#i’m her scheduler. not her personal assistant or brains or mother

[coldbug]

i fucking hate having to hold my coworker’s hand just to make her do her fucking job, like girl can you please fucking grow up i’m not your fucking mom

[phykios]

Ain’t No Sunshine, modern royalty, 1970s au [read on ao3] thank you as always to my darling @darkmagyk for taking a true story off the rails

May 3rd, 1979. The date seemed to jump off the page, the loud, bold text almost mocking her. 

Not that she was keeping track, but it was just about four years to the day.

She’d woken up this morning, feeling kind of off, wandering around her apartment in a daze as she hustled her children out the door for daycare, losing time on her bus commute to work. It wasn’t until lunch, as she took the time to go through her day planner, that she realized: four years ago was when she had last seen Percy Jackson.

Though why Annabeth was thinking about him right this second was anyone’s guess.

Oh, sure, she’d thought about him a lot all throughout her pregnancy--thought about him, cursed his name, dreamed of strangling him for leaving her alone with these two absolute terrors--but as the years had gone by, and she had lost all hope of ever making contact with him again, he’d sort of fallen by the wayside of her thoughts. Something must have been going on with the navy mail system, because absolutely none of the letters or postcards she’d sent had ever been received, and she couldn’t reach out to Sally, since Annabeth had lost her address as well. 

There was always the possibility that he… well, that he wasn’t around to receive letters anymore. But she tried not to think about it. 

She tried her best not to think about him at all, these days.

Today, however, her childhood best friend turned US navy midshipman had popped up on her internal radar, and had just decided to take up residence in her brain. Her normally mind-numbing job couldn’t even properly distract her, and she spent all afternoon daydreaming about his messy, perpetually windswept hair, and his toothy, contagious smile, and his gorgeous green eyes like she was some kind of pathetic, lovestruck teenager, obsessing over her rockstar crush. Taking calls, scheduling appointments, and dodging the creepy advances of the assistant CFO were slightly more palatable if she had something pleasant to think about. 

Old-fashioned romance was for suckers, anyway. Who needed it? 

At least it was Friday. Fridays were KFC days, and she really did not need to accidentally burn dinner today. Again.

She hated it, but her kids loved it. God knows they could barely stomach whatever she usually attempted.

She sent them to bed early-ish, and settled down in front of the TV with a glass of wine. She didn’t usually indulge, but she had had such a weird day, she felt she deserved it. 

Taking a long, long sip, she could no longer deny it: she really fucking missed Percy.

She missed him like she’d miss a missing limb, and it was all the more cruel because she’d lost him once, and miraculously found him again, on that fateful trip home from Athens. A military brat stuck at the American naval base in Spain to save money, waiting for a spare seat to open up on a plane so she could go home, by the sheer force of luck, she’d practically tripped and fallen into the lap of her childhood best friend. 

And then she did trip into his lap. And then into his bed. And stupid, stupid, Annabeth, she’d always been so bad with her birth control.

Her little boy, he had blond hair, but sometimes he would look at her, or laugh at something, or drool in his sleep just like his daddy, and Annabeth thought she might just fucking die from it.

She loved her children, of course, how could she not? But she wasn’t about to deny it--sometimes, alone in parenthood, juggling dishes and laundry and schoolwork and life, she felt like she was drowning.

Sharp, piercing, the doorbell rang, knocking her out of her reverie. A little tipsy, still in her rumpled work clothes, she set the glass aside, and made her way to the door. “Mr. D,” she said, opening it, prepared speech all ready to go, “I told you, I’d have the rent for you by--”

She stopped, blinking, speechless. It was not Mr. D.

“Hey,” said the man outside her door. The ghost from another world that she had, apparently, conjured with her thoughts.

“...Hey.”

He smiled, a little strained, the light of the streetlamps casting harsh shadows on his face. “It’s good to see you.” 

“How did you know where I lived?” It was, perhaps, not the most elegant thing to say, but she hadn’t exactly planned for what would happen when Percy Jackson, love of her life, father of her children, long-lost best friend wandered back into her life.

“Can I come in? Maybe for a Coke or something?” he asked, not answering her question. 

She almost wanted to say no. For every letter never returned, for every month gone by without a word, for every day spent raising their children without him, not knowing if he was alive or dead--she almost said no. 

But this was Percy. She could spare him a Coca Cola at least. “Sure,” she said, leaning away, “come on.”

“Great,” he said, and this time, his smile was all real. 

So focused had she been on him, she hadn’t even clocked the older man who stood behind him. “Sir,” said the other man, with the air of a beleaguered secretary--and Annabeth would know, “I really must advise--”

“I’ll just be a minute,” said Percy, not even bothering to look back at him, pushing past Annabeth’s half-extended arm.

“But, sir, your father--”

Percy let the door shut in his face.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Harsh.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well… I’ll make it up to him later.”

“Who is he?”

But Percy didn’t answer. “Nice place you got here.”

He was being nice, of course. It was a craphole apartment in a craphole side of town--but the rent was cheap and the bus was convenient, and she only felt the slightest bit of shame as she led him to the craphole couch, handing him a coke from her craphole fridge. Christ, his suit looked like it cost more than her TV.

“Is your… husband home?” he asked, delicate.

“My what?”

“Your husband. I saw, um…” Embarrassed, he flicked his eyes to the ring on her left hand. 

“Oh, this? It’s--it’s not--” Hastily, clumsily, she fumbles it off, pulling around the knuckle. “I’m not--I’m not.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I just--it’s to ward off creepy guys, right? Like, they won’t take no for an answer unless they think they’ll have to deal with an angry husband, so I just…” 

In her more pathetic moments, she pretended that it had been given to her by the man before her. She had picked something small and simple, something that she thought he might have gone with, and pretended he had slipped it into her pocket the day she left the naval base. 

“That’s--cool. That’s great, I mean. I mean, that’s--”

“What do you want, Percy?”

Not at all bothered by the shortness of her tone, he sighed, closing his eyes. “I have a… personal question I need to ask you. And I’m sorry to bother you with this, I just--I have to ask.”

Ominous. “Okay?”

“Did we…” He sighed again, mouth twisting. “Did you, as a result of our repeated sexual encounters four years ago, happen to have any children by me?”

He just rattled it off, as if it was something he’d said over and over and over again, tired of receiving the same answer, but never expecting anything different.

“Excuse me?”

“I know, I know, it’s an extremely rude question, and I know I have no right to ask you, especially since it’s been so long, but I swear, there’s a reason I--”

“Did you never get any of the letters I sent you?”

At that, his head shot up. The look in his eyes could only be described as ‘terror.’ “What?”

“I must have sent you half a dozen,” she said, crossing to the kitchen, the wine making her a little bit short. She had, in fact, sent him eight letters, with pictures, and never received a single response, but since he seemed genuinely lost, she decided not to tell him. Plucking the most recent photo down from the fridge, she returned to the man in her living room, his knuckles white around the can. 

Standing before him, she handed him the photograph. He took it, fingers shaking. “We… you…” 

“Percy Jackson,” she said, like she was introducing him to someone at a party, “meet your children.”

Even after they had just been born, Annabeth had seen how obviously they were his. Only their daughter had the same messy black hair, both both had the same long, straight nose, the same intense, brooding brow as their father--and when her son smiled, or her daughter laughed, it was hard not to see the shades of Percy so strongly in them. It was hard to see them, too. 

Percy’s mouth was trembling. His eyes were wide, glassy, fixed on the photo. “My--” he swallowed. “What--what are their names?”

“Alexander,” she said, softly, “and Anne--”

“Annemarie,” he breathed. “Alexander and Annemarie.” He looked up at her, his eyes shining. “You remembered?”

Of course she remembered. Two lonely kids, she and Percy had spent so much of their childhood together, playing house, building their perfect family, even if only in their imagination. Alexander for his mother’s cousin, and Annemarie because he had wanted to name their  daughter Annabeth, and she wouldn’t let him. Twenty years later, alone and in pain, holding her newborn children and alternately cursing the man who made them and desperately wishing he were with her, Annabeth had known that they could only have one set of names, even if their father might never meet them. 

His face crumpled. He dropped his head into his hand, and groaned, like someone had pressed on an open wound. 

“Percy!” Annabeth sat down next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his leg. Four years later and it still felt so natural to touch him like this. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, he grunted. “Yeah,” he croaked, voice hoarse, “I’m okay. I’m fine. I just--” And then he shuddered, a hand coming up to scrub at his eyes. 

He was crying, she realized suddenly. Annabeth used to be the one that cried. She could count on one hand how many times she’d seen him cry. He hadn’t even cried when she had finally left the naval base. 

Taking a shaking breath, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his expensive suit. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, shattered. “I didn’t--I never--if I had known, I swear, I would have left the navy. I would have come home.”

The silent, unspoken “to you” echoed in the dead air of her apartment. “Why didn’t you?” she asked, quietly.

They held each other’s eyes, an eternity passing in a heartbeat. Neither wanted to break the sacred silence, to bring words into the crystalline moment that hung in the balance between them. 

“I never got your letters,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I… after you--left, I…” he sighed, aching. “I… got hurt. Bad.” 

Annabeth couldn’t breathe. 

“And,” he huffed a laugh, wet and messy, “and then I met my father. Can you believe it?”

Her eyes bugged out of her head. “You what?”

He nodded.

“He’s alive?” 

Sally rarely spoke of him, and Percy had always refused to. Annabeth had just assumed he had died, years and years and years ago. 

Percy laughed again, humorless. “He’s the king of Thera.”

Her jaw dropped. “He…”

“Yeah.”

“Are you shitting me?”

Shaking his head, he smiled, rueful. “I wish.”

Words from a half-remembered newscast floated through her mind. Alexander and Annemarie had been right terrors that night, and she had only been half-listening as the reporter informed the world that Triton, hereditary prince of Thera, had died, killed in military action. “He… found you?”

Percy nodded, miserable. “He told me--asked--told me to--to find anyone I might have…” And then he swallowed, tears in his eyes again, real, glistening tears. “And I am so, so sorry, I know--I know your job is here, and your whole life, and the children, but I--”

She took his hand in hers, squeezing gently so he didn’t fly away. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just say it.”

“I’m supposed to--I’m supposed to… if you would… come with me,” he trailed off, suddenly shy. 

For the second time tonight, she felt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. “...What?”

“He… my father… the king wants--needs heirs. He… he asked for a list of women, and I… gave him your name.” Stomach hot, Annabeth wished she had the courage to know about the other women on that list. Or to ask  why Percy, young and handsome as he’d been at both twelve and twenty, wasn’t out there making some new ones himself. Why was he chasing down old leads? Why was he chasing down Chase bastards? “You’d--you’d live in the castle,” he said, like he was trying to sell her on it, though she could tell his heart wasn’t really in it, “and we, well, we’d technically have to get married, but that doesn’t need to be a big deal. You’d get your own rooms. You can set them up however you want. And you’d have a personal staff, a stipend, and the kids would get private teachers, and--”

“Staff?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Yes?”

Staff. Someone to do the laundry and clean the dishes. Someone to cook dinner and look after the house. Someone to help. Someone to do all the parental things that she just could not do, not by herself. Not without him. 

“I know I have no right to ask this of you,” he said, squeezing her hand. His hand was just as big as she remembered, and just as warm. “And I would never, ever force you to do anything that you wouldn’t want to--”

“Yes,” she said, interrupting him. 

He blinked, dumbly. “What?”

“Yes. I’ll come with you. We all will.”

“...Oh. Uh, great. That’s--that’s good. Are you sure?” He looked like a lost little dolphin, eyes huge and uncertain, and then, Annabeth did the one thing that she’d been desperately wanting to do for the last four years. 

She pulled his face to hers, and she kissed him. Shocked, he stiffened, almost pulling away--before relaxing into her, cupping her face in his big, warm hand. Eyes closed, they leaned their heads against each other, sharing air once more for the first time in years. She had lost him twice already: once as a child, when her father had decided to move her across the country, and once as a lovestruck college girl, when she had to leave the naval base, four years ago. She wasn’t about to lose him for a third time. 

And for the first time in forever, she no longer felt like she was drowning.

[nugnthopkns]

i’ll wait and i’ll listen

word count: 2.1k

warnings: mentions of deafness/hearing loss, cursing, i think that’s it

recommended listening: new song | maggie rogers & del water gap

a/n: hi! first and foremost, i want to say that this is based off my own personal experiences with a deaf father, and it is in no way a reflection of how other people or families with hearing issues operate. this is just how we live and how my dad goes about life. with that out of the way, enjoy some soft nolan content i threw together in 45 minutes. pretty sure i made this gender neutral, but please point out any mistakes!

There’s no legitimate reason for you to be so apprehensive about Nolan meeting your parents.

He’s a great person who is all you could ever ask for in a partner. The two of you get along like peas in a pod, and honestly most of the time your relationship feels like two friends hanging out. Of course there’s a bit more romance involved – but being with Nolan is so easy you barely have to think about it. 

Your parents aren’t the issue either. They’re both incredibly supportive of your relationship, and anything else you do. If it weren’t for them, you never would have left home – they’re the ones who packed the car and drove you all the way to Philadelphia. You never would have met Nolan if they hadn’t practically forced you out of the house and into the world. 

Truthfully, both parties would probably get along great. Your mother is kind and welcoming, and your father has interests similar to Nolan’s. Your younger siblings adore him – they came to visit one weekend and you took them to an afternoon game at Wells Fargo Centre, and afterwards the four of you went out for burgers. Since then they talk to him regularly, and have been begging for you to return home with Nolan. You can tell your parents are getting antsy too – after all, you’ve been with Nolan for nearly two years. 

Yes, Nolan has a busy schedule that doesn’t allow for much travel, but there have been plenty of opportunities over the years for everyone to get together. You’re the one who always comes up with a reason for him not to meet your parents. One time you were ‘sick’, another you were too busy with work to make the trip home. It isn’t that you’re worried they won’t approve or that Nolan will resent them. You’re apprehensive about bringing Nolan around because you’re worried there will be a communication barrier. 

Your dad is deaf, and Nolan doesn’t exactly enunciate his words well. His voice is also exceptionally deep, which doesn’t help much. It isn’t a secret, your father’s hearing issues, and you’ve spoken to Nolan about them numerous times. Most of the time it’s you fretting about it getting worse and he listens intently while you sob into his chest. Since the hearing loss came from years of working around loud machines, it was gradual, which was frustrating for him. You were in high school when he got hearing aides, but eventually they lost their desired effect. Now your dad relies on reading lips and other non-aural markers like hand gestures to fill in the gaps. 

“Babe, I have to meet them at some point,” Nolan says through a mouthful of pasta. “Especially since I plan on sticking around.”

Your mom had called earlier in the afternoon to ask when you were coming home next. The upcoming weekend is free in your schedule, and when you told her she insisted you bring Nolan. He’s out for the season with the migraine related issues so you couldn’t exactly lie and say he was going to be out of town. Instead, you fed her some bullshit excuse and said you’d check to see if he could move some stuff around. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I just don’t want you or my dad getting frustrated if talking doesn’t go smoothly.”

Nolan pushes his chair back from the table and walks to stand behind you. He rubs your shoulders soothingly and leans down to whisper in your ear. “There are a million and ten other ways I can communicate with him Sweetheart. Don’t worry about it.”

Deep down, you know he’s right. There’s no reason the two of them can’t communicate, even if they can’t do it verbally. After discussing it more and ironing out all your doubts, you call your mom back to let her know both you and Nolan will be coming. A small weight lifts from your chest, knowing that you’ll get the first meeting over with, but dread slowly creeps in. There are so many ways it could go wrong. 

☼☼☼☼

You and Nolan stand on the doorstep of your childhood home hand in hand. As if he can sense how nervous you are, Nolan squeezes gently, reminding you of his unwavering presence. 

“Whatever happens isn’t going to change the fact that I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

To steady yourself from the negative thought swirling in your brain you lean closer to Nolan. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and uses his free hand to knock on the door. Less than two seconds your sister is bounding towards the door and flinging it open. 

“Mom! Y/N and Nolan are here!”

She steps to the side and lets the pair of you in. You shrug off your jacket and hang it on the rack behind the door – Nolan copies. As soon as you’re inside the entryway your mother is wrapping you in a massive hug. 

“I’m so glad you’re home darling,” she says, arms tight around you. “Was the drive okay?”

You go to answer her question but her attention is turned to your very tall boyfriend who is standing beside you like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“You must be Nolan. It’s so nice we could finally meet. Y/N has told me a lot about you.”

Nolan clears his throat before speaking, his deep voice echoing slightly off the ceiling. “All good things I hope,” he laughs, looking to you for reassurance. 

Nodding your head, you join in his laughter. You travel farther into the house, giving your brother a fistbump when you pass him in the hall. When you moved out your parents converted your room into a sophisticated guest bedroom, so there aren’t any embarrassing posters from your teenage years on the walls for Nolan to make fun of. You quickly unpack your suitcase, wanting to get back downstairs and spend time with your family. It’s been a while since you’ve been home, and you missed them more than you thought. 

“Is your dad here?” Nolan asks, hanging the couple of sweaters you guys brought up in the closet. 

You glance at the clock on the wall, you shake your head. “He’ll be home from work just before dinner.” 

The two of you head downstairs to chill with your siblings, but not without sharing a few kisses that make your spine tingle. At your brother’s insistence the four of you head to the basement to partake in an air hockey tournament. Though Nolan can hold his own in the NHL, he’s rather miserable at this iteration of the game. Your sister eliminates him in under five minutes, and after a hard fought battle you defeat your brother. 

Nolan tries to coach you before the gold medal game but you laugh him off. “Nol, you were terrible. I think I can hold my own.”

He breathes out harshly through his nose, but you know he isn’t upset with your teasing. “Fine,” he mumbles, “See if you can win without my all-star advice.”

Your sister manages to win in a shootout. It was a close game, and you challenge her to a rematch after dinner. She accepts, insisting you’ll lose again. Nolan bets he can race her around the property, so you move outside. Your mom lets you know dinner will be ready soon, and you throw her a thumbs up. 

Though your sister is a fast runner, she’s got nothing on Nolan’s six foot frame. He passes her with ease, cheekily throwing her the finger as he rushes by. You’re the finish line and instead of stopping when he reaches you, Nolan throws you over his shoulder and continues running through the yard. 

Your laugh rings out as you kick your feet. “Put me down!” you shriek. When he makes no attempt to prove he listened to your cries, you try again. “Nol, come on, put me down. If you fall it’ll be really bad.”

Knowing you’re right, Nolan stops moving and gingerly places you on the ground. His hands move to cup your face and he plants a warm kiss on your lips. You refuse to let it get too far, but you lean into him slightly and sigh when he pulls away. 

In the distance you hear your mom calling for dinner. “Kids, it’s time to eat,” she says. “Your father just got home.”

Your heart beat rises exponentially, and your steps drag slightly as you get closer to the door. Nolan notices, but doesn’t say anything. Instead he flashes you a smile that’s reserved just for you and makes your heart melt. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll make sure I don’t mumble.”

In the dining room, you guide Nolan to sit beside your dad. You figure it’s the spot where he has the best chance of hearing your boyfriend, and no one seems to protest. They give each other a polite nod while the rest of you rush to place everything on the table and serve the food. 

Once everyone is sitting, Nolan takes the initiative to introduce himself. “It’s nice to meet you Sir,” he says a bit slower than his normal speaking voice, making sure to clearly enunciate his words. 

There’s no response from your father, and you suck in a breath. You watched him focus on Nolan’s lips while he spoke, but you fear he still couldn’t quite understand what your boyfriend said. It takes a few more beats for him to process what was spoken, but then your dad is cracking a smile and holding his hand out for Nolan to shake. 

“Glad Y/N isn’t hiding you from us anymore. I thought the first time I’d meet you was at the engagement party.” His voice is a few decibels louder than everyone else’s, due to not being able to hear himself, but Nolan doesn’t seem to mind. 

They slip into an easy conversation about work and hunting, asking each other a million questions. There’s barely room for any one else to contribute but the rest of you don’t mind – it’s been a long time since your dad has been able to go this long without asking someone for assistance. Of course there’s a few bumps in the road – Nolan not speaking clearly or looking elsewhere while telling a story, but that was to be expected. You step in when needed, repeating phrases and recreating scenes with hand actions. Overall, the meal goes swimmingly, and the two men leave the table eagerly to swap stories. 

You spend the time catching up with your mother, and she gushes over how Nolan is handling everything. “He’s doing so well,” she exclaims. “He’s so patient with your dad, waiting to make he understood what was said before continuing, and he doesn’t have an issue repeating himself a few times. You really lucked out Y/N.”

“I know,” you say honestly. “He’s simply the best.”

It’s a few hours later that Nolan finds his way back to you. You arch your brow, wondering what he got up to, and he explains that your dad took him for a walk in the forest to show him the deer he’d been tracking the past couple of weeks. It’s heartwarming that they get along so well, and you feel a little silly for fretting over what would happen. 

☼☼☼☼

“Your dad is nice,” Nolan shrugs as you crawl into bed beside him. “I could hardly tell he was deaf most of the time.”

You tuck yourself into his side and hum. “He does a great job of not letting it define him,” you agree. “But thank you for being so patient with him.”

A small peck is placed to your shoulder blade and you sigh at the contact of Nolan’s lips on your skin. “He did grumble about how my voice is too deep,” he laughs. “Said he could barely hear me. Once I knew that I made sure to speak clearly and let him read my lips.”

You’re speechless. None of your friends or past romantic partners had made that much of an effort to treat your dad like he was a person. They got short with him for needing them to slow down or repeat themselves, and often would refuse to see him again. It’s part of the reason you were so hesitant to introduce Nolan – you wanted to protect him from another person who might treat him differently because he can’t hear.

“I really fucking love you,” you whisper into the darkness. 

You can practically hear the grin in Nolan’s voice as he speaks. “I really fucking love you too.”

The rest of your stay will go just fine, you think as you drift to sleep. There was nothing to worry about, and you can’t wait to watch a friendship blossom between your dad and boyfriend. 

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[tumbleweed-palmer]

Adorable: Jimmy Palmer X Reader

Jimmy was in a barbershop quartet group in college. Reader finds that kind of adorable which means she finds it kind of hot too.

=======

Y/N has always known her boyfriend is a little bit of an oddball. Their first meeting kind of hinted at it. They’d met at a coffee shop and he’d accidentally spilled his rather large iced coffee on her.

As he’d dabbed her off with a ridiculous amount of napkins apologizing frantically he’d joked that at least it wasn’t hot coffee as he’d once had to see a cadaver who’d had a pretty nasty past injury from a coffee burn…then, of course, he had to clear his comment up by explaining that he definitely wasn’t a psychopath and was only an assistant to the medical examiner for NCIS…and then he’d gone on to explain exactly what NCIS was….it was by far the strangest conversation Y/N had ever had in her life.

Most people might have run screaming after that conversation, but there was something so adorable about Jimmy Palmer that Y/N couldn’t help but to like him even with his awkward conversation choices.

So she’d quite smoothly offered to buy him a coffee to replace the one he’d spilled and he’d quite awkwardly claimed he should be the one buying her something…after all he’d soaked her dress. Of course, then it had hit him that she was trying to flirt with him and he’d agreed to the coffee…but only if he could at least buy her a muffin.

They’d had their first date right then and there. It had been nice, even if Y/N’s dress had been a little sticky from Jimmy’s amazingly sugary iced coffee choice. Jimmy had listened entranced with her even as she discussed her less than exciting job working at a bank. Jimmy easily had a way of making her feel like the most interesting person on the planet. It was something she adored about him from the very start. She had felt that his career was far more interesting though a little odd. Still though even with the more morbid aspect of his career, Y/N had been pretty smitten with him from the start, and much to her relief he had been just as infatuated with her.

After that first date, they’d become inseparable. Their relationship has progressed to the point of her meeting his mother and he meeting her parents. They’d even moved in together and had both begun to hint at marriage being a possibility sooner than later.

Living with Jimmy didn’t mean Y/N was any less surprised by his oddness though.

This, however, was the last thing Y/N expected to come home to.

She’d entered the apartment, she shared with Jimmy, staring down at her cell phone with a shopping bag in hand. It had been an uneventful Saturday and although Y/N would have much rather spent it inside with her boyfriend, errands still needed to be taken care of. So she’d spent her morning running by the post office and then the bank and finally the farmers market.

She dropped her shopping bags off in the kitchenette calling out for Jimmy frowning when she didn’t get a response. Surely he hadn’t been called away for work, he was good about calling her if he was being called away.

His work schedule had been a little strange to wrap her brain around. It was an odd schedule, but she made the most of the time they had together.

She made her way to the bedroom widening her eyes as she spotted him. She almost pinched herself to make sure this wasn’t all some weird dream.

Her boyfriend stood in front of the mirror in a full-on barber quartet outfit straw hat included.

Jimmy turned to smile at her not seeming to be thrown off by the disbelief on her face. “Oh I didn’t hear you come in, So, what do you think? I’m really surprised it still fits. It’s actually a little loose, I guess I’ve lost weight since college, must be because I started hitting the gym. I’ve bulked up a little since then, so honestly, I thought it’d be too tight.”

Y/N cleared her throat her brow furrowed. “I-I uh, what? Why?”

Jimmy smiled even brighter still seeming unfazed by his girlfriend’s confusion. “Oh, my old barbershop quartet group is talking about having a reunion show. I guess I never told you about it. We were called the P B & Js. I was the second J. It’s been years, I hope I can still hit the right notes.”

Y/N nodded her head slowly taking in this information. She had to admit there was something kind of adorable about all of this. This was unexpected, but then again there were a lot of things about Jimmy that were unexpected.

She couldn’t stop the fond feeling from washing over her at how proud he looked of himself as he stared back in the mirror clearly ecstatic about this all.

Ugh, why was he so adorable? She mentally groaned knowing that this was always her downfall. Any time she focused on how adorable he was she couldn't stop that familiar hot wave of desire from running through her.

She almost wanted to psychoanalyze herself at times…did she have some kind of kink for him being so adorable?

She took a deep breath knowing she had two choices, either walk away and forget this or jump his bones and accept that the sight of him being so adorable did it for her.

She made up her mind making her way over to him leaning up and allowing her lips to slide along his neck her fingers tracing the ridiculous bright red vest that went along with his outfit.

Jimmy felt his cheeks flush a familiar wave of lust hitting him just as hard as it hit her.

He spoke his voice rising a pitch as she littered his neck with kisses. “If I’d known you had a thing for barbershop quartets I might have broken this out sooner.”

Y/N managed to let out a laugh her lips meeting his she taking his hands in hers leading him to their bed.

She spoke as she shoved him down wasting zero time straddle his lap her lips pressing to his neck once again as she spoke. “Trust me I’m just as surprised by it as you, pretty sure I just have a thing for you though. The outfit is just a nice bonus.”

Jimmy smiled leaning back taking everything she was willing to give. He spoke as she began to unfasten the buttons to his shirt. “I can perform one of our songs later…if you want.”

She spoke as she began to work her way down his body her comment making him smile all the more. “I want.”

[writtenvisionary]

Rooftop Riddles

Read on Ao3

WC: 5.1k

Summary: One riddle changes everything. Dramatic identity reveal, oneshot, ladynoir/adrienette | trigger warning - depression, self-harm, abuse/neglect

The breeze was nothing short of refreshing as she sat next to her partner in crime. He was silent for the time being, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he would start saying something stupid. So she took in her surroundings while there was still silence between them.

It was dark; street lights illuminated all of Paris. Shadows bounced from wall to wall as civilians took their nightly walks, either from work or just around the block to get some fresh, cool air before they go to sleep. There are also those pathetically trudging toward their place of employment for their overnight shifts, and Marinette felt for them. Being Ladybug was all too taxing on her, and she often felt like she worked 24 hours, but in reality it was just all of the extra exercise that made her so exhausted every day.

Looking over at Chat Noir, she takes in his appearance. His hunched back, drooped cat ears, slow breaths. He’s looking straight ahead, seemingly lost in his own train of thought. Her eyebrows furrow.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her partner beats her to it.

“Wanna hear a riddle?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Okay. What do you call a sad watermelon?”

Ladybug had to think. Biting her bottom lip, she pondered an answer.

“Um... I don’t know, what?”

“Melon-choly.”

A smile lit up her face.

“Oh!” She laughed.

“Here’s another. It’s kinda long, so get ready.”

She nods, shifting in her seat.

“A single father took care of his baby, and he was rich so the baby had a lot. Food, clothes, excessive stuff. What didn’tthe baby have?”

Marinette frowns, some weird feeling rushing through her veins. She sits up, narrowing her eyes at the boy clad in a black leather suit. He sits with his legs pulled up to his chest, looking straight forward. Not even a tiny upward lift of his lips, making her worry.

Something about the way he delivered that riddle was… ominous. It didn’t seem like he was disconnected from the story he was telling. It’s almost like he could relate.

She gulps.

“A mother?”

He nods, then hangs his head for a moment before pulling it back up and flashing an obviously fake smile in her direction.

“Bingo,” he says dryly.

Her frown deepens.

Why did that riddle sound like something personal? Is he rich?

That sounds like someone she knows. And the riddle boy’s mother was gone… that sounded like him too.

No, there’s no correlation. It’s just a random riddle.

“Alright, last one.”

“Okay,” she nods.

“I am twisted from what I was, to hold the weight of others. Yet tie a knot, and my use to this world is gone.”

Her heart plummets down into her stomach. She loses her breath and has to look back at the city of Paris to think.

If it was possible, this riddle sounded scarier than the last. Chat Noir must really be in a bad mood because normally he puns, not riddles, and the jokes he tells are stupid and funny. These are just... depressing. Her concern is growing by the minute.

She needs to give an answer.

Twisted… Hold the weight of others… Tie a knot… My use to this world is gone.

Tie a knot? What?

“I—“ she licks her lips and shakes her head.

“I’m at a loss. I don��t know.”

Chat hesitates before whispering the answer.

“A noose.”

Her eyes widen and she suddenly feels like she’s been punched in the face.

“Just kidding, it’s a paperclip.”

But he didn’t seem like he was kidding. She was officially scared.

“Chat, you’re worrying me.”

“What do you call a dead pine tree?”

“Chat.”

“A never-green.”

“Minou, I —“

“What do you call a broken pencil?”

“Chat Noir.”

“Pointless,” he laughs darkly.

“Chat Noir!”

Finally, he looks over at her and her mouth falls agape.

His complexion is so pale, lips are pressed into a thin line, and his eyes are glistening.

“What?” He asks, voice breaking on the word.

Carefully, she places her hands on either side of his face. She stares directly into his eyes.

“You’re worrying me,” her voice shakes. “Please tell me whatever’s making you upset so I can help.”

“… I-I’m not upset.”

“Kitty. You just told me a riddle about a noose.”

He shakes his head, scrunching his eyebrows.

“It was a paperclip, milady. Can’t you appreciate a good joke?”

“Chat, all of the jokes you’ve cracked tonight have been nothing short of depressing.”

Frowning, he pulls away from her hold, avoiding her gaze.

“So? New to dark humor?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “But that’s not normally the humor you have, Chaton.”

He’s quiet for a couple seconds before responding.

“Just wanted to try something different—“

“I’m not going to take these bullshit excuses, you know?”

Chat Noir raises an eyebrow, not used to such language coming from his lady.

“They’re not excuses—“

“YES they are!”

She softens her voice.

“Please,” she begs. “Talk to me.”

It’s almost as if she didn’t say anything, how he continues to stare into the distance, silently appreciating the view of Paris. She follows suit, not knowing what else to say. Instead, she decides to wait it out. Hopefully he’ll talk. Eventually.

And he does.

“My mother died about a year ago.”

Her jaw slackens, but she stays silent.

“Father has always been very… strict. But lately he’s been putting a lot on me. Stuff that… stuff that a normal, average sixteen-year old shouldn’t have to put up with,” he sighs.

He calls his dad father? The only other person who does that is…

Alarms go off in her head.

“He makes me take so many lessons beyond school. Chinese, fencing, piano— and he didn’t even let me go to public school until four months ago. I was homeschooled by my father’s assistant, I mean she’s a good family friend—“

Wait.

“And the only friend that was ever allowed over was the mayor’s daughter, and she’s snobby and hangs off of me like I’m her fucking property when I’m NOT and—“

Chloé?

“Father doesn’t even have dinner with me. I mean, maybe once every two months if I get lucky—“

Her eyes widen. He couldn’t be…

“But most of the time it’s just me and the family friend, and she’s not even eating! She’s looking over my schedule to make sure it’s as jam-packed as it was the day before. I swear I never get a break.

“Sometimes it feels like Father is always disappointed in me, no matter what I do. I feel like I’m trapped in his bubble, like I can’t get out. My house is like a fortress. Or a prison. Being Chat Noir is my escape but I just… It’s getting to be too much, milady.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.”

She feels like she lost her voice. Her brain is on overdrive.

If all the pieces are adding up, my akuma-fighting partner is also my crush who is also a world famous model and—

Focus, Marinette.

“It sounds stressful, A— uh, Chat.”

He intakes a sharp breath.

“Did I say too much?”

She bites her lip. Yes.

“No?”

It comes out as a question. He must suspect that she’s lying.

He tilts his head in admission, then looks down.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Um… I’ll always be here for you. You know that, right?”

Slowly, Chat Noir—Adrien—meets her gaze once again.

His response was hesitant. “Yeah.”

She has to sigh; she doesn’t seem to be getting through to him.

“Minou, you are loved and wanted and I want to make sure you know that.”

Chat Noir chews his bottom lip.

“Thanks, bugaboo.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, just peering down at the streets of their city. She wants to ask him more questions because it seems like there’s more he’s not telling her, but decides against it. She doesn’t expect him to tell her everything, especially since opening up that much was already hard enough for him (and she really shouldn’t have been able to figure out his identity because danger! but she supposes she’ll forgive him since he’s literally the love of her life and he needs someone to be there for him either way).

