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princehrry-writings · 4 years ago

Text

Daddy?

happy Easter if you celebrate it!! I've been working on this for a couple weeks!! It's the longest one-shot I think I've ever written.

word count: 5180

please please please flood my inbox with your thoughts and comments!! i want to know what you think!!!

warnings: some swearing (i think), absent birth father, single mom, nothing too serious.

“And who might this be?” He said softly, hoping that he wouldn’t frighten her.

“Tell Harry your name baby,” Y/n brushed a stray piece of hair away from her daughter's face who shied away behind her mom’s leg.

“Stella,” the little girl mumbled, fidgeting with the jeans she hid behind. He felt his heart flutter. She was just so freakin cute.

“It’s lovely to meet you Stella, m’Harry!”

“You talk funny.” The child said, making Harry laugh and Y/n gasp, scolding her daughter for being rude while trying not to laugh at her blunt comment.

“Stella Rose, that was not a very nice thing to say!” Y/n softly reprimanded.

“Sowwy Hawwy,” He chuckled, letting her know he forgave her.

Y/n is a single mom and Harry wants to be a part of the family.

Getting pregnant was definitely not something Y/n wanted to be doing at 20 years old. She had a boyfriend and the career of her dreams but as soon as the news broke, one of those things was no longer true. Her ex skipped town faster than she could even finish telling him she was pregnant, so Y/n was left to her own devices since her family was so far away.

She was a songwriter. She had worked with all the big names in the industry from Taylor Swift to All Time Low. She was known for being able to write in any genre, that’s what set her apart and why people were clawing at the chance to work with her.

And then she got pregnant. She kept writing songs until she was eight and a half months along but due to minor complications, her doctor had ordered her to stay home. So she did. She stayed home, had the baby, and raised her all by herself. Now that baby, whose name is Stella, is four years old and is traveling the world with her mom. Y/n had gone back to work when Stella was a year old. At first, she would leave her baby with a sitter, but eventually, she got to a point where Stella was old enough to come along to writing sessions and quietly color or play with toys in a corner. She really liked going to work with her mom. She got to see a bunch of cool places and meet a lot of nice people.

And one of those people was Harry Styles. Y/n had met him a few times back when he was with One Direction, had even tried to work with the band a few times but things never lined up right. But now he was making his second studio album and only wanted the best of the best to write with him so naturally, he called Y/n. Harry knew she had a kid but he didn’t expect her to bring said kid to a writing session. Harry didn’t really mind- he loves kids, but his friends had been known to curse a lot and he didn’t want to cause any harm to the child.

He made sure to give everyone a stern talking to, even though Kid already knew to hold his tongue (his little ones had repeated some colorful words a few times). He wanted everything to go right, needed it to. Y/n was more than just another songwriter.

“Y/n! I’m so glad you could make it!” Harry smiled as she walked into the studio. She smiled back, walking into his open arms for a hug.

“Thank you so much for having me, I’m super stoked to be working with you!” She said, slightly muffled by his neck. Harry looked down behind Y/n and saw a little girl that looked exactly like the woman currently in his arms looking right back up at him. When the two pulled away Harry was quick to kneel down to her height.

“And who might this be?” He said softly, hoping that he wouldn’t frighten her.

“Tell Harry your name baby,” Y/n brushed a stray piece of hair away from her daughter's face who shied away behind her mom’s leg.

“Stella,” the little girl mumbled, fidgeting with the jeans she hid behind. He felt his heart flutter. She was just so freakin cute.

“It’s lovely to meet you Stella, m’Harry!”

“You talk funny.” The child said, making Harry laugh and Y/n gasp, scolding her daughter for being rude while trying not to laugh at her blunt comment.

“Stella Rose, that was not a very nice thing to say!” Y/n softly reprimanded.

“Sowwy Hawwy,” He chuckled, letting her know he forgave her. Although he wasn’t mad, he understood Y/n had to teach her not to say things like that even if they were funny.

When Stella had settled at a table out of the way of the adults in the room with her coloring book and a juice box, the work began. Y/n and Harry sat at a piano bench ( he hoped she couldn’t hear his pounding heart) while Kid and Mitch, along with Jeff, sat scattered around the other furniture in the studio.

“So, I have a couple of ideas that I’ve been sitting on that I think you might like. You can look through this and see if there's something that catches your eye.” Y/n said, handing Harry a notebook. She tried to ignore the tingle she felt run up her arm when their fingers brushed. He flipped around the pages, noticing random little doodles in the corners and in between lines, and the somewhat messy but readable handwriting. He thought it was cute how she connected her s’s to her t’s and k’s when she wrote.

One page, in particular, caught his attention.

Golden, Golden, Golden

As I open my eyes

Hold it, focus

So you take me back to the light

I know you were way too bright for me

I’m hopeless, broken

So you wait for me in the sky

Brown my skin just right

“Is this a verse or a chorus?” He asked, pointing it out to her. She shrugged saying she didn’t really know yet but it would probably be a verse.

“I like it a lot,” He said and she smiled, picking up her guitar and strumming it to the tune she had thought of for the words. He listened and nodded along, already getting ideas for where to go next.

“I like the golden thing. I think that could be a good hook, something like we’re so golden,” Kid spoke up, tapping his fingers along to what she was playing.

“Or you’re so golden,” Mitch suggested. Harry and Y/n’s eyes widened at the same time, both looking up at each other when they heard the line.

“You’re so golden, you’re so golden…” Y/n hummed.

“I’m out of my head, and I know what you said about hearts get broken,”

“How about I’m out of my head and I know that you’re scared because hearts get broken,”

“I like that better, yeah!” Harry smiled, nodding along to the beat.

Y/n looked over 30 minutes later to see Stella had sprawled out on the floor with her arms folded beneath her head, first finger stuck into her mouth, and she smiled, breathing out a laugh.

“She’s so precious,” Harry murmured from beside you. Your gaze found his and the smile on your face widened a little bit.

“She is, isn’t she.” She said, pride present in her eyes.

“Looks just like you as well,”

“Yeah thank god, I don’t know what I would have done if she had ended up looking like her sperm donor,” Malice dripped from the end of her phrase. Y/n couldn’t even entertain the idea of her looking like the man who helped create her. That nerve was still a little raw, not because she had any remaining feelings, but because he had abandoned not only her but the beautiful baby girl who was napping not 15 feet away from her. She figured they were better off without him, yet her heart always shattered a little when Stella asked if she had a daddy like the people she sees on tv.

“I couldn’t imagine finding out the woman I loved was pregnant and then leaving her, any real man would have stayed.” His eyes were genuine, which she appreciated. Most people would say they felt sorry for her, pity dripping from their gaze, but she didn’t need pity, didn’t need people to feel sorry for her. But what Harry said was out of pity, he just honestly couldn’t understand how anyone would abandon a child.

“Yeah well, I guess I just wasn’t the woman he loved.” She said, looking back at her baby. Stella made all of that pain from when he disappeared worth it.

Harry wanted to be able to take that pain away.

---

“Hey I know it’s late, but I have this idea and I want you to hear it,” Harry’s raspy voice chimed through the speaker of Y/n’s phone. She glanced at the time, reading 1:30 AM, and sighed.

“Ok,”

“Come open the door,” He said.

“Wait what? You’re here?”

“Yeah, come on. It’s cold out here.”

“Ugh, hold on,” The woman sighed, hanging up and tip-toeing out of her room so her footsteps wouldn’t wake the sleeping four-year-old in the next room over. Her door was open and she was a light sleeper.

The door swung open and Harry stood there with a small smile on his face, burrowing as deep into his coat as he could to shield himself from the cold air outside.

“Hi!” His cheeky smile made Y/n’s heart flutter.

This was the first of many times he would show up at her place in the middle of the night.

---

Another night of Harry coming over late with a song idea he couldn’t wait to show Y/n, although now it was more he would come over after Stella fell asleep and the two would watch movies and talk, and sometimes write songs (even though the album was done).

The pair were perched on the couch in a heated conversation about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza (it does and that is a fact not an opinion) when the sound of little footsteps caught their attention. They both looked up from where they sat at the sound of loud crying coming down the stairs, seeing a small child with tears barreling down her face, cheeks flush an angry red, first finger stuck in her mouth, teddy bear clutched tightly to her chest.

“Baby what’s wrong?” Y/n cooed, getting up and sweeping her into her arms. She went and sat back down on the couch, cradling the baby to her chest, brushing her hair out of her face, and rocking her back and forth.

“Scawwy dweam mommy,” She hiccuped into her mom’s neck, where she hid her face. Her tiny hands clutched onto her shirt, finger stick tucked between her lips.

Harry held back a coo at the little girl, feeling himself fall further and further for the little family of two sitting before him. He hadn’t been able to take his mind off of them since that first day he met Stella. He’d always had a schoolboy crush on Y/n since they first met all those years ago but knew it was one-sided when she introduced her boyfriend one of the last times they had seen each other. As fate would have it though, they found their way back to each other. Neither of them could deny the feelings they held, but Y/n was scared to bring someone into the picture because she didn’t want Stella to get attached to someone who wouldn’t be permanent. She was lucky her ex left before he ever got the chance to meet Stella, the kid had no clue what she was missing, therefore didn’t have any pain due to her absent father.

She would be lying if she said she didn’t imagine Harry stepping into that role. But she couldn’t ask that of him. He was at a time in his career where he didn’t have time to be the father of a four year old.

But life is full of surprises.

“Hawwy.” The baby whimpered and crawled off of Y/n’s chest, into his lap and snuggled her head right into him like it was where she was meant to be all along. His heart just about burst when the little girl fisted his shirt, tucking herself into him. His arms instinctively wrapped around her, cradling her into him and rocking her back and forth like her mother had been only moments ago.

Stella calms down almost immediately, to Y/n’s surprise. It usually takes her a while to console her baby from bad dreams, but all Harry had to do was hold her, and boom, no more tears.

“You alright petal?” He cooed into her hair, soothing his hand up and down her back to keep her calm. She nodded, letting out a huge yawn and closing her eyes, falling back asleep in his arms.

Y/n was astonished. Stella had never fallen asleep on anyone but her mom or her grandmother. She’s known Harry for a few months and was acting like he’d been there her whole life.

“Wow… she loves you.” Y/n whispered, not really meaning for him to hear but he did and his smile gave her the impression that he loved her too. But Stella wasn’t the only one he felt such affections for.

“Y/n....” He starts after a moment of silence, “I know this sounds crazy because we’ve only truly known each other for a few months… but I’ve had feelings for you for years. I missed my opportunity when you got with your ex but I’m here now, and I love you, and I love Stella, and I would do anything to stay in both of your lives if you’d have me. I want to be here for you, and I want to be here for her as well.” His confession shocked the woman sitting across from him.

Y/n was quiet, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought while she took in what he was saying. Trying her best to keep her fantasies of playing house with him at bay, she spoke.

“Harry, as much as all of that sounds lovely, you’re about to start press for the album and then go on tour. You’re not gonna have time to be in a relationship, and as much as I wish I could just jump into something like that, I can’t. I have her to think about…” She gestured to the toddler sleeping on him.

“She needs consistency, her life is already hectic enough.”

“So come with me!” He spouted, and then retracted a bit realizing he could wake Stella up.

“What?”

“Come with me! You two travel around already, so come on the press tour with me and then come on the big tour with me! I know this sounds impulsive and it’s probably the craziest thing I’ve ever said in my life ever, but I’ve never been more sure of anything. I know what I want Y/n, and that’s to be a part of this family. I want to be a part of your lives!”

