’re drunk.”

There’s a lot of fumbling and stumbling, but you both finally make it into your apartment. Somehow Mary gets you into the shower, which you don’t even realize until it turns on, and you shriek when the cold water smacks you in the face before it has the chance to warm up.

“Why am I still in my clothes?!” you whine.

Mary pokes his head in.

“You fucking serious? You almost bit off my fingers when I tried to undress you!”

“I’m more than just sex!” you yell.

“Just fucking wash your face.”

“Kay.”

You fall asleep sitting in the shower, waking only when the water turns cold. It seems to have had a sobering effect, because you definitely feel more clear headed than when you entered—it’s not as funny to be slightly sober and peeling off your cold, wet clothes. Usually you give your teeth the full experience, but tonight (this morning?), you just give them a quick brush.

For all he seemed soberer of you two, Mary doesn’t seem to have fared much better. He managed to get his shirt off, but he’s lying on your bedroom floor—curled in a ball—still in his unbuckled jeans. It would be amusing—and maybe after sleep it will be—if you weren’t so wrecked. It’s a struggle tugging off his jeans, and he semi-wakes halfway through and starts to shiver.

“Wha—?”

He looks at you blearily.

“Help me get your pants off, Mare bear.”

He blinks down at his legs, then sort of squirms his legs to help you wiggle him out of the black denim. Luckily—disorientated as he is—he’s able to assist you in getting him into your bed; he conks out again the minute you trundle him under the covers. The night outside is lightening, and you know there’s no way you can work tomorrow. Today.

Whatever.

You shuffle into your living room and start up your laptop, blinking rapidly as it boots up. When it finally loads, you send off a missive to your supervisor about potential food poisoning you’ve contracted, but how you’ll check your email later this afternoon. You preemptively down some ibuprofen and sneak some of Mary’s Pedialyte.

Mary seems dead to the world when you climb into your bed, but he’s rolling over and wrapped around you as soon as you’re settled, huffing into your neck.

“Took the morning off,” you mumble.

He hums.

You’re in a good doze when he speaks, jarring you back awake.

“Had fun?”

“Yeah, Mare. Now, shh.”

He mumbles something into your neck, but it’s too incoherent and you’re too knackered to decipher it. You just relax into his koala embrace and let sleep take you.

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #gritty girls #gutter punk #my writing #original post #no smut #...kinda #original content

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bbrandy2002 · 5 years ago

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Wacky Drabble #18: The Turkey Drop

This is part of @emceesynonymroll weekly wacky drabbles.

Prompt: What if I dont see it

Im a day late on this one, wasn't sure if I even wanted to post it, but, here we are.

A/N: I can't take credit for the idea of this as it comes from an old show and I'm just recreating one of the Thanksgiving episodes from it, sort of.

Summary: The gang gathers together in Ramsford to celebrate Thanksgiving with the Beaumonts. Let's just say, all hell is gonna break loose.

Warning: Turkeys may be harmed but I'm choosing to defy reality and believe they are all okay. If you don't feel you can, this is the heads up not to read 🦃

I put a "read more" in every story, sometimes they work and sometimes they don't. Crossing my fingers.

**********

Riley has always respected the customs and traditions that have been carried down throughout Cordonian history. Being the American- born, Queen of Cordonia, she opted to celebrate this holiday during her first year of marriage, in private- just she, Liam, and their close friends. She didn't want the Cordonian people to ever feel that she was trying to "Americanize" their great country. Liam, however, loved the idea of having one day out of the year for reflection and giving thanks, as this was something even Cordonian's would appreciate.

It was during their second year of marital bliss, the King presented this idea to the Royal Council, where it was passed almost unanimously. Madeleine was the only dissenting vote, having nothing to be thankful for.

It was decided the third Thursday of every November would be designated, Thanksgiving, in Cordonia.

What you are about to read is the real and true account of how the Duchy of Ramsford chose to kick off thier first official Thanksgiving.

**********

The weather was chillier than normal that day for the typically warmer climate of the Mediterranean country. Ramsford citizens bundled in light coats, braving the elements, in anticipation of the first Thanksgiving festival hosted by their Duke and Duchess. As festival goers wafted through the rows of vendors who were preparing enticing delicacies synonymous of their homeland, purchasing turkey related memorabilia, and partaking in games often seen at these event, they eagerly awaited the appearance of their very popular royals.

Maxwell had insisted he be the one in charge of putting this shindig together, planning every single detail, even down to the location of each port a potty. Bertrand was all too happy to oblige, having no free time with a toddler and a brand new baby. The only request made- absolutely, under no circumstances, were those 'blasted, overly feathered, menaces' of his, to be in attendance. Well, of course not, Maxwell had another kind of bird in mind, ones that were more in the spirit of Thanksgiving, and he would make sure each family in Ramsford had one of their own.

Drake walked morosely behind Liam and Riley, who were busy greeting their adoring citizens with Bertrand and Savannah. He wasn't in a festive mood since being dumped a few days ago. It wasn't that he was in a serious relationship yet with the sexually oppressed American from Illinois, but, who she left him for....Neville.

"Ohhh Walker!"

Drake cringed at the unbearable voice calling out to him and he had no use for entertaining her today. He clutched the whiskey flask, a former fiancee had given him, preparing to drown out the incessant mockery that was sure to follow.

"So...", Olivia eyed him with a devilish grin and her signature raised brow "...enjoying the single life again?", she taunted.

He huffed, "at least I had an "again", what's your excuse?"

She cackled, "Touche". Her eyes roamed the surroundings as they continued to stroll along, her mood shifting with curiousity "where the hell is Maxwell, he's usually at every one of these goddamn things making a fool of himself".

Bertrand turned to the Duchess, having finished with the receiving line of guests, clearing his throat, "My brother is off preparing a surprise that will be the delight of all of Ramsford today".

Savannah looked at Bertrand adoringly, "That's right Bertie, we are giving away a free turkey to enjoy with their families this holiday season".

"That's very generous and kind of you both, I'm sure your people will be very grateful, especially those less fortunate", Liam nodded, clasping Bertrand approvingly on the shoulder.

Drake shook his head, "I still can't believe Maxwell put this whole thing on himself, I don't trust it", sipping the last remnants of his drink.

"Drake, don't be a hater. Besides, Maxwell has proved himself to be more than responsible and mature of late", Savannah defended.

"What if I don't see it?"

The group continued to enjoy the festivities and fanfare as the sun finally broke through the thickened clouds, shining a ray of warmth below. A group text message from Maxwell came through as each of them checked their phones simultaneously, telling them to look up.

Bertrand, Savannah, Liam, Riley, Drake and Olivia, each shielded their eyes from the bright sun as they looked toward the sky eagerly. The faint sound of a helicopter getting louder as it approached closer to their location. A crowd began to gather around them as Bertrand smiled on proudly.

Riley pointed up excitedly, "Look! It has a banner on the back of the helicopter".

"Happy...Thanksgiving...from the Beaumonts", Liam read aloud as the banner became clearer. Savannah and Bertrand acknowledged the ohh's and aww's of the crowd, who were enchanted by the extravagant display taking place 2000 feet above them.

"What the hell just came out it?", Drake squinted to get a better look, as a small object appeared to have fallen from the large chopper.

"I don't know, maybe its a skydiver...", Riley answered as she looked on in anticipation.

Olivia furrowed her brows, "I don't see a parachute yet... wait!...there's another one and a third".

"Those can't be skydivers...I just can't quite make out what they are though", a bewildered Liam replied before his eyes widened with realization,"OH MY GOD...THEY'RE TURKEYS!!"

The crowd began to scatter in panic as live turkeys came crashing down around them, most of them landing on the soft tarps vendors had set up. Brown and white feathers intermingling through the air as stunned turkeys flapped wildly in anger. Patrons pushing and shoving one another in desperate search for safety, running for their lives.

A stunned Bertrand, scrambled to calm the masses to no avail. Savannah cried out loudly, "Oh my god, the humanity!", after ducking under a table, pulling Bertrand down with her.

Bastien made every attempt to shield Liam and Riley, who clung protectively to one another, while dodging and weaving through crowds of fearful people, stray feathers and irate falling turkey's. They stopped only briefly as they passed a padre, recieved their last rites and hauled ass to a picnic shelter. As the helicopter circled the grounds to launch a second wave of birds, Liam hurridly scrambled to reach Maxwell to cease the unintended assault.

Drake took off running with Olivia hot on his heels. He banged relentlessly on the door of the nearest porta-a-potty where an older gentleman allowed a frantic Drake and Olivia to hide. Due to being unable to hold three grown people, Drake stood in the doorway, having just enough room to shield his head. Olivia peeked over his broad shoulders as the last of the fowl fell on a tent across from them. They stood in astonishment momentarily, unsure if it was safe to exit while screams and the jumbling shrill of turkeys reverberate off their metal enclosure.

The older gentleman with them, finally spoke out when something strange caught his eye, "what are they doing?", gesturing at the 15 or so gathered birds in front of them.

Drake scratched his head in thought, "I think the little bastards are...organizing"

"I've seen this before", Olivia replied surely, "they're strategizing... its basic battle tactics...they're planning a counter attack".

Drake motioned to the formation of incoming turkeys, questioningly, "You've seen this before?"

Olivia patted her clothing down and began pulling knifes from various hidden holsters underneath, a determined look sketched across her face. "People...birds...whats the difference, they're both full of shit. I'm a Nevrakis, damn it...I will not be turkied to death by these...disgusting chicken wanna be's...you with me or not, Walker?". She holds up a knife that barely misses his face as he stumbles backwards off the edge to avoid it.

Drake swipes the blade from her steady hand, his dark brown eyes filled with savagery, "Let's end these fuckers!".

2 hours later...Ramsford Memorial Hospital

"Drake, can you hear me?", a concerned Liam stood at the bedside of his lifelong friend, when Drake's eyes began to flutter open.

"Liam...wh...where am I?"

"You're in the hospital buddy, you've got a nasty concussion and a broken nose, but, the doctors had a head CT ordered and it didn't show any serious trauma or permanent damage...you will, however, have to stay here overnight for observation".

Drake glanced around the room, grimacing at the shooting pain from his throbbing, bandaged nose and the seering pressure behind his eyes. The overhead lights making his already blurry vision so much worse. He attempted to speak, but, his voice was hoarse and dry. Liam reached for a cup of water that sat on his bed tray and assisted him in drinking.

Drake licked his lips, "what happened? The last thing I remember was grabbing the knife from her", he nodded at Olivia, who was standing in amusement at the end of his bed, "why the hell am I'm so jacked up?".

Liam looked to Olivia, he, himself not entirely sure of the exact circumstamces for Drake's injuries, hoping she could shed light on the situation.

Olivia moved around the bed to stand next to Liam, an uncontained smiled slipping across her pale face, "It was a giant Turkey...smashed right into your face", she clapped her hands together loudly, "Smack!". A light chuckle escaped her as both men glared back with astonished expressions.

Several seconds of silence commenced as that information began to process.

"What?", Drake snapped.