A small movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention. She looks in Chat’s direction, noting how he’s holding a hand over his left wrist. Her frown deepens. It’s not like she wants him to notice that she’s staring, but she can’t look away. Warily, she watches his face twist in pain.

“Does your wrist hurt, kitty?”

He startles, but shakes his head.

“It’s good.”

“But,” she challenges, “you’re holding it. Looks like it hurts…”

Chat Noir clenches his teeth, turning to look at his lady with fire in his eyes.

“I said it’s good, Ladybug. Leave it.”

Marinette flinches at the use of her superhero name instead of one of his usual nicknames for her. His tone is uncharacteristically harsh, as well.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

The last thing she wants to do is upset him more.

She clears her throat, at a loss for words. The atmosphere had suddenly turned tense and she wasn’t fully enjoying his presence anymore. Of course, he wasn’t dangerous or anything, but she really didn’t want him to snap at her again.

Ladybug likes a happy kitten, not a bitter one.

She wishes she knew what to do.

“Well,” Chat speaks. “I gotta head out; get back home before my father’s assistant notices I’m gone and I get taken out of school.”

He stands, getting ready to extend his baton and hop from building to building for as long as possible in order to procrastinate his return to the large, lonely mansion where he resides.

Ladybug hops up so quickly that her head spins, but she ignores it in hope of saying one last thing before he leaves.

“Hey, Chaton?”

Said cat boy looks in her direction, letting her know that he’s listening.

Instead of speaking, she just leans forward to press her lips onto his cheek. When she pulls away, she offers a smile.

“You and me against the world.”

He plasters a (fake) grin onto his face, “Thanks, bugaboo. See you later.”

Then he bolts away, leaving his Lady alone on a rooftop.

Life had gone on as normal for both Adrien and Marinette. For the next two weeks, the superhero pair had not spoken about Chat’s home life or his internal struggles. She wanted to give him some space and he simply wanted to forget that he even showed so much vulnerability around her.

Granted, Adrien didn’t care that she knew. In fact, he was pretty happy that she had been willing to listen. Usually she never allowed rants from the either of them because she knew that it was easy to slip up and say something that could lead an unwarranted identity reveal.

Marinette wanted to talk to him, come to a mutual agreement, and then officially tell each other who they were. She knew it was unfair that she knew and wasn’t telling him, but in all honesty, she wasn’t even sure her suspicions are right.

(She’s ninety-nine percent sure).

Her eyes had been on Adrien for those two weeks, subtly checking to make sure that there weren’t bags under his eyes (there were), that his smiles weren’t forced (they were), and that he was eating enough (she had no way of knowing, but he hadn’t asked for a macaron in a few days and she was starting to get worried).

He was doing somewhat alright, from what she could tell. She didn’t expect to see anything different today.

Boy, was she wrong.

She had been passing out papers to the class regarding their next class trip, explaining that they needed a parent signature, as well as forty-two Euros by next Monday, in order to attend. When she reached Adrien, she paused.

He was rubbing at his left wrist — the same wrist that Chat had been holding in pain that night two weeks ago. His face was contorted painfully; familiarly. This brought about her worries.

Subtly, she placed down the papers in front of him, to which he looked up at her and sent an oh so fake smile in thanks.

As she walked away, Marinette just barely caught a glimpse of some red, scratch-like marks on his skin as he picked the paper up.

Her heart dropped.

She hadn’t realized that him holding his wrist earlier was a sign of self-harm. Apparently he was worse off than she thought. Now, it’s a whole different ball game — one that can’t have secret identities interfering with. She has no choice; she needs to stay in contact with him.

He needs to be okay.

Marinette tried to wait until patrol that night. Really, she did. But she couldn’t resist zipping over to his house and knocking at his window right after his fencing practice had ended.

He jumps at the sound, quickly ushering Plagg to hide in his shirt, before turning around to look at the super-heroine.

“Hi, Ladybug!” He greets with a smile. “Anything I can help you with today?”

She takes that as an invitation to leap into his room, then she allows her yoyo to snap close as she lands in front of him.

Her hands stay in fists as she brings them up to rest at either side of her waist. She grins brightly in his direction.

“Hi, kitty!”

It’s almost comical how his smile drops.

“What?”

In lieu of a response, she drops her arms to rest at her side. Then she takes a few steps forward so that she’s standing much closer to him.

“Your father is strict… he has an assistant… he makes you take piano, fencing, Chinese lessons…”

His eyes widen slowly as she speaks, his heart beating erratically.

Ladybug scoffs, “Honestly, Adrien? You couldn’t have been more obvious.”

He gulps in horror.

Then he narrows his eyes.

“How did you know that Adrien Agreste takes Chinese lessons? I’ve never once mentioned that in an interview…”

She stiffens.

“Uh. B-because you told me before.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“As Chat,” she supplies.

The model scoffs, “I’m not Chat Noir.”

Ladybug shrugs, beginning to stroll around his room.

“Okay. So why did I see you rub your wrist in class today, hm?”

Now it’s Adrien’s turn to stiffen.

“Y-y-you’re in my class? What?” He asks incredulously.

“Yes. I’m the class president.”

She says it so confidently that it scares her. He’s sure to figure it out by now. She can’t look at him as he comes to the realization.

“But my class president is Marinette— wait.”

He huffs, smirking.

“Are you Marinette?”

Finally she casts her gaze in his direction.

“In the flesh.”

She watches as his eyes light up. He approaches her with a smile.

“Oh my god. Wait, then I’m totally okay admitting I’m Chat Noir.”

Her eyebrow raises, “Oh yeah? And if I was, say, Chloé… would you have admitted it?”

He immediately shakes his head.

Ladybug doesn’t even try to stifle her laugh.

“Spots off.”

Adrien watches in amazement as a magical, pink light engulfs her entire body, leaving Marinette Dupain-Cheng standing in his bedroom.

When she’s out of the Miraculous, the first thing Tikki does is call Plagg.

“Plagg, get out here! I need to talk to you!”

Plagg phases through Adrien’s over-shirt and glares at his counterpart.

“Well hello to you too, Sugarcube!”

The other side of the room is then occupied by two magical creatures, allowing for Adrien and Marinette to have some time alone.

An awkward tension fills the air for the first couple moments, as the two recently-outed superheroes stare at each other, letting everything sink in.

Adrien is the first to speak.

“Wow, uh… wow.”

Marinette only nods, unable to comment on his reaction as she is overflowing with concern.

“Adrien, we have to talk.”

His eyes dim and his lips curve downwards. He nods, hanging his head.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “we do.”

He leads her over to the couch and gestures for her to sit down. Then he gets situated right next to her, positioning his hands on his knees. Marinette takes a deep breath.

“So… I saw the scars in class today.”

She shifts her eyes to his left wrist, uncovered and visibly scarred. He follows her eyes, frowning when he meets their destination.

Adrien simply hums, staring at the abused skin but not saying a word.

“Why?” Marinette whispers.

He shrugs.

“I’m fine. It’s just… Chat Noir gives me freedom, but sometimes it’s not enough. I promise I don’t do it that often.”

“The amount of times you do it doesn’t matter, kitty, it’s the fact that you do.”

“What do you care anyway?” He scoffs. “You weren’t paying me much attention before I was in a sour mood that day.”

“I’ve always cared, Adrien. Always. Just because I’m super level-headed doesn’t mean that I don’t pay attention. I notice when you’re sad. I do. This time you were really worrying me, though, so I spoke up.”

Adrien rolls his eyes, “And it didn’t occur to you that maybe I wanted you to ask how I was feeling all those other times I was sad?”

She quiets at that.

“I mean, I understand that you don’t want to get in my way, but I appreciate people caring, Marinette. It means a lot to me. I feel like, if I never gave away too much information, you would still be assuming things about me. Things like, oh he’s okay because he’s loud and cocky and cracks jokes all the time — maybe it’s just a bad day.”

He shakes his head, allowing a bitter laugh to escape his raw throat.

“Every day is a bad day, Mari. I’m just a good fucking actor.”

Marinette soaks in every word like a sponge, letting each and every one hit her right where it hurts, because it’s true. He is a good actor; she’s not good at understanding the script.

I’m sorry, she wants to say. The words dance on the tip of her tongue.

He’s not finished, though.

“I want the world to suffer some days, you know? I want everyone to feel just as pressured and exploited as I have been for basically my entire life. I want all my friends with a good family to see what it’s like to live in this large mansion, with their father closed away in his room, never to be seen again by his own son who just wants him to say I love you.”

When had he started crying?

Well, the tears are flowing and he can’t stop the river now. Not when he has more to say.

“I have the power of destruction wrapped around my finger, Marinette.”

His lip trembles.

“You should be glad that I haven’t tried to Cataclysm any houses, or street lights, or cars, or busses, or-or-or—“

He breaks.

He meant to keep going — to finish his sentence — but he breaks.

There’s not much more that Marinette can do, other than pull him into her arms and whisper soothing words of reassurance as he sobs uncontrollably.

She rubs his back, softly shh-ing him as he lets it all out of his system. She allows him to drown for the time being, all while reassuring that she’ll be there to pull him back to shore.

Each one of his sniffles was a subtle reminder that she was there for him; that no matter if his father comes around to finally paying him some attention, or not, he will always have her shoulder to cry on. Simultaneously, though, her heart twists at how unhealthily he’s been dealing with the trauma.

She had heard stories upon stories of teenagers resorting to self-harm because they had no other outlet, and she had been so thankful that no one she knew had taken those measures. Now, a statistic has become personal. She would be lying if she said that she knew how to handle it.

But she knew that no matter the circumstance, it had to be dealt with.

That meant getting her crush some professional help. A therapist, some medication, and plenty of cuddles. (Cuddles arescientifically proven to relieve anxiety, right? It’s a professional technique).

A quiet sniffle breaks her out of her thoughts. She glances down at Adrien as he slightly pulls away from her hold, eyes red and puffy.

Maybe that can all be dealt with later.

She ruffles his hair.

“Let’s go get some ice cream, yeah?”

Adrien peers up at her in confusion.

She just smiles and wriggles out of their position on his couch, then stands up with her hands on her hips.

“Ice cream always cheers me up. We definitely have to talk more about this later, among other things, but I can’t bear to see you sad any longer. So let’s go!”

The left corner of his mouth perks up, albeit only for a mere second.

“My father—“

“To hell with you father,” Marinette reaches down to grab his hand and hoists him up from the couch.

“We are going to get ice cream whether he likes it or not. You need to do what makes YOU happy, ‘kay?”

He concedes.

After ice cream, they return to the bakery and consult with Tom and Sabine. It had taken a lot of convincing on Marinette’s part to get Adrien to agree, but from there began the journey of his recovery.

They explained his home situation and mental health struggles in full, only leaving out the part about them fighting akumas. Both adults had immediately started searching for a good therapist (and lawyer) that would help Adrien get on the right track.

In the end, Adrien was glad that they had told her parents. Their concern for him and dedication to his cause filled his heart with long lost hope and parental love. It had been so long since he felt cared for. And now that he’s felt it once again, he’s not ready to let it go.

Thank goodness the Dupain-Chengs’ weren’t going to let him go so easily.

It was a unanimous decision that, until he feels comfortable going back to the mansion, he would stay. He didn’t want to burden them, but they insisted. So he had no choice but to accept the offer.

Before he even knew it, another two weeks had passed. A new routine was broken in by the members of the D.C. household — Marinette was getting real annoyed with Adrien’s constant comparisons of her last name initials to Marvel (her father had taken a liking to his puns, however, so now she just lived in constant pain) — and suddenly it was like he had always been there.

His first therapy session wasn’t great. He was riddled with anxiety (no pun intended) and Doctor Benson was too nice for his liking. Well, it wasn’t that he didn’t like it. It was just so off-putting, considering he wasn’t used to being treated with such kindness even by his own father.

Doctor Benson told him that a lot of the things he’s been experiencing aren’t normal, but his response to that trauma is. At first he had been confused when he was told that his father was emotionally neglectful and verbally abusive. He didn’t understand what his father was doing wrong. Once Doctor Benson explained that, “Abuse is a violent, repetitive behavior that has a negative mental, emotional, and/or physical impact on the victim,” it became more clear.

It’s still a concept that he’s getting used to — that he’s a victim of abuse. The thought makes his skin crawl and a shiver run up his spine because he never considered himself to be part of a statistic. Now that he knows he is, he’s not sure what to do.

Marinette keeps telling him, “Even agreeing to go to therapy is a huge step in the right direction, and I’m so proud of you.” Then she goes on to tell him just how special he is to her and how important him and his life is and all of this crap about how he’s worth more than he thinks.

He has to believe her, too, because she’s the one that found him at his worst and instead of judging him, picked him off the ground and took initiative. She’s the one that brought him to her parents, helped him hide from his father, and even got him a part-time job at the bakery. It’s only temporary until he is able to access his earnings, but he will admit that he likes it way better than modeling; that had just been because his father wanted him to, anyways.

Everyone tells him time and time again that he should not be living for his father. He wants to disagree, because that’s what he’s been conditioned to do for so long, but he ultimately chooses not to. Because they’re right; he’s a young adult who should have the freedom to make his own decisions.

In the end, if he’s not happy, there’s always more opportunities. He knows that now.

And there’s no better way to figure out what he wants than to explore, and reach out for help.

A black cat and a ladybug sat atop a roof.

Marinette has her head tucked into the crook of her partner’s neck, eyes closed as she feels the wind blow past her. Adrien’s head lays on top of hers’ and eyes are trained on the full moon above them.

It had been a long day; one akuma attack and three tests, plus their friends wanted to hang out. Exhaustion had taken over hours before, and sleep was creeping up on them. They cherish the view of Paris at night while it lasts, before they have to go home and do it all again the next day.

When she lifts her head to look at her favorite kitty, she’s relieved to see a soft smile resting on his features.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

He glances at her before turning back to the stars, then hesitates.

“Can I tell you a riddle?”

Her face pales and stomach plummets.

“N-no, I don’t want to play this game again.”

“I promise its a good one, nothing too sad.”

They lock eyes. She can tell there is sincerity within those dark green orbs, so she reluctantly nods.

Adrien licks his lips, not breaking his gaze.

“I visit you every night, even if you don’t call me. I’m lost every day. What am I?”

Jokingly, she wants to say “Chat Noir” but their identities are known now, and she sees him every day (so, admittedly, it wouldn’t be that good of a joke). Then she looks up at the sky and she has her answer.

“The stars,” she whispers.

She’s not looking at him, but she can almost hear his smile widen. So she looks back to him, because she loves to see her kitty happy.

Sure enough, a grin — genuine, not forced — is playing on his lips. It’s human nature to copy social expressions, so she lets her mouth curve into a matching grin.

Then she leans in.

Their smiles fade as they inch closer, focused on the next task at hand. His gaze drops to her pink lips, and she stares into his eyes. She can see the thirst, the want, but she can also see his hesitance.

Experimentally, she pauses to see if he’ll close the gap, but he simply stops in accordance with her. She wants this so bad, but he’s very shy when it comes to romance; despite being so outwardly confident as Chat Noir.

He had told her that it was a mask to hide how scared he truly was. His advances towards her were genuine, although deep down, he was afraid of rejection (to which she will forever feel guilty for putting him through). He wanted to break his façade sometimes, but he chose not to for the sake of not worrying her. The media might have noticed his change in behavior, too; granted, he never cared what the public thought of him anyways.

So, to save them both the trouble, she takes the leap and closes the gap, capturing his lips in a fluid movement.

It’s pure ecstasy; electricity pulses through his veins, but at the same time… he’s calm. He’s not sure how to describe the feeling, in all honesty. It’s just perfect.

Well, not perfect, he corrects himself. Enjoyable, but not perfect.

They don’t move in perfect sync and his lips are chapped so she’s probably wondering why the heck are his lips so dry?and her mouth keeps opening and he isn’t sure if it’s a mistake or if he should do something but he’s not ready for the tongue yet, and so their heads are tilting at an awkward angle trying to make sense of the situation —

— but she smells like pastries and her lips are so soft and he can’t help but crack his eyes open because she is so beautiful in every single way oh my god I love her and nothing makes this better than cupping her face with his right hand and feeling just how smooth her skin is which calms him immensely and he just doesn’t want this to end.

When they finally pull away, with heavy breaths and big smiles, little giggles and red cheeks… he’s happy.

Maybe he’s not perfect. Neither is she. Nobody is, and Adrien is just starting to understand that.

Years of conditioning is hard to unlearn, but he is so grateful to have a support system he can count on. Marinette’s parents honorarily adopting him as one of their own, Doctor Benson offering coping mechanisms he hadn’t even known existed, his bodyguard protecting him from the  father  sperm donor he’s still afraid to talk to (one day soon, he’ll have to, but he’s planning on crossing that bridge when he gets there), Ms. Bustier’s unwavering faith in his abilities, and his friends’ insistence that he is more than enough — all of this support is overwhelming, to say the least, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Most importantly, there’s Marinette. She has been his rock for the past three years and it’s more true now than it ever was. She is family, in every sense of the word.

“Hey, Mari?” He says quietly, breaking the silence.

“Yes, Chaton?”

The nickname rolls off her tongue in a teasing manner, and he has to laugh.

“Thank you.”

“Always.”

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love and Medicine ~ 7

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 4,400ish

Summary: Clint has feelings. You try not to cause too much drama at work.

You immediately began avoiding Steve after Gamora caught you two in the car. You need not need her, or anyone else, thinking that you were sleeping with him to get ahead. Having no desire to get ready for work, you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, as your alarm buzzed.

Outside in the hall, Clint was nervously walked towards your door with two cups of coffee.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask her out?” Valkyrie suddenly asked, popping out of her room.

“Ah!” Clint jumped, slipping the coffees on him. “Val!”

“She’s right, ya know?” Scott added, stepping out of his room. “Just ask her out. It’s not like it will be awkward when she tells you no.”

“I hate you both,” Clint grumbled. He leaned into your door, able to hear to slam on the snooze button for the third time. “She’s gonna be late.”

“Maybe not.”

“We should wait for her.”

“Definitely not,” Val shook her head. “I’m not her mother, and you are not her boyfriend.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Scott added.

“Stop, both of you, okay?” Clint said, frustrated. “I told you I’m not interested.”

“Life is short, Clint,” Val said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you really want to die before you ever ask her out?”

“I do not want to ask her out.”

“Do you really want to die a liar?” Scott said.

“I’m not… I’m not dying.”

~~~

From the parking garage, you rushed towards the building. Late for work. As you wait for the elevator, you see Steve coming toward you.

“Crap,” you mutter.

“Crap?” Steve repeated, having heard you.

“Hi. I’m late.”

“Hi, late. You’re avoiding me.”

“You’re right. But I can’t do this right now. I’m late.” You hurried towards the stairs, only for him to follow you.

“Okay, but are we going to talk about this?”

“No.” You marched up the stairs.

“About us and Gamora and what she saw?”

“I don’t need to talk about it. I experienced it. Naked.”

“This is getting complicated.”

“Complicated for me. Not necessarily for you. I’m the intern sleeping with the attending. Gamora isn’t even speaking to me anymore!”

“Not that, that’s a bad thing. If I was a better guy, I’d walk away.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Do you want me to be a better guy.”

“Yes. Now,” you reached the level of the locker rooms, “I’m late. Please leave me alone and get to my job.” You opened the door. Steve caught it, keeping it open as you walked away.

“Take your time! Think about it!”

“Think about what?” Tony asked, walking over to Steve. He looked to where Steve was looking, watching her rush down the all. “Ooohhh… I get it now. Well, at least she’s talking to you.”

“The date go bad with Pepper?” 

“It didn’t go at all. I was pulled into a surgery and completely forgot about it.”

“Yikes.”

“I think I’ve blown it.”

“Me too, Stark. Me too.”

~~~

“That was definitely worth being late,” Natasha sighed as she put on her pants.

“Thanks,” Bruce smiled shyly, doing the same. “Is this a… should we talk about this?”

“Yeah,” Natasha slipped her shirt on, “definitely. Just, I’m late.”

She rushed out of the on-call room and straight to the locker room, where you were getting ready.

“You’re late,” you stated.

“So are you,” Natasha responded.

“I know, and I can’t afford to piss off Gamora any more. Do you think she told anyone?”

“About you and Captain McDreamy?”

“Yeah.”

“No, he’s her boss too.”

“If they find out, what can they… Can they kick me out? Or—“

“No…. Well, I don’t think officially. You'll just get edged out, blacklisted, banned from his surgeries, passed over for chief resident. It’ll be humiliating, but you’ll live.”

“I have to end it. I definitely have to end it… I have to end it, right?”

“Y/N, shut up.” Nat headed out of the locker room.

“What?” You chased after her. “Did you seriously just tell me to shut up?”

“Oh, please. You got a hot doctor who like to make you open up, and say "ahh." It's the American dream, stop whining about it.”

“No. No good can come from sleeping with your boss.” You two arrived in front of Gamora.

“Natasha, you’re late,” Gamora stated, unhappy.

“So is Y/N,” Natasha replied, pointing at you.

“When we walk in this door, you will maintain decorum,” Gamora continued, ignoring Nat and you. “You will not laugh, vomit, or drop your jaw. Are we understood?” She walked to a door.

“Why would we laugh?” Val asked quietly.

“Oh, just you wait,” Peter replied.

The interns followed Gamora into a patient room. On the bed, there was a heavier woman with an extremely large tumor bulging out fo her side.

“Good morning, Miss Anderson,” Gamora greeted.

“Good Morning,” Miss Anderson, the patient, replied.

“What is it?” Scott whispered.

“Tumor,” Nat responded.

“Good morning, Millie,” Peter smiled, walking around to the other side of the patient’s bed. “How are you? This is Dr. Gamora and some of my fellow interns.”

“Dr. Quill, we refer to patients as ‘mister’ and—“ Gamora began to reprimand.

“I old him to call me Millie,” the patient interrupted. “Miss Anderson makes me feel old and fat, which I am, but why have to feel that way?”

“Good morning,” Dr. Banner greeted upon entering, eyes lingering on Natasha a beat too long.

“Millie, this is Dr. Banner,” Peter stated. 

“Dr. Quill, give us the run down.”

“Millie Anderson is a 43-year-old woman who presented last night with progressive shortness of breath fo the past three months. Found to have a very large tumor of unknown origin pressed against her diaphragm. Stable vital signs. Scheduled for CT this morning, sir.”

“Thank you, Dr. Quill.” Banner turned to Millie. “Are you at all claustrophobic?”

“I’ve been housebound for the last year,” Millie replied. “How claustrophobic could I be?”

“Alright then. Dr. Valkyrie is going to take you up for a CT. It’ll give us a better look at the tumor, and we’ll know how to proceed.”

“Could someone tell my dad? He’ll worry if he gets back and I’m not here.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And would it be possible for Peter to take me instead? I mean, he… he’s just so fun to look at.”

“Millie,” Peter laughed, clearly trying to gain favor.

“Sure,” Banner said. “Sure, Miss Anderson. Excuse me.”

Dr. Banner left the room, with Dr. Gamora and the interns following.

“How much do you think it weighs?” Scott asked.

“60 pounds,” Clint answered.

“More,” Val said. “She’s carrying a whole extra person.”

“This one’s going in the books,” Natasha said. “I’ve got to get in.”

“I almost did,” Val glared at Peter.

“I was on call last night when she came in,” Peter said. “I’m never leaving this place again.”

“Let’s move, people,” Gamora said. “Miss Anderson’ surgery, should we choose to proceed, will take most, if not all, of the surgeons off the floor. Which means you people will have to work extra hard not to kill anyone, cause we won’t be there to fix your mistakes.”

You and the others listened to Gamora’s orders while Natasha slipped away to talk to Bruce.

“I really want in on this,” she whispered to him.

“I thought we weren’t talking,” Bruce replied, eyebrow up.

“I’m not talking. I’m just saying.”

Bruce sighed. “Find her father, get a family history, and I’ll tell Gamora.”

~~~

“I know you both think I like Y/N,” Clint stated as him, Scott, and Val walked up the stairs. “But I don’t like Y/N.”

“What?” Val questioned.

“No. I like Y/N. Obviously, I like her. She’s my roommate. I just… I don’t have a thing for her.” Scott and Val shared a look.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“It’s just this morning… I know you two were probably just teasing. But I don’t want you to say anything like that to her. Because, you know, we live together and that’d be awkward.”

“Clint, stop talking,” Val ordered.

“Okay, then… It’s just—“

“Seriously, dude,” Scott stopped in front of Clint. “You’re making this all worse. Just stop.” Scott peered behind Clint where you were making your way towards them. “Or you could just be honest with yourself and us and ask her out now.” Clint looked back to see you almost there.

“What are you guys standing here for?” You asked. “We’re going to be late meeting Gamora.” 

You and Val continued on your way with Scott watching Clint watch you.

“Liar,” Scott muttered, shaking his head.

The two guys caught up with you and Val. The four of you met up with Gamora in another patient room. Inside the room, a man is trying to walk but was having difficulty. Steve was also in there and a younger woman.

“Morning,” Gamora greeted.

“Mr. Jones, this is Dr. Gamora and her fine staff of surgical interns,” Steve introduced. Steve, yourself, and Gamora all exchanged glances.

“Welcome to hell, kids,” Mr. Jones stated.

“Who’s presenting?” Gamora asked.

“Edward Jones,” Clint stated, “is a 63-year-old man admitted for pain management for Dyskinesia. He's been stable since last night, and responding to the bolus injections.”

“Val, possible treatments?”

“For Parkinson’s disease?” Val questioned. “Um, deep brain stimulation has shown—“

“Not for Parkinson’s,” Steve clarified, “for spinal pain.”

“Oh, um…”

“Instraspinal catheter,” you stated. “That way, he can have constant pain medication.”

“Excellent,” Steve smiled. “This is Dr. L/N. She’s gonna prep you for the procedure and assist.” His pager beeped, causing him to look down. “Excuse me.” He left.

“You make yourselves busy,” Gamora said, following Steve out. “I’ll catch up with you.”

She followed Steve to the elevator. Where they end up alone.

“Gamora,” Steve greeted.

“Excuse me?” She responded.

“Well, that’s your name, right? It’s on your jacket.” She wasn’t impressed. “Alright, fine. Dr. Gamora then.”

“You think you're charming in that talented, neurotic, overly moussed hair sort of way, good for you. But if you think I'm going to stand back and watch while you favor her—“

“I don’t favor her. She’s good.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“You know, can I point out that, technically, I'm your boss?”

“You don't scare me. Look, I'm not going to advertise your extracurricular activities with my intern. However, the next time I see you favoring Y/N L/N in any way, I'll make sure she doesn't see the inside of on OR for a month. Just for the sake of balance.” 

~~~

“Okay, Mr. Jones,” you said with a smile. “We're going to get you more comfortable, okay? I'm going to go downstairs and I'll be back up shortly.”

“Okay,” Mr. Jones responded.

“Okay.”

You left, with the younger woman from the room following you out.

“Excuse me,” the younger woman called out, causing you to turn your attention to her. “I’m sorry, doctor…”

“L/N,” you smiled.

“Dr. L/N. I’m Lucy, his daughter. My dad seems to like you. He’s always liked your type. Is that rude? I’m sorry. I’m so tired.”

“Is there something—“

“I was wondering if you would talk to him.”

“About?”

“Brain surgery. The doctor mentioned it, and I've read about it online. If it worked, it could help with most of his symptoms, not just his pain.”

“Is he a candidate? I don’t—“

“He is, but he's afraid of it. Surgery on his back, he can understand, but his brain...And there are risks. But his quality of life…”

“There isn’t any.”

“And, it keeps getting worse. I'm getting married next month. I already lost my mom. And I want him to walk...I want him with me. Maybe that's selfish, but...you don't know what it's like having a parent...Watching him…”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

You immediately left in search of Steve. You watched outside a room where he was talking to Gamora and Banner about Miss Anderson.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called as he walked out. “Mr. Jones, the Parkinson's patient, is he a good candidate for DBS?”

“Yes,” he replied, “but he’s not interested.”

“Okay, but I think it's worth talking to him again, pushing him.”

“We're talking about a brain surgery that is performed while the patient is wide awake, a risk of paralysis, a risk of death. And, the patient doesn't want it. It is not my job to push him into anything and it's definitely not yours.”

“Okay.”

“And since you’re clearly uncomfortable with my decision in this case, it's probably best you don't scrub in.”

“But—“

“It’s a minor procedure. You won’t be missed.” This took you by surprise. “I’m good here, Dr. L/N.” With your mind reeling, you walked away. Steve turned to Gamora, who had been watching. “You know that you’re a bully, right?”

“So I’ve heard,” Gamora replied.

~~~

You and Val were sitting in a corner of the cafeteria, eating lunch.

“It's just that he blatantly favors me in front of her and then blatantly dismisses me,” you complained to her.

“How do you know he was favoring you?” She asked, which you didn’t answer. “Look, you've got a brain. You got into this program. Just because Rogers wants to munch your cookies doesn't mean you didn't deserve what you worked for.”

“But he’s making me look bad. I have to end it.”

“Right.”

“It’s over.”

“Sure.”

“Is it true you get to scrub in on that tumor?” Peter asked Natasha, appearing out of nowhere with Val. They both sat down at your table.

“Don’t sit here.”

“You get to scrub in?” Val repeated. “How psyched are you?”

“On a scale of one to ecstatic, ecstatic.”

“It’s unbelievable,” Peter complained. “You know what I think? I think Banner wants to get into your scrubs.”

“Why are you sitting here?”

“He kicked me off that surgery for the same crap most of you pull every day.”

“You know what.” Natasha held up her fork. “If I stuck this fork into his thigh, would I get in trouble?”

“Not if you make it look like an accident,” you answered.

“Hey!” Clint greeted, coming up with Scott.

“Thank goodness,” Peter exclaimed. “I’m drowning in estrogen here.”

Clint sat down next to you, studying you. “You look… is everything okay?” He asked you.

“Rogers is a jackass,” you muttered.

“Really?” Val questioned. “I think he’s kind of great.”

“He reamed her out in front of Gamora,” Natasha said.

“Why?”

“Cause he’s a jackass,” you repeated.

“Well, bad days are… bad,” Clint said. “Maybe tonight, uh, if, you know, if you drink alcohol, I mean… we could, all of us, I mean, go out and rink alcohol… because of the bad day.”

Your pager beeped. “I’ve got to go.” And you left.

“Dude,” Peter laughed at Clint once you were gone.

Clint groaned and rested his head on the table. Scott panted his shoulder while the others laughed.

~~~

Steve had called you to Mr. Jones room. You stood near the door, watching.

“How’s your back?” Steve asked Mr. Jones as he checked him over.

“Still good,” the patient responded.

“Good.” Steve turned to Mr. Jones daughter. “How are you? Good?” She nodded as he turned his attention back to her father. “Can you lean forward for me? I just want to check something. Does that feel okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Right here?” Steve pressed along Mr. Jones’ back. The man grunts slightly and Steve looked up, finally noticing you. “Mr. Jones,” Steve took his hands off the man, “have you given any more thought about the other surgical options we discussed this morning?”

“What? Why would I? I already told you no. I'm letting you cut into my back, but that's not enough for you. All you guys ever want to do is cut.”

“Dad,” his daughter scolded, “just listen to what he has to say.”

“I already listened.”

“Sir, there’s a very small window of opportunity here,” Steve stated. “You know, once the Parkinson's progresses to a point of dementia, there's, you know, you're no longer a candidate for DBS.”

“And when I'm no longer a candidate, is that when you people will leave me the hell alone! What? Do I have to start drooling, and forget my name to get a little peace and quiet?”

“Alright,” Steve nodded. “I’ll check back with you later. Try to get some rest.” Steve left while you lingered a bit longer, just more in the hallway.

“Dad, you’re being unreasonable,” the daughter said. “The doctors are only trying to help you.”

“It’s my damn life, and it’s my damn brain,” Mr. Jones stated. “You want me to let them cut up my brain while I'm lying there awake, for what?”

“Dad!”

“I'll be at your wedding. I will sit in the back. Your uncle will walk you down the aisle. I know it's not perfect, but it's life. Life is messy sometimes.”

“I know that.” The daughter walked out and Mr. Jones looked at you.

“If she knows, then what the hell are we still talking for, huh? Why in the hell can’t she drop it?”

“It is your life,” you said, stepping further into the room. “But it’s her life too. And you have a chance to get better here. And all she's asking you to do is try.”

~~~

Mr. Jones agreed to the DBS. But you needed to hurry and find Steve, before the man changed his mind. You found him scrubbing in for Miss Anderson’s surgery with Banner and Gamora.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called.

“Yes?” He responded, looking over with his red, white, and blue scrub cap on and a mask.

“Mr. Jones has agreed to DBS. Only if we do it today. If he leaves, he won’t come back.”

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Bruce said. “It’ll take hours before we get around to the spine. I’ll page you.”

“Alright, then,” Steve said, shaking off his wet hands. “Let’s do it.”

Steve walked out of the scrub room while Bruce walked into the OR, leaving you and Gamora alone.

“Dr. Gamora. I didn’t know… I din’t know that he was my boss, when I met him,” you said. “I really didn’t know.”

“I don’t care,” she responded.

“Really? Oh, well, you sort of seemed to not be talking to me, so I—“

“You see this, what's happening right here? This is the problem with you sleeping with my boss. Not whether or not you know him before, but how it affects my day. And me standing here talking to you about your sex life affects my day. And the longer this little fling goes on, the more favors you get over the others, who are fighting tooth and nail just to make it through this program without any assistance. When those people start finding out what's going on and they don't want to work with you and talk to you or look at you, and they start bitching and moaning at me, the more it affects my day. So, no, Dr. L/N, I don't care what you know, or when you know it. Are we understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

~~~

“Neuro sponge,” a male nurse said, handing a sponge to Steve.