“Harry, I-”

“Please Y/n. Give me a chance! I won’t let you down!” The gleam in his eyes shows her that he’s serious. He really does want this. Harry just hopes that Y/n can see just how willing he is, how much it would mean to him to have (what he already affectionately considers to be) his girls with him on tour.

It’s quiet, only sounds of Stella’s even breaths and the light noise of her sucking on her finger fill the room. Eventually, Y/n gathers her thoughts, mind made up.

“We’ll try it out… see how it goes….” She said, releasing a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding on to. Harry’s smile grew tenfold at her confession, reaching over and bringing her face closer to his to kiss her lips, careful not to wake the baby in his arms.

He had never been happier, Harry decides, than he is right now.

---

“Hawwy?” Stella’s voice catches Y/n’s attention from where she sits on the plane, in between her and Harry. She turns her little head to the man sitting in the aisle seat, big round eyes staring right into his.

“What is it, lovebug?” He asks, pushing her wild baby hairs away from her eyes. Y/n did her very best not to coo at the two of them. Harry had fallen perfectly into step with the mother and daughter, like this duo had been a trio all along. She was still hesitant to think of him as a father figure for Stella though, just because if things went south somehow, she didn’t want her baby suffering a loss like that (a second time).

Stella’s little fists rubbed at her tired eyes. She let out a small ‘hmph’ and laid her head on Harry’s arm, wrapping her own little arms around his.

“Awe you my daddy?” She asked and Y/n choked on her spit, looking back over at the toddler.

“Stella, baby-”

“I would love to be your daddy lovebug, but that’s not really up to me…” He spoke and glanced up at Y/n quickly, trepidation clear in his eyes. Harry was afraid he might overstep. Sure he knew that things were still new between him and Y/n but he wanted nothing more than for Stella to think of him as her dad.

“Who’s it up to?” Y/n could tell she was about to fall asleep but was fighting it in order to get her answers. She had adjusted to a more fast pace schedule quite nicely. She slept through most plane and car rides and absolutely loved being backstage at concerts. Harry thought she looked so adorable with her big noise-canceling headphones on. They had been on the road for a few months now, and it had been 8 months since Y/n decided to give him a chance.

“It’s up to mummy, baby.” He answered, his fingers tangling into his chestnut curls in a futile attempt to keep them out of his face.

Stella’s head immediately whipped to look at her mom, who sat frozen in her seat, not knowing what to do.

“Mommy, is Hawwy my daddy?” She repeated her question. Y/n had a feeling that Stella thought Harry was her real dad, the one that her mom didn’t like to talk about. She had to make sure there was no confusion.

“Not like you're thinking he is, baby. He’s not your birth dad, he didn’t help mommy make you, but if you want him to be your daddy, then that’s ok with me.” Y/n locked eyes with the man sitting across from her with a smile on his face. She was glad that they were flying private because she really didn’t need anyone ruining this moment for them. All her fears of this not working out felt stupid now.

How could she ever think that things with Harry wouldn’t work out? He was right where he belonged.

---

“Daddy!”

“Baby!” Harry knelt down to catch the running (almost) 5 year old, picking her up and spinning her around in his arms. They were in England for two weeks on tour. One for shows, and one so that Y/n and Stella could meet Harry’s mom and sister for the first time as a part of the family. Y/n had met them before as “a friend of Harry’s” many years ago, but they had never met her as Harry’s girlfriend, and they hadn’t met Stella.

Currently, Harry was in the middle of a show and Stella had just escaped her mothers arms side stage in favor of running to her dad. Y/n still couldn’t get over saying that. Harry is Stella’s dad. She doesn’t think that will ever get old.

No one knew how serious the relationship between Y/n and Harry was. The public knew they were together (after a very vague post on instagram of the mother/daughter duo napping with the caption “my girls”). Many people thought this was a PR stunt, just because it was so unlike Harry to post something like that. But he had actually confirmed in an interview that, yes, he was in a relationship with the songwriter and it was pretty serious. That was all he chose to say, in favor of keeping his secrecy, as he so famously loves to do.

What came as a shock to the audience was what the child had called Harry. They all knew about Stella, obviously, but no one would have thought that this child would think of him as her father. A lot of people didn’t like thinking about Harry being a father.

“What are you doing out here baby?” He said into her ear, making sure he could hear her over the loud noise of the audience. Most of them loved getting glimpses into his life, so the crowd was excited to see Stella out on stage and many thought it was adorable that she already thought of him as her dad.

“Missed you.” She said into his neck. The microphone had somehow picked up their little exchange and the whole crowd sighed a collective “awe” when she said that. She was perched on his hip with her little arms wrapped around his neck, her favorite place if she had to choose one. She was pretty small for a 4-year-old, most people usually thought she was younger.

Harry chuckled and saw Y/n standing there with a smile on her face. Mitch was giggling at the exchange and kept glancing back at Sarah with a knowing look of “That’s going to be us soon,” written on his face.

“I missed you too lovebug, but I’m in the middle of a show! I gotta send you back to mumma.” He said. Stella didn’t like that though, because as soon as the words left his lips she was clinging to him like he was her life force and the tears began streaming down her face. She didn’t like having to share her daddy. She just wanted to be held by him right now, and she’d be damned if she got anything but her way.

This amused everyone, the child's insistence to be in her father's arms, so he sighed and bent to her will because how could he say no to his baby girl?

So he walked over to her mom and got her headphones, slipping them on her, and walked back to his microphone with her on his hip, ready to start the next song.

“Harry and Stella” was trending on twitter the very next morning. No one could get enough of the father-daughter duo.

---

Y/n hadn’t been this nervous since she was about to give birth to Stella. She stood with her baby in her arms as Harry opened the door to his childhood home, announcing to his mom and sister that they were there. She had to wipe her sweaty palms on her jeans more than once.

Anne rushed out from wherever she had been, greeting the three of them. Stella had met Anne via FaceTime many times so it was not news to her (or Gemma) that Harry had stepped into the role of Stella’s father. She will admit she was surprised at first but then she was reminded that Harry had been in their lives for almost a year before Stella had asked the question. It wasn’t something that was rushed into.

Anne was very excited to be meeting her grandbaby and was very excited to meet the girl that had made her a grandmother.

Stella got shy, not being used to seeing “Nana” in person. Gemma had emerged from her spot in the kitchen as well, greeting everyone.

“Hello, my loves! How was the trip?” Anne said, kissing both of them on the cheek, her hand gently caressing the child's cheek in an attempt to get her out of her shell. Once she realized that this was her Nana that was standing before her, Stella reached out for Anne, silently asking to be held by her. Anne jumped at the chance, sweeping the baby into her arms and giving her a big hug, kissing her on the forehead multiple times, not being able to quell her affection for her first grandchild.

“It was good mum, Stell slept the whole way and traffic was pretty light,” Harry said, slipping his hand into his girlfriend’s, brushing his thumb back and forth trying to help calm her anxieties. For whatever reason, Y/n was worried that Gemma and Anne wouldn’t like her because she had come into their son/brother's life with a child, but it was clear that the two ladies loved the idea of Harry being Stella’s father.

“Oh, that's lovely!” She smiled, cuddling Stella impossibly closer to her. Y/n felt most of her worries melt away seeing the woman with her baby.

She felt silly for thinking Anne would be anything but happy.

---

Anne would not put Stella down for anything. The two were attached at the hip every waking second. Y/n was actually starting to miss her baby, but she appreciated getting to spend time with Harry without having to keep an eye on their little one. Gemma was absolutely smitten with Stella as well. She was very excited to be “Auntie Gem” as Stella had quickly adapted to calling her. Stella was very happy as well. She had never been around so much family in her whole life. She’d been so used to just her and her mom, and then just them and Harry, but now she had two whole grandma’s all to herself and an auntie she gets to call her own, something she never knew she was missing, that Y/n never thought her baby would get to have.

Harry was so happy to see his baby with Anne and Gemma. They had been bumped to spot number 3 and 4 on his favorite girl list, with Stella and Y/n taking spots 1 and 2. They didn’t mind one bit.

“Daddy, can we watch a movie?” Stella jumped up onto his lap as he and Y/n sat on the couch, just talking and enjoying each other's company. Y/n smiled at the girl, tightening her grip around Harry’s shoulders, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

“Of course we can lovebug! Go get Nana and auntie Gem and we’ll all pick one out together!” He replied, petting her wild baby hairs out of her eyes just like he always did.

“Auntie Gemma said to ask you if we could watch…” She paused for a second, her little finger tapping on her chin like she couldn’t remember what she was gonna say. Suddenly, she was up and running back to the hallway she had just come from. Y/n and Harry heard little whispers before she came running back out and plopped back onto Harry’s lap, on ‘oof’ erupting from him.

“This Is Us!” She finally said. Harry’s face dropped as he looked behind them to see Gemma standing there, trying to hold back her laughter. Y/n just started cackling and Stella was giggling even though she had no idea what was going on.

“Daddy’s in that movie baby,” Y/n finally calmed down enough to say to her daughter. The little one’s eyes lit up, her hands clasped underneath her chin. This was what she did when she wanted her daddy to say yes to her because she knew he couldn’t resist how adorable she was.

“Please please please!!!!!!” She whined, leaning in to place her forehead against Harry’s. She knew exactly how to get him. He caved every single time.

“Yeah, fine. We can watch it!” He finally said and all three girls cheered. Anne came in at the noise wondering what was going on.

“What’s all this?” She asked and Stella ran up to her, pulling on her

“We watching Daddy’s movie Nana!” She said, jumping up and down with a glowing beam on her face.

“Oh, are we now? Which one?” Anne asked and Stella paused.

“Daddy, how many movies awe you in?” She came back and crawled into his lap. She still had trouble saying her r’s. Her and Harry were working on it.

“Two, lovebug. But one of them you can’t watch until you’re older. It’s too scary f’you.” He said, cuddling his baby into his chest. She put on a little pout hearing that. She didn’t like when her daddy told her no, but this was something he wasn’t gonna budge on.

“Ok,” She sighed. All the adults thought this was adorable.

So they all settled in and watched the movie. Harry had a permanent blush on his face and Stella would jump up and down every time he was on the screen.

“Nana look!! That’s you!!” Anne laughed and nodded to her granddaughter.

“Yes, it is baby!”

“Mommy, why aren’t you in this movie?” She asked and everyone giggled.

“Me and Daddy didn’t know each other very well back then, baby.” Y/n laughed. Stella didn’t really understand but she didn’t say anything else.

The last few days had worn her out and that became very obvious when Harry looked down and saw his baby asleep on his chest, her first finger stuck in her mouth just like it always was when she fell asleep.

“Love, I’m gonna go lay her down, and then I’ll be right back,” Harry whispered, cradling the sleeping girl in his arms and slowly standing up. Y/n nodded, kissing his cheek before he left.

“He’s so good with her!” Gemma cooed, her face lighting up seeing her brother with his kid. A sight she was still kind of getting used to seeing.

“He really is…” Y/n smiled, “It was pretty instant too. Anytime he’d come over and she was still awake, he’d insist on putting her to bed, reading to her, singing to her, he’d bring her toys. She’s had him wrapped around her little finger since he first laid eyes on her.”

“That’s so precious,” Anne spoke up, coming to sit next to her, wrapping Y/n in her warm embrace.

“I can’t wait until you two get married!” Y/n laughed at Gemma’s confession, snuggling into Anne.

“All he has to do is ask, I’m ready to say yes!” What none of the girls knew was that Harry was standing right outside the living room, hearing everything that was being said. His mind raced back to his suitcase where a velvet box sat tucked away between all of his clothes.

He was hesitant to bring the idea up because it had only been a year, but the saying when you know, you know he thought.

He came back into the living room, acting none the wiser, sitting on the other side of the girl he was going to marry (she just didn’t know it yet), and cuddled into her just as she had cuddled into his mom.