Olivia explained that Maxwell must have had one turkey left because another one came barrelling out of no where, dropping like a stealth bomber, and crashing right into his face. Never one to mince words, she took the opportunity to let him know that his face looks better now that most of it is covered in bandages.

Liam took in a deep breath, "I'm going to take my leave now that I can see you are well. I told Bertrand I would attend the press conference with him...apparently, Maxwell thought turkey's could fly".

Drake rolled his eyes, mumbling to himself, "Responsible and mature, huh?", he looked back to Liam with a grateful smirk, "thanks Liam for being here".

Liam clapped Drake's arm, "No problem", he turned to Olivia as he made his way for the door, "you coming?".

"Yeah", Olivia grabbed her coat and clutch that were laying across one of the hospital chairs and followed Liam to the door. She hesitated before fully exiting, turning sharply on her stiletto heels. "You did...well out there today soldier".

"I got clobbered in the face by a fucking bird, Liv!", he shouted back, grabbing his nose in pain as his head jostled from his over-exaggerated retort.

"Even so...", she trailed, as a long pause followed, the silence nearly becoming awkward. A small hint of compassion crept through her strong features and Drake instantly recognized the change in her demeanor.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Walker".

"Happy Thanksgiving...Liv".

#the royal romance #wacky drabbles #liam x riley #drake walker #maxwell beaumont #thanksgiving #long post #wkrp in cincinnati #bbrandy2002

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revisionaryhistory · 5 years ago

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Three Days ~ 10

~*~Sebastian~*~

I parked next to Emma, grabbed the food, and followed her into the condo. The door opened directly into the family room. There were wood floors with a large patina gray and blue area rug. She had one of those couches with a chaise on one end. There was an oversized chair with an ottoman in the same dark gray. Tables sat at either end of the couch. Natural light flooded the room from a window on one wall and French doors on the other. A TV hung in the corner of the front door and window wall with a fireplace between the TV and windows. Pillows in a blue to match the rug and a dark berry were tossed on the chair and in the corner under the TV were a stack of three big floor cushions. My guess was they were for sitting in front of the fire. The room felt comfortable. I wanted to jump onto the chaise and hug one of the berry pillows.

I followed Emma's lead and kicked my shoes off in the entry. I don't wear shoes in my place either. New York streets are disgusting. I don't want that shit tracked through my home.

She headed left to the kitchen. It was an open floor plan with a breakfast bar separating the two rooms. Grey fabric bar stools tied the areas together. Lower cabinets where black, uppers white, Carrara marble counter tops, and black appliances. There was another window over the farmhouse sink.

"Wow. I love your kitchen."

She smiled at me over her shoulder, "Thank you."

I almost lost the ability to breathe. Her shy smile dropped my heart to my knees. She looked so beautiful with her hair messed up from where she'd pulled it out of the ponytail. Seeing her against the backdrop of her house... breath taking.

I put our food on the bar, "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Of course." She pointed to a door in the far corner of the kitchen. "Ignore the clothes."

I closed the door behind me. Laundry room and bathroom. Convenient. There was a pile of folded clothes on a long counter across from the washer and dryer.

When I came out, she had lunch set out. I sat on the stool next to her and put the roll I'd grabbed for her in the top of her take out container, "For you."

"Thank you."

I jumped in where we left off at Whole Foods. "It's really thoughtful how you use people's names."

"I think everyone likes to hear their name and most people don't even look at the person checking them out or bringing their food." She looked over from her salad, "It may sound naive, but I hope that small nicety makes their day better."

"Wouldn't be surprised if it did. I don't think it’s naive. It's nice. Lots of people don't think to do the nice thing. Those small acts of kindness can change the world for someone."

"Our brains involuntarily respond to the sound of our own names, even if we're unable to respond to or act on anything else." She smirked, "Can you ignore it when someone yells your name?"

I'd just shoved a forkful of salad in my mouth. I chewed and shook my head. "Nope." I pointed my fork at my ear. "I wear earbuds a lot." I cringed, "Don't take that the wrong way. When I'm at an event or on a stage and people are screaming my name it's... fantastic and humbling. I'd be crushed if they stopped. But when I'm going about my day it's easier. I know people who can ignore hearing their name, but I can't. So, if I hear my name I look over and usually it’s taken as an ok to come over and talk." I cringed again. "It is. I like talking to fans. I love hearing stories. Most people aren't rude." My shoulders slumped, "Sometimes I just want to get to the subway and go to my friend's place." I shrugged and tilted my head, looking at her, "Earbuds."

She nodded, "I get it. Those guys at the restaurant weren't rude and didn't stay too long."

"I don't like when someone interrupts when I'm eating. They waited and, like you said, didn't stay too long."

She looked curious, "What if they had?"

"The hostess recognized me, so management knew we were there. Usually, if someone stays too long or lots of people start coming over, management will clear them away. If they hadn't, I would have gotten us out of there."

She laughed, "Do you always know an exit route?"

"Not even close." I laughed too, "I'm good at winging it."

She ran her hand down my bicep, "If I made you uncomfortable, l'm sorry."

I'd done a lot of cringing in the last few minutes. "Nothing to be sorry about. I'd rather you ask." Pretty sure I was looking uncomfortable again. "I don't want you to think I don't realize how blessed I am."

Emma stopped me with another touch on my arm, "Not at all, Sebastian. Privacy shouldn't be the price you pay for doing what you love."

This would also be a perfect time for a kiss. However, one of us had a mouthful of blue cheese and spinach.

It wasn't me.

We laughed and talked about the gym while finishing eating. There was a lot to laugh about from the yoga class. The woman who kept shushing us scared me. It was a good thing Emma got us out of there. She didn't believe me and laughed. When she laughs, she gets the cutest dimple in her cheek. Just one. Left cheek.

Emma closed the lid on what was left of her salad, "You were right. The roll was delicious."

"I would never lie about bread." I was finished too and closed the lid.

Emma stuffed the containers back in the bag then into a garbage can under the sink. She came back around the breakfast bar, "I'll get you towels and show you where everything is."

I grabbed my bag and followed her up the stairs. The bathroom was the first door on the right. Emma opened the second door, pulled out a set of towels and a washcloth, and handed them to me. "Thank you."

"No problem." She pointed to the third door. "That's the guest room. You can use it if you want. I'll meet you back downstairs."

I nodded and walked into the bathroom. When I pulled my phone out of my shorts, I noticed the blinking light. My mom texted asking what time I'd be home and when I was leaving tomorrow. Fuck. I was taking the train back to the city tomorrow morning. I leaned on the counter and looked at myself in the mirror. I watched myself start to smile. I rolled my eyes. I wasn't taking a train anywhere in the morning.

Naturally, I over thought this in the shower. There were tradeoffs to be made. I felt guilty blowing off helping my parents to go to a festival with Emma. If I stayed through tomorrow it would negate skipping out today. I could leave Monday morning. But that was the holiday. Schools are closed. Wonder if Emma has plans? I had plans Monday, but nothing I couldn't skip out on.

I realize I've only known her twenty-four hours and I'm making decisions based on the rest of the day going well. I don't know why it wouldn't. This has been good and fun. Who the hell knows where it will go, but there's a little voice telling me not to go home yet.

I beat her downstairs and sent a few texts updating my plans while stretched out on the chaise. The remote was on the table next to me. I hit the power button and brought up something like Netflix, but wasn't.

I heard Emma come down the stairs and looked over, "Hey, what's this Plex thing?"

She sat down on the other end of the couch. Too far away. "You look really good in that color, Seb."

I looked down to see what I'd put on. Dark red t-shirt. "Thanks."

Emma smiled and nodded to the TV, "My father digitized his entire movie and TV series collection. Plex organizes everything. It's like your own personal Netflix."

I'd been poking around for a little while, "This is cool. How does it group things into collections?"

"We do it. I can sign into the server and add things to favorites or fuck around with Amy's."

I clicked on Fave-Emma. "You like a lot of reality TV."

Emma laughed, "That’s Amy messing with me. I hate reality TV. It's like the worst parts of people sensationalized for the masses. I don't like watching people be horrible to each other. I don't like people being put in prescribed situations and rewarded for being nasty."

It was cute how worked up she was. I must have smiled.

"What?"

I raised my shoulders, "No Survivor or Keeping up with the Kardashian's for you."

She understood I was teasing, "Or Big Brother or American MasterChef. Australian MasterChef is good. I like Great British Bake off and The Repair Shop. Polite British reality TV."

"What about movies?"

Her demeanor changed to wide eyed excitement. "Oh, they're completely different. They're not real people being horrible. It's scripted. I love in movies what I hate in reality TV. One of my favorite movies is 'Closer' and it's," she shook her head and cringed, "harsh."

I startled, "With Natalie Portman?"

She nodded, "Love it. It's one of the most honest movies I've ever seen."

I sat up, threw my head back, and put my hand up, pretending to be exasperated. "Honest? Everyone in that movie was a big fat liar." Her smile let me know she recognized the quote from the movie.

"Everyone is incredibly unlikable, but Larry didn't lie."

I raised my eyebrows.

She stuck her tongue out a little and pointed at me, "He was a horrible person, but not a liar. He was so hurt when Anna cheated."

I leaned forward, "No, no, no. That scene was horrifying."

"Yes, but it was real in how people can destroy each other. The whole interchange where he wanted to know all the details. Where they were, what they did. He even asked what the other guy's cum tasted like." She fell back onto the couch. “In a movie full of lies that was the most honest thing I've ever seen."

I leaned back, mirroring her. Partly because I wanted to pounce on her. The back and forth had been fun with both of us fervently involved in the conversation. Then she used the words “what his cum tasted like” and my brain short circuited a little. I laced my fingers on my chest and thought. I turned my head to look at her, "You're right. I remember sitting in the theater with my mouth hanging open. I thought it was the language, because it was almost obscene. Only now... I wonder if it was because it was a brutally unsanitized version of a break up."

She smiled and shrugged one shoulder, "Made you think."

"It's the teacher in you."

"Occupational hazard."

Important question. "Are first grade teachers allowed to say the word cum?"

She drew her eyebrows down with a look of disgust, "Not in front of the children."

I laughed so loud I startled myself.

Emma shook her head, stood up, and held out her hand to me, "Let's go play, Sebastian."

I took her hand, letting her pull me up. I put up enough resistance for her to drag me out the door. As soon as I closed the vehicle door behind her, I realized I'd missed the perfect moment. When she pulled me off the couch, I should have pulled her back, taken her in my arms, and kissed her.

I fucking missed it. Again.

We pulled out and Emma told me which way to go. “One of my favorites is similar. Husbands and Wives. It’s funny and tragic. It’s real too. You'd probably like it. Godfather. Lots of classics for the acting and film making. I loved Boogie Nights. Life of a male porn star. I enjoyed seeing how the porn industry worked."

"Tempted?" Mischief was in those green eyes.

"Porn and acting aren't always so very different. Scum bags in both." I wanted to hear more from her. "What do you love besides fucking cavemen?" Another quote from Closer.

"Um, Sliding Doors. Princess Bride. I like trilogies. Lord of the Rings is the best thing ever. The extended cuts. Dad is a huge Tolkien fan. He read us the Hobbit when we were little. We couldn't focus on reading the Fellowship, but the movies worked. Loved The Force Awakens.”