“How you doing, Mr. Jones?” Steve asked.

“Alright,” Mr. Jones responded.

“Drill bit’s charged,” the nurse announced.

“Where’s the girl doctor?”

“I’m right here,” you responded, stepping closer. “Can’t you see me?”

“I’m shaky, not blind. Anything goes wrong here, I’m blaming you.”

“Okay, in that case, I'll stay where you can see me. Now we just have to drill a hole and try to find the spot that controls the motor function.”

“You can't see my brain from there. Aren't you supposed to be learning something?”

“I’m good,” you grabbed onto his hand, “right here.”

“EEG waves look good,” the nurse stated.

“Okay, Mr. Jones. Just take a couple of deep breaths,” Steve told him. “Focus on the pretty girl. Okay, this is going to sound really scary, but try and relax. You shouldn't feel a thing.”

Then Steve began to drill into Mr. Jones’ head. After a few hours, Steve asked you to have Mr. Jones try and mimic you.

“Just keep trying, Mr. Jones,” you encouraged. “Mimic my motions. You can do it.”

“Oh, damn it!” His body was too shaky to mimic the motions.

“Take a breath and try again. The probe is almost in. You’ll know when we find the right spot.” Mr. Jones tries again, to find that he stopped shaking and was able to mimic you. “Well, how about that?” You smiled, though it was covered with a mask.

“There it is,” Steve said.

~~~

After the surgery, you and Steve brought Mr. Jones back to his room and met back in the hallway.

“I know you’re probably asking yourself why I took you off the surgery,” Steve said. “Gamora was on the warpath. I was trying to protect you.”

“You trying to protect me is why she's on the warpath,” you replied, the both of you heading down the hall. “You can't do me favors. You can't ask me to scrub in when I haven't earned it.”

“Okay, okay.”

“And you can't treat me like crap when I haven't earned that either.”

“Okay.”

“I can take care of myself. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll—“

“And you'll get yourself out?”

“I don’t… I don’t know that yet.” Steve’s pager went off as you arrived at the staircase. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“You did great work here today.” He smiled at you then headed off.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called after him.

“Yeah?” He turned around to face you.

“Sorry I called you a jackass.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Twice.”

Steve chuckled and continued on his way. Tony had heard and seen the exchange from behind. He came up beside you.

“You both are love sick idiots,” he said.

“And you aren’t?” You responded. 

“Yes. But I blew it.”

“Dr. Potts will give you another chance.”

“How do you know? Did she tell you that?”

“No. I just know from experience.”

~~~

You decided to go to the OR gallery and watch Miss Anderson’s surgery. Peter was up there watching as well.

“Wow, it’s unbelievable,” you said, looking at the mess down below.

“Right,” Peter agreed.

“How did she live like that?”

“Watch what you say. You never know who's listening.” He looks down below, then laughed. “Look at Scottie. He looks like he's about to fall in.”

“Are you really as shallow and callous as you seem?”

“Oh, you want to go out for a drink later and hear about my secret pain?”

“Does that line ever work for you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Oh. Must be because you look like that.”

“Like what?” You laughed at him. “So is that a yes?”

“No. I can't. I’m… seeing someone.”

“Look, if you don't want to go out with me, just say so. No need to lie.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I don't want to go out with you. But I think I really might be seeing someone.”

Suddenly, Val entered the OR below. And you could hear everything that was happening.

“Mr. Collins, the post-op heart patient in 2114. I had to open his sternotomy bedside,” Val stated, almost panicked.

“You what?” / “What?” 

Peter quickly left the gallery and you stood up to watch from the glass.

“He had cardiac tamponade. His chest films were clean this morning,” Val explained. “It just... It happened fast. He was in PEA. There was no time.”

“Go ahead,” Steve told Bruce. “I got it. We’re okay here.”

“Okay.” Bruce hurried out with Val.

“I need some retraction. Pull back on the retractor. And someone page Hill to help… Never a dull moment here at the medical center.” A blood vessel burst, suddenly, squirting blood all over Steve and Gamora. “Oh!”

“Oh!” Gamora exclaimed.

“Get right in there!”

“She can’t afford to lose this much blood. We need more blood.”

“Get me some suction here. I can't see what I'm doing. Clamp, clamp, clamp, please. Is there any blood in the rapid infuser?”

“We’re waiting on two units,” the female nurse stated.

“What do you mean, waiting?”

“Well, we didn’t anticipate this much blood loss,” Gamora replied.

“They’re on their way,” the nurse said.

“We prepped a double supply. We’ve used it all.”

“What did you cut?” Steve asked.

“Nothing. It just blew. She came in with too much damage. The artery walls are too weak. Ten units of o-negative.”

“I cannot see. Lang, give me your hand. Push right down here. Pull it towards you. Suction! Suction!”

“The pressure’s dropping,” a nurse stated.

“She needs blood. Where the hell is the blood?! Somebody grab that. Push it back, Lang. Come on.” Everyone is breathless as they move Miss Anderson more onto the table. “Oh, God. Just squeeze it off right there. Here we go… Some suction, please, in here, now. Come on. We're losing her now. Look at this. Look at this. Come on!” He started CPR, with the flatline of the machine going. "Oh, come on! Come on!” He continued with the CPR. "Come on!” After a few more times, Steve breathlessly stopped CPR. “Time of death is 11:42.”

~~~

Natasha found her way to an on call room after Miss Anderson’s surgery. She was stretching when Bruce entered.

“I'm not doing you any more favors,” he stated. “This was it.”

Natasha scoffed. “I've been holding up 50 pounds of tumor for the past 12 hours. My back's going to need traction, and the patient died anyways. And you think you did me a favor?”

“Look, I'm just… What is this… that we're doing here? What is it?”

“You need a definition? You really want to be that guy?”

He watched as she continued to stretch, then he locked the door.

~~~

You waited in the parking garage for Steve to leave the hospital. He walked up to you.

“I, um, know this place where they’re an amazing view of the sunrise and ferryboats,” you told him, pulling out some beers from your bag.

“I have a thing for ferry boats,” he smirked.

“I remember.”

He took a hold of your hand, leading you to his car.

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​​​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[ssamie]

two. sea of strangers

oikawa tooru x fem langa!reader

(hq x sk8 the infinity)

warnings: spelling mistakes, swearing, 2k+ words, u have langa’s blue hair sorry

gen masterlist.            “snow” masterlist.

"its really hitting me now!" reki exclaimed as he dramatically draped his arms around her frame "you're really leaving?!" he exclaimed as he eyed her countless luggage with distaste. 

"yes reki.. im sorry" she said as she held him tightly by the waist, keeping him upright as he slouches against her torso 

"man, you're really embarrassing" miya muttered out with a sniffle as he attempted to poke fun at reki. "crying and all.." he muttered as, he too, tried to contain his tears. 

"you're one to talk! you're gonna go all red if you hold your tears in!" reki exclaimed as he ruffled miya's hair through his hoodie 

miya grumbled but finally succumbed and fully latched himself onto her back, clinging desperately as he hides his face into her hair "if you leave you're gonna be demoted from heroine to slime" he meekly threatened as he weakly punches her shoulder 

"hm, then we won't be on the same level anymore.." she muttered back as she placed her hand on his head to comfort him 

"exactly.. so you shouldn't leave." miya huffed out 

"sorry miya.. but i have to" she frowned and met eyes with her mom, who simply gave her a reassuring smile in return. 

"there's really nothing we can do but hope for a safe trip" cherry chimed in as he plucked miya and reki off of her "it will be quite a loss but, she won't be gone forever" he said. 

"yeah, but behave out there, rookie" joe mused as he slung his muscular arm around her, making her stagger a bit "dont want ya getting into accidents and shit" joe laughed as he ruffled her hair with a soft smile 

"yeah, we'll visit you after you've settled" shadow said as he jogged over to them, just having finished helping nanako carry her bags 

"hey.." he whispered to joe as he nodded towards reki. joe immediately understood and pushed her towards the redhead. "well go on then, have one last hug with your dearest best friend" joe mused "maybe a kiss as well" 

y/n huffed as she covered her warm cheeks and sheepishly walked towards reki. "um.." she mumbled out, suddenly finding the words get caught up in her throat. "the plane boards in five minutes.." she said 

"i know" reki replied with a sad smile. "what should we do for those remaining minutes? i really don't know anymore" he chuckled 

"um.. what about.." she trailed off as her hands hesitantly met his. "..this?" 

reki blinked and immediately followed along. a smile slowly crept up on his lips as they do their signature handshake. she gulped as the heat on her face worsened by the second. by the time their hands would meet to make an infinity sign, she was fully ready to drop it and leave. 

though unexpectedly, reki pulled her to his chest and squeezed her tight, holding her by her waist with one arm, while the other reaches out to caress her hair. 

"bye, y/n." reki whispered, his lips dangerously close to her ears, making her already flustered state worsen. 

"i'll make sure to see you again. don't find a new partner while you're gone, alright?" he whispered 

though his tone was laced with slight doubt and desperation. she held her hand over her beating chest and nodded. 

"i'll never find someone like you, reki." she said with a tone of sincerity. "let alone someone better." she whispered with a love filled smile. 

reki smiled back and fully engulfed her in a bear hug, swaying their bodies back and forth as he dug his face into her neck 

she gulped and slyly covered her cheeks with her hands. she was most certainly in the verge of overheating from too much joy that had her heart pounding and her palms sweating. 

"oi, oi! don't leave us out!" joe chimed in with a laugh as he slung his arms around them both. "yeah, stop hogging her you slime!" miya hissed at reki as he greedily wrapped his arms around her waist

"hey, i'm the best friend! you're the slime in the situation!" reki hissed back 

soon enough, y/n was getting suffocated under five men who thought it was a great idea to stack themselves on top of her. "can't.. breathe.." she squeaked out as she tried to gasp for air

nanako watched their exchange with a smile of amusement. though they had to move along as to not miss the flight. "y/n, its time to go" nanako said with a smile as she grabbed her daughters hand. she waved at the boys one last time and walked away, with y/n beside her. 

"BYE Y/N, REMEBER OUR PROMISE!" 

"BYE REKI! I WILL!" 

"stop screaming at the airport!" cherry smacked reki's head with a scolding glare 

"ouch! sorry, geez!" 

"ah, the air here in miyagi is very different, huh?" nanako hummed as she looked around the empty streets surrounded by trees and bushes

"i guess so." y/n replied with a nod as she walked past her mother and entered the empty home.

the huge truck filled with their furniture and belongings was parked by their new home, with the men carrying them inside. nanako frowned and followed her inside. y/n simply walked quietly to her new room which was situated upstairs. 

as she arrived, she scanned the room, eyeing the bed on the corner and an empty closet on the other side. "hm." she hummed as she further inspected the place 

nanako watched in anticipation as dread and nervousness filled her nerves. "d-do you like it, sweetie?" she asked, her voice lightly shaking. 

"its okay." y/n replied as she dropped her bags on the floor. 

nanako sighed in relief and patted her on the back. "the movers are gonna help me fix this place up, so why don't you look around the neighbourhood for a bit?" she suggested 

"i might get lost" y/n said. nanako shook her head and handed her her skateboard "no you won't, it's a pretty small town!" she said "and if you do get lost, just call me or ask around, okay?" nanako mused as she urged the girl downstairs and out the door 

"but mom-" y/n couldn't finish, seeing as nanako had slammed the door and was waving her goodbye through the windows

"bye~ have fun~" nanako mused as she waved 

y/n looked back at her with a deadpanned expression and sighed. she got on her board and skated along the smooth concrete, looking past the fairly big houses and few cars driving by. 

"hey hey iwa-chan~ i came to pick you up for practice like the good best friend that i am!" a distant voice cooed out

"shut up shittykawa, it's seven am. you're giving me a headache." another voice, this time more gruff and annoyed, said. 

y/n hummed in curiosity and looked ahead of her. they were quite far, but their loud arguing could be heard a block away, so she didn't have that much trouble. "a ball?" she muttered to herself as she looked at the ball tucked in between the brunette's arms

"weird.." she mumbled before speeding up, not wanting them to see or interact with her in the slightest. 

"hm? are there new neighbours?" the brunette asked. "obviously dumbass. they moved in just a while ago i think." the other replied 

"ooh~ i wonder if there's a cute girl that-" oikawa cut himself off as he felt a gush of wind fly past him

he curiosly turned around, but was only met with a quick dash of something blue. "what is it?" iwaizumi asked him, confused as to why his friend suddenly stopped in his tracks for apparently no reason at all. 

"did you see that, iwa-chan?" oikawa asked him as he pointed to the next block, trying to show him the person, but all that was visible was them turning the corner and disappearing from their sight. 

"there's nothing there." iwaizumi said with an unamused glare "are you messing with me, shittykawa? it's so early in the morning please give me a break" he sighed 

"no i'm serious! there was someone there! i saw something blue!" oikawa defended with a shriek 

"shut up.." iwaizumi grumbled in exasperation 

suddenly, oikawa gasped and excitedly hit his arm. "do you think it could be aliens?" he whispered with narrowed eyes, while iwaizumi simply stared back at him in distaste. 

"shut up!" 

"school already?" she asked with a look of dread as she listened to her mother talk about her schedule as they sit on the dining table. 

"but its hard to make friends.." y/n grumbled out with a grunt 

"yes, sweetie! we have to get you settled in as soon as possible so you'll be more comfortable" nanako explained "plus you can make friends with kids there so you won't be alone all the time, don't you want that?" she asked 

"you and reki became friends pretty quickly, didn't you?" nanako mused "so i'm sure you'll be fine!" 

"reki.." she mumbled out as she stared down at her food with a sad frown, a gloomy aura suddenly surrounding her as she silently sulks. 

"ah crap, maybe i shouldn't have mentioned him" nanako muttered to herself, starting to sweat bullets as she tried to rack her brain for what to do. "a-ahm well!" nanako cleared her throat and shot y/n a shaky grin. "you're a very pretty girl! im sure people will be the first ones to approach you!" she said 

"so you won't really have to do any of the work" nanako reassured her "they're normally very interested in transferees especially since you're foreign." 

"okay then.." she muttered out, though she was still unsure. "im gonna clean up now" she said as she stood up from her seat and made her way to the bathroom 

"sure, but wake up early tomorrow okay? i'll help you get ready!" nanako called out, only to receive a faint 'okay!' in response. 

once she heard the bathroom door close and the water start running, she let out a huge breath of relief and slouched back on her chair. "AGH! i accidentally made her sad!" nanako exclaimed as she pulled don her hair in distress 

"should i call reki? her friends? what do i do?!" she shrieked out. she then looked over to the photo of her husband and sulked 

"help me oliver!!" 

"okay, hasegawa y/n-san, you're in third year class 6" the assistant told her with a kind smile "its on the third floor and the room by the stairway. it should be easy enough to find." he said "unless you want me to guide you?" 

"no, i think im okay." she declined with a quick bow "thank you though." 

"come in!" a voice called out from inside 

she kept her face straight and as she followed the directions, up until she reached the classroom she was assigned. "3-6" she read the sign. she then knocked on the door and waited patiently for the teacher to let her enter. 

she followed and slid the door open, closing it behind her and walking to the front of the class, all while keeping her eyes trained on the floor. 

"is she american?" "dang, she's pretty!" "i hope she sits with me.." "what's with her hair?" "as long as she doesn't steal oikawa-senpai, im fine with her" 

she could hear all of their murmurs, though she simply chose to ignore it, not wanting to interact with them as much as possible. she gripped the strap of her bag and raised her head to face them, keeping the monotonous expression as she side eyed the teacher for permission to speak. 

he then nodded and urged her to go. "mind telling us about yourself?" he asked 

"my name is hasegawa y/n." she said, keeping her eyes straight ahead and briefly scanning a few students 

oikawa and iwaizumi looked up and watched her in curiosity. they were seated at the very back, watching her every move. iwaizumi wasn't super interested, only a bit curious about their foreign transferee. although oikawa is overflowing with both interest and curiosity. not only was he happy to have a cute girl as a new classmate, but he was quite sure he had seen her from somewhere before. 

"..." the class was silent as they waited for her to say more, though was only met with nothing. 

"that's it?" the teacher asked, slyly urging her to say more 

y/n looked over to him and back at the class. "i came from canada and moved to okinawa to here.." she said 

"... anything else?" the teacher swetadropped. she then furrowed her brows and asked, "why? is it bad?" 

"no, you're good." the teacher responded as he waved his hand dismissively. 

oikawa chuckled in amusement, making iwaizumi look over to him with a raised brow. "what?" iwaizumi asked 

"nothing, she's just funny" oikawa replied with a grin 

"alright, you can sit in between rika and iwaizumi, seeing as it's the only vacant seat left." the teacher said 

y/n nodded and scanned the room, looking for the people he had mentioned. she merely blinked as a girl with long black hair, which she assumed was rika, excitedly waved at her. 

"hasegawa-chan! come sit with me!" rika exclaimed with a smile. y/n followed and squeezed through the rays of desks, sighing once she sat down on her assigned desk. 

"..." she gulped and nervously pulled out a book and turned her head down, feeling multiple eyes bore through her. 

but by far, the most eerie and intense stare she had received was from rika, who was not so discreetly peering at her over her book, watching with sparkling eyes as she stared. 

"hi-" y/n couldn't even finish her sentence as rika excitedly perked up and shook her hands. "hi! I'm orimoto rika! you can call me rika though" she whisper shouted with a grin 

y/n blinked in surprise and gave her a wobbly grin, "hi, rika-san.." she muttered "um, you can call me y/n if you want.." 

"okay, y/n-chan!" she replied with a gleeful grin "hey, wanna join me for lunch later? it must suck to eat lunch without anyone. you can join me and-" 

the teacher abruptly cleared his throat and shot rika a pointed look. "orimoto-san, i know you're excited but please save the talking for later" he said. "right! sorry sensei!" rika laughed sheepishly as she retreated back to her desk 

y/n side eyed her one last time before looking back down at her desk, bringing out a pencil and messily sketching on the paper 

"hey" the boy beside her whispered 

she glanced at him and blinked in confusion. "im iwaizumi, nice to meet you." he said with a curt nod of acknowledgement

she didn't immediately respond but quietly inspected him "nice to meet you.. iwaizumi-san" she said. she smiled to herself as iwaizumi nodded once again and simply went back to minding his business. 

iwaizumi was chill. nice. 

she had mentally agreed with herself that she did in fact like iwaizumi. he was very different from reki's overall 'vibe' but it was comforting in a way. 

now.. the boy beside him.. she still wasn't sure if she should just ignore his overwhelming presence or give him a fake smile to satisfy him. 

"yahoo~ y/n-chan~" oikawa cooed with a flirty wave "hey~ im oikawa tooru" he introduced with a smile as he leaned over iwaizumi's desk to get closer to her and wave once again 

"..." she side eyed him and quietly nodded, opting not to respond as she slouched down to hide her face behind the book she was doodling on

beside her rika spluttered and watched with wide eyes as the girl blatantly ignored the oikawa tooru, himself. it seems not only rika had seen the interaction, or the lack of it, more so. 

the girls near her either gasped in genuine surprise or sighed in relief, having found that the new girl was in fact not a threat. 

iwaizumi, however, was simply snickering and trying to contain his laughter as oikawa stares blankly at her with his face as pale as a ghost. 

it seems everyone was enjoying themselves. she sighed and simply rested her head on her desk, wanting nothing more than for class to be over. 

"hey, eat with me later, okay y/n-chan?" rika said with a smile 

y/n looked up at her and simply nodded, blowing the stray strands of hair away from her face as she stares at the ticking clock on their wall. "i wonder what reki's doing.." she mumbled to herself 

she sighed and sat up straight, keeping her eyes on the teacher who was mindlessly continuing his lecture. 

under her breath she mumbled, 

"i wanna go home." 

i added a random 'oc' but i used rika from jjk's name lol. there's gonna be two more i think, but they're not that important lol, just some filler characters ig 

sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes :<

[jpegjade]

Physical Therapy - Ch. 1 (Spencer)

WELCOME TO PHYSICAL THERAPY!! in honor of this bish starting physical therapy in real life (and missing it bc i can’t drive and my mom and i’s schedules not being synched on google calendar all the time) i’ve decided to write a fic about it. it will be a little series with a goal (yes, an end game) and it’ll be cute. some of it is based on actual things that happen and some is literally just the story. ENJOY.

gender: neutral

tw: nothing that i can think of

genre: fluff | angst

Description: After getting shot in the leg, spencer goes through physical therapy before he can get back in the field completely. What happens when he starts to fall for his physical therapy assistant? 

__________________

Two honks at 6am meant that it was time for Spencer to get going. Derek was downstairs, in the car, waiting on boy wonder to crutch his way out of the apartment complex. Derek wasn’t sure how to feel about this trip considering he missed his early morning run for this but he knew how nervous Spencer was for his evaluation today so he didn’t mind as much as he could have minded. 

Spencer was patiently waiting in a pair of very short shorts, mismatched socks, and running shoes. He threw on a t-shirt and looked in the mirror, noting how tired he looked. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately for some reason but he couldn’t be sure why. He combed out his hair one more time before he and his crutches headed to the elevators. 

“Ready, kid?” Derek said, opening the front door for Spencer like a world class chauffeur would if Spencer was a celebrity. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Spencer mumbled.

In truth, Spencer was more than ready to get started on his physical therapy journey. He wanted to get back in the field full time, adrenaline pumping, connecting with victims, walking again. He didn’t mind the assisted mobility but it was hard for him to know that the best he could do sometimes was stay back in the office or hang out in Garcia’s batcave. 

The car ride was filled with a comfortable silence between the two men. Derek was thinking about how he could make up his missed morning run by doing another type of high cardio workout while Spencer was just trying to figure out why it had to be him. He wouldn’t wish the frustration of his recovery process on anyone else on the team but the frustration of the recovery process just got to him on some days. Today was one of those days. 

Derek pulled up to the physical therapy clinic sooner than Spencer hoped. Part of that was because Derek was a very fast driver while the other part was because Spencer wasn’t paying attention for most of the drive. 

“You owe me one.” Derek said, completely joking. Well… Partially. That morning run was what kept him awake during the day, energizing him for work. 

“Do you want to come in?” Spencer said, looking down at his hands in his lap. 

Spencer’s hands were tapping his leg as he awaited Derek’s answer. He was nothing short of a nervous wreck on the inside. All he could think about was how much pain he would be in once the evaluation was over and the physical therapist had finished poking and prodding at his knee. He hated to think that it would be worse than everything else going on. Plus he still had to go to work today. 

“Sure, kid.” Derek said. 

Derek wasn’t going to sit in the car and do nothing the whole time so he might as well support his friend. 

Climbing out of the car, the boys slowly made it to the sliding glass doors of the physical therapy clinic. Much to Spencer’s surprise, it was nothing like he originally imagined it to be. Some part of him thought it would somewhat resemble the clinic where his mother resided but it was completely different. There were floor to ceiling walls for over half of the first floor building. High tech equipment was stationed everywhere from anti gravity treadmills to hand bike motors, medicine balls and so much more. Spencer stood in the doorway, leaning on his crutches, while he took everything in. There was so much light in the air, it was almost like the feeling of recovery was airy and not meant to bog him down. This was a strange feeling for him to comprehend...

“You coming, pretty boy?” Derek called, taking a break from chatting with the pretty receptionist. 

Spencer and his crutches walked over to the front desk and grabbed the paperwork that covered how much pain he was in today. He filled it out quickly, hoping to get everything over with sooner than later. He was already here so he might as well just finish everything quickly so he could get out of the place. 

When he finished writing everything down, he returned the paperwork to the receptionist who slipped him a piece of paper and pointed to Derek. Spencer already knew it was the receptionist’s personal phone number and he didn’t even need to look at the paper. Sitting down, Spencer handed Derek to a very confused Derek before it hit him what it was. Derek winked at the receptionist, who blushed before answering the phone. 

“Spencer?” A voice called his name shortly after he sat down. 

It was nice to know that here, he didn’t have to be a doctor. He was just another person healing. He didn’t have to be smart, he could just exist. 

“Good luck.” Derek said, noticing that Spencer’s hand was shaking in the slightest bit. 

“My name is Nora and I will be your lead physical therapist.” The woman said, walking Spencer to a vacant padded table. It reminded Spencer of the types of tables you lay on when you get a massage. 

He only got a massage once when Garcia got stood up on a couples’ massage date. He spent half of his part of the massage giving the masseuse facts about how their job could actually give them an infection from the amount of germs in the air and on the table. His delivery of facts caused the room to be incredibly uncomfortable and bleach the table very thoroughly. By the time he and the masseuse finished, only 5 minutes were left in the massage and Garcia was left horrified and amused at the same time. 

“Don’t worry. We bleach the tables every time someone finishes a session.” Nora said, noticing the look on Spencer’s face. Spencer visibly relaxed and sat on the table. 

“So, Spencer, tell me a little bit about yourself.” Nora followed up, pulling up a backless roller chair. 

“Well, I was on a case and the unsub, unknown subject, shot at a dad but it ended up hitting me in the leg instead and…” Spencer paused, looking at Nora’s amused face. 

“No, I mean tell me about you. Your hobbies, what you do for fun, things like that. I need to do a complete profile for you so I know how your quality of life has been affected and which exercises you can do at home so we aren’t pushing too fast.” Nora smiled at Spencer. 

“I work.” Spencer said in a matter-of-fact tone. He didn’t really have anything else to say. 

“Okay. So you’re a workaholic.” Nora wrote. She was about to ask a new question when you came quickly walking to Nora. 

Spencer was left dumbfounded. There seemed to be a halo of light radiating around you, making you glow. He knew it was the sun finally rising but his brain short circuited as he continued to gaze at you. 

“Hey Nora?” You said, looking down at your boss. “Mrs. Gillespi wants to know why you haven’t come back to check her form. She doesn’t trust me because, her words here, I ‘look like a child who doesn’t know their left foot from the color orange.’” 

“Sure. Here, you can take over Spencer’s evaluation.” She handed you her clipboard.

You looked at the detailed notes on the paper and then up at Spencer, who looked like one of the youngest people here. 

“It’s not often we get cute guys in this place. Other than Kyle. But Kyle’s an asshole who could almost be my dad.” You blurted, not realizing you said it outloud as soon as Nora left. 

You noticed that he started blushing and looking at his converse and you realized that you said something. You usually spoke your thoughts out loud but the people you worked with were used to it so no one bothered to say anything.

“What?” You asked, confused. 

“You called me cute.” Spencer said. “Which is fine. I don’t understand the appeal but I do believe that your blurting of what you perceive as a fact is a coping mechanism. It can also be tied to ADHD, which is a common mental disorder that causes your brain to impulsively say things.” Spencer paused, looking at your face. 

“What?” You asked, again, confused. 

“I’m not saying you have ADHD. I’m a doctor but not that kind of doctor. Although I could get another Ph. D. Prove my father wrong. And…” Spencer realized he was rambling. 

“Cute and a talker.” You said, writing that down. 

You wrote something down on the paper that Spencer couldn’t see but he was curious about. 

“Let’s check out that leg.” You said, pulling out an instrument that looked like a compass. 

You asked Spencer to move his knee certain ways and it wasn’t as bad as Spencer thought. You were gentle, soft even. Your hands were delicate and you ended the session massaging his leg and smiling at him. 

“You were a good patient today, doctor Spencer.” You said, smiling at him. 

Spencer blushed, unable to meet your eyes. 

“You… I mean… I enjoyed our session.” Spencer said. “Which I don’t normally enjoy. Not that I’ve been shot before. Or had physical therapy. Or been here. Or even worked out really.”

“You’re funny, doc.” You smiled. “Your next appointment is Tuesday of next week according to the schedule so I guess I’ll see you then. I can’t wait.” 

Spencer stared at you as he wondered why you were so excited. 

“Why?” Spencer asked. 

“It’s not every day I get the case for a cute guy who is smart and awkward. It’s almost like the heavens have answered my hopes and prayers.” You joked, looking up at the ceiling and putting your hand on your heart. 

“I believe in science.” Spencer stated, grabbing his crutches. 

“A man of science. Does it get any better? What’s your star sign?” You joked. 

“Scorpio.” Spencer stated. 

“Oop. All the scorpios I know have been some hoes. You better not be a hoe, doc.” 

“I’m definitely not a gardening tool, if that’s what you’re referring to. Otherwise, I’d like to thing my lack of dating skills doesn’t qualify as being a… hoe? Although, I don’t believe in the use of the word to describe someone who enjoys spending time with multiple people. I’d like to think the use of the word is meant in jest and fun for a term of endearment.” Spencer stood up, balancing on his crutches. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You said, walking slowly with Spencer to the front desk. 

“What’s your name?” Spencer asked, turning to you. He realized that he never got your name.

“Y/n.” You smiled. 

The clouds must have parted again because as soon as you turned to walk away from him, towards Nora, you were covered in another halo. And just like that, you were gone again.

_____________________

Future tag list: 

@ellvswriting @sageandberries-png @l0ve-0f-my-life @rexorangecouny @kennedywxlsh

Want to be added? Tell me!

[peeterparkr]

perfidy;tom holland|6

chapter 6: the frame

enemies to lovers au/enemies with benefits

story summary: Tom and you have been sworn enemies since you were young. However, you happened to be best friends with the twins. When one of your friends challenged you to break Tom’s heart, you immediately accepted to get back at him for all the times he’s hurt you. Old feelings might come back, while both of you try to go past your pride and your lies.

chapter summary: how do you make someone fall in love with you when they’ve hated you their whole life? 

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings:  swearing, timmy, mentions of sex, didn’t proof read 

word count: 5.8k

here’s a playlist

TWEETS:  read them before you read this.

previous chapter next chapter series masterlist

wanna be tagged?

No one should ever have sympathy for the devil. They’re the devil for a reason. But somehow, you understood a lot of things about Tom. Going through his schedule had you already on your feet, no wonder why he was always tired. You had been avoiding any kind of confrontation with anyone as your hands were hovering through the mouse as the light from your laptop was washing white through your whole room, you hadn’t slept and you had a cup of coffee as you waited for your alarm to go off so you could officially start the day. 

Your first day as an assistant, it didn’t sound exciting but it had you on the edge. That wasn’t the reason why you hadn’t slept, though.

Timothée and you hadn’t solved anything, both of you needed to think things, you’d asked him for more time to go through and about everything. Because honestly, you didn’t know if you wanted to go back to a relationship where you knew you weren’t the same. But you were still in love with him. You knew he loved you, too. You can  easily tell, you know? when someone is in love with someone else. Yet it seemed like he had been so distant, even if he had only been 3 feet apart. 

.And it was hard, because you couldn’t be thinking about it, but you had the right to cry about it, didn’t you? But you knew that at some point you’d break. You didn’t have the time to think about it, not now. You had already opened the document, the script you so feared of writing. So banal and stupid and typical, a script that had no meaning. And you were wondering if you really wanted to do that, you could easily just text Alessandra you were not up to write something as vain and stupid, especially because you knew you’d end up hurting yourself. This meant emotionally investing in something, and although there was no way you’d ever wake up past feelings, you knew you could end up hurting more people than planned. 

Besides, you were certain it was impossible, Tom wouldn’t fall in love with you. So you maybe needed to change this, seduce him? But you felt so dirty. 

It had been good, though, relieved some stress, some tension. But then, you’d seen Timmy. And everything had tumbled down. Because you were proving his point. Though the conversation had gone very normal. Timmy had understood that you needed time, you hadn’t told him what for. 

It was wrong, it felt like cheating. Cheating on your heart, at least. But you looked at the little annotations you had for the script. 

You hadn’t slept because you were wondering if you could ever make someone like Tom fall in love with you. Because really? What makes people fall in love? It had you thinking. And maybe you could turn this into a guide, how to make your number one enemy fall in love with you. Was there really only one fine line in between love and hate? Can one fall in love with someone you know so well? 

How does one make the devil fall in love with you? 

And you’d asked Timmy, “What made you fall in love with me?” As if it was a question like “what’s your favourite colour?” or “what have you been doing these days?” 

He hadn’t answered, not really. Only gave you a smile.

You closed the script, maybe the answer was in between your past, and you scrolled through your files until you found them, your old videos. 

You stared at the names, and randomly clicked on one. 

“Okay, Y/N… Want to dance with Tom?” Nikki said behind the camera. The movie was messy, and she was trying to focus on both of you. A young y/n was on the floor, her mouth covered with chocolate ice cream. A bow on her head, and a very nice white with cherries dress, now all covered, too with chocolate ice cream.  

You chuckled as you watched yourself, you had the rest of the ice cream on your hand. 

You were barely 3, it seemed. Your brother, probably 8,  was sitting on the couch as he was too busy nibbling on his own popsicle. A young Tom was giggling to the camera, covered in ice cream too, as he danced to the music playing in the background, ABBA, your mother and Nikki used to play ABBA all the time. 

“Y/N you don’t wanna dance with Tom?” Your mother walked into the view, as baby y/n looked up to her and shook her head. However, your brother, James walked over to you and helped-forced you to stand up. He took your hands and made you dance with him, you grinned. 

Your mother and Nikki started to clap as you danced, and Tom, of course, wanting to get back the attention, pushed away your brother and took your hands instead, dancing with you. 

The video was rather something quite adorable and stupid, you were both dancing to the song. 

You laughed to yourself, because there was probably a similar video when you guys were older, but now drunkenly dancing to ABBA. 

The kids were dancing, and you ended up kissing his cheek. 

“Adorable!” Nikki said. 

Of course, the sweetness ended as Tom pushed you back, making you fall to the floor. Tom laughed and then you cried. 

“Thomas! Don’t do that!” Nikki said. 

“Y/N, love it’s okay, don’t cry,” your mother said, as she rushed over to you. 