“Daddy,” A small voice broke through the now quiet hum of the tv.

“Lovebug, what are you doing back up?” He asked, lifting the sleepy little thing into his lap.

“Scawwy dweam, daddy.” She said and he pouted, pulling her closer into his chest and snuggling her back to sleep.

Harry was exactly where he belonged in life. With his baby girl in his arms, and his Love by his side.

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ahkaahshi · 4 years ago

Text

a parenting moment [miya atsumu x reader]

pairing: miya atsumu x fem reader

genre: fluff

warning(s): none

word count: 2.3k

overview: when yours and atsumu’s five-year-old daughter gets into trouble at school, it’s up to him to practice his good parenting skills

note: though this is a reader insert story, it focuses more on atsumu’s relationship with his daughter and sheds some light on how I think he would be as a dad :) also I wrote this months ago and am just now posting lol hope you enjoy

Atsumu’s features settle into a look of discontentment as his honey colored eyes scan his young daughter’s short figure, taking note of her dirtied shoes and the slightly disheveled appearance of the French braids he’d woven into her dark hair that morning. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead and letting out a small sigh, he asks, “What happened, girly?”

She turns her (e/c) gaze towards the polished wooden flooring of the large gym and mutters, “I got in a fight at school and they made Mommy pick me up.”

Instead of towering over her, as he had inadvertently been doing before, Atsumu kneels down in front of her and places his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, look at me, (daughter’s name),” he requests, making her tilt her chin up the smallest amount so her eyes can meet his. When their gazes connect, he purses his lips before saying, “We’ll talk about it when we get home, ‘kay? Right now, Daddy’s gotta practice, so jus’ sit tight with Coach Foster for a bit ‘n hang out.”

She nods slowly and Atsumu lifts her light blue backpack off of her shoulders to carry it with him over to the bench beside the court where his team is currently running through serve-receive drills. The head coach gives him a small nod of acknowledgement and a promise that he’ll protect her from any rogue volleyballs as she takes a seat.

Knowing that his daughter’s safety is in good hands and that she’s occupied--since she had pulled out a notebook from her backpack to doodle and write in--gives Atsumu a sliver of comfort as he returns to his practice. It takes himself some time to get his thoughts off of her, however, given the situation.

Minutes earlier, you had appeared at the gym with (daughter’s name) and offered a brief explanation of the matter at hand. You’d had to pick her up from school after receiving a call that she’d gotten into trouble, but, because of your own responsibilities at work, you’d had to drop her off with your husband. According to what the teachers had explained, she had gotten into a physical altercation with another student that had ended in tears, screaming, a few scrapes, and a dropped popsicle--your daughter’s, unfortunately.

(Daughter’s name) was a well-behaved, studious girl--though she did have a bit of a wild, energetic streak in her, thanks to Atsumu--so to hear that she’d been involved in a fight was understandably shocking to both of you. Sure, she enjoyed roughhousing with her dad and her uncle, but you’d been adamant about reiterating that real fighting was not allowed.

Atsumu hated seeing his daughter so distressed. It broke his heart. Usually, she was upbeat and full of life, but, now, she looks so defeated and ashamed. In an attempt to cheer her up in any way he can, he enlists the help of Bokuto and Hinata to tell her funny stories during each water break; and while they provide her some temporary relief, the cloud of sadness casting a shadow over her still lingers.

Though she holds onto his hand and clings to his side during the commute back home, she’s unnaturally quiet, and goes straight to her room upon returning to the house. He decides it best to leave her alone for a bit, but he can’t ignore how quiet the house feels without the sound of her favorite show blaring from the television in the living room. To busy himself for some time while you’re at work and she’s in her room, Atsumu sets himself to whipping up a snack after he’s taken a shower, and icing his aching joints.

After preparing some onigiri that looks rather sloppy compared to that his brother always serves, Atsumu shuffles down the hallway towards his daughter’s room. Her door is open, so he can see her sitting on her bed with a selection of colored pencils strewn across the comforter, and one in her hand that she’s using to color in a project she has to complete for class.

“Hey, girly,” he greets her and stands in the doorway, “Wanna eat some onigiri with me?”

She doesn’t respond verbally, but nods her head without lifting it to look over at him. So, he walks into her room and plops down on the bed beside her, setting the plate down in front of him. Before he can even get so far as to offer her one of his homemade creations, he hears her sniffle loudly.

Turning his honey-colored gaze to her brings him to the realization that she's stopped coloring and, instead, has her hands pressed against her face as her body shakes with quiet sobs. His paternal instincts to protect and comfort her immediately kick in, and he pushes the plate aside so he can sling an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer to him.

“Hey, hey, li’l princess, what’s goin’ on?” he murmurs.

She leans closer to him but keeps her hands over her face. “It wasn’t my fault, Daddy,” she whimpers softly, the sound of her strained voice nearly shattering her father’s heart, “There’s a really, really mean girl in my class. She always pulls my hair, a-and takes my markers, and cuts in line so she gets the last orange popsicle--and that’s my favorite flavor--and... I hate her!”

Atsumu grabs a tissue to dab at the tears spilling down her cheeks once he gently moves her hands away from her face. He’s silent for a moment as the previous sadness he felt at his daughter’s suffering morphs into anger upon hearing that she was being bullied. “Didja hit ‘er 'cause she was bein’ mean?”

She nods and cries, “S-She pushed me during recess ‘nd I got mad and pushed her back,” before finally lifting her head to gaze up at him with watery, (e/c) eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Daddy! I-I was just scared she was gonna hurt me!”

Wrapping both of his arms around her small frame, Atsumu brings her face to his chest and holds her tightly in his embrace in an attempt to comfort her. “It’s alright, (daughter’s name). Mommy ‘nd I will make sure this gets fixed, ‘kay?” The grip she has on the back of his t-shirt tightens slightly as she presses her face into his shoulder. One of his hands rubs her back to calm her down while the other smooths down any stray hairs sticking up from her head.

After a few minutes of crying, whimpering, and venting, she’s finally relaxed enough to let her dad lead her into the living room so they can sit and watch a few episodes of her favorite show together while snacking on onigiri.

“Hey,” he calls out to her, making her tear her wide-eyed gaze away from the television screen, “I know me, Mommy, ‘n Uncle ‘Samu always say that fightin’ ain’t the right way ta go about things, but I’m proud of ya for stickin’ up for yourself, girly.”

A small smile sprouts across her lips that’s made even cuter by the fact that her cheeks are puffing out from the amount of rice she has in her mouth. The sight makes him chuckle and ruffle her hair.

“But don’t go tellin’ Mommy I said that. Instead, use yer words, find one of the teachers, ‘n let ‘em deal with whoever’s givin’ ya trouble, alright?”

When she’s finished chewing her food, she replies, “M’kay.”

“Mind tellin’ me what started the fight in the first place?” he asks, one of his thick eyebrows raising in curiosity.

She twiddles her thumbs and slowly directs her gaze back to the television. “She made me drop my popsicle when she pushed me.”

“And it was your favorite flavor, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah...”

With a hearty laugh, he comments, “Man, you really are yer mom’s daughter, ya know that? She don’t mess around when food’s involved.”

The sounds of his daughter's giggles ripple through the air, sending waves of warmth over him as he continues telling her stories about all the times he’d dealt with you getting on his case about food or treat-related issues. He made sure to include an anecdote about a time when you’d nearly knocked him over after he’d jokingly swiped your candy bar during lunch in high school.

Needless to say, he never did it again out of the fear that Osamu wouldn't let him live it down if he got destroyed by a high school girl over food. However, the passion and unrelenting desire he’d seen in your eyes that day had made him absolutely sure that you were the one for him.

By the time you step into the house a few hours later, your daughter--being the mature, young girl she was--has moved her schoolwork from her bedroom to the living room table to do her assignments while her dad snoozes on the couch. Upon noticing that she’s in a better mood than she had been when you’d dropped her off at the gym with Atsumu, your heart lifts slightly.

“Hey, honey,” you greet her as you slide off your shoes and set your purse down on a table in the entryway, “What’re you up to?”

She holds up a piece of paper with colored markings on it that vaguely resemble Atsumu’s tall figure holding what you assume to be a volleyball, along with a few, familiar faces in the background. “I have to draw a picture of what you and Daddy do at work to show my teacher.”

You smile at her and plant a kiss atop her head before commenting, “Looks good so far. You drew Bokuto-san’s hair perfectly.” She chuckles and quickly returns to her masterpiece, since your compliment seems to spur her to keep creating. “I’m gonna talk to Daddy, real quick, okay? I wanna see how you draw Omi-san’s hair when we’re done.”

With that said and your daughter on a mission to produce her version of the prickly, outside hitter on Atsumu’s team, you rouse your husband from his nap so the two of you can head into your room to talk about the situation. Once out of earshot, he explains what your daughter had told him and the two of you work together to devise a plan and time to speak with her teacher about the true story. Amazingly enough, this entire exchange occurrs without your usual, good-natured--but sometimes cumbersome--squabbling.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu,” you call out to him, reaching for his hand and wrapping your fingers around it gingerly.

He had been on his way to the bedroom door so he could head to the kitchen and start making dinner while you showered, but he stops in his tracks and turns to face you once more. When your eyes meet, your heart skips a beat, like always.

Taking a deep breath, you tell him, “Even though we may argue from time to time about parenting, and you sometimes let her have just a tad too much sugar before conveniently deciding to take a nap so you don’t have to deal with her going berserk, there's nobody else in the world that I’d rather share a kid with than you. She loves you so much, and so do I.”

His unoccupied hand finds your waist to pull you closer to him, and he leans down towards you to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. As per usual, the tender moment you shared doesn’t last long, since he always has something smart to say. “What’s gotcha all sentimental, (f/n)? Does seein’ me doin’ fatherly things give ya the hots for me, or somethin’?”

“Oh, yeah, sleeping on the couch while our self-starter of a child does homework by herself is so fatherly.”

He frowns. “I had a long practice. Bein’ a professional athlete is hard work, baby.”

With a sardonic smile on your face, you mention, “Working a nine-to-five is pretty tiring too, baby.”

“Fair,” he groans and slides his arms around your back, “But, seriously, what’s got you feelin’ all in love with me, huh?”

You snicker at his tone and the mischievous look on his face as you brush his golden hair away from his eyes before letting your hands come to rest on his cheeks. “It’s just that when I picked (daughter’s name) up from school today, she was all sad and mopey. Yet, when I come home after dropping her off with you, she’s all smiles and rainbows again. It just reminds me of how good you are to her and it makes me happy that she has you as a father.”

A genuine smile rather than a sly one appears on his lips, and you press your own against them to give him a few, affectionate kisses.

“You know I’d do anything for my favorite, li’l girl, (f/n). She’s only as good of a kid as she is 'cause of you, anyway.”

Your lips form a giddy grin, as if he’s a high school crush who’s just delivered the sweetest of compliments to you, and you allow him to pull you closer so he can shower you with more kisses. “I love you, baby,” you murmur as you plant another peck on his cheek.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a short moment of silence as he pulls you into a tight hug that seems to wash away all the stress that you didn't even realize had been building up within you at the day you’ve had. His breath fans across the tender skin of your neck when he nestles his face there and allows his hands to roam up and down your back. However, after the two of you release each other, you notice a sneaky smile playing at his lips that oftentimes makes you wary.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go see (daughter’s name)’s rendition of Omi-Omi?”

Chuckling and following him out of the bedroom, you agree, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

masterlist ⭐︎ treat me to a coffee!