I could tell by what she didn’t say she wasn't in love with number two, "Opinion on Last Jedi?"

"Hated everything about Canto Bight. They made Poe both stupid and sexist." She growled, "Fucked up script."

I nodded. I was biting my tongue. I wasn’t a stranger to fucked up scripts. I wanted to ask. She would tell the truth, which was good, but I didn't know the way she'd go. Next stoplight I looked over, "Dare I ask?"

She laughed, "Don't care for the Hulk. Like Spiderman and Ant Man only in ensemble movies, not the solo films. Love Tony's genius and arrogance. I almost peed my pants because of fat Thor. Love Wanda and Nat. Love everyone in Guardians except Peter Quill and not just because he could have stopped Thanos. I thought I just didn't like Pratt because I didn’t like him in 10 Years and Parks and Rec, but loved Jurassic World. So its Peter. I can watch baby Groot dance all day. Did I miss anybody?" Her eyebrows were pulled down with the question she was facetiously asking.

I went with it. "Falcon. Hawkeye, Vision." Left out a couple of major players. The one’s I really wanted an opinion on. I put the ball back in her court.

"Snarky fun, steady, a bit over bearing." I just nodded and we were quiet. A few seconds passed before she put her hand on my arm, "I can't keep this up. Seems mean."

"A little teasing never hurt me."

She smiled and went on. "At the beginning Steve and Bucky were all boy. They ragged on each other and I didn't really care for either. I know they were best friends, but I didn’t like how they interacted. Bucky was cocky and dismissive of Steve. Steve was annoying in his earnestness. I liked how the characters grew. Beautiful bad boy, who’s not really bad. I like broken characters. Bucky is definitely broken. Was broken. We'll see."

I was good with her take on Bucky and Steve. I don’t completely disagree. "I hear there are plans for Bucky."

"You would know."

I nodded, "You thought Bucky was beautiful?" I said this with a straight face and looked at the road.

"Wanna know a secret?"

I guessed she didn't want to answer, "Sure."

"Bucky is much hotter than Steve."

"I think I'm glad to hear that." Yeah, more than good with her opinion.

Parking was a bitch. The positive about parking so fucking far away is I got to walk a couple of blocks down the street holding my date's hand. It's amazing how sometimes the simplest things make me happiest. Right now, I'm pretty damn happy.

#Sebastian Stan #fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction

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alecmagnuslwb · 5 years ago

Text

New Year’s Eve: Chapter One

Read on AO3

One magical night, five intertwining love stories, all culminating at midnight with just maybe some confessions and kisses as the clock strikes.

So, you know those cheesy rom-coms about holidays, that’s exactly what this is. Over the next six days, six chapters each focusing on a duo of some sort will culminate on New Year’s Eve with the midnight chapter were it all comes together and there might be a few smooches :)

This chapter: Magnus & Alec, and here’s the thing Magnus loves Alec, Alec loves Magnus, but they’re currently broken up and being a little stubborn about those very blatant two facts.

***

11 a.m. New Year’s Eve

“Fine! I’ll do it!” Alec shouts into the phone as Aline rattles on to her literal forty-fifth reason why he should cater this event so last minute on New Year’s Eve. He’s already looking at the designated menu set up by the previous chef that Aline had emailed him around reason twenty-two and planning what changes he wants to make.

“There’s no need to shout,” she teases on the other end of the line. Alec hears the sounds of taxis and eager tourists around his friend, no doubt on her way to one of the at least ten events her family’s company is in charge of this evening.

“Pretty sure it’s the only way you’d stop talking,” Alec grins as he shuts his laptop forwarding the menu changes to his temporary staff for the evening. He moves from his kitchen to his bedroom to get dressed.

He had planned on doing absolutely nothing tonight, his restaurant is closed until the third so the staff can enjoy their holiday, which will allow him to let the New Year pass him by and the hellish past year he’s had get left in the dust, but now evidently he’ll be the head chef for Edom Records most exclusive party of the year. It’s a party he would usually avoid like the damn plague, but he knows for a fact a certain someone he used to date won’t be there. Last he checked he who shall not be named was in Ibiza for the New Year partying away a three month-long gap before his tour starts again. Not that Alec checks his ex’s Instagram every single morning or anything.

Aline huffs a laugh, “You’re a saint, Alec. An absolute saint to Sebastian Morgenstern’s devil.”

Alec scoffs, “His food sucks anyways and you know it.” Sebastian Morgenstern has been a thorn in Alec’s side since culinary school, his talent is subpar at best but daddy’s money and name in the entertainment industry has kept him working.

“Yeah, but people act like they love it cause it’s on trend,” Aline says the sound of a door slamming coming from her end as she seemingly slips into a cab. “Now that won’t matter cause the food will be genuinely good.”

Alec’s about to respond with a thanks, still in disbelief that people think he’s actually good at his job when another ringing comes from Aline’s end of the phone.

“Damn,” she says no doubt one of her five other phones ringing. “I’ve gotta go, I owe you big for this, be at the hotel within the hour and I’ll drop by this afternoon to check in before I have to be at Times Square.”

“See you,” he starts, but she’s already hung up on him. He shrugs completely unoffended by the act as he pulls his chef whites from the closet.

***

Catarina chuckles as she looks down at her phone from her seat beside Magnus in the limousine.

“What’s so amusing?” he asks idly and somewhat nervously twisting the silver arrow ring on his right ring finger that was a gift from the man he never should have let go. He still wears it every single day, even if it breaks his heart a little bit every time he slips it on.

“I just figured out why you insisted I accept the abysmal paycheck you’re getting for tonight’s performance twenty minutes after landing back in the city,” his manager and best friend smirks. Magnus feigns disinterest. He knew she’d figure him out, but he doesn’t have to acknowledge it just yet.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, it’s something fun to do,” he shrugs. “It’s not all about money.”

“Oh, that second thing is true, but you don’t give a damn about the fun of this performance and we both know it,” she says tilting her phone in his direction. On the screen is a mass email from Aline about the change in chef for the event tonight. He’s only received one text from Aline in the last nine months, her camp firmly on his ex’s side in the breakup. That text had been about twenty minutes ago.

Magnus huffs as he glances at the screen, “So, I don’t make all my decisions based around him.”

“No, you don’t,” she says kindly. “But, you’ve been a pining mess every moment you’re not on stage the last nine months regretting how you walked away the last time you saw him. So, this decision is decidedly based entirely around him.”

She’s right. Magnus can’t keep up a façade and act like she isn’t right. When Gretel, the original headliner for the party, came down with the flu he was ready to turn it down without question when Catarina got the call not even twenty minutes after he’d landed back in the city from what had been a decidedly unfun trip to Ibiza he’d chosen to cut short. But then a simple text from Aline came through.

Chef backed out last minute too, Alec’s his replacement. Try not to fuck it up this time.

His answer shifted immediately. Losing Alec, letting him go was the worst decision of his life. The tour hadn’t allowed him any opportunity to reach out face to face and this, this had to be his moment. Even if it all went up in flames.

“I have to try,” he replies practically whispering it scared if he says it too loud he’ll become too hopeful. The truth is he doesn’t know what Alec’s been up to the last nine months, he’s never been one for social media, only ever posting about his restaurant and aside from friendly contact with Alec’s mother and sister who never really talk about Alec he’s been all but marooned away from that once prominent portion of his life. For all he knows Alec’s moved on, has some new boyfriend that doesn’t cut and run when things get too serious. He’s terrified he well and truly blew it.

Catarina turns, grabbing his fidgety hands between hers, “I know you do, sweetheart. I know you do.” She says it in her most motherly voice, the one she always uses when Madzie needs to be uplifted. It makes him feel both seven years old and extremely comforted.

Magnus smiles squeezing her hands in thanks and changes the subject not wanting to dwell and just wanting to get on with it, heartbreak or heart healed.

“Did we sort out the band?”

“All your usual’s,” Catarina replies releasing his hands. “Except we’re short a backup singer, evidently Maureen dumped her latest boyfriend and has run away to California, possibly permanently.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, of course she has. “Call Isabelle,” he says without question.

Catarina lifts a brow, “You sure? If you’re attempts to woo her brother go amiss that might not go your way.”

Magnus shakes his head, “Whatever happens between me and Alec, she and I will still be on good terms professionally. She’s got a hell of a voice, call her.”

Catarina nods reaching for her phone distracted with scrolling through her contacts to find Isabelle as the limo driver knocks on the window signaling they’re about to arrive at their destination. It gives Magnus a moment to breathe a deep collecting breath and give himself a mini internal pep talk as they pull up outside of the hotel.

***

The kitchen is moving shockingly quite smoothly for having a different chef in charge of it not even three full hours ago. Alec knows a few of the cooks hired on for the night, so the shift to his new updated menu hasn’t been the tough transition he expected it to be. It’s already nearing two o’clock and the party will start to have guests arriving as early as 6:30. Things are on an easy track that means dinner will began at exactly 7:30. An hour and a half before the headliner takes the stage.

He rattles off a few instructions to the line with a smile before turning to see Aline standing just inside the kitchen door head tilted with a smile of her own.

“I knew you’d enjoy doing this,” she says all too smug. “No matter how much you complained this morning, I knew you’d enjoy it.”

“Shut up,” he says wiping his hands down on a towel before moving towards her.

“All going well?” she asks as Alec reaches out a hand pushing the door open behind her and sliding past her to walk out into the main hall where it’s quieter and they can talk. He nods opening his mouth to tell her everything is running smoothly when he stops dead in his tracks, Aline bumping into his back.

Across the room he sees him just walking in, Catarina right beside him. He hasn’t seen Magnus, the real Magnus not the one his social media team presents to the world, in nine months. He looks a little tired, a little bit like the light he always had in him has dimmed but no less handsome than he always had been.

Alec shakes his head of the thoughts. He shouldn’t care what Magnus looks like, shouldn’t be worried that he looks tired. Magnus left him. He should hate him. He wishes he could hate him.

“Ow,” Aline says rubbing her forehead that had likely bounced into his shoulder blade at his abrupt stop.

“Sorry,” he says a little distracted his eyes still trained on Magnus. Magnus hasn’t noticed him yet, if he turns around right now he can avoid this altogether. He turns to do just that when Magnus finally looks up and spots him, his eyes going soft and completely unreadable. Alec hates that, he used to always be able to read Magnus’ expressions.

“Nu, uh,” Aline says gripping his forearm tight as he tries to make his exit. “Talk to him.” She says it soft and encouraging and all too knowing.

“You knew?” he asks even though he’s fairly certain he already knows the answer. “When you asked me to fill in this morning, you already knew?”

Aline gives him a look that decidedly means she thinks he’s stupid.

“Of course I knew, dipshit,” she says as she loosens her grip, eyes moving over briefly to where Magnus is no doubt nearing closer to them. “You weren’t the only last-minute headliner replacement today.”

“Why would you, “Alec starts a gaze steely and probably harsher than deserved trained on Aline.

“Because you’ve been miserable, Alec,” she cuts him off. “And even without confirmation about it from Cat, it’s clear from the PR smoke show his team puts up on social media he has been too.”