The video ended. 

You rolled your eyes, that video was the perfect definition to your relationship nowadays. Except you didn’t like him. But you had to, for your own sake, you had to put up with him. With the devil. 

He was the devil in disguise, you could see it. Even when he was younger, little devil, disguised as an angel, with a beautiful smile and angelic eyes. This was wrong, so wrong, you knew he could hurt you more than you could hurt him. How could you ever make him fall in love with you? If you hadn’t succeeded before what made you think that you would win now? 

It made you feel guilty, even, because you were playing with something where you knew you had a lot to lose. You were risking your heart, and you knew that this was leading to your doom. It was no secret that you had once wanted him. 

And even with everything, you didn’t want to hurt him. And you had circled around it, how you could try to ruin him. But you really didn’t want to. But how did you make anyone fall in love with you? Because it was written in the stars that you were both destined to hate each other. 

Or maybe you had only been destined to love him once, or twice but he was meant to hurt you. You couldn’t rewrite destiny, no matter how good of a writer you were, you couldn’t rewrite the stars. 

Was there an answer? Did you have to dress a certain way? Did you have to sing? Maybe makeup. And you started to think about it, maybe you couldn’t rewrite it but you could write a new story. 

What had made you fall in love with anyone, really? And you thought about Tom, the first person you’d ever been in love with, the chaos he was. Like a busy rainy morning in London, with hopes of the sun finally coming out. And it didn’t make any sense. Maybe that was you needed to figure out how to make something senseless turn into something important. Falling in love with the devil. And you’d already sinned. 

But you started writing, and before you knew it, you were already waiting for him with a coffee and a tea and a printed schedule. Tom would be picking you up. 

“Morning,” you said but he hadn’t answered. 

And there it was, the long-expected cold shoulder he’d be giving you. You hadn’t expected any less from him, of course he was now pretending nothing had happened. A black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats. 

“Here’s your tea—And-are you excited?” 

“We don’t have to talk,” Tom said. “It’s too early.” 

You raised your brows. “Alright.” 

He remained quiet. But you watched him, the sun was making him a favour. The freckles on his skin were perfectly placed on his nose, it seemed like they were stars poured over. The damn boy was perfect, at least you could get something out of that.

You didn’t know if he had noticed your staring. 

He was too good to be true, honestly. He was very attractive, too bad he was such an asshole. Why had he never liked you back? 

And there it was, that feeling you’d always be feeling. The feeling of not being enough, or the feeling that you’d done something so wrong. But you’ve learnt better. You knew this was Tom being whom he was. Probably Haz had heard something and Tom had denied it and then he was giving you the cold shoulder to not raise any concerns. 

This would be difficult, having to deal with him and try to make him fall in love with you when he clearly didn’t like you at all. It was good you didn’t like him either. 

But you did look at the mirror and wondered if you looked bad, or ugly, or if it had been your voice, or maybe he didn’t drink tea when he was going to film, or what had you done wrong? That feeling would never go away when you were with Tom. What did you do wrong? 

However, you needed to go through the Schedule, even if your thoughts were messing with yur brain. “We will go straight into makeup and—“

“You think I don’t know that?” Tom rolled his eyes. 

You rolled your eyes. “Thomas I’m simply doing my job, alright? And if we want to work this out—And I’m just trying to be nice, okay? I don’t like you, I really really can’t stand you but I’m doing my best effort to try and be nice, and decent. We are gonna be doing this for two months and you know what? If you don’t get your shit together I might just quit right here right now and good luck finding an assistant in ten minutes, so you better not be pulling that attitude with me right now.” 

He blinked as he cleared his throat. “Sorry.” 

“Good, now I need—“

He smirked. “That was pretty hot, though.” 

You closed your eyes with desperation as you turned to glare at him. “What?” 

He grinned as he turned his head just slightly to wink at you. “I’m sorry after that night—Apparently that kind of stuff turns me on.” 

“That night didn’t happen,” you cleared your throat. 

He clicked his tongue. “But it did, and we were very chill after that, and that was hot.” 

“You’ve got some weird kinks going on there, first the praise kink and now this?” You sassed with poison. 

“The praise?—I don’t have a praise kink,” he frowned. 

You laughed. “We’ll see about that, now we need to—“

“Oh we will see?” He smirked. “So you’re saying you will prove it to me?” 

You fumed red as you glared at him. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? I’m sorry to inform you but I’m a professional and that will never happen again.” 

He grinned. “Oh c’mon, y/n.” 

“What now?” You crossed your arms. 

“You can’t… you can’t pretend it didn’t mean anything.” 

“It didn’t feel anything. Did you feel anything?” This could lead somewhere.  

“No. Well… I’m not saying that I felt anything, but it does mean something.” 

You sighed. “I’m… No, I’m sorry I got caught up in the moment, that’s it.” 

He laughed. “Hm, bummer, and here I was thinking about bringing yellow flowers.” 

You looked away. Yellow flowers. “You wouldn’t even if you’d felt something,” you said with poison, not even wanting to think of yellow flowers. “And if you dare to mention that night again, I’m gonna quit for that too.” 

“Nice, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he snickered, but then quickly regretted it as you smacked his head. “Ow! Hey! I’m just messing with ya, y/n.” 

You frowned, feeling your empty stomach slowly pulling down. 

“I hate you,” you stated. 

“I hate you more, boo,” he grinned.  “I’m sorry, y/n, it’s just pretty early…” 

“And? I hate waking up early too, I didn't even sleep last night.” 

“Why not?” 

Because you were broken-hearted, because you had to write a script, because you had to work for him, because you needed him to fall in love with you. But you wouldn’t tell him that. 

You shrugged, not giving him an answer. 

“I saw your tweets,” he pointed out. “What happened with Mr. Boring?” 

“He’s not boring, and it doesn’t concern you.” 

“Y/N, he is like actually super boring,” he pushed. “Like what did you even see in him?” 

A lot, a lot of things. He was charming, fun, nice, intellectual and he supported your dreams. And he never got into your nerves. 

“He was dreamy.” 

“Dreamy?” Tom frowned. “He is boring.” 

“He’s not.” 

“That’s why you broke up, right? Don’t tell me you got back with him? He’s so boring y/n and he’s—“

“That doesn’t—Look, don’t even—This is strictly professional and we shouldn’t be discussing any personal matters okay?” 

He chuckled. “Fine, let’s get into professional matters.” 

-

And there you were, walking behind the big movie star as people boarded him, the director, other actors, everybody wanted to speak to Tom and you were only following after him, writing stuff down that you thought would be important for later, as you tried to follow up with everyone. You had made sure the catering had gotten Tom’s snacks right, and the water, and then the menu for later, and everything that Harry had told you to, and then you were leading the way towards his trailer, and then after setting up you’d go to makeup. 

The set was big, and you felt butterflies just thinking that someday maybe you’d be writing or directing something of this sorts. The film world was fascinating to you, sure, television was amazing, too but this was just where you needed to be. Not exactly as an assistant but it got you closer to wherever you wanted to be. 

You were approaching Tom's trailer, as you were trying to explain to him the schedule that would be going on down today, while your mind was going places as you tried to come up with times where you could be alone with Tom so you could at least start your investigation on knowing what made him fall in love with anyone, and you had to start flirting with him, although, he had already started on that. Very unprofessional. If you were honest, that was the least that concerned you, you were too busy imagining the day you’d finally direct your own film,  but before you could even continue with your film fantasy, you saw….him. 

Timothée. 

You’d never had a heart attack, but you were sure you had just experienced one. 

Timothée. 

With some headphones around his neck and a pencil behind his ear, just outside Tom’s trailers as he was leaning over to read something on the person beside him.

Timothée. 

 He looked calm, and unaware that you were there. A white t-shirt, pair of jeans, and his curls flying. 

Timothée. 

You stopped abruptly, as Tom bumped against your shoulder. You froze, everything was getting blurry. This jeopardized everything you’d planned. 

“Y/N--What?” Tom frowned as he followed your gaze and then he saw him. A frown appeared upon his face. “Is that mister boring?” 

“Yes shut up I’m freaking out,” you snapped. 

Tom scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What were the odds?” 

“Sh.” 

Tom watched you, and mockingly laughed. “What?” 

“Oh my god, I can’t…” 

“God look at him, he looks so boring,” Tom pointed out. 

This was life laughing at you. “Can you please stop calling him boring?” 

“You can do so much better than Mister… ,” Tom rolled his eyes. “Timothée,” Tom poisoned, accentuating each and every letter.  

“Shut up.” 

This was chaos. And Timmy finally looked up and directed his sight at you, those caramel eyes glazed right upon you, and you saw him, and there was that smile, perfect smile that had made you fall in love with him. He looked so divine, so fresh, as if he was floating. An angel. 

How the fuck were you going to flirt around with the devil if your angelic ex boyfriend whom you still loved was going to be around? 

“Y/N?” Timothée mouthed as he dedicated another smile at you. 

You finally breathed in some courage and smiled at him, approaching him. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” He asked, softly, as his eyes were only on you. He had his ways making you feel like you were the only person in the whole world. 

“I-” 

“Timmo! Hello,” Tom intruded. “Hey, she’s my assistant, the real question is what are you doing here?” 

Timothée finally looked up at Tom. “Thomas,” he said calmly. “Oh, really?” He turned his sight back to you. “Why didn’t you tell me, love--” he cleared his throat. “Y/N that uh, you’d be working with him.” 

“I..” 

“She doesn’t have to tell you everything, man,” Tom interrupted you for the second time. You nudged him. 

“I just… didn’t think it was a big deal, but what are you doing here?” 

“I’m kind of… an assistant of someone’s assistant, but hey, I’m part of the crew,” Tim grinned at you. 

Tom watched between you both. 

“Hey um, but what about your script?” 

“She’ll have time to write it,” Tom pushed. 

“I can talk for myself Tom, uh, here,” you handed him the keys to his trailer. “Why don’t you freshen up before we go over to makeup?” 

Tom frowned. “Um, no, actually, I need you to come with me, I need to discuss some things,” Tom crossed his arms. 

“Really? Even if we went through all of it?” You frowned. 

“Yes, something just came up,” Tom smirked. 

You wanted to hit him. 

Timothée cleared his throat. “Maybe we can… talk later, okay? Later on a break?” Tim offered. 

“Yeah, for sure,” you smiled at him but then Tom motioned to the trailer. 

He walked in and you were quick to close the door. 

“What is wrong with you?” 

Tom scoffed. “I’m doing you a favour, y/n.” 

“A favour?” You were about to kill him, but you didn’t. You remembered it. You were supposed to start liking him. “You know what? Whatever. Hurry up. We need to go straight into makeup, I’ll wait for you outside. 

You were about to storm off before Tom stopped you. 

“What?” 

“Give me a smile,” he grinned. 

You raised your middle finger at him and then stormed out. This wasn’t going to be easy. 

However, he was rather decent after it, you went through makeup, wardrobe and eventually you were there, watching him walk into the set. You had a bottle of water waiting for him, along everything else he’d asked you. 

He had been asking for a lot of things, every time he was sure that Tim was somehow close, Tom would bring up the most stupid request, and then add ‘please y/n, dear.’ 

He was terrible. 

But you sat down, now ready to watch the scene. The director was giving him notes, and Tom was nodding, listening to him as he was getting ready. One of the things you had to admit that you loved about him, was his commitment, and even if you hated him, you knew he was very good at his job. Even the adorable facade he pulled to the world. You were very aware he was nice, and there were things that made you genuinely smile about him, but of course, he had a whole different persona when it came to you, and that’s when the magic simply stopped. 

But you watched him as the light was falling to him, the frame was him and only him, even if he was not really doing much, you loved how he would change from whatever he was being and turn into an actual professional. And he looked attractive, even if the makeup he was wearing now covered the freckles you loved. And your mind wandered, a spring frame, maybe even beginning of summer, of strawberries and the sun shining, a turquoise bike and a race towards the ice cream parlour. Memories, memories, memories. 

 But you cleared your throat, not wanting to stare too much, even if the tight clothes he was wearing had you thinking. You thought it was ironic, even, 80’s type of clothing they’d chosen, and he… Had you thinking thoughts. Sins. But, honestly who wouldn’t sin with a devil like him? 

But you looked away because you knew yourself, you knew the effect Tom had on you, and hell after that night, the effect had grown stronger. 

You decided to look around, as you were trying to look up for Timmy.

Someone tapped on your shoulder. 

“Hey,” someone whispered in your ear as you jumped in surprise, but finally turned your head to see Timothée standing right behind you. 

“Hi,” you whispered as he grinned. 

“Sorry for… scaring you,” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to-” 

“No, no you’re good, it’s okay, I just didn’t expect to see you here,” you admitted, your voice lowered as you finally laid your attention back on him. 

“Yeah, it’s weird,” he chuckled. “Usually after a breakup, you don’t have to see your ex working with… Well,” he bit his lip, as he motioned for you to walk away with him, further from the cameras and mics. 

“Yeah, with one of the reasons for the breakup,” you clicked your tongue. “But I mean.” You dug your hands into your pockets. Another reason as to why you hated Tom was that he’d been so delicate on trying to push you and Tim away from each other. 

“You saw it, didn’t you? What I meant,” he sighed. 

You looked away. “Tim.” 

“He’s obsessed with you,” Tim scoffed as he shook his head. “And I can’t blame him, honestly, I am completely obsessed with you, too,” he grinned and you just smiled to yourself. “But… Well, it’s not exactly comforting to… you know.” 

“He’s not obsessed with me, he doesn’t even like me,” you shrugged as you turned to see Tom as he was still listening to the director, too focused to know. “He’s… only trying to find ways to bother me.” 

“Don’t you think that’s…” Timmy licked his lips. 

“I can’t blame him, I kind of do the same,” you confessed, chuckling slightly. “Anything to see him angry.” 

He pushed back a lost strand of hair. “Hm, maybe this is for the best, maybe right now we can finally spend time together.” 

But you knew that the distance in your relationship hadn’t really come from actual space, you’d been emotionally distant to each other. However, when you looked into his eyes, maybe everything was forgotten. How could you not get lost into the way he looked at you? 

But you couldn’t think about it now, you had something very important to do. Yet you couldn’t forget it, an autumn frame, with leaves falling down, as you ran towards him and you laughed as the night was fading in, eating cherries, and kissing him, once, twice and forever. 

You coughed, as you avoided his gaze, coming back to normality. 

“Tim, I…” You cleared your throat. “There’s something.” 

“Why do I feel like I won’t like that something?” He scrunched his nose. 

You licked your lips as you turned away, and you noticed Tom, you caught him staring. He quickly turned back to the director. 

“I just really meant what I said, I need time right now,” you gulped. “I don’t think I can emotionally commit to anything, can we… please be friends?” 

Timmy bit his lip but then grinned. “I’ll have to live with that,” he sighed. “But please don’t mind if I stare too long, I can’t help it, y/n. I’m an Icarus, remember?” 

You nudged him. “Don’t fly too close to the sun,” you warned him. 

He smiled. “C'mere, I’ll show you something cool,” he said as he led the way close back to where they were filming. They hadn’t started yet, but you saw Tom. 

Tom gave you another glance and then ignored you. 

You felt guilty, and weren’t sure why. But then you turned your attention to Timmy, who pointed out the lights on the set, and then to some props and explained what they meant and how it revolved around the story, and it was fascinating, knowing that little things that didn’t seem important would turn out to be so important. 

“The story is hidden between the little details,” Tim said. “Like that flower pot, you see it?” He pointed to it. 

“Yeah.” 

“It’ll change through scenes, the pot will get darker as…” Timmy explained. 

“Right,” you grinned. 

But everyone started to shush everyone, they would start filming. 

-

You had been quiet for the rest of the day, you had received Tom’s lunch and hadn’t even said any words to him. You’d been thinking about… a lot of things, really. But mostly Timothée, and how this was wrong. Very, very wrong. But there were worse things you could do, right? 

Tom had decided to have his lunch in his trailer, and he’d invited you over with him. Of course, it probably was only because he didn’t want you around Timmy. 

“Y/N?” Tom called. “Aren’t you going to eat?” He asked as you were biting on your cheek, nervously staring at the food. 

“Hm? Oh, yes, sorry.” 

He watched you. “So… I saw you talking to…” Tom cleared his throat. “Timothée,” he pronounced his name dragging his tongue and pitching his voice. 

“Yeah.” 

He blew his cheeks. “Hey, I can… I can get another assistant if you’re uncomfortable being near him…”

You chuckled. “Trying to get rid of me already?” 

“No… I’m just… I don’t want you feeling sad,” he pointed out. 

“I’m not sad.” 

He shrugged. “Well, you look sad.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Tom shrugged. “And it bothers me.” 

“Does it now?” You questioned. 

“It’s my job making you sad and I’m angry he’s doing it,” he grinned. 

You rolled your eyes. “Of course.” 

“What happened then?” He pushed. 

You looked away. “Nothing, Tom. We broke up, I told him we had to be friends for now, and that’s it.” 

Tom watched you, he seemed calculated. He probably wanted ways to make you feel bad, that was Tom. Amazing memory when it comes to annoy you.

“Why did you break up?” 

Distance. Him. Harry. Timothée knowing you got tired of waiting before and thinking you’d settled with him. Dreams that had to be changed for plans, and plans which involved being away. Timothée pointing out you had had feelings for Tom. You probably did. Timothée pointing out Harry was probably in love with you. You, being aware of it, but deciding to ignore it, or not accept it. Selfish conversations. Jealousy. Long conversations that turned into small talk. Because you felt like strangers. Intimacy was gone. No more sparks. Secrets that you both held. Tom. Because you’d gotten drunk once and said something about Tom that one shouldn’t say when you’re dating someone.  

That was a summary. 

“I… well, it’s too complicated.” A summary he didn’t deserve to know. 

Tom shrugged. “Why?”

There was a part of you that was thinking about how you could make someone fall in love. You thought about Timothée, you loved how sincere he was. Maybe being sincere could help you. Being vulnerable helps. 

“I think we fell in love very quickly and we didn’t stop to see if there was… anything else going on with us, like myself I—he just I dunno, we changed and we were so into the idea of who we were at the beginning.” You didn’t even know what you were trying to say. 

“I’m not following.”  

“I feel like,” you sincered yourself. “At least with me, it started out as… as me escaping from something else you know? I was trying to avoid other problems and it came as a simple solution but in the end I fell in love with him.” You didn’t regret falling in love with him. 

“Meaning?”

“It was kind of a—getaway,” you licked your lips. “Escaping, but not really. I had too many feelings just trying to explode and I— I just let my feelings explode into him, I guess I wanted to love someone and he walked in.”

“A rebound?” Tom questioned. 

“Not really.” Besides, you hadn’t talked about this with anyone, not even with Harry, or Sam. It felt wrong. 

“So you were looking for a fling?”

“Well, no, it’s complicated,” you admitted. “But I just… really loved him, you know? But he’s very observant, and he caught up on it.” 

“Observant, huh.”

“Yes and he pointed out things which I’ve been oblivious to, or maybe not oblivious but I was too dedicated to avoiding them that I forgot about them,” you sighed. 

“What kind of things?” 

“Stuff, I dunno,” you ran a hand through your hair. 

He watched you, carefully. “What do you see in him anyway? He’s boring.” 

You chuckled, slightly. “He’s brilliant, and besides, I can say more about him than that short skirt who asked you out today.” 

He smirked. “Jealous?” 

“What would I be jealous for?” You rolled your eyes. “If anything I’m thankful. I’m hoping she’ll be able to calm you and your horny ass down,” you bellowed. 

He laughed. “She won’t be, I won’t go out with her.” He shrugged with fake shame. 

You frowned. “Why not?” 

Tom clicked his tongue. “Because, she’s…” 

“Dull? Yeah, I noticed that too,” you chided. “Don’t date someone like her.” 

Tom grinned. “I wasn’t going to,” he surmised. “But, please do tell me,  what kind of people should I date?” 

You bit your lip as you gave it a thought. “Someone with layers,” you began. “Fun, and who can put up with all your shit.” 

He raised an eyebrow with a smug smirk. “Hm, sounds like someone like you?”

You laughed. “No, no, sweetheart,” you rolled your eyes. “Someone who can actually stand you”

He laughed as he moved his chair to be closer. “Since when do you care about who I date?” 

You watched him with curiosity. “I don’t,” you cleared out. “What? Did you want me to care? 

He coughed. “I love how you manage to change the subject to avoid talking about how boring your ex is.” 

You nudged him. “He’s not boring, he’s amazing.” 

“He’s not, I saw him explaining bloody props to you,” he laughed. “Props. God, he is boring, why did you date someone like him? He’s literally… Look, I remember this one time when he was rambling about some boring shit, see I can’t even remember what he said? And gosh, everything he says is so poetic, and it’s like bro calm down,” Tom said disgusted. 

“I like that,” you laughed. “Maybe he’s just too smart for you, your little brain cell can’t handle it.” 

He glared at you as he brushed his hand against your leg, you coughed looking at it. “Ha-ha, no, but really y/n, you should date someone fun, someone who can make you laugh.” 

You smirked. “Hm… Since when do you care about who I date?” You said, walking your own fingers through his arm. 

He shrugged. “I’ve always cared about that, don’t be silly,” he looked at you, as his hand stopped your fingers, and then played with your hand instead. 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes, y/n, because you’ve paraded around with assholes, man, you’re really bad at choosing boyfriends,” he chuckled as his other hand landed on your knee. 

You laughed. “I do have a tendency to crush on assholes, I used to have a crush on you, remember?” You stated with pride as you lifted his chin. 

He laughed as he bit his lip. “Point proven.” 

You gulped and looked away. “But Tim is different.” 

“But he is boring,” he scooted closer, you were barely an inch far away. 

“He’s not.” You looked away

“What did you see in him?” He pushed again and turned your head to him. “Okay, was he good in bed?” He chuckled. 

You blushed. “Oh my god, you shouldn’t ask that.” 

He snickered softly as he leaned over closer. “All I’m asking, y/n, is…”He lowered his voice, you felt his hot breath against your lips. “...if he’s able to get you all flustered only by… playing this kind of game and,” he glanced down at your lips, as he placed a single peck upon the corner of your lips.

You didn’t even flinch. “Are you sure you’re not the one losing, though?” 

previous chapter next chapter series masterlist

wanna be tagged?

tag list   @clairesrainbow @underoosmarvel​​​ @wronglanemendes​​​  @itsvianny​​​   @jake-and-amy-are-married​​​ @starlightfound​​​   @kill-the-stereo​​​ @originalpinkpowerranger​​​ @spidxrparkxr​​ @mukesnugget​​​ @anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover​​​ @organicpurplepants​​​ @happywolves81​​​  @nedthegay​​​ @skylar-mendes​​​  @sentimentalquackson  @savannah0111​​​ @spidermansmj14 @soccerstud004​​ @marinaabernardii @applenter​​​ @silver-winter-wolf​​​    @dark-infernal-instruments​​​ @claredolphinbear24​​​ @bookgirlunicorn​​​  @tomshufflepuff​​​ @avengersgirllorianna​​​ @nevertoofarfromivar​​​ @saintlavrents​​​ @herofiennestiffinashardinscott.  @tomzfrog​​​ @tohollandback​​​ @morganhoran1671 @awkwardfangirl2014​​​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​​​  @everythingbooknerd​​​  @xapham​ @xapham​​​ @xxtomxo​​​ @tomhollandisagod​​​ @danicarosaline​​​ @laurfangirl424​​​ @vintageroses1014516​​​ @cinnamon-roll-peter​​​   @the-lost-fairy-tale​​​ @lala-florez​​​ @fufaation15 @healthyassdonut​​​    @ilcveyou3000 @xxtomxo​​​ @socorroann​​​ @muffinmari25   @cassindeansass  @rogers-obsessed-barnes-curious​​​ @southsidespidey @nathaliabakes​​​ @nathaliabakes​​​ @marvelstuck​​​ @embrace-themagic​​​ @bradfordbantams​​​ @sanniegirl1214​​​ @gioandreolli  @peterpandco​​​ @fairytaleparker​​​ @underooling​​​ @griff1ndor​​​ @chubby-cheek-calum​​​ @thatweirdomimic​​​ @avengersgirllorianna​​​ @reginalaufeyson-holmes @better-daisy​​​ @yeahimcrying​​​ @allmonstersxarehuman​​​ @spider-manholland​​​ @clairesrainbow @georiaang @sebxstianbarnes​​​ @kissingtrutharchives​​​  @snoopy3000​​​ @prettymessygurl​​​ @spideyparkerstark​​​ @fanfic-4-you @lexshead​​​ @officiallyunofficialperson​​​ @mannien​​ @whitewolfandthefox​​​ @melodiclovesong​​​ @bizzlepotter​​​ @localfangirlx​​​  @xxpeachyxo​​​ @acceptance07​​ @witchything​​​ @witchything​​​ @swaggyspiderman​​​ @localfangirlx​​​  @queengemsworld @liberty01​​​ @stiles-banshees​​​ @itsjusttor​​​ @stretchkingblog97 @annathesillyfriend​​​ @dangerousluv1​​​ @tomshufflepuff​​​ @thewayilookatbacon​​​ @petersdiaries​​​ @emjaywrites​​​ @swaggyspiderman​​​ @infamousmany​​​ @jungeunave @forevermore-euphoria​​​ @ispiderdudei​​​ @calhtlland​​ @literalfsngirltrash​​​ @quacksonhq​​​ @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes​​​ @desir-ae​​ @pxkajesus​​​ @unbelievableholland​​​ @peterporkpie​​​ @justanotherusername80 @smolpeachees​​ @thenoddingbunny-blog​​​ @quackeroos​​​ @spideyyeet​​​ @astoldbydanid​​​ @hollandcreep​​​ @itscaminow​​​ @milly7110​​​ @iriaaarb​​​ @laurieteddy​​​ @rubberducky-jrr​​​ @rebekkah4766​​​ @farfromtom​​ @fancyxholland​​​ @seaveyheartful​​​ @oh-whatabeautiful-parker​​​ @coveredinthemessimade​​​  @shameless-self-promo-of-a-shrub @dreaming-lia​​​ @thatdamjoke​​​ @annathesillyfriend​​​​ @l0ove-sick-blues @witchything​​​ @witchything​​​​ @bookworm06​​​​  @sandtopearl  @lala-florez​​​​ @ohfudgeiamgorgeous @chaoticpete​​​​ @shezzalocked​​​​ @ @lowkey-love-loki​​​​ @yoinkyourheart​​​​ @cosmicholland​​​​ @frenchfrostpudding @badbitchydecisions​​​​ @w4ybefor3nir4na​​​​ @americaswritings​​​​ @ilovepeterparker13​​​​ @lukesbabylon​​​​ @iamaunicorn4704​​​​ @simple-things​​​​ @oh-annaa​​​​ @herondale-snow-carstairs​​​​ @sip-portteam​​​​  @farialia​​​​ @t-holland2080​​​​ @tony-starks-ego​​​​ @quaksonhehe​​​​0 @stargazerholland​​​​ @marvelslut-musicalnerd @hotrubycrab​​​​ @sovereignparker​​​​ @peter-parker-tony-stank-trash​​​​ @belleknows​​​​ @mysticalinsomniac​​​​ @nycparkers​​​ @itstaskeen​​​ @anythingthaticareabout​​​ @spn-assemble-seven​​​ @tanyalooovesyou​​​ @cahosinparadise​​​  @heartofholland​​​ @peachybloomss​​​ @youcompletemesk​​​ @emyla3305​​ @ruby–butt  @hollandstanevans​​ @farfromtom​ @ohmyquackson​​ @southbeachfeeling​​ @eridanuswave​​ @tonguetiedholland​​ @wolvesofthewinter​ @quacksonobrien​ @dcnerd98​ @ifntelyinspirit​ @electraheart-3174​ @julialucena5​ @itsmilamawson @harryssuckz​ @unabashedlyhardkitty​

[follow-your-fire]

In your tender hands

Rating: Explicit/NC-17

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (Merlin)

Written for bottom Arthur fest 2020

@bottom-arthur

“You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”

Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”

Freya gives him an incredulous look. “You’re an idiot. Have you never had a massage before?” she asks, and it’s obvious that the question is mostly rhetorical. Which is probably the main reason why her eyes grow twice their size at the lack of response. “Oh my God, Arthur! Seriously?!”

“You did what?” Arthur nearly spits out his coffee, glaring daggers at his assistant.

Freya only rolls her eyes at the dramatic response. “You heard me. I booked you in for one hour when you take your break.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” He rubs at his eyes in frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to squeeze a massage in? My break is one hour too, plus the commute, plus I want to have lunch.”

“You’re acting like I don’t know your schedule off the top of my head. How long have I been working for you?”

“Two years,” he replies automatically, taking a moment to appreciate the fact.

All in all, Freya is a wonderful assistant. Arthur knows she’s the only reason why he hasn’t had a mental breakdown yet. She’s punctual and diligent. Stubborn as hell and as ruthless as they come. It’s kind of a double-edged sword though. While she gets the job done - actually goes beyond her line of duty - she also takes great pleasure in bossing Arthur around. And of course, Arthur being the push-over he is, lets her get away with it.

So yeah, Freya is a godsent who saves Arthur from losing it on a daily basis. But she’s also the spawn of the Devil who loves to discover all the ways to drive him nuts.

“And four months,” she corrects. “So cut me some slack, Princess.”

Ignoring the jab - because really, Freya, it’s getting old - he comes back to his previous point of concern. “Then you should know that my schedule is fully packed today.”

“Not anymore,” she announces smugly, walking over to her desk to pick up the iPad before she returns to Arthur’s office. “I moved Masa to tomorrow at 11:15 and Cutforth to Friday at 2 pm, which gives you,” she does a quick count, “two hours and fifteen minutes for your break.” She closes the iPad, smiling victoriously. “Now, stop fretting and make sure you leave on time. I booked you for 12.:15. The commute is about fifteen minutes and you should be there at least five minutes in advance.” She grabs a pen and a post-it-note from his desk, scribbling quickly. “There,” she says, tearing the note off. “This is the address.”

“The enchanted cave,” he reads in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Shut up, Arthur. Merlin is the best there is. He put me back together after I lost my parents. He’s usually fully booked weeks in advance. You’re lucky that he has a soft spot for me and let me squeeze you in.”

Arthur turns more solemn at the mention of Freya’s parent’s untimely passing. It doesn’t make him any less confused, though.

“Sounds more like a shrink to me than a masseur,” he thinks out loud.

“He might as well be,” she laughs, affection evident in her voice, which softens Arthur’s irritation somewhat. “You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”

Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”

Freya gives him an incredulous look. “You’re an idiot. Have you never had a massage before?” she asks, and it’s obvious that the question is mostly rhetorical. Which is probably the main reason why her eyes grow twice their size at the lack of response. “Oh my God, Arthur! Seriously?!”

“I don’t have time for self-pampering,” he grumbles defensively.

“That’s exactly why you have to make the time!”

“That’s quite an oxymoron.”

“Shush.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Really, Arthur. You need to unwind.”

“I don’t-”

“Arthur,” she groans impatiently. “Go. Get. The. Massage. I’m gonna make sure you leave on time and I will check with Merlin that you actually turned up.”

“I think you’re confusing who’s the boss and who’s the subordinate here.”

“I think you’re full of shit and need to shut up and listen to someone smarter than you.” She turns on her heel and walks out of the office before Arthur has a chance to retort anything back. “Don’t be a prat, Arthur. For once in your life, do something nice for yourself.” And with that, she shuts the door behind her.

Arthur arrives at the place at 12:07, just in time to walk to the door as a woman walks out. He steps to the side, waiting for her to pass.

“Arthur?”

He snaps his head up from where he was blankly staring at the side-walk. “Oh. Hey, Mithian,” he greets when he recognizes one of his long-time friends.

“Don’t hey me and give me a proper hug hello,” she complains and doesn’t waste any time to rise on her tiptoes and wrap him in her arms. Arthur returns the hug with a smile on his face.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been great but how have you been? I haven’t heard from you in ages,” she scolds him gently.

“Been busy.”

“Aren’t you always,” she scoffs, sympathetic. “Nice to see you’re finally doing something for yourself,” she says, getting a confused look. “You’re coming for a massage, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am. My assistant made me.” Oh, shit. That shouldn’t have come out.

Predictably, Mithian bursts into giggles. “Figures.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, Arthur. Someone needs to look out for you if you don’t,” she explains, her eyes soft and a wave of affection washes over Arthur as he remembers his uni years and their brief but lovely time together as a couple.

Now that he thinks of it, Freya reminds him of Mithian a lot. It occurs to him he’s attracted to a certain type of person. Not necessarily in a romantic sense but more in general.

His sister is like that too. All fiery and strong-willed, calling Arthur names on a good day, but when it comes to it, she’s a protective mother-hen.

So is his best friend. Lance is usually calm and collected but doesn’t hesitate to call Arthur on his bullshit, in the most loving way, though. So does Gwen. Those two really rub off on each other.

What is it with him attracting people into his life who spend most of their time scolding or mothering him? He needs to look into it later.

“I still don’t see how this is supposed to help.” He shrugs indifferently.

“Oh, you’ll see. Just wait for it.” And good grief, she winks at him. “I need to get going. Let me know how it went. You have my number, right?” Arthur nods. “Great. Also, it wouldn’t kill you to get in touch here and there, you know?”

Sighing guiltily, he humors her. “I will.”

“You’d better. Okay, gotta go. Enjoy yourself!” She blows him a kiss and takes off.

He very much doubts he’s gonna enjoy himself but if he’s lucky, maybe he’ll get to nap while the guy gets handsy with him. He could use an extra hour of sleep. God knows the five hours he’s come to consider his routine are not cutting it anymore.