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @krynnza, @yamagucji, @tendo-sxtori, @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya, @nit-sir-hc, @arixtsukki, @shinsurou, @ichorizaki, @dominikmagnus

atsumu: @pretty-setters, @misora-msby, @why-aminot-dead, @lotsoffandomrecs, @tsumue, @heyhinata

#haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!#hq!!#x reader #reader insert #anime #manga #miya atsumu #fran writes hq!!

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scfttwice · 4 years ago

Text

lines and squiggles

> chaeyoung likes doodling “temporary tattoos” on jina. fans jump to conclusions every time they catch sight of the drawings.

jina adored chaeyoung's drawings. the latter had her own unique art style that distinguished her works from those of others. sometimes when jina saw chaeyoung doodling something, she'd eagerly sit by her to watch, or try to join in and draw something as well while asking chaeyoung for pointers. and every time jina did so, chaeyoung was always happy to guide her.

jina also loved chaeyoung's tattoos; some of them were designed by chaeyoung herself, after all. two out of the ones that weren't her design—the arrow heart under her right ear and the flowers on her left fingers—were designed by jina (and modified by chaeyoung), an honor which chaeyoung offered and jina gladly accepted. during some of their few lazy evenings, when the maknaes would do nothing in particular except lie around in their dorm's living room, jina would find herself absentmindedly tracing and admiring the tattoos on chaeyoung's skin while she busied herself with her phone.

during their 'more & more' promotions, as twice were waiting in a waiting room for their turn to pre-record their performance in a music show, chaeyoung spent the time sketching in her notebook. when jina noticed this, she was almost immediately at chaeyoung's side.

“whatcha drawing there, chae?” she asked, her question accompanied by a curious head tilt. chaeyoung grinned as she looked up at jina and showed her her notebook. drawn all over the page were various fruits and drinks—strawberries, grapes, watermelons, soda cans, and cocktails, to name a few—all in chaeyoung's signature style.

“you're such a great artist, chae,” jina complimented as she continued to admire the drawings, eyes scanning over the same page repeatedly. “you can make any lines and squiggles look like a masterpiece.”

“hey, your art has been improving too,” chaeyoung reminded her. “still, i'll never be as creative and artistic as you,” jina countered with a subtle pout.

chaeyoung only shook her head slowly in amusement as a response, before she gently took jina's hand and rested it on the table. grabbing her pink, purple, and red markers, she began drawing little flowers on jina's wrist. it made jina smile, out of both happiness and feeling ticklish.

chaeyoung had drawn on jina's skin many times before, mostly on her hands and arms. although she'd get ticklish every single time, jina loved it when chaeyoung did so. “it's like getting a temporary tattoo,” jina had remarked once. “designed by someone close to me, so it's much more precious.”

“will you ever stop being a scaredy cat and get a real tattoo?” chaeyoung had asked her upon hearing her comment. jina immediately shook her head. “no way. i admit, i'm way too scared for that.”

when twice were called to record, jina performed with her members on the stage just as they had rehearsed, having had completely forgotten about the flowers drawn in marker ink around her wrist. it wasn't until after they were done recording and were back in their waiting room did jina catch a glimpse of the colors on her wrist.

“oh no, i forgot about this,” she muttered to herself as she gently rubbed her wrist. “i hope it wasn't caught on camera.”

back in the dorm later that night, as the school meal club were having dinner together, the flowers on jina's wrist still hadn't washed out. not that she was complaining though, she loved them.

“uh, jina,” dahyun, who had been scrolling on her phone, called out while eyeing jina's “temporary tattoo”. “you might wanna take a look at this.”

jina turned her attention to dahyun, who showed her her phone screen. it displayed an article posted not even half an hour ago, talking about how fans online were in a heated debate over whether jina had gotten a tattoo or not. the article made sure to provide a zoomed-in picture of jina's wrist from their music show performance earlier, which clearly showed the colorful inked flowers.

scrolling down, jina found that even the comments section of the article itself was filled with heated discussions over the matter.

“i think jina really did get a tattoo this time”

“no way, i'm sure it's just chaeyoung's drawing again”

“it's exactly like the previous issue about jina's airport picture!! the hearts spotted on her arm weren't actual tattoos!!!!”

“the flowers....it looks like a real tattoo....”

“maybe it's just make up for this stage?”

jina let out a huff of frustration after skimming through the comments of arguing netizens. “looks like i'll have to give an explanation...again.”

chaeyoung was also reading the article and comments over jina's shoulder. she gave a sheepish grin as she turned her gaze to jina. “i guess i shouldn't draw on you right before we have to record.”

“even when we're not recording anything,” tzuyu chimed in. “our fans still manage to find chaeyoung's drawings on jina in any pictures.”

“they have a really keen eye when it comes to idols,” dahyun added in a lighthearted tone.

jina sighed. “yeah, that's true. i'll start a short vlive later, to clear things up.”

she stayed true to her words. she washed up after dinner and went back to sit in the living room, turning on a vlive on her phone titled “talking about my tattoo”.

in hindsight, the vlive title was a huge click bait, but at least it'd attract the attention of more people to watch. it would get the word out faster.

“hi, everyone,” jina greeted once there were enough people in, waving using the same hand that had the flowers. “i'm sure many of you are wondering about this,” she said while holding up her wrist.

“i actually came on vlive tonight solely to address this matter. i saw an article earlier, discussing the rumor that i've gotten a tattoo according to pictures of me taken during our music show performance today. but actually, it's not real. chaeyoung drew on me again, like she had drawn the hearts on my arm a few months ago. that picture of me also went viral and rumors circulated. so this time i wanted to quickly explain to everyone that i don't have a tattoo.”

the chat section of the vlive was full of differing reactions. some fans were disappointed, some were relieved, and there were even some who boasted about knowing the tattoo was fake from the start. jina stayed on vlive for a little bit longer to continue entertaining her fans, before she wished everyone a good night just after she had passed the 15 minute mark.

once the vlive was off, chaeyoung poked her head into the living room. “you're not asleep yet?” jina looked up at her and asked, a soft smile on her lips, which chaeyoung returned with a wider one. she walked over to jina and sat next to her on the floor. “i couldn't help but overhear your vlive,” chaeyoung said. “you shouldn't have told them the truth so soon. it would've been fun to watch them make funny theories.”

jina chuckled. “true, but i'd rather not let them make a big fuss over it.” chaeyoung nodded. “you're right.”

“so now that you cleared the rumors up, can i...?” chaeyoung trailed off, continuing her question by holding up an orange marker pen while smiling cheekily. jina laughed when she understood what it was that chaeyoung wanted. granting chaeyoung's wish, she held out her arm to her.

jina watched in amusement as chaeyoung happily doodled little paw prints along her lower arm.

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moonctzeny · 4 years ago

Text

The Bet

au+trope+prompt game: coffee shop!au Mark + enemies to lovers + is that the best you can do?

pairing: mark lee + fem!reader

other members as background characters: lucas

genre: fluff (only some suggestive stuff)

word count: 3,796

warnings: slight objectification of reader, suggestive stuff, heavy making out, a boner, i guess a stockings kink

summary: “When you took that part time job as a barista at your local café, you only cared about grabbing your check while doing the least work possible. But when your supervisor, Mark Lee, keeps getting praised and winning ‘Employee Of The Month’, you offer a bet, to prove him that he’s no better than you. The outcome? Your relationship changing forever.”

a/n: hbd baby <3

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It started off as just a little part time job.

College life was not easy to cope with financially, and eating instant noodles for a week straight could only save you so much money. So when you saw the ‘Barista Wanted’ sign at the cafe that was just a block away from your house, you didn’t miss your chance for a few extra bucks. And that’s all that job would be for you. Doing the least work possible for the minimum wage you were given, if it wasn’t for him. Mark Lee.

Mark was sweet, honestly. He greeted you with a smile when you first came in and showed you around. He was a bit shy when he awkwardly stated that he was kind of like a supervisor there. But the way that the boss would go on and on about how great he was, every Monday morning, was starting to get annoying. So was his ability to always save your ass whenever you made a mess in front of your boss. So was his picture hanging in the “Employee Of The Month” frame right from across the bar. That kid won that title every.single.month. And no overtimes, sweeping or mopping from your part seemed to change your boss’s mind.

It all began when you and Lucas, another part-time worker whose shift started right after yours, were talking about whether you would make rent this month. Mark was sitting next to you, occupied with organizing some cups by size, but decided to chip in.

“Well”, he sighed “guess we’re just gonna have to eat the rich. Or take that pole dancing class you mentioned, Lucas.”

The taller boy found it funny, letting out his signature giggle and you would too, if Mark’s damn “Employee of the Month” picture wasn’t staring right into your soul, mocking you.

You rolled your eyes. “Not all of us are lucky enough to get that sweet I-love-kissing-the-boss’s-ass bonus every month, Lee”. Lucas whistled at your comment, used to your bickering but still very entertained.

“Careful how you speak to your supervisor, y/n or you’ll never get to be employee of the month”.

“Oh please”, you scoff “having extra keys to the back exit and cleaning the coffee machine twice a week? That’s wayyy too much responsibility”.

Sarcasm was dripping from your voice, but you were only half lying. You didn’t give a flying fuck for the position. You just wanted it because he had it. And that certain “he” was starting to get a little tired from your constant degradation. Mark smirked at you, but anger was evident on his expression.

“You should be thanking me, you know. At least you get to mooch off of my tips”.

Lucas yelled a drawn out “ooohhh” but you could barely hear him. Your eyes were piercing Mark’s, too busy keeping yourself from blurting out every profanity that came to your head in that moment. Instead, you took a deep breath.

“You think you make more tips than me?”, you asked calmly. Cockier than ever, the boy instantly replies with a “I know I do”, never breaking eye contact. This was your chance, you thought. The chance to prove yourself and shut him up for good.

“How about we make a little bet?”

Mark raised his bow-shaped brows, focusing his attention solely on you.

“Let’s put separate tip jars next to the cashing machine for the rest of the week. If I make more, you’ll convince the boss to remove that horrible frame for good”. He followed your eyes to his picture on the wall, and nodded.

“And when I win?”, he asked curiously and you chose to ignore his little play on words. You furrowed your brows, trying to think of a good motivation for him, as if his competitive nature wasn’t enough.

“OH! OH!” Lucas interrupted, “she can go on a date with that creepy friend of yours that always comes to the cafe to see her!”

Mark’s eyes instantly lit up at the idea. He handed out his pinky, looking to seal the deal with you.

“Bet’s on”, he said, with a seriousness that looked foreign on his cute features, and motioned to his pinky with his eyes, urging you to intertwine it with yours.

You sighed and walked away, muttering a “God, you are so lame”, but the next morning you came to work with a jar with your name written all pretty on it.

You didn’t really have a strategy per se. In fact, you had completely forgotten about the bet, too busy preparing orders and running around. You were cleaning up for Lucas to take your place in the shift, when you felt Mark looking down at you from the other side of the counter that usually separated you from the costumers. “May I be of help, sir?”, you asked him mockingly, not bothering to spare him a glance.

“You should wear those white thigh highs. You look cute in them.”

“Huh? What?”, you ask in confusion, still cleaning the surface carefully.

“In your date with Jason”, he explained with a teasing tone in his voice, Jason being his ‘creepy friend’ as Lucas calls him. Why did he have to piss you off right when you were ready to go home?

You continued to ignore him, only muttering a “I’m not going on that date”, when you hear a clinging sound and finally look up at Mark.

“You sure?”

He was holding the two tip jars, swinging them around. To your horror, Mark’s had more than twice the money than yours.

“WHAT??” you let out and immediately regretted it when some costumers looked at you like you were crazy. You continued with a whispered yell, “How the fuck did that happen??”