Alec pauses turning his tough gaze away from his friend. Aline wouldn’t lie to him, and he begrudgingly admits she’s never wrong. But Magnus left, not Alec, if he has been so damn miserable these past nine months he’s the one who could have fixed it.

“Give him a chance, I know I was full team you in the breakup, but I think he just got scared and I think if you hear him out maybe there’s a chance to fix this,” Aline continues as if she can read his thoughts. “He wouldn’t have taken the job tonight if he didn’t want to try and fix this. He would have run away the second he saw your name like you’re trying to do right now.”

Alec lets her words sink in, a bit of the tension releasing from his shoulders. He has to concede that maybe she has point.

“Alexander,” an achingly familiar voice says from behind him. The tension he’d just released seeps right back in. Fuck, he can’t do this. Can’t hear his name said like that.

Aline jumps in first greeting Magnus and Catarina both with a hug as he finally turns to face his ex head on. Seeing Magnus up close makes this worse. Because if he looked beautiful and tired from across the room it’s like staring into the sun or being right beside a patch of brightly lit stars seeing him up close.

“Magnus,” he says no preamble being sure to keep any sort of emotion out of his voice. They just stare at one another only a few feet of distance between them that feels like miles from the physical and emotional gap that’s formed between them over the last nine months.

Catarina and Aline look between them and share a raised eyebrow before Cat jumps in the middle.

“Hey, Alec,” she says fondly reaching up to hug him. His tension falls a bit again, happily hugging her back.

“Hey, Cat. How are Madzie and Dot?” he asks. Because he can do this. He can have friendly conversation with Cat about her daughter and her wife and ignore the piercing gaze of Magnus’ deep brown eyes.

“They’re good,” she smiles fondly as she pulls back from his embrace. “Madzie’s growing like a damn tree every time I turn around. She misses you.”

And damn if that isn’t a punch to the gut. That’s the thing about breakups, you don’t just lose one person you lose a galaxy of people you’ve come to care about.

“I miss her too,” he says with a sad smile. “You all should come by the restaurant some night when I’m actually there, it’d be great to see her and Dot.”

He spends more of his time managing his restaurant than running its kitchen these days. It’s a nice way to figure out what he wants to do next, but he still loves getting in the kitchen when he can. And he’d be more than happy to do so if it meant making a meal for three people who he always had affection for and doesn’t get to see anymore.

She nods turning to Aline to talk a few party logistics that Alec decides to act like he cares about to ignore Magnus’ not so subtle attempts to get him to look his way.

“Well I should get going,” Aline says looking at Alec with a frustrated nudge of her elbow into his side. Alec just glares. She loops her arms through Cat’s pulling her along with her.

“We can talk and walk,” she says stepping away. “Good to see you Magnus!” She tosses a wave and another pointed look at Alec over her shoulder as she goes.

Alec turns to Magnus finally and really looks at him. His hair’s a little disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it nervously, his makeup is a little smudged. He’s beautiful and Alec wishes he wasn’t so damn affected by the fact. His arms are crossed protectively across his middle which Alec could almost laugh at; shouldn’t he be the one protecting himself from Magnus?

“I should get back to the kitchen,” he nods moving to do just that.

“Wait, Alexander,” Magnus says unfolding his arms reaching out to grab Alec but stopping at the last second. Alec takes a deep breath and stops, trying to do exactly what Aline said he should do.

“We should talk about what happened, that fight we had the last time we saw each other,” Magnus continues. Alec can’t help but let out a rough laugh at his words.

“That fight?”

He can’t do this. He can’t talk about this if Magnus really is just going to call it a fight. Like they argued about who’s turn it was to do the dishes, not the absolute shattering of their relationship when Magnus told him he couldn’t do this anymore. That what they had couldn’t survive his lifestyle.

Something shudders in Magnus at Alec’s harsh tone. This time he can read him, there’s a look in his eyes that says he knows that that choice of words wasn’t right.

“I’d call the complete shattering of our relationship when you left me and broke my damn heart a little more than a fight,” Alec says harshly letting his thoughts out in a short clipped tone.

Magnus squeezes his eyes shut and for a second Alec thinks there might be tears.

“That was the wrong choice of words, I know, I keep messing this up,” he starts he looks ready to keep going when a young woman with a few garment bags comes over and interrupts.

“We’re ready for you, Mr. Bane,” she says then looks at Alec.

“Yeah,” Magnus nods to her never breaking his eyes away from Alec. “Just give us a minute.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says sheepishly.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Alec responds quickly. Feeling a little bad he’s just put this girl in between them. Magnus looks ready to protest, but Alec marches on. “Go ahead, we’re both here to do a job that’s it. I mean we never could survive your lifestyle, right?”

Magnus looks genuinely sorry for a moment, before he puts on the Magnus Bane pop star mask for the girl beside him who’s looking increasingly uncomfortable. Alec shuts off turning before Magnus can say anything else. He knows that throwing Magnus’ own words back in his face is a little petty and a lot angry, but he hasn’t gotten to be either of those things at Magnus. He’s felt them, like when he sold the leather jacket Magnus left behind that he knows is worth thousands of dollars to the most asinine waiter he’s ever hired for only eight bucks, but he’s never gotten to really express them towards Magnus. One day they were in love, the object of his tour looming over them, but a seeming non-issue and the next Magnus was gone.

Maybe it’s unfair, maybe it’s going exactly against the advice Aline tried to give him, but he needs to get it out. Because after months of silence and heartbreak maybe being angry at Magnus face to face has to come before he can even entertain the idea of hearing him out.

***

Alec barely even looks at him during the few minutes of their encounter and when he does he shuts off completely. It’s not the hazel gaze of love he grew so accustomed to seeing, it’s a stone-cold empty look purposefully shown to make him seem unaffected.

Magnus hates it.

Alec looks as gorgeous as ever in his chef whites. He still wears that damn silver band on his right pointer finger that Magnus fully believes serves no purpose other than to drive him crazy with how sexy the simple accessory always is and that cute eyebrow scar of his still stands out strikingly. His hairs a little longer than it had been curling at the edges and the beard Magnus had grown very fond of has been shaved. But he’s still beautiful even when he looks like he’d rather any other person on the planet was in the room with him than Magnus.

He tries his damndest to get Alec to stay to talk now instead of later, but he uses the interruption of wardrobe as an out, throwing some of the last words Magnus had ever said to him right back at him. It stings, but it’s nothing he doesn’t deserve. He is the one who called it quits with no warning, Alec has every right to be angry with him.

He glazes through the wardrobe talks. Catarina comes back in eventually and eyes him warily. She can clearly see things didn’t go well after she and Aline conspiratorially sauntered off. He picks an outfit that very purposefully will expose his collarbone and the tattoo that still rests there and makes a game plan with his hair and makeup team all the while thinking about how in one fumbled word choice he may have fucked up any chance of Alec hearing him out.

***

Alec aggressively cuts carrots on the counter to attempt to avoid thinking about Magnus, the entire staff wisely avoiding him as he does it. He’s so distracted he doesn’t even notice he’s cut every damn carrot in the kitchen while thinking about Magnus the entire time and tosses his knife down heavily. He silenced his phone as soon as he stepped back into the kitchen assuming every buzz was from Aline, Catarina or his sister who are no doubt in cahoots with this whole plan encouraging him.

He rubs absently at his collarbone where a tattoo reading ‘Aku Cinta Kamu,’ Indonesian for I love you, rests in simple script. He and Magnus had gotten them on a whim one night after a few too many shots of tequila as a reminder of their undying love. Some undying love he huffs to himself moving his hand away from the spot.

He never got it removed as a reminder that one should never get a matching tattoo with a boyfriend no matter how in love they may be. Or at least that’s what he tells himself. The reality is he’s both terrified of the concept of lasering it away and a deeper part of him is terrified of moving on. He’s pretty sure that Magnus is the love of his life and lasering away that tattoo would mean even the love of his life hadn’t lasted. He doesn’t want to move on, it’s why he’s been on exactly one tragic date in nine months, but it’s also why he doesn’t want to hear Magnus out right now, because he’s still so damn mad.

He knows that doesn’t add up logically, but logic isn’t really at the forefront for him right now.

He can’t focus on it all right now. On how, despite it being completely in his head, he feels a throbbing current under the tattoo all because of Magnus’ proximity. Can’t focus on wondering not nearly as absently as he’d like to if Magnus still has his in the same exact spot. He has a kitchen to run, a dinner to serve, that has to be his focus right now.

Aline said he should give Magnus a chance. And maybe she’s right, but he just can’t right now. He can’t get his heartbroken tonight, when he just barely survived it the last time.

***

Hours pass, literal painstaking hours and not once does Alec step out of the kitchen. Every time the door swing open he hopes to see an angry 6’3 chef who currently probably hates him, but he doesn’t. Waiters, other chefs and a million other people he doesn’t recognize come barreling out, but never the one person he wants to see.

Guests will be arriving soon, with dinner not even an hour away. He’s dressed and made up and rehearsing with his band, knowing his brain should be on the songs and the set list, but instead all he’s thinking about is a damn kitchen door.

“Alright, let’s take five,” Cat announces hopping on the stage and making a b-line for Magnus.

“Give him time,” she says pulling the mic to the side so it doesn’t pick up either of their voices.

Magnus shifts his gaze from the kitchen door to her.

“It’s been almost five hours,” Magnus says dejectedly.

Catarina huffs, “You know you could just go back there, right? Instead of staring at a door and missing lines of songs you’ve been singing for years when it so much as cracks opens.”

Magnus rolls his eyes at his best friend, “Yeah, not gonna happen. You didn’t stick around for the first conversation we’ve had in months, but if you had you’d know he very much does not want me going back in there to talk to him.”

“Magnus, I love you,” Cat says putting her hands on his shoulders.

“I love you too,” he says on instinct even though he knows from her posture he’s about to get an absolute talking to.

“And because I love you,” she says with a smile. “It is my job to tell you you’re being a complete dumbass.”

“Harsh.”

She gives him a pointed look, “Maybe, but it’s true. So, he doesn’t want to talk. Fine. Then find another way to communicate with him. You came here tonight to try and fix this, to make it right and stop moping around about losing the love of your life. So, don’t just stare at a door. The Magnus Bane I know is not a door starer he’s a doer. So, do something, if he’s not ready to hear you out on the big stuff yet, then find a way to start with the small stuff. He’s the only person you’ve ever been with that appreciated your cheesy, dorky ass side. So use that. Or hell spell out ‘I’m sorry’ in shrimp cocktails if that’s what it takes.”

Magnus laughs at that. The first genuine laughs he’s let out all day.

Catarina smiles squeezing his shoulders fondly before dropping her hands.

“Just don’t take all damn night to get there, because if you don’t do this tonight you might never get another chance to. Also, if you don’t do this by a reasonable hour I might never get to leave this damn venue and go home to my wife and daughter for the night, so get your shit together and sort it out so I can leave after dinner, please.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, “Ah, so this all about you getting to go home then?”

Catarina punches him in the shoulder, fondly, but a little harder than necessary.