He sighs in relief as he walks through the door to find a rather unassuming lobby. Given the name of the business, he expected the place to live up to its cringeiness but thankfully there are no tacky lights, no magical crystals scattered around, no candles in every corner, nor every surface. The only thing that can be considered a bit spiritual or whatever is the incense perched on the counter, right next to the business cards and leaflets. Thankfully, the scent is very subtle and doesn’t trigger a headache.

“Good afternoon! You must be Arthur,” says a voice to his left and Arthur nearly jumps out of his skin. He didn’t even notice anyone in the room with him.

As he looks over in the direction the voice came from, he finds a man, presumably his masseur - Mark, Matt? - standing in the door leading to what Arthur guesses is the massage room.

“Oh. Hey. Yeah, that would be me.” He turns to face the man, straightening his back. He must look out of place, clad in his suit, still wearing his tie.

The man approaches him with a smile. “I’m Merlin. It’s nice to meet you, finally. Freya talks about you quite a bit.”

Arthur reaches to grasp his hand when Merlin offers it, giving it a firm shake. “Don’t believe anything the little minx lets out of her mouth.” He attempts a joke, hoping his discomfort at being told his assistant talks about him is not too obvious.

He must succeed because Merlin is throwing his head back with a laugh. “She said you would say that,” he teases. “That’s alright. I like to make up my own mind.”

Arthur withdraws his hand and gives him a stiff smile. Outside of work, he has no idea how to make a decent conversation. Not upon the first meeting anyway.

Tilting his head inquiringly, Merlin asks, “You seem quite tense. Is everything alright?”

“It’s just... Look. I know you’re busy, Freya said so. And I appreciate you making time for me. But,” he huffs, knowing he’s gonna sound like a jerk no matter how he phrases it, “I don’t really care for massage much but Freya insisted. She can be fucking scary sometimes. Don’t tell her that though! And I just... I feel really out of place, okay?”

He expects to see Merlin’s expression sour, thinking Arthur is just a pompous douche. He wouldn’t even blame him. But, to his bewilderment, the man’s face is nothing but open, not a single trace of judgement.

“I won’t, I promise,” he says with humor. “If you don’t mind me asking - have you had a bad experience in the past?”

“More like no experience at all.”

For the first time, Merlin looks caught off guard. “You never had a massage?”

“No. I just never saw the point. And anyway, I don’t really have time to spare. The only reason I’m here is that Freya did some magic with my schedule and cleared it up enough to give me two hours off today.”

“Oh.” Merlin suddenly perks up. “In that case, I’d like to show you some of my magic, if you let me.”

Arthur’s brain short-circuits for a moment. Did he just hear what he thinks he did? Or is he so tired he started hallucinating? Plus, his dry spell of six months is probably not helping either.

“Um... I... magic?”

“Yeah, you know...” Merlin sweeps his hand over the lobby. “The enchanted cave? Seems fitting?”

“Oh.” Arthur chokes out. “Right. Right...”

“Oh God, I just realized how cheesy that sounds,” Merlin reflects with a hint of embarrassment. “Anyway, I should stop talking. You didn’t come here for a chat, after all.” He steps to the side, gesturing towards the massage room. “I’d just finished setting it up before you came in, so it’s all ready for you.”

Arthur gets the hint and with a deep breath, he makes his way to the room. Unlike the lobby, it’s bathed in a soft yellow light and.... yup, those are candles alright. No crystals, though.

Merlin is right on his heels. “I’ll let you undress in private, to your level of comfort.You can hang your clothes here, or you can just fold them and put them on this chair.” He gestures to the chair in the corner. “After that, lie down on the massage table, on your stomach, this way around. You see the sheet over there? That’s for you to cover yourself with. I’ll be back in a few minutes when you’re ready. Do you have any questions? Requests?”

So many questions. He goes with the most concerning one. “Yeah, um, when you say my level of comfort...” He cuts himself off. Thankfully, Merlin picks up on it.

“Whatever works for you, really. I can even massage you with your clothes on, although...” He gives Arthur a quick once-over, “I can’t imagine it would be comfortable for you.”

Yeah, no. Definitely not. And he has to go back to work after and he’s sure that showing up in a wrinkled suit would earn him a few judgmental looks.

“But really, it’s up to you. You can keep your clothes on, or just your underwear. If you’d prefer to be completely naked, that works too.”

Arthur hopes the dim lighting of the room conceals his blush. There’s no reason why a man of 32 years should blush at the thought of being naked.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Merlin echoes with an encouraging smile. “Be back soon.”

Arthur releases a relieved breath when Merlin closes the door behind him. This whole thing is even more awkward than he expected. Merlin seems like an alright bloke, if a bit odd but Arthur supposes that comes with the job. He seems nice though, with all the reassurances and effort he put into making sure Arthur is comfortable.

He wonders how many male clients Merlin gets. So far, he knows that Freya and Mithian are swept away by him. Although it’s hard to tell if it’s because of his supposedly outstanding massage skills or his looks.

He groans internally and maybe even a bit out loud. Nope, don’t even go there. No hitting on your masseur. Yeah, that wouldn’t end well. Not with Merlin about to spend the next hour gliding his large hands over Arthur’s whole body.

A shiver runs down his spine and in an attempt to push his thoughts away, he begins undressing, starting with his tie. He hangs his jacket and shirt on the hanger by the door and the rest he puts on the chair, just as Merlin instructed. In no time, he’s standing there clad only in his underwear, debating whether to leave that on or not.

To hell with it. Merlin must have seen it all already.

He ends up ridding himself of his briefs too, face going aflame as he adds them to the pile on the chair and rushes to climb onto the table, settling on his stomach and doing his best to arrange the sheet Merlin provided for him so it covers him as much as possible.

A minute or two pass with him fidgeting in his position. Whether it’s from discomfort or nerves, he doesn’t know, but then Merlin is knocking gently on the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah,” he calls hoarsely, grateful Merlin can’t see his face.

The door clicks open and Merlin walks into the room, speaking from somewhere to Arthur’s left. “You probably already figured but one hour allows for a full body massage. Is that alright with you? Or do you want me to forgo any areas? Or spend some more time on a specific one?”

Logically, Arthur knows these are all valid questions but they do nothing to help him relax. More like the opposite.

“Um, no, that’s... you can do whatever you want.”

“Alright. Any contraindications I should know about?”

“I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking.” Oh God, what did I just say? Stop trying to be funny, Arthur!

It draws a boisterous laugh from Merlin, easing some of Arthur’s tension. “Thanks for clarifying,” he says, catching his breath. “Any injuries?”

“No. I twisted my ankle playing football, but that was years ago.”

“Okay, good.” There is some rustling and thumping, then Merlin speaks again. “Do you care for any specific scent? I’ve got a variety of essential oils, energizing or calming. I have a special blend for stress relief if you’d be interested.”

Arthur winces a little at the fact he’s so easy to read. “Um... sure. But maybe not too much? I still need to go back to work after this.”

“Duly noted,” Merlin promises and busies himself with what Arthur assumes is mixing the oils or something.

Thankfully, he doesn’t take long, preventing Arthur from driving himself into a frenzy. He doesn’t know why he’s so flustered about all of this. So he never had a massage, so what? People do it all the time.

It’s just then that he notices that music is playing but it’s so soft it could almost escape his hearing. He focuses on listening in hopes of distracting himself.

“Okay, I’m all set. I’ll start with dry massage, working my way down from your shoulders. That alright with you?”

Yeah, he never had a massage but he’s pretty sure that asking for affirmation every two minutes isn’t how this usually works. It occurs to him that Merlin is doing this only for him.

He’s equal parts irritated and touched by it.

“Yeah.”

Gently, Merlin places his hands on his shoulders over the sheet. It’s just a simple touch, not even on his bare skin, but Arthur swears he can feel the heat of Merlin’s hands seeping into his own body and spreading throughout. He suppresses a sigh.

“I’ll start with medium pressure. Let me know if it’s too much or if you’d like me to go harder.”

Arthur hopes the whimper that makes it past his lips is not very audible. He clears his throat to cover it up.

Merlin doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses his hands into the tense muscles of Arthur’s upper back, finding all the right spots from the get go.

A guttural groan escapes Arthur before he knows it.

“Too much?” Merlin asks, stilling his movement.

“N-no. No, it’s... it’s good. Just didn’t... expect it.”

“Good. Let me know if it changes.”

He stays on that area for a few minutes, lingering when he finds a sensitive spot, working out the kink. It’s a curious combination of pain-pleasure and Arthur is not sure if that’s what it’s supposed to feel like, but he knows it leaves him all pliant and floaty, so it’s probably alright.

Merlin makes his way down the spine, to his lower back, then goes back up and pays the same attention to his arms and hands.

He walks around the table and starts working on the legs.

Arthur releases a shuddering breath. He just had a leg-day in the gym yesterday and damn, can he feel it. Merlin’s touch is like a balm on his sore muscles and he exhales as pain gives way to relief.

It’s not long before Merlin comes back to the head of the table, hands grasping at the sheet.

“I’ll move onto the oil part now, yeah?”

“Okay.” At this point, Arthur will take anything. Why has he never done this before?

Merlin pulls the sheet down to his lower back, folding it over and leaving his back and arms exposed. The air of the room is not chilly by any means but Arthur shudders all the same.

There is a slick sound as Merlin covers his hands with oil before bringing them to Arthur’s shoulders again, spreading the oil over the whole expanse of his back and arms. Although the pressure is not as hard now, with the oil easing the way, Arthur finds this part even more intense, Merlin’s touch nearly searing without any barrier between them.

He glides his palms, fingers and forearms over Arthur’s back with long, confident strokes, then switches to short, firmer ones, alternating between the two.

Arthur’s vaguely aware he’s all but melting on the spot, feeling almost detached from his body despite every nerve ending being on fire.

At some point as Merlin rubs at the tense muscles of his neck, he slides his hands into Arthur’s hair, at the base of his skull, rubbing in circular motions.

This time, it’s definitely a whimper that Arthur lets out, blushing furiously.

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Arthur,” Merlin instructs in a gentle voice. “You carry a lot of tension here. Plenty of people do but you even more so. Just let go.”

Against his better judgment, he does just that. As Merlin’s hands continue their ministrations, he lets out a series of little huffs and whimpers, unable to stop himself when he starts.

“That’s it. Just let go,” Merlin repeats and puts more force behind his touch, making Arthur’s noises grow in volume.

He both welcomes and mourns the loss when Merlin’s hands leave him in order to grab a hot towel and wipe the remaining layer of oil from his back before covering him with the sheet again.

“I’ll move to your legs now, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

He’s surprised when Merlin touches his shoulder, prompting him to lift his head. “Since I’m finished with your back, you can have a pillow if you want. It might be more comfortable for you.”

Arthur doesn’t object in the slightest, taking the pillow Merlin’s holding and resting his right cheek on it, sliding his hands underneath. Yeah, much more comfortable.

“Thanks,” he mumbles almost sleepily and hears Merlin chuckle.

“You’re very welcome.”

Then, Merlin is exposing his left leg, tucking the sheet in the space between his legs and over his hip, revealing his left butt-cheek in the process. He doesn’t even have the strength to feel embarrassed.

Merlin doesn’t waste time before coating his hands with oil again and bringing them to Arthur’s leg. He starts with his feet, then moves to his calf, then thigh until he’s worked all the way to his bum.

Arthur nearly jack-knives from the table as Merlin’s thumb presses into the middle of his cheek.

“Sorry! Was it too much?”

Arthur presses his face into the pillow to hide his flush. “I... ugh... I just... didn’t expect... that.”

“Oh,” Merlin quips. “I can skip that part.”

Jesus, Arthur, stop being such a sissy. It’s just a massage. A professional massage.

“It’s fine. You just... surprised me.”

“Sorry about that,” he says genuinely and resumes the massage, albeit more tentative than before.

Now that the initial shock is over, Arthur begins to appreciate the attention Merlin’s paying to that particular part of his body. He never knew how tense he was in... well.... there.

He whines a little when Merlin presses his thumb into a tender spot.

“Shit. I would’ve thought that going to the gym four times a week would make up for sitting on my ass several hours every day,” he grumbles more to himself.

“I think you’re doing an excellent job at the gym,” Merlin replies with humor, then promptly freezes, Arthur following suit. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. That was... very inappropriate. I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. Not that you don’t have a nice ass. I mean... oh shit,” he starts panicking, removing his hands from Arthur’s body. Funny enough, witnessing Merlin freak out makes Arthur strangely relaxed.

He responds with a huff. “Take it easy, Merlin. I appreciate the compliment. You can continue.”

“Are you... are you sure?” Merlin asks tentatively.

“I’m sure. You like my ass, so what? I’ve been working hard on it.”

Merlin laughs, a bit nervous, a bit relieved, and eventually listens, resuming the massage on the other leg, starting from his foot again.

Maybe the whole exchange should make everything weird but strangely enough, Arthur is even more relaxed than he was before. The realization that Merlin is only human, with no filter it seems, making it easier.

Merlin hesitates when he works his way up to Arthur’s bum again, but with no complaint in sight, he repeats what he did on the other leg.

When he’s done, he steps to the side of the table and lifts the sheet off of Arthur, holding it in front of himself like a screen. “Can you turn over, Arthur?”

Arthur gathers all his strength to prop on his forearms with the intention to do just that, but stills momentarily.

“Arthur?” Merlin questions when nothing happens.

“I... um....” Well, shit. How did I not notice I was sporting a semi?!

“What’s wrong?”

“I... might have a... situation,” he admits, face burning.

At first, Merlin is silent, then the realization dawns on him. “Oh. I see. That’s fine, Arthur. It happens more often than not,” he reassures but it doesn’t help much.

“But I... God, this is embarrassing,” he hides his face in his hands.

“I understand why you would think that, but I promise it’s alright. It doesn’t mean anything; it’s just a natural reaction.”

It takes some more prompting but eventually, Arthur flips onto his back and closes his eyes as Merlin drapes the sheet over him again, the outline of his half-hard dick painfully visible.

“I can fetch you a blanket if it makes you feel better?”

“If you don’t mind,” he squeezes out without opening his eyes, only doing so when Merlin hands him the blanket and he rushes to throw it over his lower half. “Thanks. Sorry about that.”

He dares a look at Merlin and finds him smiling in empathy. “Not at all. It’s no big deal, Arthur.” He reaches for a bottle of oil and puts his hands on Arthur’s arm. “Just lie back and relax.”

Arthur does his best to do just that while Merlin massages his arm and hand before switching to the other one.

By the time he’s finished with them, Arthur’s calmed down considerably and, thank fuck for that, the embarrassment was enough to have killed any interest his dick might have taken in the situation.

He expects Merlin to announce the massage has come to an end when he finishes wiping his arms with a hot towel, but to his surprise, Merlin slides a chair behind him, sitting himself down, hands coming to cradle Arthur’s head. Arthur lifts it automatically, assuming that’s what Merlin wants him to do.

“You just relax, Arthur. Don’t help me by holding your head up. I’ll manage.”

It’s not an easy thing to trust someone not to drop your head but Merlin is nothing but cautious as he maneuvers it around to get to the spot he’s aiming for and Arthur finds himself giving up control completely. Head massage doesn’t sound like anything special but to his bewilderment, it’s the most relaxing thing ever. At some point, he even starts dozing off. At least he thinks he does because he nearly jumps out of his skin when Merlin says his name.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” he snaps his eyes open, looking up at Merlin upside down, seeing the other man smiling fondly.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“N-no?” he stutters, cheeks growing pink.

“Of course,” Merlin says in the way that screams he doesn’t believe him but humors him anyway. “Well, I’m all done here. How are you feeling?”

“Weirdly disconnected from my body,” he says with a grunt, attempting to sit up. “Shit, I don’t know how I’ll get any work done for the rest of the day.”

“What time do you finish?”

“Officially? Around five. Actually? Seven. Sometimes eight.”

“God, that’s disgusting.”

“You have no idea.”

“Thankfully, I don’t,” he agrees. “I’ll let you get dressed. Meet me in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s with sloth speed that Arthur puts his clothes on. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of Merlin’s busy schedule and can only hope he’s not stalling.

He squints at the bright light of the lobby when he emerges from the massage room. When his eyes adjust, he spots Merlin walking towards him with a glass of water. “Here, have some water.”

“Thanks,” he accepts without objection, just because he’s barely standing. He doesn’t know what Merlin’s done to him but it feels like his body doesn’t even belong to him. He has no idea how he’s gonna drive back to work without driving himself into a street-lamp.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks when he’s chugged down the whole glass, reaching for his wallet.

“Oh. It’s already paid for. Freya used your credit card when she booked you in.”

Arthur blinks at him blankly. How dare Freya pay for something that Arthur hadn’t even agreed to yet?!

Yeah, as if she would ever take a no for an answer.

He sighs, pulling out a twenty pound bill regardless. “She would, wouldn’t she. That little shit,” he grumbles under his breath. “At least let me tip you,” he holds a hand with the bill to Merlin.

“Actually, she included the tip, too,” he says sheepishly, giving Arthur a crooked smile.

“Bloody hell,” he huffs indignantly, then takes a deep breath. “Whatever. Just take it.”

“But-”

“Merlin. Take. It. You’ve done a great job,” he insists, holding eye contact.

Merlin still hesitates at first but resigns eventually. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Okay. Thank you, Arthur,” he smiles appreciatively as he accepts the money. He bites his lip, seemingly in thought, then turns around and plucks one business card from the pile on the desk, grabs a pen and writes something down. “Here,” he turns to Arthur, holding the card to him. “If you ever feel like coming back for another massage.”

Arthur takes the card, noticing that Merlin wrote another number on in besides the one already printed. “Thanks but... I’m sure Freya has the number.”

“This is my personal number,” Merlin explains and Arthur’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I’m not always able to pick up the phone here but if you text me on my personal number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, that’s very... um... I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Merlin mumbles, fidgety. Arthur finds it both amusing and confusing.

“Well, I should get going. Thank you again.”

“Oh! Of course, don’t let me keep you,” he rushes to say. “See you next time?”

“Yeah.” As non-committal as he sounds, he finds he means it. Something’s telling him he’ll be back sooner or later. Probably sooner.

“Take care of yourself, Arthur,” Merlin calls as Arthur opens the door on his way out and his heart skips a beat at the genuine tone.

He turns around to give the man one last smile before the door shuts behind him.

“So? How was it?” Freya advances on him as soon as he comes back. He slumps into his chair, sitting upright when Freya places a box of takeout in front of him.

“Fine.” Freya is not impressed. “It was good, okay?” he adds, opening the box to reveal his all-time favorite pad thai and all but inhales the food.

“Told you,” she says smugly, ignoring Arthur’s glare. “Gonna go again?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s convincing.”

“Shut it, Freya,” he shoots back. “I got his business card. I’ll give him a call when I feel like it.”

“I can do that for you.”

“Nope, thanks. I’m sure I can manage to make a phone-call myself, even without an intervention of my obnoxious assistant.”

Freya throws a balled-up napkin at him. “Ungrateful prat,” she retorts and stomps out of his office.

“I heard that!”

Arthur lasts exactly four days and two hours before giving in and taking Merlin up on his offer to text him on his personal number to book another appointment. He didn’t expect to snap so quickly but after waking up the next day after his massage, refreshed and chirpy, feeling as though he had a brand new body - who could blame him, really.

Hey, Merlin. It’s Arthur. I was wondering if you had a slot available this week?

There, simple and straight to the point. Freya said that Merlin is usually booked out weeks in advance but asking never hurt anybody.

His phone chimes with an incoming message about ten minutes later.

Hi, Arthur! Nice to hear from you again. :)

Sure thing. Did you have a specific day and time in mind?

Nope, he didn’t. He was willing to adjust his schedule just to squeeze in an hour.

Not really. Freya implied that you’re usually fully booked so I thought I’d leave that up to you.

She’s over-exaggerating ;) I can make time.

Oh, God, he’s one of those people. Emojis and shit.

Oh. Okay, then. Thursday work for you?

It does :) What time?

This is... unexpectedly easy. He should have never let Freya bullshit him. But that’s what she does. She’d do anything to get her way and make Arthur do whatever she wants. No Christmas bonus for her this year!

Is 6pm too late?

As a matter of fact, he never finishes before six. Hell, he never finishes before seven. But maybe his friends are right. Maybe he should make time for himself once in a while. It won’t kill him, will it?

Thought you didn’t finish work until ungodly hour :D

He’s already typing out a reply but Merlin beats him to it with another message.

And it’s not too late. I’ll write you down for 6, then ;)

Oh. That easy, huh?

Thank you, he sends first, then rushes to add an explanation. I can make an exception once in a while. He hesitates with the next part but decides to throw caution to the wind, just this time. It’s worth it.

He regrets it as soon as he hits send, but doesn’t get a chance to wallow in it for too long before Merlin’s reply comes.

Oh no, now there are expectations I need to live up to :O

Jk. Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself last time. See you Thursday ;)

Red to the tips of his ears, he types out a quick see you before pocketing his phone, busying himself with the remaining paperwork in hopes it will calm down his racing heart.

He’s not that lucky.

On Thursday, he wraps up his work just before 5:30, hoping it’s enough time to get through the traffic.

It is, as it turns out.Though he’s cutting it close, parking the car just two minutes before six.

“Sorry, I underestimated the traffic,” he rushes to apologize when he bursts through the door, finding Merlin lounging peacefully on the sofa, swiping through his phone.

As soon as Merlin lifts his eyes to meet Arthur’s, his whole face lights up with a wide smile. “Hey! No problem at all. You’re my last massage for today, so no rush.”

“Thanks but it’s already late. I don’t wanna keep you any more than needed.”

Merlin dismisses his worries with a wave of a hand. “Nonsense. It’s no trouble. Come on in,” he smiles encouragingly and Arthur dutifully follows him to the massage room. It looks exactly the same but Arthur feels much more at ease than last time, now that he’s familiar with it.

“Thank you again for finding time for me,” he says gratefully because it feels like he hasn’t said it enough.

It earns him an indulgent smile. “I was happy to do it. It’s no trouble, really,” Merlin repeats and Arthur takes the hint.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes. “You know the drill by now, right? I’ll be back in a few.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Merlin nods his head in acknowledgement, leaving the room to give Arthur privacy.

Similarly to last time, Arthur hangs his suit and shirt and folds the rest of his clothes, laying face down on the table and covering himself with the sheet. As promised, Merlin knocks on the door a couple minutes later, entering when Arthur gives him a go-ahead.

“Any requests today?”

He suppresses the urge to crack an inappropriate joke. “Not really. Same as last time is good.”

“Alright,” says Merlin and he starts the massage exactly in the same way he did last time, humming appreciatively when he rubs at Arthur’s shoulders.

“You’re not nearly as tense as before. Both literally and figuratively,” he points out.

“Yeah,” Arthur agrees. “I felt really good when I woke up the next day. All loose and relaxed.” He clears his throat, cringing at his wording. “And I was just nervous because it was my first time, I guess. Now that I know the ropes, it’s easy to just...”

“Let go?” Merlin finishes for him and... is that smugness he hears?

“Y-yeah,” he replies, feeling silly all of sudden.

“I’m glad to hear that. Glad I could help.”

“Me too.”

They remain silent after that. While Merlin doesn’t do anything out of the ordinary - or rather, anything that would be different to last time - Arthur can sense a shift in the energy in the room. In Merlin. In himself. He might be imagining it but he would swear that Merlin’s hands... linger - which is kinda a stupid thing to say, this is a massage after all, touch is a crucial component here - but... yeah... that’s what it feels like.

Every touch of Merlin’s hands on his body feels amplified, Arthur nearly vibrating in response to... he has no idea what he’s responding to. He only knows it feels good.

It feels right.

When Merlin asks him to flip onto his back, he’s relieved to find that the humiliating experience from last time is not gonna be repeated - no awkward boners today, ladies and gentlemen!

He hisses through his teeth when Merlin presses into a tender spot of his arm.

Merlin’s immediately apologetic. “Sorry! I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive here.”

“ ‘s fine,” he mumbles drowsily. “I might have overdone it in the gym today.”

“When did you have time to go to the gym?”

“Before work. Around five.”

“God, that’s disgusting. Why would you do that?” Merlin sounds truly appalled which only amuses Arthur.

“I’m too tired by the time I finish work. At least this way, I get a bit of a boost in the morning.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

“Shut up, Merlin. Without the gym, I wouldn’t have the ass you like so much.”

He snaps his eyes open in panic and finds Merlin gaping at him in shock.

“I... I did not... ugh...”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that, I swear! I’m just really tired, basically falling asleep. I just talk shit when I’m like that.”

Forget the boner. This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him.

Funnily enough, his stammering helps Merlin fight through his shock and now he’s more entertained than anything.

“No filter, huh? I can relate,” he brushes the whole thing off and resumes massaging over Arthur’s arm, softer this time and Arthur would moan appreciatively at the soothing effect the touch has on his sore muscles but given his previous faux pas, he doesn’t think it’s the right time for it.

Merlin works his way down to his hand, paying special attention to the spot at the base of his thumb that is always so stiff after spending hours and hours every day typing on his laptop.

A weird thing happens after that. Same as the last time, Merlin slides his fingers in between Arthur’s, squeezing and pulling until he hears a cracking sound of the joints. That is all well and good but instead of pulling away, he remains with their fingers interlaced. It almost feels... almost feels like they are holding hands.

Arthur opens his eyes again to give Merlin a questioning look but Merlin is staring at their joined hands instead, an expression on his face that Arthur can’t really decipher but if he were to guess, he would almost call it... longing.

Merlin must realize what he’s doing because his eyes widen as they lock onto Arthur’s, panicked and so blue.

“Sorry!” he blurts out, pulling away and ducking his head as he makes his way to the other side to repeat the process on the other hand.

Arthur feels the air around them grow thicker. He doesn’t know what happened exactly and doesn’t dare ask.

He can tell Merlin keeps himself in check as he finishes with his other side and it’s not long before he moves to the head massage.

After all of that, it’s really hard for Arthur to relax but he does his best as to not make things even more awkward.

He’s equally relieved and disappointed when Merlin’s hands disappear, signaling that their session has come to an end.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?” Merlin asks stiffly.

“Okay,” Arthur agrees, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding when Merlin shuts the door behind him.

Since he knows he doesn’t have to rush because he was the last client today, he takes his time putting the clothes on and mentally prepares himself for facing Merlin in a few moments.

It takes all of his courage to maintain eye contact when he leaves the room, coming to the desk where Merlin’s already waiting for him with a glass of water.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t finish the whole glass, his stomach too unsettled for that and pulls out his wallet.

“I know for sure Freya didn’t pay in advance since I booked the massage myself this time,” he comments in what he hopes is a light-hearted tone. It works because it draws a chuckle from Merlin.

“You’re not wrong,” he agrees, going quiet again but shaking himself off at Arthur’s expectant look. “Oh! Sorry, it’s seventy pounds.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow in surprise. While he wouldn’t know anything about the regular massage price, it doesn’t seem too much considering how popular Merlin is. According to Freya, anyway.

He plucks out two fifty dollar bills and hands them over. Merlin blinks at him in confusion. “Um... that’s a bit--”

“Just take it. You deserve it. You’re good and you went far and beyond to make time for me even at the late hour.”

“It was no tr--”

“Merlin, will you shut up and take the bloody money?” he nearly whines at the man’s stubbornness, relieved when Merlin eventually gives in.

“You’re so bossy,” he shakes his head almost fondly.

“Goes with the territory. I’m the CEO after all.”

“In that case, that was a lousy tip for a CEO.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

And just like that, the tension has disappeared and they are back to their easy banter.

“I’m just teasing,” Merlin reassures unnecessarily, a dopey smile still in place. “Let me know if you wanna do this again, yeah?” He sounds unsure, although why, Arthur has no idea.

“Actually, if you really don’t mind, could we make it a weekly thing?”

“Oh,” Merlin says with surprise. “Sure. Thursday again? Or do you want a different day?”

“Thursday is good. Six o’clock?”

“Yeah. Yeah, works for me.”

“Brilliant,” Arthur smiles back. “I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Looking forward to it.” The way Merlin’s face softens further shouldn’t make Arthur’s stomach do flip-flops but for some reason, it does.

Oh, no. Abort, abort!

“Yeah. See you,” he mumbles and all but runs to his car.

Arthur lets out a girly squeal when Freya slams a pile of papers onto his desk.

“Why haven’t you gone see Merlin again?” she asks accusingly and... wait, what?

“Excuse me?”

“I thought you liked the massage. That you felt better after. I thought you’d go back.”

Well, not that it’s any of her business but...

“I’ve been like four more times since,” he argues back, watching Freya’s furious expression turn confused.

“No, you haven’t. There’s no way you could have altered your schedule yourself without me noticing.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, annoyed that he, the fucking CEO, has to explain himself to his assistant. “Yes, I have. I’m going today, actually. I go every Thursday after work. Well, I finish early, so I can be there at six. Which, by the way, you could have done the first time around. I truly don’t understand why you’d rather mess with my appointments to get me a rushed massage on my break instead of simply booking one in the evening.”

If anything, Freya grows even more confused. “You’re lying.”

Arthur positively bristles at the insult. “I’m not!”

“You so are. Merlin doesn’t work evenings. And he doesn’t work weekends. His last bookings are for 4 o’clock. Hence why I had to book you for your break.”

He’s already preparing a come-back to defend himself when the words finally sink in. He snaps his mouth shut.

Then why... why did Merlin agree to Thursday evenings? That doesn’t make any sense.

“Are you sure you’ve got that right?” he asks instead because... because if it’s true, it puts many things into perspective.

Like the fact that Merlin literally beams every time Arthur shows up.

Or the fact that his touch seems to linger, seems to grow more and more intense with every visit. Like he’s enjoying touching Arthur.

At first, Arthur thought it was just his imagination, but upon checking the time when he got to his car only to find Merlin had extended the massage by at least ten or fifteen minutes, it was obvious that he wasn’t making it up.

Most importantly, it would explain why Merlin started texting Arthur randomly, usually on Fridays to ask how he was doing, if he felt alright and so on.

It would even explain why he would sometimes text on the weekend too.

It did not explain why Arthur indulged in the texting.

It did not explain why it was the highlight of his days.

“I’m sure,” Freya replies, confirming his growing suspicion. When he doesn’t react, she turns concerned. “Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitates. “You’re not lying.” A statement, not a question, but he still answers it.

“No.”

“Oh,” she breathes, out of words.

“Do you...” He clears his throat. “Do you know why Merlin would make an exception for me?”

The glint in her eyes suggests that she might have a good idea about that, but doesn’t say so. “I think you should ask Merlin that.”

Yeah. Yeah, he should.

He will.

“You seem very... serious today. What happened?”

“Why did you agree on 6pm Thursdays?” he asks directly before he loses the nerve.

“Huh?” Merlin blinks at him.

“Freya told me you don’t do evenings. Why would you let me impose on your time?” God, he feels so stupid.

“Oh,” says Merlin. “Well, first of all, you’re not imposing.”

“But-”

“Second, working for yourself has a lot of perks. Like that I can do with my time as I see fit.”

“So you decided to spend it on me.”

“More like spend it with you.”

Spend it with-- oh. Oh.

“What? Why?”

Unexpectedly, Merlin snorts. “You don’t know?”

No. No he doesn’t.

“No.”

“Oh, my, you’re a right dumbass.”

“Excuse you?!”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, apparently running out of patience. “I simply like you, okay? At first, I agreed because you seemed like you could use some relaxation. Quite a bit of it, really.”

Arthur bites his lip, hesitating with the next question. “And then?”

Merlin sighs, shoulders sagging almost in defeat. “And then I just liked seeing you.”

Arthur takes in a shaky breath, both startled and excited by the admission. “Why didn’t you just ask me out, then?”

Merlin laughs, but there’s very little humor in it. “That’s hardly professional, Arthur.”

“That’s what worried you?”

“Of course it did! It does! Jesus, Arthur, you have no idea,” he shakes his head, “no idea how much I have to hold myself back when I have my hands all over you.”

Arthur swallows audibly, noticing for the first time how dry his throat has gotten. Well, here goes nothing.

”What if... what if I don’t want you to hold back?”

Merlin stares at him with his mouth hanging open, his gaze roaming over Arthur’s face in search of something. Probably a confirmation.

“Arthur, that’s not--”

“It’s 6:02,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“It’s two minutes past six. You should have started with the massage by now.”

Initially, Merlin doesn’t respond, looking as though Arthur’s talking in a different language. When Arthur holds his eyes, hoping to prove his point, he resigns on any further arguments.

“Come on in then,” he instructs tiredly and Arthur follows him to the room. He’s shedding his jacket even before they get there. He hangs it and starts taking off his tie just as Merlin turns around to face him.

“Okay, I’ll let you--” He cuts himself off when Arthur pulls the tie over his head, throwing it on the chair and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“Don’t bother,” he says, too pleased with himself when Merlin stays rooted to the spot, openly staring.

“Uh...” Is all he manages when Arthur gets rid of the shirt, exposing his chest (which - it’s not like Merlin’s never seen it before anyway) and begins working his belt and trousers open. Soon, he’s pulling them down together with his briefs, stepping out of his shoes in the meantime.

As he straightens up, completely naked, he takes a few seconds to appreciate the way Merlin looks at him, his jaw practically hitting the floor. Lips twisting into a smug smile, he turns to the table to climb on it, settling on his stomach as he does every time, except now he doesn’t bother covering himself up with a sheet.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he calls with barely concealed amusement when Merlin doesn’t move an inch.

“Uh... yeah. Yeah, let me just...” he stutters, reaching for the sheet.

“Leave it.”

“W-what?”

“No point.”

“But--”

“Merlin,” Arthur says darkly, “leave it.”

Thank fuck, Merlin actually listens and abandons the sheet in favor of grabbing a bottle of oil, pouring some in his hands with trembling fingers.

“Arthur...” he tries one more time, hesitant.

“Merlin,” Arthur returns. “Shut up.”