Mark grinned at you and lifted his shoulders innocently, before walking away. He must have cheated by slipping in coins when you weren’t looking, that sly motherfucker.

That’s it, you decided, on Wednesday you were going to spy on his every move.

After watching him intently for the whole morning, you came to the conclusion that Mark had a way of making everybody like him. Whether it was him memorizing the regulars and their orders, or asking them if they knew some random Will Smith song about Miami, he was always the textbook example of an eager, smiley and pleasant barista. Even you smiled at the sight of him fumbling with the pen when two pretty girls gave him their names to write on the coffee cups. He flashed them a smile and mumbled an apology, and you watched as they cooed at him and left a very generous tip. You were almost convinced by his adorable act, when he turned around and winked your way.

Ugh, you hated Mark Lee.

You decided that making a better connection with the customers was the way to go. You weren’t the type to start a conversation about the weather out of the blue, nor did you know any Will Smith songs, so you decided on drawing a little doodle on the cup next to their names with every order. The younger ones thought it was a nice addition to their snapchat story, the older ones found you cute. And as they came back for a coffee refill, your jar started filling up as well. It wasn’t much but you were getting closer to reaching the 3/4 of Mark’s tips, so you were pretty happy with yourself.

You were drawing a little heart for a latte when you smelled his cologne. You felt his breath pushing away at the hairs that were sticking out from your ponytail at the nape of your neck. You hated how it sent a shiver to your spine, how it made your hands a little shaky and how the heart drawing turned out a little wonky.

Mark was your “enemy” and your supervisor and Mr. Annoyingly Perfect but Mark was also hot. You would never admit it, but you even had a little crush on him when you started working there. You might pull a disgusted face every time Lucas tells you that the solution to your constant bickering was to “just fuck already”, but you wondered whether it was his oblivion to your crush that made your little hatred towards him grow. And you’d be lying if you said that you never stared at his cute ass sticking out of his apron a second too long, or that it didn’t turn you on when he got pissed at the ice getting stuck in the blender.

So now that he was almost pressing against you from behind, closer than ever, you wouldn’t mind at all. That is if he didn’t open his god damn mouth.

“Really?”, he scoffed “Is that the best you can do?”

His tone was so condescending that it made you furious, pressing your nails in the paper cup, and you were surprised that the liquid didn’t spill everywhere. He gave you a victorious smirk from getting that reaction out of you, and you wanted to punch it right off of his face.

Oh, that meant war.

On Thursday morning, you walked in looking the best you’ve ever looked for a morning shift. You had your hair in pigtails, hair bands matching the color of your lowcut dress. Your lengthened the straps of your apron, your cleavage not leaving much to the imagination.

It was ridiculous, you thought, how many tips a push up bra can get you. It only took a couple customers for the word to spread and the horny men to line up at the cafe. You batted your eyelashes at them, the “Good morning, I’m here to serve you, how can I help you sir?”driving them nuts. You had to say it every time, shop’s policy, but now it sounded more suggestive than ever. You were disgusted by their gawking eyes and terrible attempts at flirting, but you had a goal.

And hell were you winning. You weren’t sure if it was your jar that was filling up at an amazing rate or your outfit, but that was the first time you ever saw Mark make a mistake in his orders. You swore you felt his gaze following you around all day, murmuring something to himself every time a customer asked him if the pretty girl could serve them instead.

It was the end of the shift, and you were happily chatting with Lucas as you were cleaning up the counter. He was doing a terrible job at keeping his eyes away from your chest, but when it came to someone as good looking as him, you really didn’t mind the attention. You took your apron off and started folding it neatly when Mark took your wrist and dragged you into the storage room.

He held a bunch of wrinkly paper towels in his hands. You noticed something was written with a pen messily on each of them.

“This is the seventh phone number that a dude has given me today”, he told you as he stared into your eyes, careful not to move his gaze any more south. It was your turn to mess with him.

“Well good for you”, you said with a smile, “Didn’t know you were so popular with men, Mark”

He closed his eyes, trying to control his temper, and shoved the towels towards you.

“They’re for you. They asked me to pass them to you. After the third guy I forgot what their names were but you can figure them out yourself”. You took them from him with a quiet “oh, thanks” and he sighed.

“You can’t come in here looking like that. This is a workplace.”

You looked at him with wide eyes and fake innocence. “Like what? What’s wrong with my outfit?”. His patience was running short.

“Why don’t you ask Lucas” he replied, with a tone that started to piss you off.

“If you can’t control your hormones like you’re some teenage boys, that’s not my prob-“ you start but he cuts you off. You had never seen him act so stern.

“We have a dress code. Maybe the boss can remind you, if you want”.

It was the first time Mark had actually pulled the supervisor card on you and you felt a little hurt by the coldness of his voice. You swear you saw a bit of instant regret in his eyes but you decided to leave the matter alone, and left the storage room after ostentatiously throwing the phone numbers in the bin next to the door.

Friday was the last day of the bet. You didn’t show up with a flashy outfit, because 1) you didn’t want to risk losing your job for a stupid bet and 2) because straight men were annoying and so were their pickup lines that you didn’t want to deal with. You did wear the white thigh highs Mark mentioned though, with a skirt whose length followed the dress code, just to tease him a little bit. You had never worn them in work before, but when you ran across Mark one day on your way home from a girls’ night out, both a little drunk and disoriented, he didn’t hide his admiration towards them.

He noticed right away when you walked in the café this afternoon. Fridays were the only days when you took the later shift instead of the morning one. You hated it because that meant having to work with Mark until closing, and due to his perfectionism you’d always be staying with him overtime, cleaning every inch of the place, and never participating in any Friday parties that your friends hosted.

You were a little worried that things would be awkward between you after your little argument yesterday, but when he pointed at your stockings and asked if you were “dressed up for the date already”, you knew he didn’t keep any hard feelings and neither did you. What you didn’t expect was his jar to be as full as yours, if not more.

You panicked, and took Lucas to the side, making him promise that he would tell you if he had cheated while you were gone or not. He shrugged.

“Sorry, pretty, no cheating. A high school visited the park across the street as a field trip. The girls went crazy over him. Pretty sure they spent all their allowance here”.

At that you dropped your shoulders in defeat and worked your shift with a pout on your face. You wouldn’t take the humiliation of losing the bet, especially after the little stunt you pulled on Thursday. The hours went by agonizingly slow, and the moment you were dreading finally came.

You turned the “Sorry, we’re closed” sign at the glass entrance door, as you were mopping the floor. All the costumers were gone, and your boss had left the keys to you and Mark, asking you to lock up instead as he had ‘an errand to run’. You wished that your coworker would somehow forget about your bet and spare you the embarrassment, but instead, he gave you a devilish side smirk and motioned you to come closer.

He emptied his jar first, and started counting out loud in front of you, insisting that you do it out together so as not to pull any “funny business”.

40 bucks. It wasn’t bad, it was good actually, and you groaned, now feeling more nervous than ever.

Mark on the other hand, relaxed his shoulders and happily started counting your tips this time. His smile started to wear off, though, as you did much better that he thought. You were neck-to-neck, figuratively and almost literally, as your heads nearly bumped together in deep concentration.

“37,38,39,40…41,42,43” he whispered out and you couldn’t believe your eyes.

You won. You actually won. You never had to see that stupid “Employee Of The Month” frame ever again and most importantly, you were finally better than Mark at something.

You let out a high-pitched squeal, jumping up and down excitedly on your spot, strikingly different that the boy next to you, who was frozen in place.

“I woooon” you teased him with a sing-song voice “and you looooost, loserrr”

It was an understatement to say that Mark was fuming.

“It’s not fair!” he yelled and pointed an accusing finger towards you. You rolled your eyes and walked further back, next to the counter with the coffee machines, happily swinging your hips.

“Don’t be a sore loser Mark, I won fair and square”

“I’m not a sore loser!”, he whines, “I was at a disadvantage!”

You raise an eyebrow and turn towards him, to see that he had taken a few steps at your direction. “Oh yeah? And what is that?”

“You’re hot!”, he groans and rubs his hands over his face. “Hell, I would die from a caffeine overdose if it meant seeing you with your little pigtails and that top and that smile, ready to ‘serve me, sir’”

You could feel your ears and cheeks turning on fire and you’d blame it on the flattery, but his horrible high-pitched impression of your voice was what made you too angry to fully process what he said.

You grabbed a syrup bottle from the counter behind you and pointed it towards his face.

“Ugh, Mark! You’re so annoying! Why do you always need to be the best at everything!”

You barged into him, squeezing the bottle over his face. With his quick reflexes he swiftly grabbed your hand, successfully immobilizing you, but you had already managed to get a big, fat line of syrup right across his lips.

In a moment of clarity, you stopped resisting and became aware of the position you and Mark were in. You had moved backwards as a result of your fight, the countertop digging in your lower back. His one hand was grabbing at your lifted arm by the wrist, the other resting on the marbled surface behind you in an effort to detain you. To top it all off, you stared at the mess you made on his lips, coupled by the unreadable look on his eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you thought. This is your supervisory/n! You know, the guy in charge when the boss is gone? The guy that you basically jumped because of a stupid bet? That you actually won? But will still get you fired?

You were getting ready to move away and profusely apologize to Mark, your eyes frantically moving from his eyes, to his lips, to his “Employee Of The Month” picture from across the room. He, however, stayed still, only releasing your wrist to now place his hand under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Clean this mess”, he demanded, in a tone you would have never expected from Mark, “immediately”

In the seconds that followed his demand, the tension between you two was thicker than the drizzle that still decorated his mouth. He came even closer, your noses only a centimeter apart, his fingers pressing on your face lightly.

You were worried whether you read the room wrong or not, because if you did, your next move would most certainly get you fired.

He could barely hear your whispered “here to serve you” before you finally closed the distance between you.

You pulled his bottom lip between your lips, your tongue shyly sweeping across it, collecting the syrup that was starting to dry into a sugary paste. He was soft like a cloud and tasted like caramel. You repeated the motion for his top lip when you felt him melt into your kiss. The moment was sweet like the taste in your mouth, but it changed as soon as you felt him grab the back of your thighs, lifting you on the top of the counter.

You matched his hunger by sucking on his bottom lip this time, determined to clean him up as best as you could. He moaned your name into the kiss, his fingertips digging in the inside of his favorite thigh highs. Your skirt had well ridden up, allowing him to pinch the fabric of one of them.

“These” he started, his lips now sucking on your neck, “almost cost me my supervisor’s position with all the messing up they made me do”

He let the elastic snap against your thigh, earning a small gasp from you and you decided to tease him a little.

“Is that so huh? Because I’m so hot? With my boobs and my pigtails and my willingness to serve?” you ask with a laugh, and you feel him smile against his deep kiss over your pulse, grabbing your legs to scoot your ass and pull you closer.

“Because you’ve been driving me crazy ever since you got this job. And because you look so fucking sexy when you’re mad”

His boldness made you desperate as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled him back up into a passionate kiss. It was sticky and hot and full of tongue, and you felt something poking on the inside of your thigh before a loud noise made you snap and pull away from each other in shock.

You looked at the floor to see a, thankfully not broken, but dismantled blender, that you must have pushed off the counter in the heat of the moment. You stare down at Mark as you both laugh at the situation, his hair messy and lips swollen and you know you definitely mirrored his look.

He cleared his throat. “Uhh, not that I don’t enjoy this, cause I really do, but if we keep at it Lucas is going to be the next Employee Of The Month, and not only is that ridiculous, but we would both basically lose our little bet”

You laughed at his comment and let your feet dangle awkwardly, your cheeks heating at the thought of what might have happened if you two had kept going.