“No, it’s about my best friend being happy again,” she says seriously before continuing on with a smirk. “And it’s about me getting to go home.”

“You’re the worst,” Magnus says with a smile feeling more confident than he had a moment ago. Cat’s pep talks aren’t always the most eloquent and definitely would be taken as abrasive by people who don’t know her, but they always do the trick.

“I’m the best and you know it,” she says turning and hopping off the stage. “He’s single by the way, I asked Aline earlier since I knew it would probably be a fear you had.” She says it knowingly relieving a little of the pressure in Magnus’ chest. “Evidently you’re not the only one who tried to go on a single disastrous date and realized it was all fruitless. Now figure out a plan that better start and have some modicum of success during dinner that allows me to feel comfortable enough to leave you here alone and go watch my seven-year-old fail miserably at staying awake until midnight.”

The band slowly makes their way back onstage to continue a few more songs for rehearsal. There’s one song he won’t be rehearsing that he decides in that moment can be a part of the plan Cat wants him to devise, his latest track which is a stripped-down acoustic number that he has never actually played for a crowd. It’s about Alec. It’s for Alec. It’s an apology and love song all wrapped into one and he knows for a fact Alec has never heard it.

It’s one of the few small tidbits of his life that Isabelle has allowed him to know about in recent months. Which reminds him.

“Hey, any word from Iz?” he asks pulling the mic back over to get Cat’s attention where she’s moved across the room. Despite her quick acceptance of the last-minute job word from Isabelle has been nothing but radio silent since which is a bit worrisome. In all the time he’s known her she’s never been late for a rehearsal. Alec may run like clockwork, but Isabelle is an actual clock, constantly punctual. She shakes her head looking down at her phone.

For a moment he considers saying fuck all to his plan and just busting into the kitchen to ask Alec if he’s heard from his sister when his phone buzzes in his back pocket three times in quick succession.

[6:39 p.m. -- from: Raphael]

Your backup singer is stuck in our elevator. She’s fine.

Meliorn’s working on getting her out in time for your performance.

God knows you don’t have the talent to carry it all by yourself :)

Magnus huffs at the last text. Glad Isabelle is safe and hopefully on her way, but constantly annoyed by his friend. He texts back a quick affirmative as he relays the information to Cat, assuring Raphael tells Isabelle they won’t start without her and reminding Raphael that that last text is why Cat is his best friend and not him.

Raphael responds with a completely mature middle finger emoji.

Magnus just laughs gesturing to his band and counting them in for one more run through confident Isabelle has sang with him enough times to be able to pick it up easily once she arrives. They run through a few of his poppy upbeat tracks and he feels himself enjoying this more than he thought he would. He hits every beat and every word all while planning how exactly he intends to get Alec’s attention during dinner.

***

Alec can’t hear Magnus’ voice as the band rehearses in the main room and he’s never been more grateful for something in his life. Magnus’ voice is gorgeous and his songs are incredible, but Alec hasn’t even dared to listen to a single one since their break up. Everything comes flooding back in high def when he does, so he’d just quit, saving himself the pain.

Magnus has released a brand new single since they last saw each other, Alec doesn’t even know the title. Doesn’t care. Or more so doesn’t want to find out if it’s a break up song he wrote about him. He really doesn’t need to know if he’s become yet another man on a list with every one of Taylor Swift’s exes.

He focuses on prep and every time he’s needed outside of the kitchen he insists someone comes to him and everything that needs to be signed for that requires him passing through the main room he pettily sends his line chef Underhill to do so allowing him to avoid Magnus at all cost.

That is until the President of the Record company asks to see him in the hotel bar on the lower level to personally thank him for his last-minute fill in.

“You sure you can’t just do it?” Alec asks feebly.

“I’m 100% sure he’ll notice that I’m not you,” Underhill replies with a dumbfounded look. Alec is desperate here can’t his sort of friend respect that.

“Fine,” Alec huffs pushing off of the counter where’s he’s leaning and heads towards the door. He opens it a crack halting when he hears a note of Magnus’ voice. “Ear plugs?” he says turning to look at Underhill. “You got any?”

“Do I have ear plugs in an active busy kitchen that requires a wealth of communication and listening skills to function properly?” Underhill responds clearly questioning his boss’s sanity.

Alec nods.

“I don’t,” he says hesitating for a moment. “I know it’s not really my place, but you could just talk to him.”

Alec rolls his eyes. He’s known Underhill a while now, worked with him a handful of times over the years and they’re sort of friends. To enough of an extent that he knows he and Magnus used to date, but not to enough of an extent to know what exactly went down between them.

Not that Alec has all that clear of a picture either.

“Or I could get some ear plugs,” he says stubborn as ever. “Anybody got some ear plugs I could borrow?” he yells across the bustling kitchen.

A spectacled waitress shoots her hand up from where she stands with a few other servers and bounds his way handing Alec a pair of glowing green ear plugs.

“I always bring a few pairs to events with music, just in case it gets too loud,” she says with a shrug. Alec thinks that it’s probably deeply inefficient for a server to wear ear plugs, but he’s not going to question it in the moment.

He nods to her in thanks shoving them in his ears with a very deliberate look in Underhill’s direction. Underhill just shrugs clearly not invested enough to interfere any further.

***

Magnus rests his voice not belting the closing lines of the track on stage when the kitchen door swings open and finally Alec is the one to step through. Magnus doesn’t freeze when they make eye contact for a brief second, just watches as Alec quickly turns away and walks through the room at a rapid pace.

For a second he debates jumping completely off key and right into the song he wrote about Alec when something catches Magnus’ attention when Alec’s head turns, a bright green something.

He wishes it was a ridiculous earring or something of the like, but he knows for a fact Alec let his once pierced ears with the small silver hoops he used to sport close up after an incident with one falling into a soufflé he’d made for them one evening. Magnus had found the incident hilarious; Alec had been distressed to such a level that he threw out every earring he owned.

No, that’s not an earring. It’s an ear plug. This stubborn pain in the ass has somehow found earplugs so he doesn’t have to hear Magnus sing.

It’s a completely Alec style petty type of thing to do. A thing that were it used to avoid anyone else Magnus would find endearing. He always loved Alec’s ability to petty someone to death when they deserved it, and while he understands the reasoning he doesn’t like being on the receiving end of it.

The realization puts a decidedly large wrench in part of Magnus’ plan. He idly wonders if there’s someone here he could hire to pickpocket those damn ear plugs away from Alec.

***

Alec passes through with his ear plugs one more time and it takes everything in Magnus to not just chase after him and knock the things out of his ears. He composes himself enough however to make it dinner where he enacts phase one of his get Alec’s attention plan.

While Catarina’s shrimp cocktail idea was a little outlandish, she had made a good point about Alec always appreciating his more ridiculous side. It’s a thing he intends to use to his favor tonight.

The first course comes out to their table. A delicious little appetizer that’s perfectly done just like everything Alec cooks. When their server returns to take their finished plates Magnus lays a gentle hand on his arm holding him there for a second.

“Give my compliments to the chef,” he says with a smile and the server nods ready to take his leave. “Hold on, it’s a specific compliment, you may want to write this down.”

“Sir?” the server questions not getting out a pad to write on.

“Alright,” Magnus says turning in his seat to look at the very confused dark-haired server. “But be sure to tell him verbatim, okay?”

“Okay?” the server says with a blatant question mark at the end that Magnus happily ignores.

“Perfect,” he says clapping his hands together. “My compliments to the chef are that the appetizer was to die for and so are those hazel eyes that one could get lost in if they stare for any longer than one breath.”

Magnus beams at the waiter who looks continually confused.

“Got it?” Magnus asks.

“I think so.”

“Fantastic!” Magnus says. “I’ll write the next one down for you ahead of time just in case. What’s your name? we’re probably going to talk to each other a lot over these next few courses so we should be on the first name basis, I’m Magnus,” He says holding out a hand.

“Raj,” the waiter says shaking his hand with his free one before turning back towards the kitchen. Magnus watches as the still very confused server leaves the table.

“Really, Magnus?” Cat asks from beside him. He turns in his seat to face her.

“I’m just taking your advice,” he says with a smile taking a sip of his drink.

“And you really think having our waiter give very specific compliments to Alec is going to work?”

Magnus shrugs, “You said it yourself, he always did appreciate my more ridiculous side. I’m not saying this will definitively win him back, that’s going to take a very important song and a real difficult conversation no doubt, but hopefully this will chisel away at the angry completely avoiding me exterior and give me an in.”

Catarina nods pursing her lips in thought.

“You two always were pretty dorky about your love, this does fall in line with that.”

Magnus chuckles, “Exactly.”

***

When the server comes back from the first course and tells Alec that Magnus Bane wanted to give his compliments to the chef. He assumed that was that. Compliment received; it was just Magnus’ way of reminding Alec he’s here. Not like Alec could exactly forget, but then the server had gotten more specific relaying a compliment specifically connected less to Alec’s food and more to Alec himself.

“He said that?” Alec asks squinting an eye as he dodges another server passing by him to get the soup course out.

“He did, or something to that affect. He did ask me if I wanted to write it down and I probably should have in hindsight, sorry about that,” the server says worried.

“It’s fine,” Alec says not really sure of what to make of whatever it is Magnus is trying to accomplish here. “Tell him I said thanks.” He guesses. He really doesn’t know how to respond. When they were together Magnus was constantly showering him in compliments about anything and everything, Alec did the same to Magnus to the point that prior to their breakup the biggest fight they’d ever had was more a compliment war.

It was a charming aspect of Magnus and of their relationship. The way they both made each other feel special with the silliest and simplest of words.

After the soup course the server brings another compliment this time written on the back of a blank meal ticket.

“While soup was never my thing you always made the kind that warmed me to my core this one is no different. Also, you’ve got killer hair, which I was glad to find no strands of in my bowl.”

Alec lets out a laugh asking the server his name and then sending him on his way with another thanks.

The salad course is simple and quick and yet somehow a compliment comes his way.

Raj just hands Alec the blank ticket, blushing brightly as he exits the kitchen.

‘You can toss me anytime.’ It reads and Alec’s just shakes his head, given no more time to process the ridiculousness of it as he’s called away.

During the course of the entrée, between drink refills and varying other requests Magnus manages to send Raj back with five very different ranging compliments.

“Send my compliments to the chef, he can have anything else he’d like while we’re at it.”

“Is that tarragon I taste in the sauce? Cause I’m sure tarra-gone for you.”

“Using such a bold parmesan was a risky choice that paid off, not a surprising bit of bravery from a man who has an unexpectedly attractive tramp stamp tattoo of a fork that he lets other people see.”

Alec’s eyes go wide at that one. His deeply questionable, and very small, barely noticeable unless you’re up close with his lower back, tattoo that’d he’d gotten on drunken college night with his brother Jace as a dare isn’t something his waitstaff for the evening needs to know about. He swears Raj to secrecy on it, ensuring he never utters what he’s been told to anyone.

“Chicky, chicky parm, you’ve got nice arms,” the server read this time from scribbled pen on his forearm.

Alec guffaws at the rhyme, incapable of holding back his laughter.

“Tell him he’s insane and ridiculously corny,” Alec says shooing the server out of the kitchen.