He hears Merlin exhale shakily and then, the familiar sensation of oil-slicked hands takes over all of his senses. He sighs in relief when the touch causes his body to go completely lax as it always does.

Merlin’s hands are unusually tentative, like he’s still not sure he’s got Arthur’s permission to touch him - like this - after what he admitted to him. It’s for that reason that Arthur starts making deliberate noises of pleasure, humming softly, or outright groaning and moaning when Merlin arrives to a particularly sensitive spot.

Above him, Merlin begins making noises of his own, but he sounds more pained than anything. Out of curiosity, Arthur turns his head to the side to peer at Merlin, just to be able to see what expression is on his face right now.

He doesn’t get that far because all of his attention is stolen by the very visible, very prominent bulge pressing against the front of Merlin’s trousers.

“Shit,” he utters before he can stop himself, feeling his dick twitch helplessly where it’s almost squashed between his body and the table.

Immediately, Merlin freezes on the spot, his breath hitching.

“I... Arthur...”

Arthur lets out another moan at witnessing Merlin’s obvious desire for him and returns his head to the previous position.

“You can do my legs now,” he says suggestively, but it sounds more like an order. For a moment, nothing happens. Merlin doesn’t withdraw his hands but he doesn’t move either. Arthur is about to impatiently prompt him to action but in the end, Merlin goes willingly, moving around the table until he’s standing at Arthur’s feet.

He covers his left leg with oil and proceeds to massage it from the foot up, almost as if nothing unusual is happening.

It’s not until he makes his way past the knee, to the hamstrings and inner thigh, that Arthur feels him falter, the pressure letting off and in a desperate attempt to urge Merlin on, he spreads his legs further apart.

Behind him, Merlin makes a choked off sound, his grip on Arthur’s thigh tightening.

“A-Arthur,” he says like a prayer and Arthur feels himself grow harder the lower Merlin’s voice drops.

“Go on,” he orders and this time, Merlin recovers faster, sparing barely a few seconds before he starts rubbing his thigh in circular motion, slowly working his way up, up, all the way to his ass - his very exposed ass.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, barely audible, but Arthur hears him all the same. He knows what he’s asking and in lieu of an answer, he digs his knees into the table to push his hip up and back, groaning when the movement provides friction to his now fully erect cock.

“Do it,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please.”

Merlin makes an indescribable sound and then his slick fingers are dipping tentatively between his cheeks, brushing against his entrance.

Arthur feels his pulse quicken, heat spreading throughout his whole body at the single touch.

“Gods, Arthur, the sounds you make...” Merlin praises, rubbing at his opening in tiny circles.

“Merlin,” he returns, attempting to spread his legs further apart. Merlin all but growls at the display and then he’s bending over to pepper kisses over Arthur’s naked shoulders, even as his fingers press against him more insistently.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Arthur,” he mumbles into his skin and Arthur trembles at the soft-spoken words.

“Fuck me,” he moans, hitching his hips up. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Shit, Arthur, you can’t just.... can’t just say stuff like that.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just hurry up and get on with it,” he tries to sound irritated but it falls flat when a whine is torn out of his throat as Merlin enters him with one finger.

“Shit. Shit...”

“Payback,” Merlin laughs, kissing just behind his ear.

“Merlin, I swear to God...”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” he retorts with fondness and starts pumping the finger in and out.

Satisfied when Merlin actually listens, Arthur is able to relax again, offering himself to Merlin’s skilled hands.

He is nothing but gentle as he works Arthur open, adding more oil before a second finger joins the first, then a third one.

Under him, Arthur’s rolling his hips against the table, seeking as much friction as he can because Merlin’s taking too bloody long, checking on him every two fucking minutes. Just as he’s about to call him out, the fingers brush against his prostate, successfully stealing all the words out of his mouth, together with his breath.

“Fuck,” he grips at the edge of the table, struggling to breathe.

Merlin chuckles at his reaction. “You like that?” he asks smugly, totally unhelpful and unnecessary and hits that spot again.

“Would l-like it better if you f-finally got your dick in m-me,” he trips over his tongue, panting.

“Impatient,” Merlin clicks his tongue but before Arthur can tell him where he can stick it (pun intended), Merlin’s fingers leave him.

His breath hitches at the sudden emptiness and in hopes of speeding up the process, he gathers his strength to hitch himself up until he’s on all fours. He expects Merlin to climb up behind him but instead, there’s a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to twist to the side.

“Not like that,” Merlin explains, nudging him until he’s turned over completely, facing him. “I want to see you.”

Arthur wants to crack a joke, call Merlin sappy and whatnot, but he can only blush.

“Oh.”

“Can you sit on the edge?” Merlin instructs, helping him to get into position. He manages just fine by himself, sitting on the side of the table with his legs hanging off. He watches, mesmerized, as Merlin rids himself of his T-shirt and trousers in under ten seconds, feeling accomplished at seeing him so impatient himself even though he chastised Arthur for it only minutes ago.

“Eager, are we?” he teases, hearing the blood rush in his ears. Merlin gives him a dark look, clearly disapproving of his tone, and takes the final step until he’s standing between his open thighs, grabbing him by the hips and pulling forward.

The movement is so sudden that it sends Arthur flat onto his back, hips hanging off the table. Merlin nudges him to wrap his legs around him and braces himself against the edge with his hands.

“You’re such a bloody tease,” he chides with a shake of his head.

“Shut up, Mer-- fuuuck,” he nearly chokes as Merlin’s cock breaches him without a warning, sliding in fully with one push. “Shit.”

“Okay?” Merlin checks with a quake in his voice, proving he’s not as collected as he makes himself to be.

“Y-yeah. Just move already.”

Merlin chuckles. “So bossy.” Then proceeds to do just that. He pulls back almost completely before pushing back in, again, and one more time until he’s settling into a rhythm.

It takes Arthur a couple more minutes to catch his breath but when he does, he focuses on meeting Merlin halfway, although the position barely allows it.

“M-Merlin.”

Merlin snaps his hips almost violently at hearing his name tumble from Arthur’s lips in that tone and Arthur moans loudly when he drives directly into his prostate.

“Fuck! Fuck, Merlin. R-right there.”

“God, Arthur. It‘s so good. You’re so good.”

Arthur keens at the praise, urging Merlin to go faster.

Instead, Merlin halts all the movement, earning a desperate whine from Arthur. He chuckles at the reaction and leans forward to slide his hands underneath him to pull him up until he’s sitting up, their chests close enough to touch.

“Arthur,” he whispers in the space between them before there’s none because suddenly, Merlin’s crashing their lips together, unexpected and so good. He swallows the surprised sound from Arthur’s lips, licking into his mouth.

Arthur moans in agreement, wrapping him in his arms and deepening the kiss.

Merlin grabs him by the hips again and starts a new rhythm, his thrust shorter but harder.

Arthur whimpers against his lips, squeezing Merlin between his thighs. He gives up any effort to help Merlin out and decides to kiss the living hell out of him while Merlin plows his ass.

It works just fine and it’s not long before Merlin’s thrusts grow erratic and uncoordinated.

“A-Arthur,” he chokes out between kisses. “I’m gonna...”

Instead of replying, Arthur takes his lips in another kiss and clenches around his cock, drawing a hiss from him.

“Arthur!”

“Yeah, come on,” he encourages and clenches his ass again.

Merlin manages two, three, four more thrusts before he stills, buried to the hilt and spills himself inside Arthur. He presses his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, panting against the sweaty skin while his hips continue their subtle grinding motion.

Arthur presses a kiss to his temple, sliding his fingers through the dark locks, marveling at the silkiness.

Merlin lifts his head to peer at him from under his lashes. His pupils are blown wide, overtaking all the blue of his irises. There’s a lovely flush to his cheeks and the way his fringe sticks to his sweaty forehead is almost endearing.

Arthur’s never seen him like this and he wants to appreciate the view but doesn’t get much time because then, Merlin is untangling his legs from around him and slides to his knees in front of Arthur. He gives him a little smirk before opening his mouth wide and swallowing his cock.

“Nngh!” Arthur yelps with surprise, throwing his head back in unexpected pleasure.

“Shit, Merlin.”

Merlin hums around his cock and starts sucking him in earnest. It feels so good he can’t even feel embarrassed when he feels Merlin’s come leaking out of him and to his shock, he also feels Merlin’s fingers slide into him again, hitting his prostate with deadly precision. “Merlin!”

It barely takes another half a minute before Arthur’s screaming himself hoarse as his orgasm overtakes him and he comes in Merlin’s mouth. Still, Merlin’s mouth doesn’t leave him, working him through his release instead until he’s whimpering from over-sensitivity and pulling at his hair to pry him off.

Merlin releases his cock with an obscene sound that echoes in the small room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands up between Arthur’s open legs.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing he asks and Arthur can’t help but laugh.

“Are you for real?” Merlin just blinks at him. “We should have done that ages ago, instead of the massage.”

Merlin groans in annoyance. “That’s not the nature of my business, Arthur!”

His irritation only amuses Arthur further. “You could make an exception for me,” he teases, pulling Merlin closer and Merlin goes willingly, although the scowl is still on his face.

“That depends on how much you’ll tip me,” he shoots back.

“Oh, I’ll tip you all you want, Merlin.”

Merlin slaps the back of his head gently. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Hmm. But I think you like it,” he says smugly, pulling him into another kiss, letting out a moan when he tastes himself on his lips.

“You’re awfully confident for someone who just got fucked on a massage table.”

“You mean for someone who just talked his masseur into fucking him on a massage table.”

“I think manipulated is better-fitting.”

“Or seduced.”

Merlin scoffs. “You did not seduce me.”

“Oh, really?” he teases. “I’d say you gave it up pretty easy after seeing me in my birthday suit.”

“I did not!”

“You did, though.”

“Your mind is misleading you.”

“Whatever you say,” Arthur concludes dismissively, then gives Merlin a wicked grin. “Next time, you’re gonna lie down on this table and I’m gonna ride you.”

Unsursprisingly, Merlin all but chokes on thin air. “That... uh... sounds... agreeable.”

“I’ll say.”

“You’re so annoyingly confident.”

“Just because you make it so easy.”

“Arthur.”

“Merlin,” he huffs. “Shut up. And kiss me again.”

And for once, without a single protest, Merlin does just that.

OMFG, Merlin! You DIDN'T!

Huh?

Don't "huh" me! You know bloody well!

Apparently not.

You fucked my boss!

!!! JFC, I can't believe he told you! :O

I sent him your way so he got that stick out of his ass. Not for you to replace it with your dick!

He didn't. His limp did, jsyk.

He could have hurt his leg or something...

And he brought me coffee. He'd never brought me coffee before! I've never seen him in such a good mood!

Your welcome :-*

*You're

That's disgusting. I'm never getting a massage from you ever again!

Oh, well... it was worth it :-p

*Freya has left the chat*

[thestraggletag]

Three Appointments and a Wedding

AN: Hi, @magicalgiven it is I, your Secret Santa! If I’m not mistaken we are both Argentinians in which case commiserate with me over the fucking hot weather we’ve been having. Because it fucking sucks. It was a pleasure to be your Santa, and I’m sorry this fic didn’t get smutty. I tried to add as much spice at the end as I could. It was challenging but fun because the accidental engagement prompt has been done a lot in the fandom so it was nice to try and put my spin on things. I hope you like it!

Prompt: Accidental engagement and consequences.

Summary: Mr Gold would do anything to help his only son plan his wedding, even if it is getting mistaked for the groom over and over as his crush gets mistaken for the bride. Over and over.

Rating: PG-13

He reminded himself that Bae had been clear about his distaste for a big wedding, and Emma as well. As far as they both were concerned they were better off with a simple civil ceremony and a honeymoon in Florida. But Emma’s parents insisted that their only child, their little princess, marry in style, so something grander was decided upon. He had to admit he hadn’t put up much of a fight. He did not have a lot in common with the Nolans- no matter how much David insisted on treating him like best mates whenever they met- but he did agree with them on the wedding. Bae was his only son and he wished to make a fuss about his wedding as well.

So he couldn’t really say no when Bae called to ask him to please take his place at a catering appointment in Portland. He had been summoned to a surprised meeting with a client that was a rather big to-do at his job. He did something related to web design that he couldn’t for the life of him understand, but it allowed him to work from home most of the time and stay in Storybrooke, so he was glad to be of assistance if he needed it.

He arrived at the catering business with a bit of time to spare, introducing himself and letting the person checking the appointment know he was waiting for someone. Not Miss Swan, because apparently she also had urgent business that could not be delayed- she did work in law enforcement, so there was a small chance she wasn’t lying to get out of “boring wedding stuff” as she kept calling it right in front of her mother and likely to annoy her. He had been told she would send Miss Lucas as a replacement, since she knew her way around a menu. He did not look forward to it, though perhaps he could amuse himself with trying to figure out how to raise the subject of the diner’s rent being due next week over talk of canapes. 

“Mr Gold, you got here before me!”

He turned around, a part of him recognising instantly that charming Australian lilt. He looked slightly down to find Miss Belle French, the town’s librarian as of three years. She was dressed, as always, rather charmingly, and looked less out of place in the city than in their small town. 

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long. The original plan was for Ruby to fill in for Emma, but Granny’s arthritis started acting up so she had to stay and help at the diner. Oh, please don’t tell Granny I told you that or she’ll never forgive me.”

He recalled she was an old friend of Miss Swan’s, from before she came back to Storybrooke, back when she was living in New York as a bit of a rebellion against her parents, doing bounty hunting work of all things. They had been roommates while Miss French went to NYU for her master’s in Library Science and worked at an antique bookstore. He knew only because he knew the bookstore and thought it smart to hold onto that piece of information. Book restoration and re-binding wasn’t his specialty, so it was nice to know of someone he could consult with if the need ever arose.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Miss French. I will even abstain of using the information against Granny the next time she tries to overcharge me for coffee. I hope you understand what a sacrifice that is.”

She laughed and he tried to pretend he didn’t feel overly smug about it, turning instead to open the door for her.

“Oh, Mr Gold, I see your fianceé is here! Lovely to meet the future Mrs Gold.”

He fumbled, his brain too caught up in what had just been said to register the small step on his way. He righted himself just as Miss French stammered a surprised denial.

“Oh, right, I apologise for assuming you would change your name after marriage, Miss Swan. Please, follow me.”

The man, a strongly-accented Frenchman, if his ears did not deceive him, swept past them and deeper into the shop, forcing them both to follow. The back was a rather nice dining area, small but with lots of windows to let in natural light. It was right next to the kitchen, but it still felt private and quiet. They were ushered into a table already prepared for them and served a sample of entrées along with a card detailing the ingredients of each one.

“Well, I suppose it’s an obvious mistake to make, and it would be unkind to correct him, he’d be mortified. I hope you don’t mind playing the would-be groom for a day, Mr Gold. At least we get some nice food out of it.”

“It’ll make a nice change from Granny’s overpriced lasagna.”

She slapped him gently on the arm, trying to conceal her smile, and he was surprised at how nice the gesture felt. Not many people touched him, and less with that sort of uncomplicated ease. He was glad that Miss French felt comfortable around him.

“So, what type of food does Miss Swan enjoy?”

“You should really begin calling her Emma, you know. And me Belle, none of that Miss French nonsense. This is not some nineteenth century pretend engagement, you know. I hope we can consider ourselves a modern pretend couple.” Miss French- Belle- smiled at him over the rim of her water glass before taking a sip. “As for Emma, she likes bar food. If it was up to her we’d serve peanuts and fries for entrées and burgers as the main course. I understand her parents talked her out of it, so perhaps nothing very fancy, but tasteful at the same time.”

He had given up on the day that morning, thinking it would be spent trying to make awkward conversation with a confrontational Miss Lucas, glaring daggers at him from across a rather small table because he dared charge rent for the property her grandmother rented from him. Instead he found himself discussing food and wine with someone he was infinitely more fond of and could not even muster enough grumpiness later in the evening to snark at Bae when he called later at night to thank him for subbing for him.

“It’ll be the last time, pops, I swear.”

.

The week after the catering appointment Bae called him in a panic to beg him to go for him to the florist appointment, also in Portland. He swallowed a few choice words learned in his youth in Glasgow, closed his shop and drove to the address Bae texted him. He was somewhat less surprised than before to find Miss French there, sitting on a bench outside the shop and reading a book. Something niggled at the back of his head but when he greeted her and they got to explain their presence he realised it made a bit more sense. Miss Swan’s job was a bit emergency-heavy and Miss French was the daughter of a florist, so it made sense to send her as a replacement.

She knew her stuff, as he could tell almost as soon as they set foot into the shop, to the delight of the old, red-haired florist that handled their appointment. The librarian engaged her in a rather interesting discussion on the meaning of flowers and the importance of harmonious scents, something he had never considered before. They spent a rather lovely hour touring the greenhouse and browsing through the catalogues, with Miss French- “Honestly, Arran, it’s Belle, you agreed!”- making a game out of it, picking something and having him guess whether it was a choice for Miss Swan’s wedding or a reflection of personal taste. He learned from it that Belle liked blue as much as her outfits had already implied and that she loved hydrangeas, thought them elegant but soft.

“Too soft for Emma. She likes bold colours and is not fond of traditional flowers, so I was thinking perhaps something with bougainvilleas? They have such lovely deep pink colour, almost red. What do you think?”

It was a bit intoxicating, the smell of the flowers, the heat of the shop and Belle French talking about flowers with a passion that stirred something in him that had nothing to do with centerpieces or boutonnieres. It wasn’t until they were out of it, inhaling the crisp evening Portland air, that he realised the florist had mistaken them for the engaged couple as well, and neither of them had made any effort to correct her. Well, that would’ve been rude, he reasoned. No need to put the old woman in the spot.

.

The morning of the cake-tasting appointment he had woken up with the knowledge that he was likely to get a “surprise” call from Bae begging him to “fill in” for him at the cake shop, and he could not even bring himself to feel angry about it. The wedding was, after all, a rather rushed affair, seeing as to how it was not what either the bride or groom had planned for, so allowances had to be made for the couple. That or they both were trying to punish their parents for pushing on them a grander event than the one they had wanted in the first place.

On his way out of town he passed by the library, insisting he would drive Miss French who was, surprisingly, filling in for Miss Swan again. She didn’t seem to mind yet another disruption into her schedule.

“I love Storybrooke, but I don’t mind admitting that it’s nice to go out to a big city every now and then.”

The bakery that would make the cake- one of the few that would accommodate the short notice of the order placement- was located in Bangor, which seemed to merge big-city vibes with small-town charm. The bakery itself was lovely, with a white and beige storefront and a myriad of colourful treats on display. It smelled strongly of vanilla and chocolate inside, and there was a dreamy, romantic sort of quality to the decoration. They were ushered into a warm, cosy room where they spent the next hour and a half tasting different cakes, one better than the next.

“Emma is a bit chocolate obsessed, so I’m leaning towards the chocolate champagne one. It was delicious.”

He tried not to replay in his mind the way she had moaned at the first taste of that one, eyes closing in absolute bliss.

“I still can’t believe that little urchin had me fill in for him again, so I’m not even considering his tastes. My vote is for the strawberry shortcake.”

Belle frowned, idly liking some frosting from her fork. His left hand tightened around the napkin on his lap.

“Isn’t Bae allergic to strawberries?”

“Exactly.”

The librarian laughed, which he was rather surprised by. Very few shared his rather dark sense of humour, most found the content and his delivery of it rather off-putting. He tried not to preen at the idea. 

“Might want to hold on in killing him until after the wedding. After all, we have invested quite a few hours into the preparation already. Feels more like our wedding, in a way.”

He choked on a rather lovely piece of red velvet cheesecake, fumbling for his glass of water to try and wash it down. He realised the danger he was in, all of a sudden, perhaps too late. His crush had been safe when he had not had much of a chance to interact with the librarian and get to know her. But spending entire days with her had changed things, giving his feelings depth that he did not entirely appreciate. His instinct of self-preservation was urging him to do something. Say something mean or cutting, or close himself off. Perhaps invent some business emergency and leave, letting Belle figure out on her own how to get back to town. If she was cross with him, if she hated him, if she decided to keep his distance, he would be safe.

But, surprisingly, he found that he was rather tired of feeling safe, and of pushing people away.

.

“You know, we didn’t do half-bad in the end, all things considered.”

He turned around, tearing his eyes away from his son and his new wife trying to waltz. He was sure someone was filming it, anyway, and he’d get to tease Bae about it later. Belle looked absolutely stunning in a Halston dress, an architectural number in navy blue with a champagne-coloured lining that peeped from the folds of the skirts and a bit of a train in the back, the hem landing above the knee at the front and below it at the back. It was a far cry from what most women were wearing, in particular the friends of the mother of the bride, but it was exactly what he had expected from her: bold, flirty, and the slightest bit of out place in a small town, without really seeming to realise. Her lips were a lovely deep, dark red and smiling wide. At him, of all people.

“Yes. The flowers do look splendid, Miss French. You have quite an eye for it.”

She hooked her arm through his, looking admonishingly up at him.

“It’s Belle. Unless you’ve decided I cannot call you Arran anymore.”

If he were stronger, he would politely insist on calling her Miss French, thus gently reestablishing their more formal dynamic. It would be safer, certainly. But he found himself unable to muster the energy for it. It was a happy day, and he was ecstatic as the father of the groom should be. Seemed like the occasion to do what he wanted and not necessarily what he thought was best. Indulge a bit.

“Belle, then. I rather like how you pronounce my name, seems a shame to make you stop.”

Her eyes widened, and so did her smile. He tried to remember how many glasses of champagne he had drunk, but could not recall. He had indulged there too, but that was only because he had been sitting next to David Nolan for dinner and he had kept trying to talk to him about sports. He had made the mistake of trying to discuss the UEFA Super Cup, but that had only led to ten minutes of David Nolan referring to football as soccer and displaying no understanding of the rules of the game.

“So, how’s the proud father? Was it all you hoped it would be?”

He looked around. The venue was lovely, a manor outside Storybrooke that was used exclusively for events like weddings and such, with extensive gardens and lovely, broad balconies. The Nolans had secured the place, seemed they knew the owner and had been able to pull some strings. It was decorated a bit like an enchanted forest, in shades of silver, gold and bold touches of bright pink and dark blue.

“Well, Bae remembered his lines and didn’t step on Miss Swan’s train at any point so the wedding has exceeded my wildest expectations.”

He glanced again towards his son, dancing something a bit more lively with Emma and looking infinitely more at ease doing so. They truly suited each other, and he was glad of that. Glad that Bae would know, hopefully, nothing but love in his family he meant to build for himself.

“It’s a lovely song. Would you care to dance?”

A tricky question, since the answer was both a resounding no and a desperate yes, but he merely pointed towards his cane as a way out. It seemed he was not the only one emboldened by drink, however, if Belle’s flashing eyes and red cheeks were anything to go by.

“Oh, come on, just some gentle swaying. We could go outside, if you don’t wish others to see. It’s a bit stuffy in here anyway.”

There was no way for him to deny her, nor did he wish to anymore. He let her lead him out, into one of the terrace-like balconies attached to the ballroom, and wrapped her arms around his neck, prompting his own to wrap around her waist. They soon fell into a slow, easy rhythm, lazy and yet strangely exhilarating. He felt loose and tightly-wound at the same time, and could not decide whether he liked the feeling or not.

“It really is a lovely wedding, by the way.”

“Yes, I think we did rather well, all things considered. Certainly more than what Bae deserved, taking into account how little he worked for it.”

She tugged on his hair, he assumed as a way to chastise him. It had rather the opposite result, sending a jolt of fizzy pleasure up and down his spine.

“You rather enjoyed it, admit it. And I did too. In a way it’s sad that the wedding has happened and our outings are at an end.”

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, teeth worrying her lower lip the slightest bit. He got the feeling that there was something he was not seeing or sensing, some signal he was not quite deciphering. But it was getting rather difficult to think, with the champagne in his veins, and the feel of Belle in his arms and the way she smelt like orange blossom. 

“You look lovely, by the way.” He realised he hadn’t told her, and it seemed like a major oversight. “Stunning, really. Gorgeous. Too good to be wasting your time out on the balcony with me.”

What the fuck was wrong with him? When had he lost complete control of his bleeding mouth?

“Don’t say that. I like spending time with you. A lot.” She bit her lip again and he wondered if his blood pressure could take it. “Actually, I was hoping we could spend more time together, if you wished it.”

There was no mistaking the flirty turn of her lips, or the coyness dancing in her eyes, even to an expert in self-denial such as him. He tried to form words to reply to her, something along the lines of “Yes, please” or “Is it tomorrow night too soon?” but his vocal cords were suddenly useless, and in a sudden panic that she would interpret his stupid silence for a rejection of her advances he leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. He felt her stiffen in his arms for a second, saw her eyes widen in surprise, but the next moment she was pressing back against him, tipping her head back to better capture his mouth with her own. She took absolute control with a quiet, fierce determination that he found incredibly erotic. He was happy to reciprocate, to tighten his arm around her waist and open his mouth to her, his left hand tightening around the handle of his cane with something that felt like petulant frustration at not being able to simply drop the damned thing hold her properly, perhaps delve a hand into her hair, feel if it was as soft as it always looked. 

She seemed to read his mind, for she maneuvered them clumsily towards the rather tall balustrade. He eagerly leaned against it before dropping his cane in the nick of time to catch the librarian’s leg, which sought to wrap itself around his waist. Her obvious, undisguised want was disarming, making him forget himself in a way he had never allowed himself to-

“Papa, what the fuck?”

“Belle!”

Both him and Belle startled, with her regretfully taking a few steps away from him, leaving him to notice the chill in the air. When he glanced at the entrance of the balcony he saw his son and Miss Swan, looking radiant in her Vera Wang dress and also, bizarrely, quite smug.

“Hey, Bae, didn’t see you there.”

His accent barely made the words intelligible, but there was no helping that. He always lost control of his brogue when he was nervous.

“Clearly!” Bae sounded shrill, more child than man. Reminded him of the infamous temper-tantrums the lad had thrown once upon a time. “How could you? At my own wedding?!”

Fuck, he was right. He had been caught fucking making-out and almost doing God-knew-what just a few bloody steps away from his son’s wedding reception. What was the matter with him?

“I mean, why couldn’t you wait? I had almost won the bet!”

What?

“You only had to last until after the wedding! I was so close, pops! And you were doing so well!”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad. Now remember, Bae, you promised at least two dances with Regina’s sister. At least she’s unlikely to hit on you at your own wedding, so there’s that.”

Emma smiled up at her new husband, kissed his cheek, turned him around and directed him back towards the ballroom with a not-so-gentle smack in the ass. She smiled, gave Belle a thumbs up and an “atta girl” and walked out of the balcony, closing the French doors behind her.

“What the fuck was that?”

[thaonos]

clear the slate and start over

book: foreign affairs

part: 1 of ?

word count: 3372

As the jet flew above the renown Vancross Institute, Joey couldn't help but contemplate the implications of her arrival. Her brain racked over the countless possibilities her new life could bring. Until now, all she had ever known was certainty. As the First Daughter of Rutherland, Joey's days were meticulously planned out from the second the sun rose to the moment whatever photo op she was to attend that night concluded. Every day was micromanaged by her mother, to say the least.

She wasn't ungrateful. She wasn't. There are worse ways to live. It wasn't as if she didn't enjoy the opulence and riches that came with being the president's daughter and a generally well-known public figure. She's had two terms to grow accustomed to her new life in the public eye. Joey would say she's done well for herself thus far.

Are there nights where she lays in bed, replaying lost memories with her friends back in the city? Does it hurt not remembering the person she was before a world full of flashing lights and cameras? Haven't two terms of presidency weathered down whatever relationship she and her mom might have had after her father passed away? Joey tries not to dwell on it.

"Josephine, we'll be landing soon." Winston, her mother's advisor and close friend, strolled down the aisle. He had momentarily cut off his conversation with someone over the phone to address the blonde. "Melissa won't be able to make it, regrettably. She had to schedule a last-minute meeting with an ambassador."

Joey stiffened. Although her mother wasn't winning any Mother of the Year awards any time soon, it always stung whenever she brushed her off. "This master's program was her idea. She couldn't find the time to see her own daughter off?"

For a moment the air between them consisted only of the animated babbling from Winston's phone. The poor assistant—she's assuming, it wasn't in Winston's nature to ignore important calls—hadn't even realized Winston's attentions were elsewhere.

"I could have helped her with the campaign, you know. Prove to her that I'd be a valuable asset outside of just parading around pretending to be some trophy child. She never even considered that," she finished.

The sympathetic look that she was so familiar with now adorned the advisor's features. "Josephine, she'll find a way to repay you. I'm positive she is as unhappy about this as you are. She's your mother, she loves you."

"Correction. She's the president first, my mother second. Maybe not even second."

"It's not that simple, Josephine."

"I never said it was." Joey deadpanned.

With that, she turned away from her mother's advisor and stared back out the window. Always the observant type, Winston took the hint and walked away to attend to his call. Hearing the footsteps fade into silence as he walked towards the cockpit, Joey cast her eyes down towards the school again. Only now were they about to pass by the school completely. Joey had to admit Vancross was impressive. The institute bested every Rutherlandian university in size, no doubt. Its alumni boasted some of the most influential people and leaders in the world. Vancross offered the best education money could afford. Not to mention, its stellar reputation spoke volumes. Her mother had been overjoyed during the phone call the previous night. Supposedly, Joey's rumored enrollment at Vancross boosted her approval rating by a respectable margin.

Joey flinched at the intrusive memory. The campaign and her mother was dead last on the list of things she wanted to think about. She forced her thoughts away from politics and focused on her observations earlier. She had seen many students in the beautiful pavilion outside a large, contemporary structure. There were people playing frisbee, students scattered around making use of the many benches and tables around campus, residents walking to their dorms. There were friends laughing at stupid joke one of them had said. There were couples sitting next to each other, each lost in their own world studying. Grandeur aside, the sight reminded Joey of any other university she had visited. It was hard to believe that half of them were the sons and daughters of some of the most powerful people alive. They were proof that, if she tried hard enough, maybe she could pretend to be normal too.

A wistful glaze overtook Joey's eyes as a ding signaling the plane's landing rang out through the cabin. Vancross was an opportunity to start fresh, away from the prying eyes of the media. She could find or reinvent herself again. Everything was about to change; she could feel it. Her mind strayed back to the conversation she had with Winston.

Well, not everything.

Moments later, the plane touched down. Winston appeared by her side the instant it came to a stop. He wasted no time, already spouting out today's agenda. "Josephine, the car will arrive any second now. Your new head of security is running a bit late, so we've arranged for him to meet us at Vancross instead. Fair warning, the gates are already swarming with paparazzi. Your arrival may be the only thing our people talk about for the next week or so."

That caught Joey's attention. "Why's that? Vancross has no shortage of politicians and monarchs. I heard the Prince of Ulmeria attended only a few years ago. How am I any different from the other students?"

Winston narrowed his eyes. "Josephine, it would do you some good to be more aware sometimes. All eyes are on you right now. The Peace Summit will be here in the blink of an eye, and it doesn't take a genius to piece together why your mother wanted to send you to Vancross in the first place. These are your metaphorical baby steps in the world of politics. Not to mention, your actions at Vancross could make or break the reelection campaign. Before this, only one other president has served more than two terms. Your mother is about to be the first woman to do so." He made a show of mulling over something internally. "Also, there are two princes of Ulmeria."

"No pressure at all. You're really killing it in the motivational speech department, Winston." Joey deadpanned, rolling her blazer on. "I don't understand what me attending Vancross has anything to do with my mother, though. It's not like me failing my World History exam is symbolic of my mother's inability to deliver tax cuts."

The sound of a car horn could be heard from outside. Winston shouldered Joey's backpack, stepping aside so she could move into the aisle. "That may be so, but politics are tricky. People see you as a reflection of your mother. Not to mention, I wouldn't be so hasty to dismiss the notion. You could follow your mother's footsteps one day."

Joey started down the aisle, closely followed by Winston. "That'll be the day, Winston. That'll be the day."

As they reached the steps and walked towards the car waiting outside, Joey let her curiosity get the better of her. "Winston." The gray-haired man hummed, reaching the vehicle first and opening the door for her. Once she and Winston settled into the limousine, she continued. "You mentioned my mother meets with an ambassador today. Do you happen to know which country sent him?"

Confusion etched onto Winston's face from her sudden interest in Rutherland's diplomatic affairs. He quickly schooled his expression. "Truth be told, I'm not too sure. She mentioned the border skirmishes, so my best guess would be an Ardonian representative." Winston nodded affirmatively to himself. "Yes, that sounds about right. She would have been here if she could."

The strawberry blonde shrugged, picking at the hem of her navy-blue skirt. Truth be told, she hated wearing skirts or short dresses. She felt exposed enough in public. "Don't get my hopes up, Winston." Although she had meant it as a joke, this earned another decisive nod from the older man.

Eager to change the subject, Winston whipped out a notepad and flipped to his notes without even fumbling for the correct page. "I strongly advise you brush up on your knowledge of foreign affairs. Several other countries are sending their own delegates this year. We have it on good authority that Drivosa, Esherstein, Ithanstan, Naporvie, Pavadena, and Ulmeria are sending representatives. Your head of security should have more information on each of them."

The younger woman's brows furrowed. "That's every country in western Europe minus Ardona—not that there are any complaints there, of course. That would be a public relations disaster."

"The task may appear daunting, but this does work in our favor. You're already aware that this is a purely diplomatic move. Their support is essential in moving forward with the Ardonian Accords. Most of Western European Alliance—such as Esherstein and Ithanstan—seem to support your mother in welcoming Ardona and their allies into WEA, but there are people out there who would stop at nothing to prevent Ardona and the rest of the Eastern Powers from joining the union," he hesitated, unsure whether or not he should continue. "Especially after..."