“I’m sorry for being such a bitch about your framed picture” you said with a small voice, avoiding his gaze “you don’t have to take it down”

He smiled at your attempt at peace as he picked up the blender pieces and skillfully riveted them in place. Your eyes suddenly widened before adding, “I will NOT go on a date with your creepy friend though”

Mark giggled at that and shook his head before returning his eyes back at you. His cheeks were flushed a crimson red, deep in thought.

“How about me?” he blurted, “I mean, how about going on a date with me instead?”

You nodded your head, reaching a hand out to fix the messy locks out of his eyes.

“Yes. I think I’d love that”

#mark lee scenarios #nct scenarios #mark lee #mark lee fluff #nct fluff #mark lee birthday #nct au #nct 127 #superm

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redgillan · 5 years ago

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Under Pastel Skies - 3

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,587

Warnings: none

A/N: I wanted to give Reader a family and this is the easiest way to do it. Btw Peggy’s husband isn’t Steve, I have other plans for him ;) Enjoy!

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

The rest of the week went by, and you kept hoping Bucky would come back. You hadn’t seen him since he’d left 300 dollars under his napkin after visiting you at work. You had tucked the bills into your bra, knowing they would be safe there, and walked home at the end of your shift.

Now it was Thursday afternoon and you were craving a day off.

Natasha’s apartment was spacious and the oversized glass window bathed the living room in natural sunlight. The apartment was a gift from Sam. Obviously.

You dropped your purse on the sofa –your bed- and laid out the bills on the coffee table. It was made of marble and brass, another gift from Sam.

You didn’t know what to do with the money, so you took it wherever you went, to keep it safe. You wanted to return it to Bucky. It was too much and you weren’t used to random acts of kindness.

You sunk into the cushion and blew out a sigh as you stared at the money. The persistent vibration of your phone against your thigh pulled you out of your thoughts. Half expecting it to be Natasha, you answered without looking at the caller ID.

The operator told you that Scott Lang was calling from Saint Quentin State Prison, and asked if you would accept the charges. You agreed. You always agreed.

“Splotchy, I need your help.”

Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back against the cushion. “I told you to stop calling me that, Scott.”

It was a silly nickname.

As a child, your mother dubbed you splotchy because of the colourful doodles you painted on the living room walls, and your siblings, who were roughly a few years older than you, had loved using that nickname. Especially since they knew you disliked it.

Their support and endless enthusiasm played a big part in your artistic journey, nurturing that spark into a flame. What started out as a childlike fascination with colours and shapes became your whole life. No one was surprised when you decided to pursue a degree in fine arts.

After the death of her husband, Peggy Carter adopted five children; a little boy from San Francisco, a little girl from Wakanda, twins from Sokovia and a little girl whose birth parents were still in high school. You were the last one, the only one she adopted as a baby.

“Is it offensive to call an artist splotchy?”

“It’s irrelevant. I haven’t painted in months,” you replied. “And we’re not kids anymore, you can use my name.”

“I’ve been calling you Splotchy for so long, I forgot your actual name.”

“You’re so funny,” you deadpanned. “What do you need, Scott?”

Scott’s tone changed suddenly, his voice grew agitated. “I need you to call Maggie. She isn’t picking up when I call her.”

“Scott,” you sighed.

“I haven’t talked to Cassie since her birthday,” he cut you off, pleading. “Please, I just want to talk to my little girl.”

Maggie was Scott’s ex-wife. Six months after his incarceration, she had filed for divorce. Natasha thought it was a real dick move but you didn’t blame Maggie. She was alone, her husband was in jail –for basically being a dumbass although the official charge was embezzlement and destruction of property- and she had a kid to raise.

Maggie wasn’t a saint but she was a good mother, and Cassie was a smart and healthy kid. Now you knew what to do with Bucky’s money.

“I’ll call her,” you said. “Listen, I’m going to put 50 bucks on your book. Buy yourself a bar of soap, I can smell you from here.” Scott interrupted you with a monotone ‘har har’. You chuckled. “I’ll buy Cassie a Christmas gift on your behalf, all right? I think she wanted a bike.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chanted over the phone, his voice muffled as if he was holding the receiver too close to his mouth. “Are you sure you can afford it? I know it isn’t easy for you. Between living in New York and paying for mom’s nursing home, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting off the conversation. “I’m not alone, Okoye helps.”

“And Wanda?”

“She sends postcards from time to time.”

The line went quiet for a moment. “I want to get out of here so bad,” Scott groaned. “Everything’s gone to shit since I went to jail.”

“Everything’s gone to shit since Pietro died, Scott.” You both remained silent, remembering your late brother. Just thinking about him made your eyes start to prickle with tears, so you cleared your throat and ended the call. “I’ll talk to Maggie. You’ll be out soon, just... stay out of trouble. Love you.”

You left your phone on the table and kicked off your shoes before you lay down on the sofa for a well-deserved nap. In your dreams your brothers weren’t either dead or in prison, your mother hadn’t been diagnosed with Alzheimer, and you weren’t a burden to your friend.

If you were lucky enough, you wouldn’t even dream at all.

The next day, Bucky arrived at the hotel at six thirty and you playfully glared at him from across the lounge. He wasn’t stupid, he knew why you were glaring at him. At least he had the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Just so you know, you bought yourself about 30 breakfasts,” you told him, referring to the far-too-generous tip he had left the other day.

“A man’s gotta eat,” he replied with a boyish cockiness that made him look stupidly attractive. You were too flustered to find a good comeback.

You brought him his cup of coffee and let him enjoy his breakfast while you attended to your other clients. It was an unusually busy day, the room was packed with families who were getting ready to explore Manhattan. You didn’t have time to chat with Bucky and he didn’t stay long. You saw him flinch a couple of times; the muscles in his shoulders pulled tight and his eyes darting left and right.

He left another ridiculously generous tip, along with a handwritten note. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day x.

Bucky came back the following week, and even though it was a quiet morning, you made sure to find him a table in a secluded spot. He didn’t notice when you slipped the 300 dollars into the pocket of his coat. You could be pretty sneaky, too.

“Mmmh,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I looked at your Instagram.”

“Oh,” you glanced at your shoes, embarrassed. “Wait, you’re on Instagram? I have a hard time imagining you scrolling through your feed.”

He laughed a little. “I’ll admit I’m not as tech savvy as you youngsters, but I’m not a fossil. I use it to look at the pictures my sister post of my niblings.”

“Cute,” you grinned.

“Anyway,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair. “I love your work. It’s very unique; a cross between Impressionism and Post-impressionism. It’s realistic, and yet there’s something different...” his face scrunched up as he tried to look for the right word. “There’s something in your paintings, something that isn’t here in real life but perhaps should be. It’s hard to explain. It’s a feeling, a color, a pattern; it’s indiscernible but it’s there.” He looked up at you, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”

You blinked, suddenly stunned that someone had such strong opinions about your work. There was nothing but sincerity in his ocean-blue eyes, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

“I, um-” you cleared your throat, “Thank you, I didn’t know that. I look up to Monet, obviously. His work is phenomenal, and I also have a soft spot for Van Gogh.” You ran a hand across your face. “Sorry, I’m a little emotional. The people who compliment my art are usually my siblings, and Nat.”

“And now me,” he said with a warm smile. “And soon a lot more people.”

Flustered, you bit your bottom lip. “That would be nice.”

Bucky nodded. He gathered his silverware and set them on his plate, trying to buy time. You watched him hesitate before he turned to you. “I noticed that your last post was from almost a year ago.”

“Yeah,” you said with a casual shrug. “I don’t really paint anymore. I’m too tired when I get home and supplies are expensive.”

“Of course,” he pursed his lips in thought. “Are you free this afternoon? I was wondering if we could meet for coffee.”

You tried not to show your surprise but his words made the sleeping butterflies in your stomach crack an eye open, their interest piqued.

Was he asking you out? He’d come to your workplace every week since your brief ‘date’. He always gave you more-than-generous tips, and he listened to you with a combination of close attention and warmth that made you weak at the knees.

He’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for anyone but maybe he had changed his mind. Agh, down girl! He just wanted a friend.

You looked into his beautiful eyes, seeing a myriad of expressions cross his face before he smiled at you.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, angel.”

It was an honest lie, just hearing him call you angel felt like a punch to the stomach. The butterflies were dancing around, reborn, and chanting the word ‘date’.

“If you don’t like coffee, we can have tea, or ice cream,” he said, “anything as long as you can sit down with me.”

You snorted. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, smiling. “This is my number. Pick a place and I’ll meet you there.”

After breakfast, you closed the restaurant and started cleaning the Lounge. You brought everything back to the kitchen, stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and turned it on. Then you put away the unopened miniature jams, butter and whatnot, and gathered the remaining patisseries and fresh fruits in a basket that you would later bring to the reception.

You worked mechanically. It wasn’t exactly the most exciting job you’d ever had.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky. It was easy to let your mind wander into the cosy and dangerous territory of this being a real date.

You decided to go to the Australian coffee shop near Natasha’s apartment. It was popular but not as crowded as Starbucks, which suited you fine.

After your shift, you removed your uniform and changed into the spare set of clothes you kept in your locker for emergencies. Emergencies being an impromptu date or a night out with Nat. You dug around in your purse for your lipstick; the nice one, the Carter Red as your mother called it.

You dabbed the lipstick on your lips, staining them. You only wore it on special occasions, and you weren’t sure Bucky deserved your full red pout.

You walked to the café with a little pep in your step and a confident smile on your face. The freezing temperature didn’t matter, you were too giddy to care. It was a date, it had to be, why else would he ask you to meet for coffee?

You smiled when you saw him through the coffee shop window. He was chatting with the waiter as the latter set two mugs on the table.

“Hi again!” You shrugged out of your jacket and took a seat.

“I hope you like hot chocolate. Carl, here, says it’s their best seller,” Bucky said, smiling kindly at the waiter.

“Enjoy, and if you need anything else don’t hesitate to call me.”

You carefully wrapped your cold hands around your mug while you watched Carl walk away. A moment of silence rose between you. Bucky watched you with an unreadable expression, making you fidget in your seat.

“I’m glad you came,” he finally said.

“Me too. I’m a little surprised you asked.”

He looked down at his mug and smiled; it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have something to ask you.” He paused. “The night we met, you said you agreed to see me because being in a... financial relationship felt like the only solution to your problems.”

Your smile faltered but he didn’t seem to notice. Oh. The butterflies in your stomach fell so suddenly that it felt like carrying a ball of lead. They went back into hibernation.

“If I had been a decent person and, I don’t know, bought you a drink, talked to you,” he paused, meeting your eyes. “Would you have been interested in this type of relationship? With me, I mean.”

You swallowed hard. “You want to be my sugar daddy.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement. You were slowly realizing that you had been wrong about his intentions. This wasn’t a date, it was a business afternoon tea.

He winced. “Do we really have to call it that? I was thinking mentorship. I can provide financial help, and in exchange you could be my friend.”

“I can be your friend for free,” you said, your throat tightening.

He shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “This way we’ll both get something out of it.”

You looked down at your hands, still wrapped around the mug, and pursed your lips in thought. You felt a sharp tingling sensation in your nose, a sign that you were about to cry. You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw, fighting against the flood that was coming.

You pushed all the emotion down and forced a smile to your face. “Do you mind if I use the restroom? I just took the subway, I’d like to wash my hands.”

Bucky watched you, momentarily stunned by your request. “Of course, take your time,” he quickly recovered.

“Thanks,” you croaked, pushing your chair back.

You picked up your bag and walked to the restroom, your legs feeling like cotton wool. You didn’t need to use the restroom, you had walked to the café, but you needed a moment alone to collect yourself.