He assumes that ridiculous rhyme is the last. Outside he can already here people moving about and there’s a guitar tuning in the distant background. He sees Raj come through the door a few plates in hand and expects him to walk over and read some ridiculous thing except this time he holds the door open Catarina trailing in behind him.

“I’m afraid our complimentary portion of the evening has come to a close,” she reads from her phone in hand. “I’ve got plenty more where those came from if you’d like to hear them sometime. XO Magnus.”

She looks up smiling at Alec. “I added the xo for the record, he thought it would seem too forward. Hilarious considering the way more sexual innuendos I had to talk him out of writing down for that poor waiter of ours to give to you.”

Alec rolls his eyes, mentally making a note to send Raj a voucher for a free dinner for two at his restaurant for putting up with the nonsense tonight.

“Did he send you back here to convince me to talk to him?” he asks busying himself with wiping down a counter that doesn’t need it. His chefs are starting to disperse and breakdown the kitchen. Dishwashers are in the back and the servers on drink duty until dessert arrives in a little while.

“He did not, I was merely sent to pass along this last message and save poor Raj the effort,” she says moving closer to lean against the counter beside where he stands. “But, I mostly came back here to see if you had any extra of that lovely appetizer that you’d be willing to share with an old friend though.”

Alec smiles moving over to another table where a few extra made dishes sit under a heat lamp. He hands her the plate and fork.

“Should still be warm,” he says as she happily takes the dish and thanks him.

“For the record though, I do think you should talk to him,” she says staying in place as Alec moves back beside her. “I know it hurt you when he left, but I also know him and I know what he wants and that he knows when he’s screwed up. And while I’m not going to tell you anything that he has to say to you himself, I do know that you’ve been miserable.”

Alec gestures ready to defend to the contrary.

“Your sister, Aline and I talk far more often than either of you are aware don’t try to deny it,” she says shutting him down. “He’s been pretty damn miserable too, and I’m the one who has to put up with it all the time so, just listen to him tonight.”

She brushes a hand down his arm comfortingly in such a motherly way that it should be patronizing, but only feels reassuring before walking away and heading back out into party.

“I was listening,” Alec says before she gets out the door completely. “To the cheesy compliments at least.”

She smiles waving her fork in his direction, “That’s a good start.” And then she’s gone the door swinging closed as Alec twists around and falls back onto the counter.

Magnus’ compliments have softened his anger a bit. He’s a bit more clear headed now to know that Aline wouldn’t set him up for heartbreak and that Catarina would never send Magnus in to something she didn’t think was right. He wants to heed their advice and listen, but there’s this part of him that’s still a little scared of what he’ll hear.

***

While the simple thanks in return from his compliments weren’t much each one gave Magnus a little more hope. Especially the one where he was specifically called insane and corny. Which is why he had to send Cat back there, just to investigate if he was making any headway.

“What did he say?” Magnus asks eagerly as soon as Cat returns a second serving of the appetizer in her hands.

“Well nothing really, I did most of the talking,” she says taking a bite of the dish.

“Cat.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Well he did say that he’s listening at least to the compliments and got a particularly bright blush on his cheeks when I told him about the very specifically sexual compliments I had to nearly pay you not to make that poor waiter reiterate.” Now, that’s not much Magnus can admit, but it is progress. “Now, this feels like a good spot to leave you to fend for your own.” Cat says finishing off the dish of food at an alarming rate. “I’m going home to my wife and child. Good luck, have a good performance, Happy New Year and please for the love of all things if you and Alec have sex somewhere in this building tonight don’t get caught on camera, I do not want to have to deal with damage control on New Year’s Day.”

“No promises,” Magnus beams turning to his band to get ready for their set as Catarina rolls her eyes sauntering away.

***

Isabelle rushes backstage just as they’re about to start their set immediately stepping beside Magnus.

“Cutting it a little close, my dear,” Magnus says stepping over to her. “Everything okay?”

Isabelle simply nods. She looks a little frazzled, her red lipstick a little smudged, a thing Magnus has never really seen from her. He worries for a moment, but shakes the feeling assuming being trapped in an elevator for hours is bound to leave one frazzled.

“Everything okay with you?” she says leadingly. She’s no fool, it’s no doubt that much in the same way it took Cat one mention of Alec’s name to know his real reason for being here tonight, Isabelle had pieced it together the second Cat called her. Hell, it’s possible they gossiped about it while Magnus was trying to work up the nerve to walk into the building earlier in the day. Of everyone Isabelle and Maryse had remained the most neutral in the breakup both unwilling to believe Magnus just wanted to walk away. While they don’t talk about Alec and tend to keep it professional, Isabelle has definitely nudged him to take action a time or two over the past nine months.

“I’m working on it,” he says with surety.

She nods, “Good. Don’t break his heart this time.”

Magnus goes to respond. To promise that if Alec gives him the chance he can swear he won’t but the music roars and the president of the companies’ voice rings out announcing Magnus and his band as they’re ushered onto the stage.

The performance feels good. It’s always a blast having Isabelle on stage with him and his band knows every beat. The audience is lively and excited, despite being roughly half filled with record executives. They all seem to be getting a little looser on the dance floor with every glass of champagne.

The entire time Magnus watches the kitchen door closely; every single chef pours out. Changed and ready to join the party or heading straight for the exit. Every single chef but Alec.

“We’ll close out with ‘It’s Always You’,” he says turning to his band who are switching up instruments for their next song. He usually tries to close out on something more upbeat, but tonight it has to be his slowest, most honest track.

“You sure, boss?” Bat asks pausing in pulling his guitar over his head. Magnus meets eyes with Isabelle who just smiles knowingly.

“Positive,” Magnus says turning back to the awaiting crowd. They perform a few more upbeat tracks, the kind that get people dancing and drinking. The kitchen door stays firmly closed so much so that Magnus starts to think Alec escaped out through a fire exit to avoid him.

He poses the concept to Isabelle during a quick change up between songs pulling her away from her mic for a second.

“He didn’t, he’s just hiding back there,” she leans over grabbing her phone off of the drum stand and shaking it. “I discreetly texted him during your solo bit on the last number and told him to get his ass out here.”

“And?”

Isabelle just shrugs. She’s clearly uncertain of what her brother may or may not do in this situation. Magnus wants him to hear the song. He knows Alec well enough to know he never listened to it, probably never even looked up the title of it, but he needs him to hear it. It’s not the only song he’s written about Alec, but it’s the only one he’s written that’s been polished and produced. He has notebooks full of one’s he’d written when they were together that maybe one day he can make into a whole album, but not unless he gets this right.

He’s wooed Alec all night with cheesy compliments, but there’s no way that’s enough. This song is his last-ditch effort at winning Alec back or at least winning the chance to explain himself to Alec. He needs him to hear it almost as much as he just plain needs Alec.

***

“Seelie Queen’s guy is here and refuses to sign over the boxes to anyone but you, said his boss insisted,” Underhill says coming in to let Alec know about his lack of success with Alec’s final gopher run request of the night as he hides out in the back hoping to wait out Magnus’ performance and possibly Magnus in general. He’s not really sure about the second one yet, especially after the compliments throughout dinner that definitely succeeded in charming him and after finally checking his phone to find Isabelle’s text a few songs ago basically threatening him with bodily harm if he didn’t stop hiding out in the kitchen.

Seelie Queen is the strangest woman Alec has ever met and he’s 100% certain that’s not her real name, but she makes the best cupcakes in the city and Alec has never been a master of desserts. So, there’s no one else in the city he’d hire to help him cater such an event and provide the pre-midnight dessert option. The fact she did it on such short notice is a miracle, luckily she quote on quote ‘doesn’t live by the mortal calendar of new years and passages of time,’ whatever that means.

“Dammit,” he says jumping down off the counter and patting his pockets. Somewhere over the course of the night he’s lost the ear plugs. Likely thrown into the trash by mistake with a wad of dinner tickets that had accumulated in his pockets. “Dammit,” he says again. “I’ll handle it.”

He gestures for Underhill to head back out into the party. The door opening and closing exposing him to the music for a bright second. He waits until the muffled music ends. A clear break in the songs to make his way out of the kitchen and cut through the crowd quickly and unnoticed.

Magnus has been sending him sweet compliments all night and it’s definitely softening him to the idea of hearing him out, but he’s still not ready to hear him sing again. Magnus’ voice is adored by millions, but by none more than Alec. He worries hearing one note will break any resolve he has left.

***

Magnus spots him as he takes a sip of water between songs. He’s certain at the pace he’s moving Alec didn’t want to be spotted, but Magnus sees him anyways, still attuned to looking for Alec in a crowded room. He spots the lack of bright green near his ears now, thanking whatever incident led to those ridiculous ear plugs being banished. The fact that Alec clearly waited until a break in between songs is still endlessly frustrating, but now when he comes back he’ll have to listen.

There are only two songs left on their set, a short track they can probably wrap up before Alec returns, at least Magnus hopes he’s returning and he hadn’t just witnessed his great escape.

If he times this right Alec will be forced to listen to the only song Magnus has really wanted him to hear all night. His hail Mary attempt at getting Alec to listen to him.

***

Seelie Queen’s guy takes forever confirming his identity and by the time he’s wheeling the many boxes of baked goods into the building he can hear the notes of music. Breaks over. There’s no avoiding hearing Magnus now.

Outside of the main room the music is even clearer. A line of servers waits for him ready to set out the cupcakes. He instructs them on what to do and begrudgingly opens the door holding it for them all to pass through with their trays of cupcakes.

The music has settled now just lone guitar strings.

“I’m gonna end on a slow note tonight, a rarity for me,” Magnus chuckles from the stage the audience laughing along with him. Alec keeps his eyes fixed on the door nodding his head at every server that passes through. “I dropped this song about seven months ago and I haven’t performed it live yet, mostly because I knew the person I most needed to hear it hadn’t. Maybe tonight he finally will.”

Alec looks up at that and finds Magnus already looking his way, the only one left on stage. Now not just looking in a passing glance like before Alec notices the stark tattoo that stands out where his shirt, most likely purposefully, exposes his collar bone and his breath betrays him and hitches just a bit.

There’s no double meaning in Magnus’ words or gestures. No façade. Those aren’t the words of Magnus Bane pop star, that’s not the voice he uses when meeting his fans and pleasing a crowd. It’s the soft voice he always used when he spoke to Alec, the soft voice that had sounded so exhausted and nearly cracked this morning when Alec had shot down his attempt to talk to him.

It's a voice meant for Alec. A voice that says, please hear me out.

The last server passes through the door and Alec lets it swing closed behind him. He doesn’t retreat to the kitchen he stays put and he finally decides to listen.

It’s probably the simplest song he’s ever heard Magnus sing in a professional setting. Sure, he’s heard him idly hum and sing dumb songs about doing the laundry while Alec fell in love with his voice and laughed at his quirkiness, but he’s never heard such a stripped-down track performed anywhere. It’s not that Magnus is dishonest in his music, but he’s guarded. He sings about the fun times, not the hard times. There are parts of him that aren’t for public consumption and he likes to keep it that way.