"The war?" Joey finished.

"No." The advisor spared a hasty glance up at the partition. His voice dropped slightly. "The nature surrounding your father's death."

A flicker of emotion briefly passed over Joey's features before she adopted a blank expression. "I see. Which countries are not in support of the Ardonian Accords?" She trained her eyes forward, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. After all, it had been years. She had a duty to fulfill right now.

If Winston had noticed her behavior, he didn't let on.

"For starters, Ardona is only begrudgingly entertaining the idea. They're not happy about being practically forced into a peace treaty. This shouldn't be a problem, though. The prime minister knows what's best for Ardona. Drivosa is still upset about the humiliating loss they suffered in the Battle of Trinket Hill. You may have heard that Pavadena isn't a fan of the Ardonian Accords either. King Serrano was fond of Bleu." At the sound of her father's name. Joey's right hand clenched into a fist around the fabric of her skirt. "Luckily, Ulmeria seems to be cooperative. Prince Philip is eager to forge ahead."

The conversation died as the car lurched onto campus grounds. Joey took a glance at the flashing lights outside of the window and exhaled slowly, preparing herself. Her right hand slowly relaxed its grip. Next to her, Winston threw his notepad into his briefcase and shoved outside into the eager crowd. This routine was one of secondhand nature to the both of them at this point. Joey fixed her hair and adjusted her clothing in the few seconds she had before the door opened. She blindly grabs the strap of her backpack and turns towards the door in the same moment Winston pulls it open. Agents Demarco and Pierre are already keeping the photographers at bay.

"Josephine!" An obnoxious reporter jammed a microphone into her face. "Mike Williams with Stalker Media. Any comments on the Peace Summit looming over us? What does the Rutherland presidency think of the Ardona-Esherstein border clashes?"

Josephine rolled her eyes. Stalker Media might be one of the trashiest news outlets out there. At least the piece about Esherstein's First Son drunkenly crashing that gala the other night was interesting to read about. She was in attendance that night and had nearly choked on her drink when Alexei Vukoja drunkenly strolled in, a horde of cows trailing behind him. She'd have to ask Alexei where he found them.

Demarco pushed the microphone away and the two guards started paving the way towards the gates for Josephine. Seconds passed, and the voices began to blend as she tried to focus on the different media outlets vying for her attention.

"Josephine, over here! Smile, honey." Josephine gave the reporter forced grin as a flash went off. She turned away.

"Miss Fils-Aime! Did you see Lewis Wright's new campaign video? It's good stuff, he might just give your mother a run for her money." She shrugged innocently.

"Josephine! Josephine! Does your enrollment have anything to do with your mom's worsening approval ratings?" She avoided eye contact with that particular paparazzo.

She could see the gates by now. A few more steps separated her and freedom. Just as relief began to flood her system, another question rang out.

"Josephine, we were interrupted earlier! Do you have a moment to discuss the implications of the Ardonian Accords? Why is your mother trying to push for an alliance with Ardona given your father's assassination?"

At that, she couldn't help but whirl around, jaw clenched. She found herself face to face with the first reporter. Mark, if she recalled correctly. He had a smug smirk on his face, knowing she had taken his bait. "Why is she welcoming your rival, who your people believe is responsible for her husband's death, with open arms?"

Josephine opened her mouth to respond. Before she could make a fool of herself in front of the cameras, Winston gently turned her around and guided her towards the gates. "Really? Nothing to say, even about Ardona sending a representative this year as well?"

Joey frowned. Still walking, she looked to Winston for answers. "You didn't mention an Ardonian delegate," she whispered.

"Our intelligence indicated they wouldn't be sending anyone this year. Hopefully your new head of security will be more on top of things," He murmured in a clipped tone.

As the group crossed the gates, Joey was taken back by the contrast in atmosphere. Outside, it was suffocating. Between the cameras being shoved into your face and excessive badgering by the press, it was difficult to even hear your own thoughts. Inside, there was none of that. The tranquility made her teary-eyed. She thinks she may even hear birds. Winston quietly excused himself from the group as they reached the quad, leaving Demarco and Pierre to escort her to her room. Shortly after, the three of them reached the doorstep of her new living space for the next few years.

As the door swung open, Joey let out a small whistle. The dorm was spacious. The homey furniture made the room vibrant yet intimate. Vancross was treating her nicely. She walked in, nearly bumping into the luggage her team had dropped off a few minutes prior to her arrival. Joey slowly took in the sight of the dorm, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

With a toothy grin on her face, she triumphantly turned towards her guards. "This place makes the State Manor look quaint! Jealous, are you?"

The agents cracked a smile at her teasing. They'd worked for her family long enough to recognize that Joey struggled to enjoy herself, even in private. The First Daughter of Rutherland could afford many luxuries but being able to have fun wasn't one of them. They've learned to appreciate the young woman's refreshing personality on the rare occasion she permitted herself to be authentic and carefree.

Demarco's mouth moved to retort back, but a silvery voice rang out instead. "Almost makes you feel like royalty, huh?"

All heads turned towards the bedrooms. A young brunette stepped out from one of the rooms, planked by a burly man. "Of course, I actually am royalty, but all the dorms are this nice. I'm trying not to take it as an insult. You must be the roommate." She extended a hand. "Princess Dionne Mariana Regina Dorada de Rothschild Serrano of the Kingdom of Pavadena. This walking protein shake ad is my bodyguard Murphy."

Joey took her newfound acquaintance's hand, her easygoing smile softening into something less genuine. "Josephine Fils-Aime of the... country of Rutherland? I'm afraid those are all the names I have. I prefer Joey, though. Not sure that helps my case."

Dionne gave a dismissive wave. "Names are overrated, anyways. Luckily for you, I only go by Princess Dionne. For my new best friend, I'll accept just Dionne."

Dionne plopped down onto the couch, gesturing for Joey to join her. "Since we'll be spending an insufferable amount of time together, I thought we could get to know each other. Any dirty family secrets? Long lost half-siblings? Oh, I know! Did your first pet goldfish die as a direct consequence of your neglect and you have never been able to love anyone since?"

"As if any family secret could be kept out of the public eye for this long. Don't think I have any half-siblings, but you'll be the first to know if I find out otherwise. His name was Hugo and I took great care of him, thank you very much," Joey smiled as she received rolling eyes in response. "My mom thought it would be a great idea for me to enroll in the master's program here. She hopes I'll have some epiphany and realize I've always wanted to follow in her footsteps one day. At least I have some time away from the public. It's been a while since that was the case."

Dionne gave her a quizzical look. "I'd figure. You really sell the whole 'perfect First Daughter' image, you know. My parents always gush about how great you are with handling your image and reputation. I'd go insane if I attended the number of galas, conferences, or state dinners you do."

"I try," Joey shrugged, sudden insecurity clouding her features. She glanced around, noticing her agents' disappearance. She briefly wondered when they had slipped out without her knowing.

Dionne took note of the shift in the First Daughter's tone, rushing to amend her statement. "Not that it's a bad thing! It's admirable you're so supportive of your mom and her presidency. You hold your own against the press well, too."

Judging by the lack of change in Joey's expression, Dionne was unsuccessful. Seeing as Joey didn't seem like she was going to respond, the princess pursed her lips and continued.

"Have you taken a tour around campus?"

The Rutherlandian shook her head.

Her roommate clapped her hands together and jumped up. "It's decided, then. I'll show you around! Let me go get dressed."

"You weren't already...?" Joey trailed off as Dionne jogged to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. "...Dressed?"

Silence filled the dorm as Joey awkwardly sat there, awaiting the return of her eccentric princess roommate. Then she heard shouting outside. From the volume, she figured it was distant. Near the gates. If she was a betting woman, she'd guess another high-profile student just arrived. Curiosity peaked, she walked towards the window. She had to strain her neck a little to find the entrance, but as soon as she did, a brown-haired girl strutted through the gates.

Without turning back, the newcomer raised a middle finger towards the paparazzi as she walked away. Joey's eyebrows rose as her gaze traveled down to her ripped jeans and solid maroon blouse. As if her behavior wasn't scandalous enough, her casual attire was a bold statement in itself. Something in Joey lurched forward, drawn towards the woman with an attitude.

As the woman drew closer, Joey's breath hitched. From afar, it was easy to mistake her for anyone else. Although it had been a while since she had seen Blaine Hayes, there was no mistaking those striking green eyes up close. The last she's seen a picture of her counterpart was when Blaine was in grade school sporting a dorky haircut and neon pink braces. Time had treated her well, and, Joey had to hand it to her, those braces definitely worked. The woman she was openly gaping at now was refined, beautiful even. As Blaine and her security detail made their way towards a different building, Joey's eyes trailed the group across campus in disbelief. She must be seeing things.

"There's no way that's..." She began, mumbling to herself. She trailed off as the waving of a flag caught her eye. A fleeting glance at the top of the black vehicle pulling out of the lot confirmed her suspicions.

There was no universe in which Joey wouldn't recognize that sea green and gold striped Ardonian flag, floating mockingly around in the air.

[tumbleweedpalmer]

Saw your post about Jimmy being in a barbershop quartet and I love the idea of the reader coming home from shopping or something and finding Jimmy in his barbershop outfit and being strangely turned on by it!

Y/N has always known her boyfriend is a little bit of an oddball. Their first meeting kind of hinted at it. They’d met at a coffee shop and he’d accidentally spilled his rather large iced coffee on her. 

As he’d dabbed her off with a ridiculous amount of napkins apologizing frantically he’d joked that at least it wasn’t hot coffee as he’d once had to see a cadaver who’d had a pretty nasty past injury from a coffee burn...then, of course, he had to clear his comment up by explaining that he definitely wasn’t a psychopath and was only an assistant to the medical examiner for NCIS...and then he’d gone on to explain exactly what NCIS was....it was by far the strangest conversation Y/N had ever had in her life. 

Most people might have run screaming after that conversation, but there was something so adorable about Jimmy Palmer that Y/N couldn’t help but to like him even with his awkward conversation choices. 

So she’d quite smoothly offered to buy him a coffee to replace the one he’d spilled and he’d quite awkwardly claimed he should be the one buying her something...after all he’d soaked her dress. Of course, then it had hit him that she was trying to flirt with him and he’d agreed to the coffee...but only if he could at least buy her a muffin.

They’d had their first date right then and there. It had been nice, even if Y/N’s dress had been a little sticky from Jimmy’s amazingly sugary iced coffee choice. Jimmy had listened entranced with her even as she discussed her less than exciting job working at a bank. Jimmy easily had a way of making her feel like the most interesting person on the planet. It was something she adored about him from the very start. She had felt that his career was far more interesting though a little odd. Still though even with the more morbid aspect of his career, Y/N had been pretty smitten with him from the start, and much to her relief he had been just as infatuated with her. 

After that first date, they’d become inseparable. Their relationship has progressed to the point of her meeting his mother and he meeting her parents. They’d even moved in together and had both begun to hint at marriage being a possibility sooner than later.

Living with Jimmy didn’t mean Y/N was any less surprised by his oddness though.

This, however, was the last thing Y/N expected to come home to.

She’d entered the apartment, she shared with Jimmy, staring down at her cell phone with a shopping bag in hand. It had been an uneventful Saturday and although Y/N would have much rather spent it inside with her boyfriend, errands still needed to be taken care of. So she’d spent her morning running by the post office and then the bank and finally the farmers market.

She dropped her shopping bags off in the kitchenette calling out for Jimmy frowning when she didn’t get a response. Surely he hadn’t been called away for work, he was good about calling her if he was being called away. 

His work schedule had been a little strange to wrap her brain around. It was an odd schedule, but she made the most of the time they had together.

She made her way to the bedroom widening her eyes as she spotted him. She almost pinched herself to make sure this wasn’t all some weird dream. 

Her boyfriend stood in front of the mirror in a full-on barber quartet outfit straw hat included.

Jimmy turned to smile at her not seeming to be thrown off by the disbelief on her face. “Oh I didn’t hear you come in, So, what do you think? I’m really surprised it still fits. It’s actually a little loose, I guess I’ve lost weight since college, must be because I started hitting the gym. I’ve bulked up a little since then, so honestly, I thought it’d be too tight.”

Y/N cleared her throat her brow furrowed. “I-I uh, what? Why?”

Jimmy smiled even brighter still seeming unphased by his girlfriend’s confusion. “Oh, my old barbershop quartet group is talking about having a reunion show. I guess I never told you about it. We were called the P B & Js. I was the second J. It’s been years, I hope I can still hit the right notes.”

Y/N nodded her head slowly taking in this information. She had to admit there was something kind of adorable about all of this. This was unexpected, but then again there were a lot of things about Jimmy that were unexpected.

She couldn’t stop the fond feeling from washing over her at how proud he looked of himself as he stared back in the mirror clearly ecstatic about this all.

Ugh, why was he so adorable? She mentally groaned knowing that this was always her downfall. Any time she focused on how adorable he was she couldn't stop that familiar hot wave of desire from running through her.

She almost wanted to psychoanalyze herself at times...did she have some kind of kink for him being so adorable? 

She took a deep breath knowing she had two choices, either walk away and forget this or jump his bones and accept that the sight of him being so adorable did it for her.

She made up her mind making her way over to him leaning up and allowing her lips to slide along his neck her fingers tracing the ridiculous bright red vest that went along with his outfit.

Jimmy felt his cheeks flush a familiar wave of lust hitting him just as hard as it hit her.

He spoke his voice rising a pitch as she littered his neck with kisses. “If I’d known you had a thing for barbershop quartets I might have broken this out sooner.”

Y/N managed to let out a laugh her lips meeting his she taking his hands in hers leading him to their bed.

She spoke as she shoved him down wasting zero time straddle his lap her lips pressing to his neck once again as she spoke. “Trust me I’m just as surprised by it as you, pretty sure I just have a thing for you though. The outfit is just a nice bonus.”

Jimmy smiled leaning back taking everything she was willing to give. He spoke as she began to unfasten the buttons to his shirt. “I can perform one of our songs later...if you want.”

She spoke as she began to work her way down his body her comment making him smile all the more. “I want.”

[sooave]

The Problem With Wanting: 1

It’s 2026, and an old celebrity crush comes to haunt your old and cynical heart. You’re doing great at pretending you were never obsessed with him, and finding things about him that you don’t like. Until you’re repeatedly forced to work with him. Until he decides that he’s in love with you.

Genre: I really don’t know what to call this, but it’s not an AU, Kyungsoo’s older and still a celebrity, and it’s friends-to-lovers.

Characters: Kyungsoo x Reader 

Length: 2,314 words

Tags: Angst, Slow Burn 

Part 1 | Part 2

The problem with wanting, was that the human brain’s pathways are more easily activated for desire, rather than liking. In other words, humans naturally want things more than they actually like them. Obviously, you didn’t fault anyone for that. You knew that humans are all victims of the mechanisms of their biological systems.

Just like how you never blamed your own body for being frustratingly uncooperative when it was exactly a week before your period.

Just like how you didn’t fault Do Kyungsoo at all for confessing to you, and asking you to be his girlfriend. You knew that he just wanted you. Now if he actually had you, he’d certainly be disappointed. No, his brain would be disappointed.

Being single at age 30 was surprisingly easy for you, considering the fact that it practically made you a spinster in Asian society. Your parents’ one saving grace was that they immigrating to North America, and brought you in tow. When you returned to Korea as a full-fledged adult with a string of ex-boyfriends and old jobs behind you, it was increasingly apparent to you that Korean society was at times lovely, but hugely flawed.

Back home, the Korean aunties that your mother would bring home no longer gave a shit about the fact that you were, God forbid, an artist. And an unmarried and childless one to boot. Their own children had put them through a fair share of self-perceived grievances already, and while most of them were still conservative at heart, they knew that they lived in a society where their values weren’t necessarily correct. You knew that they didn’t all understand that their values were straight up incorrect. But at least you didn’t get harassed about your life choices.

Coming back to build a career in your birth country had you encountering situations that made you laugh and feel uncomfortable at the same time.

“You’re self-employed? How are you ever going to find yourself a husband?” You’d tell them that being your own boss in fact made your schedule much more flexible. And that you fill up the time with pursuits that actually improved your life, like cooking and yoga. Not shitty dates with people you couldn’t connect with.

Of course, the nosy aunties would continue heavily implying that your life’s purpose was to find a good husband, carry your bloodline, and take care of the home.

“Thirty?? You should have had two kids by now?” You would politely inform them that you weren’t interested in having children, and if you did, you’d adopt an orphan in need instead.

“There won’t be any good men left at this point! You’re in trouble now.” This one, you couldn’t really argue with. You were a firm believer that if someone was single for an extended period of time, there was a reason.

Most of the time, they were a shitty person. Other reasons? Nursing a heartbreak. Pining after someone unattainable. Obsessed with their career. Etcetera.

And you?

You didn’t have your priorities straight. But after a countless number of bad dates, bad relationship, mediocre relationships, and some okay ones, you kind of had an idea of what you didn’t want in a boyfriend. You were doing just peachy by yourself, for now at least.

Sure, maybe you’d want to find a life partner eventually. That would come naturally. You were also a firm believer in the fact that the best matches are found organically.

But surprisingly to you, one of the blind dates that you’d begrudgingly gone on 3 years ago was actually bearing some fruitful benefits. Your date was an assistant PD at one of the largest entertainment companies in Seoul. He was a decent guy, but was insistent about being the sole provider for his future wife. That obviously didn’t check out with you.

Luckily, he didn’t hold a grudge against you for cutting your third dinner date short once you learned of that particular value, and even suggested you as an artist for several show segments. Today, your expertise was blackboard art. Other days, it was digital painting, or watercolours. But they all focused on food illustrations.

Seung-woo, your ex-date, had a particularly annoying habit of talking your ear off while you were working. For some reason, he assumed that the several hours you spent slaving away with your arm raised over the chalk board was the perfect time to catch up with you and ramble on about his love life.

“And then, she started ordering the spicy chicken even though I had explicitly mentioned that I had an upset stomach! Really. The nerve of her.”

“Oh…” you hummed disinterestedly as you filled in the grey base colour of the fish that you were drawing for the background of this board. Apparently, some professional chef along with a celebrity guest were going to be in the kitchen today filming an episode on ways to cooking methods for fish in Korean cuisine. This particular series was something you’d seen before while you were living in the U.S., and while you felt that Korea was a bit slow on the uptake, at least they were doing something interesting with it. You didn’t get to see a lot of Korean traditional cooking methods on American-owned YouTube channels.

“So… we’re going on a second date tonight. What should I say?”

If you were in America, you would have already told Seung-Woo off for disrupting your work and being a total wuss. But this was Korea, and you couldn’t really afford to offend the very person who got you this job contract. Plus, gossip travelled like wildfire, and soon you’d be labelled as difficult to work with and saying bye-bye to your steady income.

You had to take a deep breath and set down your chalk, in fear of snapping it in annoyance.

“Did that tell you something?”

Seung-woo set down the kitchen prop that he was playing around with onto the counter.

“Tell me what?” He echoed.

“Did her action of ordering the spicy chicken tell you that she had an undesirable trait that you cannot accept from a partner?” Your tone was bordering on one that a disapproving teacher would take when reprimanding a student, but luckily Seung-woo didn’t catch that.

He wasn’t as taken aback by your mannerisms as he used to be, but ever since you explained that you spent all of your formative years abroad, he was able to rationalize all of your non-conservative behaviours.

Instead, he actually thought of your advice and comments as thoughtful and interesting. You always refrained from mentioning that your perspective came from years of counselling and therapy, in fear that he’d label you as psychotic. Seung-woo had no idea what mental health was.

After a round of hums and haws, he finally responds.

“You’re right, it did. Are you trying to say I shouldn’t go on the date tonight?”

“Hey, I just asked a question. You came to that conclusion your self!” You turn around and throw a dirty rag that you’ve been using into his chest.

That finally got him to leave you alone, after whining about your aggressiveness and how unladylike you were. Luckily, you still had plenty of time to finish the piece, and once the annoyance hindering your progress was gone, the flow started to come naturally to you.

Time began to fly by as it usually did when you were absorbed with your artwork. Before you knew it, it was already time for the segment filming to start. It wasn’t everyday that you timed your work perfectly, but today you hit the deadline exactly.

You knew that the filming was about to begin because of the camera lights had began to turn on, and a buzz of conversation had started to grow in the centre of the room. Sometimes it irked you that you were working right in front of a dozen cameras and microphones, but it was comforting to know that they had absolutely zero interest in filming you.

Seung-woo had unfortunately appeared again, appearing behind you like a golden retriever wagging it’s tail. You were packing up boxes chalk into your carrying case, attempting to ignore him as much as possible, but something he said caught your attention.

“Wait. What? Who?” You had absolutely no idea what he had said, except for the fact that a horribly familiar name fell from his lips.

“Do Kyungsoo. You don’t know of him?”

“No, I do…” Too well, in fact.

“Well, he’s here right now. I could get you an autograph if you wanted too. Just ask your oppa nicely!” He shot you a shit-eating grin and you almost want to strangle him amidst the absolute panic you were experiencing.

You weren’t experiencing a real panic attack, thankfully. But the way your hands were shaking as you placed each piece of chalk back into it’s designated slotted groove gave away that you were one-hundred-percent losing your mind. As your heart raced in your chest, you did a mental checklist of the facts that faced you right now.

You were, or you used to be, absolutely obsessed with Do Kyungsoo as a celebrity. This was back in your late teens, when you were a freshman at college.

You had not thought about him, or even looked up his name, in almost 5 years. Real life got in the way. And your cynicism.

And he was right here.

In this very room.

Suddenly, your brain was kicked into hyper-awareness mode, and it was almost impossible to resist the urge to finger comb your hair and smooth out your clothes. Fuck. You weren’t even wearing a cute outfit. Today had been a boyfriend jeans and black t-shirt day for you.

Seung-woo was still standing in front of you, looking at you expectantly, and you reminded yourself that you had to actually respond.

“Er… no. I’m good, Seung-woo,” you rolled your eyes at him, “What makes you think that I’d want an autograph? You do remember that I’m an old hag right?”

He noticed that you were having difficulty stuffing your chalk boxes back into your bag, and leans down to help you.

“Who said that you can’t have celebrity crushes at age 30? I wouldn’t shame you for that. Plus, you’re still single…” Seung-woo waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh my lord,” You mutter in English to yourself, before switching to Korean.

“Idols are for the young or the delusional. Plus, they’re just regular ol’ people just like me. You take anyone with a bit of talent and a decent face and I’m sure they could pass as an idol.” This is a mantra you’ve repeated to yourself almost a million times, and it rolls off your tongue.

“God, you’re always so cynical…ah!” Seung-woo stands up to greet someone and leaves you struggling with your bag on the floor.

“No, I’m just old,” you said to yourself as you right yourself.

And then you come face to face with a profile that you’ve started at on your phone screen, your computer monitor, and even billboards, umpteenth times. It’s closer now, way closer. You saw the slight smile lines on his cheeks, and the unevenness of his skin that hasn’t been photoshopped out. But his strong eyebrows and heart-shaped smile were the same. And his eyes.

Kyungsoo was shaking hands with Seung-woo and another PD, but his eyes flickered to you briefly as you got to your feet. And then they’re gone. Like they didn’t see you at all.

You took a deep breath and reminded yourself that he’s just another person. He probably leaves his phone ringer on. That’s something that annoys you. Annoyance. It’s your weapon against anything you’re scared of. But it’s also grounding you in this insane moment.

Reminder, you’re staff. He’s the star of the show.

“Ah! This is our chalk artist, she made the board behind us,” Seung-woo declared proudly and grabbed your arm to pull you back, just as you were preparing to sneak away from the awkward circle of personnel. You’ve never cursed so strongly in your own mind before, and a string of fuckshitfuckshitfuck was still going through your mind as you gave a tight smile and bowed. All while avoiding eye contact.

You saw Kyungsoo and a few others glance at your work and you couldn’t help but cringe. God help you, you had confidence in your work, but were you completely unprepared for your teenage/young adult celebrity crush to judge you. They politely express amazement at the board, and you robotically thank them.

Seung-woo continued to discuss some detail about the segment and you took the opportunity to duck away and escape with your bag, not even taking a second look back. You were tempted of course, as you left through the studio doors. You could even stay to watch the entire filming, and no one would object. They knew who you were.

But there was no way you would be able to not fall back into your stupid crush that you still had, if you were able to just stand and watch him cook for an hour and a half. You were too old for this.

You gritted your teeth as you got in your car, placed your duffel on the passenger seat, and buckled your seatbelt.

Today, you would be an adult and do the right thing.

Tomorrow, you’d give dating apps another go.

But right now, you imagined another universe, where he was a regular person, and so were you. Then, you could allow yourself to fall in love. You closed your eyes and leaned your head onto the cold glass of the window and allowed yourself to fantasize.

A/N: I’m totally throwing this into the void and doing this for myself but part two is coming.

[xmagicxshopx]

Spring Cleaning - Chapter 4

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Comedy Rating: PG - M ( future smut ) Warnings: None in this chapter Pairing: personal assistant!jungkook x ceo!reader Notes: AU fic. Not idol!jungkook. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: This chapter may seem like a filler but I think it’s important for character development since Kook and reader are spending time together and getting to know each other~

Tagging: @deolly​ @katebacks​

Summary: Your mother built you to be a thriving business machine. However, in her old age, she’s growing soft and wants grand kids to spoil. Your home and yard are a mess due to your busy schedule. So your mother attempts to kill two birds with one stone.

MASTERLIST || CH 1 || CH 2 || CH 3 

“Good night, Mr. Jeon.”

“Good night, Miss. Kwon.”

Last night had ended just as the night before. Only......it hadn’t? As he laid there in bed staring at the ceiling but not really seeing it, he let the events of last night play back in his mind’s eyes. You had told him that you were going to call off work tomorrow.....which would mean today. You----The workaholic who literally worked till she dropped, was going to take a day off??? It almost seemed too good to be true. Yet here he was, another morning rolling around and this time.....he wouldn’t have to watch you leave for work at the ass crack of dawn. It was Monday so normally you’d be getting up and getting ready for work.

“She seemed to really like breakfast yesterday. Perhaps I’ll see if she’s up and I can make more for her.”

Changing into a simple over sized t-shirt and some sweats, he made his way out of his room and instantly noticed the smell of coffee filling the house. Hmm......Well he knew that could have only came from one person. You. So it would seem you were already up. Not surprising but hopefully you’d still be somewhere around here and not having lied to him. Now that he had time to process everything, he was genuinely looking forward to you staying home today.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the bottom in nothing flat. Subconsciously ruffling and fluffing his shaggy long locks, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw not only you sitting at the dining table sipping on coffee, but your mother too. Well dang.

“Jungkookieeee! Darling! It’s so good to see you! Come! Have some coffee with us!”

While he had managed to keep professional eye contact with your mother, he was pretty sure he could see you visibly cringe out of the corner of his eye and he couldn’t help but internally snicker. Your mother was quite......obvious with her intentions still despite everything. However, he offered a warm and friendly smile before saying casually in a light and happy tone,

“I’d love to, Mrs. Kwon. Thank you.”

Of course she motioned for him to sit next to you and who was he to defy your mother??? Trying to keep a straight face and not grin like a moron, he took the seat next to you and decided to sneak a glance your way. You seemed to be texting someone at a rate that not even he could keep up with. If the look of deep concentration was anything to go by, he decided it was best not to say anything to you till you were done.

“How do you like your coffee, my dear?”

“Oh just black is fine, Mrs. Kwon.”

“Ugh. Gross. You’re just like my daughter. You two need more sweetness in your lives. Some sugar and cream. Lots of cream.”

Thank god he hadn’t actually took a drink from his mug yet or else he would have choked just as he nearly had on the noodle from his soup last night. What was it with these Kwon women??? Always full of surprises it would seem. After cautiously taking a sip of his coffee, he glanced over to see what your reaction had been but you simply kept typing furiously away on your phone.

“So what brings you over so early in the morning, Mrs. Kwon? Is everything alright?”

“Oh I just happened to get a frantic text from my poor Jiminnie this morning. Something about how my daughter might be in trouble because she was calling off work today. So I rushed right over.”

However, the tone that your mother spoke in was anything but worried. In fact, her voice just happened to be dripping in amusement. Something that the male instantly caught on to. Taking another sip of his coffee, he noticed you grumbling as you finally put your phone down. Goodness. Weren’t your thumbs about to fall off?

“I still don’t think it’s that big of a shock. I’m taking a day away from the office. So what???”

The table grew silent while you huffed and took a sip of your now stone cold coffee. Oh well. That was okay. It would be cold like your soul as you thought to yourself. Even though your mother liked to pick on you, even she knew now wasn’t a good moment to poke fun at your statement. While Jungkook hadn’t known you for very long, less than a week in fact, he knew enough not to comment either. It was then that your mother decided to break the tense silence as she cleared her throat and asked casually,

“So what are the plans for today, my darlings?”

That was a good question. What were your plans??? Now that you weren’t sitting there texting Jimin an entire playbook on how to run a company for just. one. day., you finally had some time to think about what you wanted to do with this time away from the office. The growling of your stomach gave you the first idea.

Grocery shopping. Ah yes. You were supposed to do that with Jungkook sometime soon. So that way he could fix food he knew you would actually like instead of just guessing. Hearing a soft chuckle over next to you, you glanced over to see Jungkook smiling to himself in amusement and delight as he silently got up from his chair before padding over to the kitchen and announcing happily,

“Mrs. Kwon, you should stay for breakfast. My treat.”

“Why thank you, dear! Mr. Jeon has quite the manners. Doesn’t he, sweetheart?”

“Absolutely selfless, he is.”

Your tone was one of a deadpanned as you silently grumbled while sipping on your ice cold coffee. You could practically feel the male snickering behind you while he shared a look of amusement with your mother. Two against one. How unfair. While Jungkook went about fixing breakfast for the three of you, your mother pipped up about how it would be a good idea to start making a list of all the groceries you’d need.

It kind of reminded you of the days where she was training you to be her successor. The one to take her place in the company that she had held so dearly once upon a time. But now it was almost like your mother was teaching you how to be a normal human being again. Honestly, it wasn’t far from the truth. You didn’t know it, but your mother felt incredibly guilty for having turned you into such a workaholic. A soul who was alive but not actually living.

As he stood there in the adjoining kitchen cutting up peppers to put in the fried potatoes, he couldn’t help but watch you and your mother at the dining table. It all felt so.......domestic? The real question was.....how did that make him feel? The initial feeling was that he liked it. But should he? This was supposed to be a job and a job only for him. Cooking, cleaning, being your personal assistant so that you could focus on your company and not have to worry about life at home so much.

So then why did it feel like he was fixing breakfast for his girlfriend and his potential mother-in-law???

Shaking his head a bit to clear it, he continued working on breakfast and decided to listen in on your conversation. Perhaps focusing on tasks such as grocery shopping would help distract him from these odd thoughts and feelings that were bubbling inside his chest and confusing his brain.

It seemed like in no time at all, a western omelet fit for royalty had been placed on three plates as well as Jungkook coming up with his own little healthy touch of fruit salad as a small side dish for each of them as they all three sat at the dining table. But not before the male had kindly offered to refill their coffee mugs. Needless to say, your mother was glowing while you were brooding.

“My my my. I’m going to have to come over for breakfast more often! I could get used to this!”

“You want him? You can have him.”

Having quickly become used to your sour humor, your words didn’t phase Jungkook a bit. As for your mother, however, she still lightly scolded you for being so rude to someone who had just slaved over a hot stove to make you breakfast. If your mother only knew. Jungkook thrived in the kitchen and being a slave was the last thing he felt like right now.

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Kwon. I take no offense to it. Please do enjoy your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Wow. When your mother was all feather ruffled and huffy and puffy......it made the two of you look so much alike. There was no denying that you two were blood related. In that moment, Jungkook learned that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. It was actually kind of cute, really. Thankfully, your mother took his encouraging words and ran with it as she finally took the first bite of the best omelet she had ever had.

Aside from the occasional bickering between you and your mother, breakfast was actually quite lovely. If it hadn’t been for looking over the grocery list the two of you had made up, Jungkook would have started feeling all domestic again and that wasn’t what he needed right now. He needed to stay focused on his job and be just your personal assistant. Nothing more and nothing less.

‘Stay focused, Jeon.’

Once breakfast was over and Mrs. Kwon insisted on helping load the dishwasher, you had made the announcement that you’d be heading upstairs to shower before accompanying your assistant to the grocery store. Both your mother and said assistant simply nodded with smiles that were nearly identical in mischief. This only caused you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at them before huffing and heading upstairs. Still not fair.

“You know, Jungkookie, there’s a carnival in town this week. Perhaps you and my daughter might wish to go?”

Dang. Your mother wasn’t going to make his latest internal struggle any easier, was she? At first, he really hadn’t minded her obvious attempts at match making. However, now that he was starting to feel these odd domestic type feelings, it was becoming much more difficult to shrug them off as just all-in-good-fun teasing.

“A carnival sounds like a lot of fun, Mrs. Kwon. Would you like to join in if we go?”

There. Maybe if he could try to turn the tables a bit, it might make him feel a little less self-conscious. While he appreciated your mother’s enthusiasm and confidence in his ability to please you, Jungkook was in no shape to be someone’s love interest. For several reasons. Reasons that he really didn’t care to think about right now.

“Oh my no. I wouldn’t want to intrude. But I think my daughter needs to get out more and she seems to listen to you better than she does me. So perhaps you could convince her to go, hmm?”

Well that didn’t work. At all. He should have known better, honestly, but it had been worth a shot. After assuring the woman that he would at least try to run the idea by you, that seemed to be enough to satisfy her and she proceeded to insist that she could handle the dishes if he too wanted to wash up before heading to the grocery store.