A woman came out of the restroom, holding the door open for you. You picked up the pace and thanked her before closing the door behind you. You looked pretty sickly under the artificial light of the restroom. Your eyes were glassy with tears and your red lips were taunting you.

“Got your hopes up, uh?” You watched your lips move. A little humourless chuckle escaped you and you shook your head at your own idiocy.

You aggressively wiped the lipstick off your mouth with the back of your hand and sighed deeply as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Now you felt like an idiot.

It wasn’t Bucky’s fault. He had been nothing but nice and kind, and perhaps you had mistaken his kindness for flirting. A naïve mistake. You had always been a little clueless when it came to men.

You ran your index fingers under your eyes to get rid of the makeup that had gathered there. It wasn’t the end of the world, you barely knew him anyway. It didn’t hurt any less, though.

Maybe it was time for you to do something out of character, to experience life no matter how crazy it seemed. You were dreading this conversation with Bucky, but you couldn’t hide in the restroom forever. With another sigh, you pushed yourself away from the sink and walked out of the restroom.

Part 4

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barns imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

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skin starving

tony stark x f!reader fluff. no warnings, just a few f-bombs. touch starved tony’s third person pov. words: 2,5k. no beta because i just really needed to get this off my chest.

recommended music to go with the story: two feet - 'love is a bitch' & 'quick musical doodles'. Or any lo-fi hip-hop radio really.

It started as an itch. At first, a small but bothersome thing, that kept him up at night, steering the already unreasonable hours of wakefulness into dangerous territory. The cold of his bed was unappealing and more often than not, he’d started passing out on the flat surfaces nearest to him: workshop, lab, common room couch, the lazy boy in Bruce’s apartment.

The team noticed, of course, they weren’t blind. They all had been on edge the first few months after Pepper left him. They expected him to act out, lock himself up in his lab or go back to his old habits of boozing and bringing home a different girl every night. And he had tried that, once or twice, but airheaded twenty-somethings weren’t appealing anymore. Most of the time their ass kissing and blatantly flattery annoyed him further into self-loathing abyss. He simply couldn’t step up to be the kind of man they described him to be - it seemed as if every woman on planet Earth had a whole list of expectations he specifically could not meet.

With Thor off planet, not one remaining person on the team was particularly touchy-feely. And that was the thing with Tony Stark: as an engineer, as a mechanic, he made his way through the world hands-first, every approach he had was hands-on. During late nights and early mornings, he laid in bed, sleepless and dreamless, desperately refusing to admit his own touch starvation.

Whenever Rogers threw an arm around his shoulders during a particularly successful team bonding activity, it took every ounce of willpower Tony had to not lean into it and purr like a cat. He hadn’t truly forgiven Steve for his cold, cruel words of criticism shortly after Pepper’s departing. He wasn’t going to chummy up to a man who thought him selfish, opportunistic and self-absorbed.

Tony became irritable and withdrawn. He simultaneously craved and avoided even the casual, friendlier attention his teammates gave him on a daily basis. His usual snark became that much more biting, having caused several people to storm out of team meetings.

On a cold autumn morning, Tony had found his way at the tower’s Starbucks on the employee floor. He had squeezed a generous five hours of restless sleep and he was sick of the plain black coffee in his kitchen. A spontaneous desire for something sweet and creamy and caffeinated led him to the place in line at the cafeteria, only a few early birds ahead of him.

Tony’s brain was hazy as it had been past few weeks, dull from the lack of rest and the hyperfixation of his own skin feeling alien to him. For once, he wasn’t typing away on his StarkPhone as he usually did to avoid being bothered; Tony stared straight ahead, unseeing, nothing but white noise in his usually racing brain.

Two women stood in front of him and he couldn’t help but overhear a part of their conversation.

“… Are you really horny or just lonely or touch-starved, though? I mean, Tinder? It’s not really your style.”

“Eh, I dunno. Probably the second but it’s not like men go on Tinder to find a cuddle buddy.”

“Well, maybe? I’ve heard about arrangements like that.”

“No offense, babe, but it’s probably kids in their early twenties. Those gen-z’s, babe, are weird. I’m not really up to date on all of that.”

The topic of the conversation was what piqued Tony’s interest; the world liked rubbing salt into his wounds and hysterically laugh at his misfortune. Bleary-eyed, he briefly scanned the two women: both appeared to be interns or junior techs in his company, evident by the purple employee badges hanging from their bags.

“So what are you going to do?” One woman asked the other as their turn to order took Tony one step closer to obtaining his desired caffeine.

“Unless someone normal magically appears with an offer of no-strings-attached, good ole’ snuggle fest, I guess I’m getting dicked down on Saturday,” The other replied with a teasing tone. The lack of excitement in the last part of the sentence was obvious.

“Gross,” The first one shook her head and hurriedly rattled off her order to the barista who looked about as disgruntled as Tony felt.

Hours and three coffees later, Tony’s overactive brain was still stuck on that woman from the cafeteria. Her back, her purse stuffed full of colorful manila folders, her neatly gathered hair - Tony Stark had nearly perfect memory and he remembered every single detail despite his brain fog. Objectively, she was attractive, no more no less than a different dozen of women he’d seen at any point in his life before. So why was he hung up on her?

It didn’t take him a long time to find her file, faster than he’d liked to admit. Manually sorting through hundreds of interns, lab technicians and various second-tier employees wasn’t exactly considered productive but with Pepper and her nagging out of the picture, Tony could afford to slack off a little bit.

So he found her name and her e-mail address, skimmed over her performance report with satisfaction, finding her to be a busy bee in the 90-th percentile. Her superiors considered her trustworthy, hard-working and communicative, all good traits.

Pepper’s absence meant he’d have no one to cover his ass should he get slapped with a harassment suit; however, he was the Tony Stark after all. He had more money that he’d cared to count and an army of lawyers at his disposal 24/7.

Amidst the jumbled mess of wires, circuit boards, tablets, empty coffee cups and the occasional piece of paper, Tony typed up an e-mail to the woman sharing his… Condition.

“I heard you and your friend talking at Starbucks. I could use a cuddle buddy. Wine and Netflix at my place? What’s your takeout preference?”

No. That came off way too creepy, like he was some kind of a dirty eavesdropper.

He contemplated some more, typing up and erasing multiple e-mails with various proposals: his penthouse, her place, a three Michelin star restaurant, a walk in the park. Almost all of it screamed ‘date’, like he’d drag her off to bed the very moment an opportunity wouldn’t present itself. It wasn’t so: Tony Stark, the playboy genius, had his dick firmly tucked into his pants. The thought of fucking her crossed his mind only briefly, quickly being chased away by the thought of her fingers running through his hair. Her warm, soft body in his arms. Just laying on his couch, eyes closed, reveling in each other’s arms.

Tony hit send on the least obnoxious option. He baited his breath, clicking his fingers in anticipation as the message showed itself to having been delivered.

“Mary, is this you trying to be funny? Stark is going to fire you if he finds out you’re impersonating him to stop your friend from going on a questionable date. Grow up.” Came the very prompt reply, ending with a short string of angry emojis. Tony could totally trust a person who used emojis unironically and generously.

“For the record, I wouldn’t be mad if somebody pretended to be me for the sake of saving their cute friend from a creep. The problem would be making it look credible.” Tony typed up the answer without thinking, quickly snapping a picture of himself holding the Starbucks cup with his name written on it, throwing his usual sloppy peace sign. He attached it to the email and hit send.

“WTF” Came the reply not a minute afterwards. He let it sink in, giving the woman some time to gather her wits. She did not disappoint. “Okay, even if we pretend this is real - which I doubt - what’s in it for you? If you heard our conversation, you surely know my stance on the matter.”

“I’m always glad to prove you wrong. I’m a genius - comes with the territory.” Tony simply couldn’t resist adding a generous dose of snark. “You’re welcome to meet me after clocking out. Use the private elevator, my AI will beam you up.”

The reply took a considerably long amount of time, seeing as previously, she typed back rather quickly. “Please don’t be a creepy rapist, Scotty. Fingers crossed.” Tony managed to almost break his stylus twice. His hands shook, and he had to tell himself to breathe - still, he laughed at the clever way she replied.

Several more hours later, during which Tony had nearly paced a hole through various floors on the residential side of the tower, he took a quick shower, dressed in a flattering but comfortable designer sweatpants and polo combo and made himself at home on the obscenely large living room sofa on his own, private penthouse floor.

He was up and running towards the elevator when Friday’s voice notified him of the woman entering the elevator on the employee floor. Tony tousled his hair, adjusted his glasses, fiddled with the drawstring of his pants.

The woman was wearing casual office wear, pants and a loose blouse, a lab coat loosely draped over her arm and her purse hanging off the shoulder on a thin strap. Her hair was loose now, a little frizzy as if she continuously ran her hands through it. Tony quietly rejoiced at not being the only nervous one.

Clever eyes scanned the room with unhurried interest before finally landing on him. “Not too shabby, if I say so myself,” The corners of her mouth tilted in an attempt at a smile, it was obvious she was studying him.

“Thanks, I try my best,” Tony smirked. Humble he was not. “So, how do you want to do this?”

“I see a comfortable couch,” She looked to be grateful for being given the opportunity to lead this interaction. “Let’s park our behinds on it, bicker for ten minutes about a movie choice and settle on one none of us really like. Then we can tell each other our no-no zones and, well, yeah,” She started out confidently. Probably practiced in the elevator. But towards the end, her shyness took over.

For Tony, it was kind of cute. A nice change from suck-ups that flocked him at every social gathering in hopes of getting something out of him. The woman that had tossed her bag carelessly on the far end of the couch and untucked her blouse looked and felt like the exact opposite of those people. She looked willing to give.

Tony sat next to her, keeping a couple of inches of free space between them. “Food preferences? Food allergies?” He asked, tapping the food delivery application.

“Nope, and I will eat just about anything.” He felt more than saw her side-eyeing him. Both of them were jittery. So uncharacteristic for Tony, to be blushing and stammering like a high school boy. Sex was easy, but intimacy? Complex. It was addictive and eventually, painful.

Movie decisions were surprisingly easy and she said so. They settled on a Tarantino classic, an old flick neither of them had watched in a long time. As the discussion progressed, Tony used his wits to find out more about her without making it seem like an interrogation. He had run a background check on the woman and her family but those only went that far, besides, it was a great opportunity to practice the tips Natasha had shared with him at one point or another. Being friends with spies had it’s perks.

They ate their food until their bellies were full. A comfortable, relaxing stupor, being warm from the inside out.

Tony noticed when the woman spoke, she spoke with her hands. She had caught herself grasping his forearm multiple times when they’d got more passionate about their discussion. And what Tony loved the most was that she refused to apologize. He saw a kindred soul in the woman; quiet until something struck her fancy. Then, she became a whirlwind of ideas and opinions.

In no time, it became a natural action to extend his arm and wrap it around her shoulders, reclining backwards. There was little grace in laying belly-up like a dead fish but the woman didn’t seem to mind. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she laid down sideways, throwing a leg over one of his own.

Her palm traced the outline of his arc reactor when something on the screen caught her in a moment of intense interest. Tony preferred to avoid the cursed thing - scars around it definitely did not do any favour to his aging, marked body - but he found himself exhaling the tension when it was obvious the woman really did not care. An occasional quiet hum of satisfaction was the only noise that came from her: he noticed the sound escaped her lips every time his thumb began fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse and rubbed against her arm.

He was quite content. It was warm, he was surrounded by so much warmth.

The hug was mutual when she left home, both of them comfortable with the gesture for people who had met in a rather unconventional way.

She started coming over a couple of times a week, a quiet evening of the best takeout in NYC and (mostly) interesting movies. A solace, always a single e-mail away.