This song is the exact opposite of all that.

It’s a love song for all intents and purposes, but it’s tinged with regret and apologies. There’s mentions of hazel eyes, tattoos and arrow rings and a few dozen other little things that make it unbearably clear this song is about Alec, is about them. Casually, but with all the heart he can put into the lyrics Magnus calls Alec the love of his life without even saying his name.

Every line floors Alec a little more. In some ways he wishes he had listened to the song when it dropped, understands now why Isabelle had been so damned adamant that he had to hear it. But in other ways he’s glad he’s hearing it for the first time now, not online or on the radio but here and now live with Magnus looking right at him.

The notes fade and the light on Magnus dims. The audience erupts in quick cheers as Magnus thanks them bringing his band back out to receive their praise. The lights go back up to the party atmosphere a DJ in the far corner taking over likely until Magnus is expected to sing Auld Lang Syne at midnight and Alec finally drops his gaze from the stage.

He reaches up brushing a hand across his face to compose himself and feels a dampness under his eyes not knowing when the hell he started crying. He rubs at his eyes quickly. Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing server and downing it before turning back to the door and into the hall needing a moment to breathe.

***

He doesn’t start talking until he sees Alec, ever the gentleman, holding open the door for all the servers to pass through with dessert trays. He never stops looking in Alec’s direction, relieved when Alec finally looks up at him. He sings every note, every line with everything he’s got hoping that Alec hears every word.

When the song ends he can’t be certain, but he thinks he sees a tear falling from Alec’s eye. He wants nothing more than to run to him instantly, but he has to give his thanks and bring out his band for their deserved praise as well. By the time he’s done that though he looks up and Alec’s gone again the door he’d been standing near still swinging open and closed like he’d rushed out abruptly. Magnus’ heart sinks.

“Go after him,” Isabelle says nudging his shoulder as they all step down from the back of the small stage. “You know how he likes to find his little pockets of quiet when he needs to think. He heard you, so, go after him.”

She smiles encouragingly nudging him again. He nods, smiling gratefully and turning away in search of Alec. He stops however, for a brief second turning back to Isabelle and pulling her into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he says holding her tight.

“You can thank me by making my brother and yourself happy again,” she says with a laugh pushing Magnus back playfully and in the opposite direction. “Now, go.”

***

Alec sits on the softly lit stairs between the main room and the now closed down hotel bar twirling the ring on his pointer finger in thought.

He hadn’t expected to see Magnus tonight and he sure as hell hadn’t expected that song.

Mere minutes ago he’d been only warming up to the idea of maybe hearing Magnus out in the near future. Now, even though he still absolutely needs to hear an explanation from Magnus not in musical form, he’s halfway to forgiving him and a quarter of the way to walking back upstairs to that stage right now and kissing the beautiful, infuriating man senseless.

***

Magnus finds him in a stairwell. The fact doesn’t surprise him in the least. They met in a stairwell. Isabelle dragging her brother along to the first show she’d sung backup for him at a small venue he always loved to play in the city. Alec had clearly been a little overwhelmed by the crowded space at the after party and had slipped away. Magnus finding him nursing a half drank beer on the stairs near the back exit. It’s a lovely sort of déjà vu.

“I was worried you’d left,” Magnus says quietly as to not startle him.

Alec lets out a long breath as Magnus approaches moving to sit beside Alec near the bottom of the steps that lead into the hotel bar keeping a distant space between them on the step.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it numerous times today,” Alec laughs a little embarrassed. Magnus can’t blame him for that, Magnus had somewhat ambushed him. He’s about to say just that, but Alec beats him to the draw. “But not after that, I couldn’t just leave after that.” He says finally turning his head to look at Magnus, the dim light from the bar and the lamps along the stairwell catching in his hazel eyes.

“I meant every word,” Magnus says with as much heart and truth as he can.

Alec nods still holding his eyes. “I know. I know the difference between stage Magnus and the Magnus I got to know, the Magnus who speaks a little softer and makes food puns that somehow turn out complimentary and sexual simultaneously. That was definitely the latter up there tonight.”

Magnus allows himself a small smile, comforted by the fact Alec still understands him so well.

“I want to hear you out,” Alec says a few moments of quiet later. “I do. These last few months have been,” he pauses looking away seemingly trying to pluck the proper word from thin air. “Hell.” He settles on eyes fixed in front of him now. “But we were good one day, nearly on our one-year anniversary and the next day you just left, Magnus.”

He did. And now he has the chance to fix this. To get this right.

“I know,” he starts bracing and turning towards Alec as best he can. Alec looks up clearly giving him his full attention, giving the floor to him. “And not a day has gone by since that I haven’t regretted it. Calling these last few months hell might be an understatement darling.”

He takes a deep breath, already feeling like he’s going to cry and really wanting to hold it together at least long enough to air it all out.

“I never wanted to leave you, but I guess I just always assumed one day you’d leave me.”

Alec’s eyes go wide, mouth open to speak.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Magnus says before Alec can speak. “Or at least I know that now. I don’t think I totally did back then and it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. It was because I didn’t trust myself.” He says spilling every truth he can in this stairwell. “We worked so well together from the very start and every single day we just got better and somewhere along the line I let every fucked-up relationship I’d had in the past get in my head and tell me that sooner or later the other shoe was going to drop.”

Somewhere around month nine when planning the tour had gotten underway, he’d started getting into his own head that sooner or later, even if Alec felt different, things would implode. That the tour, the distance, the life he lived that had been fairly quiet while strictly in studio working on a new album the entirety of their relationship would rear its ugly head and ruin them just like it had ruined every other relationship he’d ever had. He says all that.

“And it’s a shitty excuse, I know that, to say that I thought we couldn’t survive it all just because nothing ever had in the past,” he says. “I was so scared of losing you that I left you which is incredibly stupid when you really think about. And I’ve thought about it, a lot.”

“You could’ve told me all that, Magnus,” Alec says hand lifting like he’s considering reaching out but then pulling back at the last minute. “I knew you’d had some bad exes and you never really wanted to talk about it and I respected that, but you could have told me. I can promise you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

And there it is. The thing Magnus realized not but an hour after he’d left Alec. Alec wasn’t going anywhere, he’d never said it out loud in those exact words, but it was the case. And there Magnus was running away just in case he was wrong.

“I realized that, but it was too late, I was already on tour and suddenly everything just hit me,” Magnus says brushing away a tear he definitely didn’t give permission to fall. “I realized I let the love of my life go because I got scared and I was a million miles away and I figured you hated me so I wrote a song.” He shrugs at the time it had seemed like the only way he could possibly get a message out to Alec.

He takes a deep breath turning his eyes back up to Alec’s.

“So, here I am nine months later, telling you face to face that I’m sorry, that I never should have let you go, that I should have talked to you and not just ran because I was scared of losing you. To hope by some miracle you’ll give me another chance at this, because I’m going to be in love with you forever, but also I understand if this is all just too little too late and you hate me too much to ever trust me again.”

Alec takes a deep breath letting it out so heavily that his bangs blow up. It makes Magnus smile a small smile.

“I was really, really angry at you,” he starts and it’s nothing Magnus hadn’t expected to hear. “But the thing is I couldn’t hate you. I should have, but I couldn’t. Which was infuriating because you broke my heart and I was still in love you. Still wanted you to be okay and got annoyed with Aline when she took her damning the day you were born best friend support too far.” He huffs out a small laugh and Magnus does the same.

“I was never going to leave you,” he says quiet eyes locked on Magnus’ like he’s trying to sear the words into his brain. “I knew what I was signing up for when I first asked you out. I knew it wouldn’t always be easy and sooner or later we’d be cities apart for months at a time, but I knew we could survive it. Or at least I thought I did until the day you told me otherwise.”

He reaches out tangling his fingers with Magnus’ and his breath hitches. Magnus could never forget what Alec’s skin felt like against his, but after nine months of being touch-starved completely of the intimacy he’d only ever found truly peacefully in Alec’s hands he feels like this is the first time they’ve ever collided.

“I won’t act like I didn’t shatter when you left, but I do forgive you,” he says rubbing his thumb across Magnus’ knuckles soothingly. “You’re the love of my life too. Obviously, there’s gonna be some very much needed conversations in our future and we’re gonna have to work on communicating when things scary, but I’d be a fool to not give us another chance.”

Magnus could cry and judging from the way Alec reaches out his free hand and delicately wipes his thumb under his eye he actually is.

“Yeah?” Magnus says completely terrified, but filled with hope.

“Yeah,” Alec smiles dropping his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, hell, Magnus I want to marry you one day.”

Magnus doesn’t say a word just scoots a little closer to Alec so their knees can brush. Doesn’t point out the present tense use of ‘want’ in Alec’s words as he tilts his forehead to Alec’s.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the space between.

“I know, you don’t have to keep saying it,” Alec says and Magnus shrugs. Maybe he doesn’t but he knows he’ll do it a few more times anyways. “I do trust you; I always did, it just got a little bumpy there for a while, but now that I know everything I know I can trust you again when you say it.”

“A little bumpy?” Magnus says incredulously pulling back from Alec.

Alec shrugs, “Okay, maybe a lot. The point is we’re here now and we’re gonna keep talking and we’re not gonna fall apart this time. Bumps averted, promise.”

“Promise,” Magnus says.

“I owe you an apology too,” Alec says and Magnus is about to shut that down, but Alec soldiers on. “Don’t say I don’t because I do, I was an ass tonight when you first showed up and way harsher than I needed to be when all you wanted was to talk. It wasn’t fair and I am sorry about that.”

“You’re forgiven,” Magnus says, meaning it.

“Look at us already communicating properly on both ends,” Alec smiles after a few beats and Magnus chuckles. Progress march on it seems.

He’s looking into Alec’s eyes now with a soft genuine smile and god he wants to kiss him. He’s about to do just that when an alarm blares in his pocket. Damn, his thirty minutes to midnight alert.

“I’m supposed to sing Auld Lang Syne after the balls drops,” he says pulling his phone from his pocket and silencing the alarm.

“Right,” Alec says pulling back. “It’s okay we’ve got time now.”

They do. Logically Magnus knows that, but that doesn’t change the fact that here and now he doesn’t want to leave Alec’s side. He wants to hold his hand and kiss him at midnight and tell him that he’s pretty damn keen on the idea of taking Alec home and doing so every night for the rest of their lives.

Alec jumps up from the step moving down to where the closed bar is clearly giving Magnus his out. Magnus stands, joining Alec putting them face to face with one another.

Alec raises an eyebrow in question at Magnus as he gets out his phone shooting a quick text off to Isabelle.

“Now we have even more time,” he smiles looking up at Alec as he pockets his phone.

“Magnus.”

He shrugs, “They’ll sort it out. I have full confidence in Isabelle’s ability to take my place and full confidence in myself knowing that I very much don’t want to be anywhere that’s not with you right now.”

He steps closer to Alec breaching most of the distance, but not touching. Leaving the next move completely up to Alec.

“So what now?” Alec asks as he steps a little closer to Magnus. His voice doesn’t sound desperate or pleading, but there’s an edge to it that screams ‘don’t break my heart this time.’ Even after all that’s just been laid out on the table he’s still a little scared it’ll be the same thing all over again. Magnus takes a deep breath and resolves to never, ever hurt or let this man’s heart go again.