With that, he nodded and headed up the stairs to take a quick shower and make himself decent for the task at hand. While in the shower, it felt anything but quick as he got lost in thoughts. Thoughts of you and your mother and how he felt about having breakfast with the two of you. It was nice. Really nice. But he was probably just overthinking it. He had a tendency to do that with things that confused him.

After getting all washed up and towel drying his shaggy mop of hair, he then proceeded to comb and dry said mop. Honestly, he felt he looked more mature with long hair but dang was it a hassle to take care of. Once his dark locks were perfectly quaffed, he dressed in a light yellow button up shirt tucked into a pair of ripped skinny jeans.

There we go. Not too dressy but not too casual. Spritzing on some cologne his father got him for his birthday last year, he checked himself in the mirror one more time before determining he looked good and professional. He could only imagine how his best friend from Busan Jimin felt. Having to wear a monkey suit day in and day out being your real assistant.

If only you knew that him and Jimin knew each other. That your personal assistant and company assistant were childhood best friends from Busan. For some reason, he just didn’t have the desire to tell you yet. That was something else he couldn’t quite explain. Why exactly did he want to keep it a secret? What did he have to gain by keeping the information from you? There he goes again, thinking way too much.

‘Get your butt out there, Jeon. They’re probably waiting on you.’

After giving himself a small pep talk in the bathroom mirror to just act natural and that he’s on business as your personal assistant, he took one last deep breath and exhaled slowly before bracing himself and heading out of his room to truck downstairs. He could do this. He could do this. This is a business trip to stock your home with food that he will eventually cook for you. Just business. Just busin----

Wow.

He was beginning to think he was going to be the next poor sap stuck in a monkey suit if this was how you always dressed to go grocery shopping.

Pointed toed heels that looked more like weapons rather than footwear. And dang did you look dangerous in that pantsuit. Keeping it classic. Black. Pitch black. Not to mention how it hugged your body in all the right ways. For a woman who either didn’t eat at all or ate nothing but take-out, you still had a gorgeous figure. Or maybe he was just biased???

Your hair was pulled back in what appeared to be the most tight knit bun he had ever seen. In fact, just looking at it was giving him a headache. Maybe if you didn’t have your hair up so tightly all the time, you wouldn’t be so grumpy. But he wasn’t about to tell you that. He’d like to keep all his body parts attached, thanks. Seriously......those heels could poke someone’s eye out.

“You ready to head out, Mr. Jeon? Mother has offered to watch the place while we’re out.”

“Absolutely, Miss. Kwon.”

“You two enjoy the shopping trip and I’ll just be here monitoring the dishwasher and maybe dust here and there a bit. I’ll make sure Jimin holds down the fort at the company as well. Just go and enjoy yourselves!”

Well.....as enjoyable as grocery shopping could be, anyhow. With an obvious eye roll, you simply snapped your fingers and started moving to the door, heels making clacking sounds loud enough to wake the dead. Given the fact that your floors switched back and forth between hardwood and marble. God didn’t your feet hurt in those things??? Weren’t your toes squished???

It was when the two of you finally got outside and was swinging by the garage that he realized it had never been discussed who’s vehicle they’d be taking. But judging from your confident steps towards your sleek black Hyundai Palisade, it would appear that you were driving. He shouldn’t have been surprised, honestly. It made perfect sense. With his truck, he didn’t have much space in the backseats and he highly doubted the bed of a truck was sanitary for food to be packed into.

You had already climbed into the driver’s seat by the time he got to the passenger side. He was no psychologist, but from the short amount of time he had spent with you thus far, he could tell one thing.......You liked being in control. Of everything. Wordlessly climbing into the passenger seat, he got himself buckled in and watched you start the vehicle before the two of you were finally out of the garage and on your way to the grocery store.

“Okay. The job is simple. We get the list out, buy everything on the list, pay for it, and get out of here.”

Jungkook expected nothing less from you so he simply smiled and gave you a thumbs up before climbing out of the car. The ride to the store had been silent as the grave and he wasn’t about to ruin that. It was an odd peaceful kind of silence even if he could feel your mild agitation radiating from you in the driver’s seat. If this had truly been your first day off from the company in---like---ever, then he could understand how tense you might be feeling. You probably felt like a new mother letting go of her new born baby for the first time since giving birth.

Walking into the store, you immediately pulled your phone out to bring up your electronic list. While you did that, Jungkook took it upon himself to be your assistant and took a disinfectant wipe from the public dispenser and cleaned down the bar handle of one of the carts from the docking area. With list ready and a cart set to go, the two of you made your way to the first section of the store. The fruits and vegetables.

So far so good. You were being very cooperative and well-behaved during the whole trip. A nice change from the first time the two of you went to the store together. Perhaps because you were working. You actually had a task that you needed to complete. Again, Jungkook was no psychologist, but he was pretty sure if you weren’t working, you just simply didn’t know how to act. Which was kind of, sort of, really sad.

“Okay so we’ve taken care of the fruits, vegetables, meats. Now what?”

“Well if we’re going to have stir fry one night this week, we’re going to need some rice. Let’s head there next.”

There he goes again. That feeling bubbling up in his chest again and filling his stomach with butterflies. Dang it. He had been doing so good too. But watching you retrieve items here and there, sometimes needing his help because the items were too high up, it all felt so.......domestic. That word just kept floating around in his head. It felt like the two of you had decided to go to the grocery store after work. Discussing dinners ahead of time and all that. Gah he was going to go insane!

You, on the other hand, were having a hard time focusing but for other reasons. Your assistant was dressed quite nicely today despite the lack of professionalism. While you approved of the yellow button up, the skinny jeans were a bit too casual for your liking. Or maybe you just didn’t like how well they hugged his thighs? Nah. It was just too casual for you. Yeah. That was it. That had to be the reason. Maybe next time you’d make a comment about dressing more appropriately for the job. But today you’d let it slide.

He smelled really nice too. You briefly wondered what cologne he uses when you realized that you couldn’t reach a box of pasta for Italian Nights. Without even having to ask, you could feel a huge warm body coming up behind you that smelled just like your assistant. Sure enough, Jungkook extended his long arm and easily plucked the box of pasta from the shelf before flashing you a bright bunny-like smile and handing it over to you.

“Here you are, Miss. Kwon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jeon. I appreciate it. Now you know one of the reasons why I don’t go grocery shopping in the first place.”

Wow. Did you just crack a joke??? He was pretty sure you did. Or at least tried to. Smiling and feeling more at ease knowing that you were starting to ease up a bit, he continued to push the cart that only kept getting heavier and heavier as the two of you walked down the aisles. The rest of the trip went mostly in silence aside from the small discussion of price comparing here and the task of picking out the least beaten up box there.

It seemed like in no time at all, the two of you were heading up to the register and placing the items down for scanning and payment. This process too went mostly in silence but, again, it was peaceful. An unspoken agreement that there didn’t need to be words exchanged in order to check out their groceries. This was a job, after all. He needed to stay professional.

Thank goodness you had brought your vehicle instead of his because he wasn’t sure if even the bed of his truck would have held all these groceries. After Jungkook insisting that he do all the packing and storing into the vehicle, being that he was your assistant and all, you took this opportunity to send a quick text to Jimin asking him how things were going before shooting your mother a text informing her that the two of you were on your way home now.

“I think that was a very successful trip, don’t you think, Miss. Kwon?”

“It wasn’t as bad as I had initially thought it would be. Although I don’t remember groceries being so pricey. Then again.....it has been awhile.”

While you spoke in your professional tone, it still made him smile to hear you yet again trying to poke fun at your own self. You were lightening up. Even if only just a little. Progress was progress no matter how small. That’s how he looked at it. With the both of you in the vehicle once more with the back plum full of food, you put it in gear and started the trip back home.

“Thank you for helping me with the groceries, Mr. Jeon. I feel our next task should be shopping for items such as cleaning supplies and toiletries. Not just for myself, but for you as well. My home is your home now.”

Dang. Maybe there was something in that chicken soup he made last night that he didn’t know about. Or maybe all you needed was some real sleep and rest in order to feel a little bit better and a little less moody. Not only did you just thank him, but you said your home was his home. You were certainly giving him whiplash with your crazy mood swings.

“And after that, we should focus on the grounds of the estate. Compile that list of tools and equipment you’ll need and we will make another trip out.”

“Will that trip be today, Miss. Kwon? Don’t forget, we need to eat lunch soon.”

“Probably not today. We’ll run out of time. Because this afternoon, after lunch, we’ll make a run to the store for items such as the cleaning supplies and any toiletries I’ve failed to stock up on. But again, we’re shopping for you too. So purchase anything you need while we’re there. It won’t come out of your paycheck so don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you for your kindness and generosity, Miss. Kwon. I greatly appreciate it. I will do my very best to make this arrangement worth your time and money.”

While you knew what the poor man was referring to, it still sent your mind straight to the gutter. Trying not to snicker or, rather, trying not to snicker too noticeably, you found yourself finally pulling into the driveway of your huge estate and pressing the button that would open the garage door. Once the car was parked, you turned it off and sported a smug smile while taking your seat belt off as you said casually yet teasingly,

“Be careful, Mr. Jeon. Anyone who didn’t know any better might think your intentions are anything but pure.”

At first he didn’t get it. Those doe eyes of his blinking at you in confusion as you smirked and got out of the vehicle, but not before popping the trunk and unlocking all the doors and heading inside the house. Anything but pure??? Why would you say that? It almost sounded like you were trying to say he was.......OH!! Instantly, he could feel the heat sprout all over his face and down his neck and even to the tips of his ears. It spread like a wildfire as he quickly climbed out of the passenger seat.

He would never do that to you! Never ever! He was a good man! Suddenly needing to pop the top button of his yellow dress shirt, the poor boy managed to resist as he tried his very best to focus on the task at hand which was to pack the groceries into the house. Oh god! Your mother was in there!

‘Heavenly Father, please give me the strength to deal with these Kwon women!’

After saying the quick prayer and doing his very best to calm himself down, he cleared his throat and began taking bags into both of his arms. Given his muscular physique, it was super easy for him to pack several bags on both arms. Unbeknownst to him, he was getting payback as you came back around the corner of the garage to help him.

Muscles. Lots and lots of muscles. Bulging muscles. You had to stop yourself right on the spot as you had just came from informing your mother that the two of you were back from the shopping trip and would need some help packing the groceries in. First of all, you weren’t quite sure why you felt the need to help since it was Jungkook’s job as your assistant to do this stuff and he would normally be doing all of this by himself anyway while you were at work.

Secondly, why were you still standing there eyeing him up like a piece of meat??? Perhaps it was because of the.......dry spell.....you had found yourself in recently. Yeah. That was probably it. You were just horny. Sexually frustrated. Yeah. That was it. Pulling yourself together just in time for Jungkook to turn around, you managed to plaster that confident smirk from earlier back on your face as you gave him a curt nod only to watch his face flush pink all over again.

“Oh my, Jungkookie! You look flushed! And no wonder from packing all those bags. Here. Let me help you.”

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Kwon. I got this. But if it wouldn’t be too much to ask, may I have a bottle of water?”

“Absolutely, my dear boy! Anything for you!”

The male was grateful that your mother was so easily distracted. Not to mention he could really use that bottle of water right now. He needed something to cool himself down. That smirk you had worn was just a little too much for him right now. He was still rather flustered over your teasing words from earlier.

It wasn’t that Jungkook was innocent. He wasn’t a virgin, that’s for sure. But......that topic was just......different for him? He was the type of guy who wanted to find his beautiful princess and turn her into a queen. He wanted to love her and cherish her. Settle down and start a family with her. It wasn’t sex to him. It was making love. So perhaps that’s why he was so taken aback by your crude words. Because that’s not who he was. Again----He was a good man.

“Here you go, my dear. Take a moment and just relax. Sip on some water and I’ll take these into the kitchen.”

“No no, Mrs. Kwon. This is my job as your daughter’s assistant. I just needed something to help with the spring heat is all.”

“Nonsense. I may be up there in years but I’m not crippled yet.”

Knowing it was no use to fight with a Kwon woman, he simply uncapped the bottle of water and let the ice cold liquid run down his throat. There. That was better. He just needed to cool off a bit and it would help him focus a bit better. With the cold water running through his heated bloodstream, he set the bottle down on the foyer table and went back out to help pack in more groceries.

With the three of you working together, all the groceries were now packed into the kitchen and all that needed to be done was putting them away in appropriate cabinets and such. Jungkook insisted he be the one to do that while you and your mother decide on what you want for lunch. This way you were stuck with your mother and couldn’t tease him any further. At least for a little bit.

After deciding on barbecued pulled pork and a side salad, Jungkook quickly went to work in his favorite habitat. The kitchen. While he allowed the pork to cook, he had taken time to make a fresh pitcher of lemonade. Fresh as in fresh fresh. No powdery packets or any of that imitation stuff you can buy in the store in the water enhancement aisle. No. He was taking real lemons and squeezing them into a pitcher of heaven.

Filling three cups up full of ice and lemonade, he set two of them for you and your mother on the dining table where you were currently trying to calm down a frantic Jimin as he practically screeched in panic through your cell phone. He might as well have been on speaker, honestly. Sighing heavily, you excused yourself from the dining and connecting kitchen area to go up to your office where you could have a proper conference call with your frazzled assistant. Seriously. It was one day! One day!

“Jungkookie, darling, could you have a seat with me, please?”

Oh boy....

How did this keep happening to him???

“Sure thing, Mrs. Kwon. Let me just check on the pork really quick.”

Trying to buy himself all of an extra few seconds to brace himself, the male actually did check the meat and it was coming along nicely. With nothing else to help him worm his way out of this conversation, he tried to act cool and calm on the outside as he took a seat at the table next to your mother.

“First of all, the lemonade is wonderful.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kwon. I felt it was appropriate for spring time.”

“Indeed indeed. However, that’s not what I wish to talk to you about.”

He figured as much. And rather than saying it out loud, he remained silent as he waited for the older woman to speak once more. Although Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how her face was suddenly etched with lines of sadness and guilt. She turned in her seat so that she could face him more and he did the same out of respect. Clearly something was bothering your mother.

“I know I don’t make my intentions very secretive. But you have to understand, Kookie. I’ve destroyed my own daughter and I need to put her back together. It’s my fault she’s like this and I need to right this wrong I’ve done.”

“Mrs. Kwon, with all due respect, your daughter is her own person who makes her own decisions. You didn’t do anything to her. She’s chosen to be this way.”

His heart was hammering in his chest as he realized this conversation was taking quite the deep turn. This definitely wasn’t the conversation he was expecting to have given his previous exchanges with your mother. The woman in front of him now was torn with sadness and misery. It broke his heart to see someone as sweet as your mother feeling so sad like this.

“But it is my fault, Kookie. I trained her to be this way because that’s how I was back in the day. But now that I’m getting older and I’ve slowed down.....I realize now how important it is to stop and smell the roses. That life isn’t entirely about work. I did that to her. I treated her like a robot to be programmed a certain way and now my little girl is gone.”

Oh boy. Now your mother was starting to cry. Oh boy. Okay. He could do this. He could handle this. Trying to stay calm for her on the outside, he got up from his seat and briskly went into the living room where he found a box of tissues and came back only to offer one and set the box on the table while he took his seat once more. Gently rubbing the woman’s back, he spoke softly,

“Mrs. Kwon. You were only doing what you thought was best for your company at the time. But things change. People change. Perhaps your daughter enjoys being busy with the company?”

“But she’s not living, Kookie. She’s alive but she’s not living. She just goes through the motions like the robot I turned her into. She doesn’t get out and socialize. She doesn’t treat herself to anything nice. She’s breathing but that’s all she’s doing.”

Suddenly, the woman took both of his hands in hers and she sniffled a little before putting her full attention back on the male. Good lord he hated to see women cry. Especially women as sweet as your mother. He could feel a lump forming in his throat as he gently gripped her hands while he waited for her to say something.

“I need you to help her, Jungkook. I know it’s selfish of me but I need your help. When Jimin reached out to me and told me about you, I knew you were the one who was going to bring my daughter back to me. And maybe......”

He felt his eyebrows knit together in confusion as he listened to this new round of information. Jimin had been behind this??? Wait.......oh.......Okay. Now it made sense. Your mother was looking out for you......while his best friend was looking out for him.

“And just maybe.......you can heal too.”

Meanwhile, you stood there at the bottom of the stairs with your back against the wall listening in. But all you got to hear was that your assistant needed healing. What did that mean? Was he sick? Did he need this job to help pay medical bills?

‘What’s your story, Mr. Jeon Jungkook?’

[kittensjonsa]

Otherwise, Engaged

The Proposal AU. 

Summary: Flashbacks. A discussion on consent, freedom and independence. Jon finds his heart again -  and the burden of feelings that comes with it. 

Note: Some angst and a backstory.. before the hot smut can begin, of course! Hence, the length of this one. Sorry not sorry. Rated M.

Chapters 1 - 6 

Chapter 7

THREE YEARS EARLIER

“Sansa!”

Sansa wanted to run. Run away from it all. From everyone and especially her mother.

“Honey, please.. just let her be,” Sansa heard her father’s calm voice behind her as she stomped past the hallway and out the door.

Yes, just let me be. Be my own person and away from anything Winterfell or anyone named Stark.

It wasn't so much of the place or the people, it was just the fact of the importance of being a Stark she has had to deal with all her life. Grow up, live and breathe Winterfell. True that she was indeed very much a Northern girl and every bit a Stark but she still had her own character and personality, her own person - didn't that count for anything?

“So, here's our new guy, Jon Snow. Someone you all are familiar with I am sure,” Jeor gave Jon's shoulder a firm squeeze as the introductions made their rounds at the table. Jon smiled and nodded at the elderly gentlemen and a lady seated with them. Jon spoke very little and merely listened throughout the dinner. Jon realised very quickly that it was all business and had little to do with him, managing polite yes-es and a laugh at every dull joke every once in a while. Besides, he was far more concerned about getting his affairs in order and with so many accounts under his name, Jon feared he desperately needed an assistant. My brain can only handle so much, great as it is.

It had only been two weeks since the move into the swanky corner office of Mormont & Sons Publishing and it had been dinner every night as Jeor insisted on making sure Jon and his talent was right smack in the faces of the right people. Small price to pay for being the new hot shot editor in town.

“Hey Ryan, if you have a minute, send me some resumes my way would you? You know, for the opening for the exec assistant? Haven't heard anything from HR.”

Jon was ignored as Ryan, the HR head only continued his conversation on his phone. A token nod greeted Jon as Ryan finally waved a hello to him, patting down a pile of papers in a corner of his desk, his ear still glued to the phone. Jon wasn't sure what that meant but perhaps he was pointing out to the resumes the department had received along with the personal assistant posting. It was obvious Ryan did not really care if he existed or not.

Jon Snow was just another name on the payroll, amongst hundreds of others. Ryan had his work cut out for him indefinitely, though Jon couldn't care less, as long as he got the right person he wanted for the job. Another name on the payroll. Sorry, Ryan. Jon decided to help himself to the pile seeing how busy Ryan was, the active lines on his phone on hold blinking impatiently.

“Oh right, yeah. So, there are already some here you might want to look at. Sandra already found hers and these were the shortlisted ones. They seem promising.”

Sighing, Jon took the messy folder off the desk.

“Right. Of course. I'll look through them then. Thanks.”

No thanks.

Jon was about to say something about scheduling appointments when he saw Ryan going back to ignoring him as soon he got on the phone again.

Looks like I'm on my own. Story of my life, ain't it.

Jon stared tiredly at the piece of paper before him. This was the last resume from the pile of rejects Sandra had left him. The only piece of resume was from, quite possibly the only candidate left worthy of any attention. Jon was exhausted, realising this was tedious work - from the mingling dinners every night to reading manuscripts one after another - he was quite content with an extra pair of hands really. He hardly looked after himself recently. And if he had to eat from another take out box and sleep on the office couch again, he'd quit. So done. There was no way he could do everything himself. Especially the phone calls. Waking up in bed with his phone on his face was something he'd like to avoid as much as possible.

“Sansa Stark, let's see if you're the one,” Jon skimmed through the cover letter.

University of Westeros. Okay good enough.

“Please, please say you can start immediately.”

Jon rubbed his tired eyes as he clicked 'send' and decided he was done for the day. His head was pounding away, drained from all the reading he had done and all he wanted was his bed. He'd check for any emails from a Sansa Stark first thing in the morning. Right now, he needed to sleep and at home, not another night on the couch in his office.

Sansa Stark. God, I need you. Save me.

The blaring alarm had Jon spring out of bed and while he was normally up quite early for his workouts, he was not feeling quite up to it that morning.

Stumbling about, Jon grabbed the first shirt he found his hands on in the closet. It looked decent enough with yesterday's suit jacket over it.

Right, twenty-four hour dry cleaners. That's going on the list.

Twenty four hours never seemed enough ever since he started his new job with the Mormonts. Exhausted was an understatement. Although, now he was a little relieved, looking forward to the next few days when he could sleep a little easier thanks to Sansa Stark. Well, hopefully.

“Mr Snow, your 8.30 is here.” A bored tone greeted him the moment he stepped out into the lobby.

It was too early to choke on his triple shot espresso. "My what?"

“Mr Snow? Hi, I got your email yesterday and I replied, though I wasn't sure if you got it. So... hi, I'm Sansa Stark.”

Oh.

“For the executive assistant post? I figured the HR department knew about our appointment but looks like… nobody's quite in yet.”

A tall, leggy redhead with blazing blue eyes and a smile that lit up the sky.

Ahh...right.. Sansa Stark.

---

Her sultry drawl that lingered on a breathy rasp was his reckoning. Say my name. Again and again. Jon gently brushed away the soft copper locks from the creamy skin of her neck and kissed it. He inhaled deeply, as deep as he could drink her in, hungrily desperate, because this might the first and only time he'd have with her.

Her scent was unmistakable. A heady mix reminiscent of lavender and rose, Jon recalled how it greeted him every morning, almost every day the past three years. He had grown fond of it, comforted by it, knowing that she was a constant at his side. How he looked forward to seeing her leap into his office and greet him with a smile and his favourite coffee. How he noticed the way her lips pursed, poring over pages of manuscripts whilst sat next to him with her long slender legs crossed ever so daintily. Little bits and pieces of her, that if only she knew he'd taken a liking to- Sansa probably wouldn't have despised him so much.

He had chosen this life. He was good at it. There was no compromise on his career because it was the only thing he ever had that was his and his alone. Jon refused for it to be taken away for the sake of a mere whim or an itch to scratch. Years and years of hard work had him where he was right now, and it would have all gone to dust, if he were to ruin everything for the sake of feelings. Feelings he had buried so deep within that are now on the verge of imploding, teetering on losing the one thing he yearned for all his life. Acceptance. And if fate wasn't cheeky enough, it was all Sansa gave him and it was exactly what he needed.

It was fortune that smiled on him, chancing upon a resume his former editors had passed on due to her clear lack of experience. It was his first week at Mormont & Sons and it was clear, with all the new accounts thrown at him, the golden boy of print and press, that he was in dire need of an assistant. As long as they were willing to put in the time and work, Jon wouldn't be picky. Even a naive, inexperienced fresh graduate would do, he told himself that. It was just assistance he needed, nothing more.

Only thing was, he didn't expect a tall beautiful redhead named Sansa Stark to step into his office, all eager and enthusiastic and willing to do whatever it took to be an author of her own right one day. The day Jon couldn't possibly forget. And now, the one person Jon could not lose.

“Sansa…” Jon nibbled at her ears as his hands roamed to parts of her he once longed to touch while his lips quickly found their way lower to her bosom.

Sansa seized a fistful of his curls as his mouth hovered closer to her teats, soft yet hard from arousal. Heaving full mounds of soft flesh so scintillating Jon couldn't help but open his mouth wide and devour them still clothed. She was perfect in every way, just like he had pictured in his mind.

“Oh god… Jon..”

The kiss had gone further than they imagined as Jon and Sansa laid on her bed, a tangled mess of legs and arms caressing every inch of the other. Sansa writhed at every contact his lips made with her skin, with the hem of her dress shifting higher and dangerously above her hips, where his hands and mouth were only a breath away from a place no man had been before.

Sansa groaned at the clothed yet growing hardness stroking against the sides of her thighs as Jon's body moved along with his lips pecking lower and lower below her stomach. Jon had to pause, because if he went on, there would absolutely be no stopping him. He needed to be sure. He needed her to be sure. It was happening indeed, despite his best efforts to control himself.

“Sansa… please.. for the love of God... tell me to stop.. right now.. if you want me to… because I... cannot,” Jon muttered at the end of every kiss as he made his way up to kiss her lips again. Sansa groaned at his touch and responded with a deep kiss, like the one he gave her moments ago. Sansa hissed as Jon's mouth left hers and back to her lower body.

“Jon… don't.. stop.. but.. I have to tell you something,” Sansa answered in between gasps and hisses, her skin burning hot at every lick of Jon's tongue on her belly.

“Tell me… what?” Jon continued in bliss as his mouth found hers again, this time his eyes gazing deeply into hers.

“I…. haven't... done this.. so.. be gentle?” Sansa confessed, blushing as she cupped and kissed his face.

Jon could hear the sound of tyres screeching in brakes in his head. “W-wait… what?”

No... Hold on. Wait.

Jon sat up immediately the moment the reality hit him. He refused to face up to it but he now he had to. It took a moment before Sansa opened her eyes and found Jon sitting at the end of her bed watching her with a frown.

Oh God, what now?

“Jon? What.. why.. what's wrong?”

Jon bit down his lip. Should he ask? Should he say it? Perhaps not. It was an amazing moment they both shared and she gave her consent. True, that was enough, but why did it feel so awfully wrong? Sansa waited but grew impatient. It was a look she had never been acquainted with before and it worried her.

“You mean to tell me.. you haven't done it yet? Shit.. this is not happening.”

What?

Sansa felt the usual annoyance rising in her again and this time it was seething. Suddenly she felt naked and stupid. From a high she didn't want to come down from, it only took minutes to feel like she had been spat out onto the ground.

“What.. why are you being like this, Jon? Why.. why does that matter? I said yes didn't I?” Sansa dared to ask, her eyes filling with tears she didn't expect. Jon only sighed and looked away. Shame. She knew that look well enough.

“Why.. am I not good enough now?”

Jon panicked and hastened to cool the growing tension. “No, that's not what I meant, Sansa. It's just-”

“Just what? How ridiculous it is that I'm here almost topless and you giving me a hickey seconds ago and then.. for posterity's sake, I say I'm a virgin, because you know, I just wanted to let you know since I've never done this before, ever.. and then all of a sudden, you stop and GROW A CONSCIENCE?!”

“No, Sansa that's not what-”

“Then, what the hell do you mean? Because it was was as clear as day when you had your tongue down my throat seconds ago!”

Jon gulped, his eyes slowly meeting hers. “I just.. didn't expect us to-”

“To what? Have sex?” Sansa asked, her voice wavering.

“Sansa, look.. let me just explain, please?” Jon pleaded, lowering his tone and voice, hoping Sansa would do the same. The last thing he wanted was an argument about sex with Sansa under Ned Stark's roof and everyone else hearing them.

“Just say it... I'm not good enough am I? Well, screw you, Jon Snow, you're on your fucking own.”

Sansa wiped away her tears as she hastily put her dress back in order and stood up, wanting to leave. Sansa flinched and almost elbowed him as Jon reached out to console her. He didn't know what to do or say exactly and he did not want to leave nor did he know how. They had come this far and certainly this can't be it. This has gone way, way off course.

“Sansa, please.. listen to me. I.. I don't want to impose anymore than I already have Sansa. Please try to understand that. I can't… lie to your family and then.. take you.. like that... Under these circumstances. This.. just doesn't feel right.. I can't do that to you.”

Sansa blinked as she tried to comprehend what Jon was trying to say.

“Take me? What the hell am I to you? Cattle? So, you're saying if I wasn't untouched and pure like you said, you'd do it? And all of the above?!”

This wasn't going well at all.

“No." Jon paused.

"You're on thin fucking ice, Jon. After all I've done for you.”

Sansa knew the right words to hit right back. Ouch.

“Yes and you deserve better than this! Than all of this right now! You've been.. everything to me since we met. I don't want to ruin this just because I needed dick relief!”

Dick relief. Some editor you are. Jon groaned, exasperated. He was losing, fast.

“How would you know what I want or deserve? Don't I get a say in this? I chose it, yes. I played along with this, yes. Did I want to be intimate with you? Yes! What part of me telling you not to stop meant anything but?”

Sansa sighed and watched the trees sway in the chilly breeze from the balcony. She couldn't face him now. She had become just another conversation, an afterthought.

“It's 2019, you know. My body is mine to give, Jon. It's not for anyone to take. And I wanted to give it to you. It was my choice.”

Ah, fuck. Touché. And I wanted it.

Sansa could hardly believe what was happening. From pure passion one moment, to wiping away tears the next. Of course, it had to be Jon. Sansa had cried tears over the tyranny of the workload he dumped on her, but this.. this was something else.

Sansa turned and sat back down on the bed, seeing Jon seated at the bench, his face in his hands.

“Let me tell you something, mister. Do you know how hard I've worked to find my own two feet? Moving to the city and be a writer some day? All this, without relying on my parents, while being a Stark? Do you know how much I had to give up to get here? I did that on my own, because I chose to. Without any help from my family, knowing how much it hurt them. All my life, I've been told what to do, what to be and how to do it and for the most part, I played along and obliged. But one day I decided, no. I'm going to do my own thing. Myself. And from then on, I decided whatever I choose to do, it would be me who says so."

Sansa sighed, recounting the numerous arguments she had with her mother and the times she's had to skip Skyping her brothers just to prove her point on how well and busy she was doing on her own.

Jon had no idea how it had been for her but he understood what she meant. Sacrifices.

He raised his hands in surrender. It was getting far too deep and deviated away too much from what they had in mind - this wasn't how he wanted the weekend to go. They had one plan and no matter what, they both had to stick to it.

Sansa bit down her lip, struggling not to say too much before it was too late. She had said enough to make her point. Enough of everyone telling her how she should live her life. Enough. Besides, there was nothing to be ashamed about it, Jeyne consoled her once. The whispers behind her back, how she was the ice queen of the North, the ways they all stared at her in university the moment she stepped foot there. Sansa Stark, pride and joy of Winterfell - what shame if she was ruined. Sansa couldn't do that to herself and her parents. Being the eldest daughter of the North's power couple was already hard enough. Sansa assured herself constantly, how there was no one remotely interesting enough to spark any interest anyway. Plus, the Stark name was repellent enough. Everyone knew who her parents were, so nobody dared to try.

“So, all this, fake fiance bullshit? Yeah, I chose it. Me, working for you and staying on despite your royal douche-ness, I chose it. Why is that such a strange concept to you.”

Jon wanted to strangle himself if he could. Or kick himself in the balls, as it would be appropriate. Pretending to be fake-engaged with the threat of five years in prison looming over their heads was one thing, if only he could explain how taking Sansa's untouched body was quite another. And to think he was so close to ruining every single area of Sansa's life just moments ago. He couldn't do it to her.

“Sansa… you don't know.. how much I owe you for this. All of this. And.. man.. the things I want to do to you..” Jon scoffed at the irony of it all.

“Well, now you're just saying that,” Sansa huffed indignantly at the revelation.

Jon reached out to grab her hand but Sansa pulled back.

“No, I'm not this time. Listen, let's just-”

A loud knock jolted both of them back to reality. “Sansy? Can Jon come out and fish with us? Can he? Please?”

Ah, shit. The family.

Jon looked to Sansa for an answer. Clearly they both had forgotten about the day's program.

“Uhh.. yeah. We'll be out in a minute.”

Sansa sat on her bed, watching Jon deliberate his next move.

“Well? Don't make my dad and brothers wait,” Sansa prompted.

Fair enough. “Sansa, please.. can we talk when I get back? I promise I have a point to make. I'm just failing badly at making it right now.”

Sansa couldn't listen to anything, not to a single word he'd say, anyway. Time apart would be good. She needed to think, go over what had just transpired and perhaps how to move on from there. Surely she didn't want to lose her job if Jon went to jail, that was a fact whether she liked or not. Crawling back to Winterfell with her tail between her legs, hearing her mother gloat how she had been right all along, was hard to swallow too. Damn decisions. All after that speech about independence, Sansa Stark. Great.

“I'll be in the treehouse. It's behind the shed. Find me there when you're done.”

Jon nodded and grabbed his coat as he headed out.

All Jon wanted to do was tear his hair out. If only she knew how much I want her right here, right now. But the fishing call was a good save, he'd might have said worse things and dug a deeper hole than he was already in. He would think about what to say and how he'd say it. It was clear that this little adventure to meet the family, to convince some immigration officer and avoid going to prison was turning into something else entirely.

It was a nice but cold day out on a rocky boat that Jon mustered enough will to survive. He didn't like the water and certainly not the icy cold one at Winterfell and he longed to see Sansa again, counting down the hours.

He needed to do right by her, at least in keeping the boundaries, though they were already crossed. But that didn't matter as boundaries were boundaries. He had to do something. If he truly was a cad through and through, he'd have her four ways to Sunday, against the wall in her own room, in her parent's house where she grew up, having her scream his name for her mother and all to hear - and then leave and go back to normal once the visa got approved. But we can't go back to how things were, can we? Not after that kiss.

But he wasn't a cad, safe to say and he was proud of it. He actually cared for Sansa. Infuriating, smart-mouth and gorgeous Sansa Stark. He'd end the whole charade right now, if he had to do the right thing. A small part of him feared that it perhaps was already over.  Whatever it may be, he'd rather go to prison in Dorne than put Sansa through all of that on top of everything he had dragged her into.

I would. She deserves better than this.

“Well, I guess better luck next time eh?” Jon turned to hear Ned's voice call out to him. He was talking about the day's poor catch but to Jon, it meant something else.

If there's a next time, indeed. So help me, God.