#malec #malec fic #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #claia lukemaryse and heline coming your way soon :)#the first chapter got out of hand y'all #posting a little earlier than planned think of it as a christmas gift!#i'm not good at figuring out how to post/promote multi-chapters on here lol #shadowhunters fic

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philosopherking1887 · 5 years ago

Text

Kol Nidrei (a Good Omens fic)

I’m back on my bullshit. @iscariotsss knows what I mean.

Word count: 2130 (including “footnotes”)

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

Aziraphale liked going to houses of worship because it made him feel closer to God. He realized that this must seem foolish or paradoxical: he was, after all, a being suffused with God’s love and grace; and if he went through the right procedures, he could even (in theory) make direct contact with the Almighty. But calls to the Court of God’s Power through such channels—it had recently been made brutally, devastatingly clear to him—in fact went through a spokes-angel (no, not the wheeled kind), a mere mouthpiece who claimed to listen and speak on behalf of God. Speaking to God as an angel, using the capabilities and privileges his angelic nature afforded him, he had only ever reached a Glorified secretary.

Humans, though, when they prayed—it was possible that God truly listened. Angels listened, too, and sometimes took it upon themselves to answer; God was not in principle opposed to delegating, and angels were permitted a certain amount of latitude in how they executed the Divine Will, broadly understood. But sometimes miracles occurred, or moments of mystical inspiration, or improbable causal nudges, that could not be accounted for, even with all the Heavenly Bureaucracy’s scrupulous record-keeping. Then the angels had to wonder whether God Herself had heard and answered a prayer that Her agents had passed over. One of the Archangels would make a note by the observation of the anomalous event: “Divine intervention?” Always with a question mark, for God’s ways were known to none but God.

Aziraphale felt closer to God among humans praying than in the blessed Light of Heaven, or in his own grace-filled solitude, because he knew that their voices actually had a chance of being heard. Especially when they prayed in community, because although God did sometimes attend to solitary prayers (which might pierce through the noise because of the devoutness or holiness or strong personality of the pray-er), a group of people all speaking or meditating on the same message reinforce each other in a way that is not simply a matter of additive volume, but of resonance.

Because Aziraphale was at heart (and in body) an aesthete, he preferred places and modes of worship with a certain amount of pomp and ceremony. He could not abide the slick commercial atmosphere of ‘evangelical’ megachurches or the adaptation of modern popular musical styles to the purpose of worship; the mere presence of a guitar would send him out the door as quickly as consecrated ground did most demons. Nor was he much attracted to the simplest of gatherings, the mostly silent Quaker Circles, the unadorned meeting-houses that remained true to the Calvinist tradition (and, arguably, the original tradition of Christ and the first Apostles). No, he preferred the lushness of Catholic and Orthodox churches, their sparkling mosaics and glowing stained-glass masterpieces, the Masses and Liturgies composed by Europe’s greatest creative geniuses for sumptuous choirs and virtuosos playing thundering organs (Aziraphale found that of all artists, he had an especial rapport with organists). And if sometimes such fare was too rich even for him, he felt comfortably at home in the stolid, dignified (or as Crowley would say, stuffy and pompous) tradition of the Church of England. The Elgar and Britten anthems were not quite your Bach Mass or Verdi Requiem; but not even Aziraphale could eat lobster and venison every day.

So when the Jewish High Holidays came round and one felt compelled to put in an appearance (‘one’ referring not only to Heaven’s representatives on Earth, but to the Jewish worshipers as well), Aziraphale tended toward a certain style of Reform-to-Conservative congregation that favoured tastefully ornate architecture and a choir, accompanied by a piano or (in rare cases) an organ, singing nineteenth-century settings of the prayers and psalms much in the style of Mendelssohn,* or perhaps mid-twentieth-century arrangements taking inspiration from some combination of Rachmaninoff, Vaughan Williams, and dramatic film scores. Aziraphale was especially attached to the melancholy cello solo playing Bruch’s setting of the Kol Nidrei melody with which such congregations habitually began the Yom Kippur evening service.

On a mild, damp early autumn evening forty days after the world failed to end, Aziraphale went alone to the synagogue whose Kol Nidrei services he had been attending for the past twenty years or so (he was a creature of habit as much as, if not more than, a creature of love). He closed his eyes and let the cello’s plaintive voice set his chest to sweetly aching and was desperately grateful that he still had this—this salmon and crème fraîche omelette instead of the ‘eggs without salt’ of eternal celestial harmonies (stop thinking in food metaphors on a fast day!, he scolded himself, hurriedly directing his thoughts away from his stomach).

The cello’s final tremulous notes faded away and the cantor (who had classical operatic training; there was a reason Aziraphale preferred the services here) began singing the words of the Kol Nidrei. Aziraphale’s French or his Tibetan might sometimes grow rusty, but Hebrew and Aramaic always came back to him like riding a velocipede (or so they said; not that he would know).

“All vows,” the cantor sang (joined at musically appropriate points by the choir), “self-prohibitions, consecrations, bonds, promises, obligations, and oaths that we have vowed, sworn, consecrated, and taken as prohibitions upon ourselves from this Yom Kippur until the next—may it come to us for good—we regret and renounce them all; may they all be absolved, forgiven, cancelled, and rendered null and void; they shall have no force, and shall not endure. Let our vows not be vows, our prohibitions not be prohibitions, our oaths not be oaths.”

There was a widespread belief that the custom of making this declaration originated among the Iberian Jews who were forced to publicly convert to Christianity but who continued to practice their Judaism in secret—who insincerely forswore their faith in the sight of God and men, but wished to retract these false oaths in God’s sight alone. Among those who knew the text was older, the story was that it came out of an earlier time of persecution and conversions on pain of death. Aziraphale (who had witnessed the whole painful, arduous, improbable history of this people) knew that it came out of nothing of the sort: it was just that the Jews had an unfortunate habit, which caused their priests and rabbis no end of intestinal distress, of making solemn vows at the drop of a hat. There was even a significant commandment not to make vain oaths in the name of the Lord, but the habit persisted. So a formal ritual of renunciation was introduced in the hope that God could be persuaded not to take such utterances so terribly seriously. But it took on a darker, weightier significance in the face of the forced conversions that became a recurring theme in the history of the Jews. God’s Providence works in unexpected ways: a tradition that arose for one purpose might later prove even more essential for another.

When Aziraphale recited the formula with this congregation, it was always for the original reason for which it had been instituted. He, like the early Hebrews, had a shameful habit of making promises to God that he should have known he wouldn’t be able to keep. He promised he wouldn’t use frivolous miracles; he promised he wouldn’t eat and drink so lavishly; he promised he would be paying more attention next time, so that maybe he could stop or at least mitigate the next horror that the humans visited upon themselves—unless, of course, Michael or Gabriel told him it was part of the Divine Plan, in which case he would smile uncomfortably and wonder whether he should be praying that they were right or that they were wrong.

Above all, he promised to set aside his feelings for Crowley. He didn’t promise not to see him anymore—he had to keep an eye on Hell’s agent in his sector of the Earth, didn’t he?—but after every time they met, when he departed with a hollowness in his stomach that could not be filled by any amount of oysters or brioche, he promised that he would give no thought to the demon except in regard to thwarting him. He promised he would tell Crowley the Arrangement was over (of course, he never did… not until the second-to-last day of the world, when Crowley threatened to make him face up to what Heaven really was, and what they really were). He promised he would stay away, except to watch his counterpart’s movements, and perhaps to confront him directly if there was no other way of stopping his machinations. And he kept that promise for a whole century between 1862 and 1967—their encounter in 1941 had been entirely on Crowley’s initiative!—but during that century of separation, and especially after its unplanned interruption, he had been even more abysmal at keeping his promise not to think of Crowley in anything but his professional capacity.

Now Aziraphale was facing the first full year since the world had not been made anew, but somehow his world had; and he realized that he no longer needed to ask preemptive absolution for his usual vain promises to God. No one would be keeping track of Aziraphale’s “frivolous miracles,” much less sending him nasty letters about them. And though Aziraphale himself would never say it, he quite agreed with Crowley that Gabriel could shove his self-righteous comments about Aziraphale’s “gut” right up his tightly-clenched arse, along with that appalling tracksuit (he wasn’t entirely sure what Crowley had meant by calling him “basic,” but he gathered that it wasn’t good). Crowley liked him soft (he made a very good body-pillow, he was told), so Aziraphale liked himself that way, too.

As to preventing the horrors of human history… he wasn’t sure that he had any right to interfere, except by showing and encouraging kindness, where he could. As a Heavenly agent on Earth, he was retired, but he would remain a being of love until… well, until Heaven succeeded in destroying him, or God decided he deserved to Fall. But even then, he wasn’t sure: Crowley had Fallen (or “sauntered vaguely downwards,” as he liked to insist), but Aziraphale suspected that he was still a being of love, in spite of everything.

Most importantly, the primary impetus for Aziraphale’s empty vows, self-prohibitions, promises, and oaths no longer obtained. From this year on, there would be no vows not to think of Crowley, work with him, seek out his company. “For centuries I regretted and renounced those vows because I feared I couldn’t keep them,” Aziraphale said silently to God; he wasn’t sure whether or not he hoped She was actually listening. “Now I regret and renounce them because I should never have made them in the first place. I should never have wanted to be able to keep them.”

“Let our oaths not be oaths,” the choir was singing as the elaborate Romantic-style arrangement drew toward its dramatic close, the cantor’s voice rising in an impressive final cadenza. “Let our oaths not be oaths.”

“Ush’vuatana la sh’vuot,” Aziraphale whispered in time with the singers. All his foolish oaths had already been annulled,** most of them before he even made them; he could not now go back and retract them for the right reason. Well, he would probably come up with some new vain oaths, maybe about being less of a bastard to unwitting would-be customers in his bookshop.

There were some other vows he had it in mind to make where Crowley was concerned, but those would not be made only to God, and he had every intention of keeping them.

* “It sounds like bloody Gilbert and Sullivan,” Crowley had muttered to Aziraphale once when he had been invited to accompany him for a lark (the ground of synagogues did not burn his feet), and Aziraphale had had to bite the inside of his cheek to maintain his disapproving expression and stifle a laugh. “Listen, it’s the chorus of sisters, cousins, and aunts.”

** With the exception of those made during a year late in the eleventh century just before the change of tense instituted by Rabbi Meïr ben Shmuel, applying the renunciation to the year ahead rather than the year just past, had reached the synagogue in Paris where Aziraphale had been spending the Days of Awe for several years. Aziraphale panicked about it for a good six months, and indeed whenever he thought about it (with diminishing frequency) thereafter, not least because he and Crowley had first embarked on the Arrangement earlier that century and Aziraphale had spent decades regularly resolving to back out and never following through.

#i know yom kippur was 2 weeks ago #i've had stuff going on #it took me a while to finish this #my fanfiction #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands fanfiction #ineffable husbands fanfic #ineffable husbands fic #aziraphale pov #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale x crowley

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