Tony saw her in the cafeteria once or twice; he appreciated the brief, tiny secretive grin she gave him out of her friend’s eyesight. She never approached him. He was grateful for that. He didn’t want to deal with all the drama and all the fuss surrounding incidents between him and his employees. It was nobody’s business what any of them did after clocking out - and him and his cuddle buddy, they weren’t even fucking, for Thor’s sake.

Maybe they would get there someday. Or maybe they won’t. It was only now for Tony. The rare free Saturday night he had, he truly took a vacation from all the bullshit and lured her in with promises of very expensive wine, her favourite New York style pizza and the willingness to entertain watching a few of those funny YouTube videos she liked.

They did watch them and Tony didn’t mind. He stepped over the irrational fear and the initial discomfort and curled up around her, hiding his face in the soft cotton of her worn hoodie, his own breath tickling his face in warm puffs. The hand running through his hair was tender like it never was with Pepper - his ex was far too preoccupied to baby her grown-up boyfriend. But the woman moulded to his body like an extension of himself was happy to do so. Tony’s hair was longer now and it glided perfectly along the woman’s palms.

His heart was steady, thumping in his ears, overshadowing the noises coming from the TV. He exhaled and felt her other hand begin tracing circles on his back, as if she saw the stress and the bitterness leave his body with every caress, every brush of their bodies. Maybe she did?

He held onto her, held her back like she’d held him. Safekeeping the warmth inside of him. Guarding his peace.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark fluff #tony stark feels #bun writes #bun writes: drabbles

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aesthbaby · 4 years ago

Text

Her Secret

Summary: We’re all aware of Emily’s untold secrets that she took to the grave with her but what about Lauren? The one thing both woman have in common is you, and the memories they took with them in both of their deaths

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Prompt/request: None, just an idea I’ve had in my head for a while.

Warnings: Cursing | Death

Wordcount: Almost 4k

Master List

AN: Time line might be a little spotty because the show did not give many details but I promise its still comprehensible.

Its beautiful for a sad event. The white flowers are such a stark contrast to her personality. The color reminds you of a time before, before they knew her and before all of this happened. One of your eyes feels kind of funny so you reach for it, pulling back to examine the small drop of water on your finger. You compose yourself and push the large, black, sunglasses up your nose. Maybe you shouldn’t be here. You were dressed in all black with a black umbrella. Despite it being a sad day, it was unnecessarily sunny.

You spot her team making their way down the walk way. Three men carrying the dark coffin with one Caned man in the front and the women in tow. You take a step back into the shadows as they near the podium. As the service progresses the amount of speeches and tears are--overwhelming. Images of Emily, once known to you as Lauren, flash across your mind as you hold back any and all emotions associated with this event.

You knew she wasn't really "dead," she couldn’t be. Emily Prentiss is invincible and would never go like that. You saw the woman known as "JJ" glances your way but she says nothing about it. Probably assuming you were another one of Emily's secrets taken to the grave.

Emily’s not dead. Emily wouldn’t die like that.

You kept repeating it in your head.

Italy - 2004

The violets surround the mansion like a protective field. Their peaceful existence mocking your volunteer imprisonment. You only took this job because you and this other agent were the only ones who spoke fluent Italian. She was supposed to take it and you were the understudy or whatever but then she got knocked up so here you are. Being mocked by fucking flowers. Your thoughts are interrupted by Doyle approaching you with his brunette arm dealer on his arm. You turn away from the balcony upon his approach.

“Lauren deve restare qui mentre scappo. Per favore, tienila d'occhio.” Lauren has to stay here while I run out. Please keep an eye on her. He’s always been so bossy, and for what? To make himself seem more powerful than he actually is? We’re all aware of the danger working for him provides.

“Si signore.” Yes sir. You turn to acknowledge the woman in front of you but she speaks first.

“Perché? Non posso venire con te?” Why is that? Can't I come with you? She whines.

He gives her a look and she backs down. The Captain heads out with his guards behind him, leaving you alone with his lover.

You’re not sure what to do with her. Is this a form of babysitting?

She clears her throat. “I know.”

Hearing her speak English was a surprise but it makes sense, there was always something different about her. You arch an eyebrow and reply, “Sai...che cosa?” You know....what?

She holds up a finger for you to give her a moment. She turns around and sticks her head out the door; then closes and locks it. “You’re not really from Tirana, are you?” Who is this woman? You maintain a neutral face while she continues. “The fact that you never eat with us was a dead give away. You’re always held up in this room.” She gestures to the large room filled with files, records, and books. “Like you’re trying to avoid something. I’d also like to point out how you rarely present any Albanian customs.” Where are you going with this Reynolds... “At first I thought, ‘Maybe they’re one of Doyle’s assassins that I’m not supposed to know about.’ But then I started paying attention and realized you’re nothing like that.” You let out a sharp breath. “Its okay.” She takes one of your hands. “I won’t tell Ian. There’s already enough death in his life and I wouldn’t want to see you be one of his next victims.”

You’re stuck in the moment and words are hard to form. All of your training is slipping through your fingers. For all you know she could be bluffing, trying to get you killed. You go with your safest option because you don’t know this woman at all. You pull your hand from her and take a step closer. Peering into her eyes for any sign of fear and when you find none, you proceed. Leaning in as close as possible to her. “Non farei acquisizioni così pericolose se fossi in te.” I wouldn't make such dangerous acquisitions if I were you. You whisper. You could never be sure if your suspicions were correct but this, this was all the confirmation you needed. What’s that old saying? Takes one to know one. “Agente.” Finishing off that last word you brush past her.

Virginia - present

Being back in The States with Doyle still running around is unnecessarily risking. Emily’s defeat is the only reason you’ve come back. To watch her team grieve over the coffin is saddening but having to hide is the shadows is unfair. Am I not allowed to publicly grieve? Are my tears not worthy? The grip on your umbrella tightens. She’s not dead. Emily doesn’t loose. Emotions are running high and the speeches are getting long. Last time you talked, she claimed to be alone. No family and no fiends but clearly she was wrong. What you’d give to be laying under a plum tree on a wool woven blanket with her head in your lap. Eating pastries you raided from the kitchen and telling the Captain that you needed her to help analyze costs. What a fool.

You were so entranced with the memory that you didn’t notice when the pale, dark haired agent approached you. Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief if I’m not mistaken. “Agent.” He acknowledges.

“Sir?” You mumble.

“Your profession was easy enough to guess, though I’m not sure of your name.” Those knitted brown sweaters and golden, dainty necklaces. The short chestnut hair with soft curls that smelled of honey shampoo. The way she’d nudge your foot during dinner while casting discreet glances. Its all gone. “Agent?” He calls again. “Are you alright?”

Before you say anything you make sure your voice is clear. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, did she suffer?” That question didn’t need to be answered but you just had to know. A favor was called in on your behalf by Lieutenant Parks, he gave very few details about her death but you’ll take that over nothing at all. This was the one question you didn’t have an answer for. With nothing but silence from the man, you have your answer.

Reaching for your pocket there’s a small clear box; inside of the plastic is a handful of pressed violets. Without looking you hold the slim box out to him. “Please, make sure she gets them.” After he takes them you make one last note of the sight in front of you. All of her friends, family, and coworkers gathered in one place with Emily’s grave as the centerpiece. You turn to finally face the man, tilting your shades so he can see a bit of your eyes. “Dead or alive.” And then disappearing in to the back of the cemetary.

Italy - Spring of 04′

Two months ago you were staring off of Doyle’s Spanish-styled balcony thinking, “What would happen if I called it quits?” You had enough evidence and entail for him to never see freedom again. So what was stopping you?

Her. She was making you second guess.

After having her call you out for being a spy, you were very careful about what you did and said around her. Its not like she had any definitive proof but at the same time neither did you. What you said that day was a total bluff. Its a miracle you’re still alive. You were left with only two conclusions: one was that she herself is a spy, or two, she’s one of the smartest people Ian has ever brought home.

Then came a day where the boys went out to wherever and it was just you, her, and the maids. Most of them are Russian and speak poor Italian so they usually keep to themselves. You’re at the dining room table pretending to run numbers since that’s literally your job- well that and vetting backgrounds of sellers and buyers. Essentially a secretary with dangerous patrons. The position is mind numbingly boring but it does allow you to remain invisible while observing the operation. Think about it, who’s going to notice the secretary while discussing millions? They’re idiots. They allow you to sit in on every single meeting because you’re just the person who runs numbers. A debatable perk to this job is the amount of free time you posses. Usually its spent digging around the operation, sending information back to HQ, or actually enjoying small aspects of the city. That brings you to right now where you’re doodling random shapes on the bottom corner of the paper.

Lauren is on the couch wearing a button up satin dress, quite short for Ian’s taste so you’re surprised to see her wearing it. She’s read something you’ve never heard of, not that it matters. With no idea why she’s in here with you, you retreat back into your own mind.

“The maids have left.” You suddenly hear beside you, nearly jumping out of your skin.

“You scared me!” At the realization of your chosen language you gasp and watch as Lauren smiles widely. You shoot to your feet repeating no over and over. Actively trying to take back your words while she looks rather amused.

“I knew it!” She points at you all accusingly and shit. You keep shaking your head no and trying to get her to be quiet. “I was right about you!” And here’s the perfect time to have a maid to walk in. Lauren says something to her but you’re too wrapped up in your head to translate. All your years of training, expierence, undercover work has just been thrown away over your stupid mistake.

They’re going to kill me. They’re going to have my head on a stake in the middle of the garden for the world to see- or worse! I’ll be tortured for my crimes by one of Doyle’s men.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the brunette waving her hand in front of your face. “Don’t worry,” She say softly as you notice the house keeper is no longer with you. “I told her they could take a break...” At your confused face she continues. “So now we can talk.”

Virginia - present

To say you had no idea where you were going, was an understatement.

You hadn’t been to Virginia in years so everything felt unfamiliar. You took quick peaks at your surroundings as the rented porshe pushed through the traffic. Everything hurt, not the traditional pain you experience over a broken toe but the emotional kind that coursed through your entire body.

Is this what a broken heart feels like?

You kept telling yourself she wasn’t dead; couldn’t be. Not your Emily, the woman you know is a fighter. She’s fucking invincible and would never let herself die at the hand of that monster. If she was really dead, wouldn’t you feel it? Wouldn’t you feel your connection to her sever?

At the reorganization of the build ahead of you, you pull the car into the left lane.

Italy - Spring of 04′

She is so fucking clingy. Always starring at me when no one is watching and going on less missions with Doyle. Speaking of him, the man likes to take her everywhere; calls her “Ho il mio portafortuna” his good luck charm. She usual goes out with him whenever he’s traveling but lately she’s been making little excuses on why she wants to stay for the day. Instead of spending the day recuperating from a headache (like she’s told him) she’ll bother you.

That accent and the way she pronounces her R’s makes you wanna melt, but then she starts asking you a million and one questions. What’s your favorite food? When’s your birthday? Have you ever broken a bone? Do you enjoy reading? Its always something with her. I think she’s trying to annoy me. So far you’ve been answering her questions in Italian to insure that you don’t fuck up again.

Doyle is none the wiser, he still sees you as a secretary and her as arm candy.

But you must admit that Lauren is growing on you. She hasn’t said anything in English to you lately or exposed you to Doyle. You’re rarely ever alone but when you are, she gives you one of her finished books and sits in the room quietly. Its comforting. Today she’s given you Niccolo Ammaniti with a note scribbled in pencil on the 5th page, “Hang in there.” Smart woman, writing it in light pencil so I can easily erase it without leaving a trace...also paranoid woman but rightfully so.

Virginia - present

You adjust your shoe so as not to slip before going into the building and suck the shades into your pocket. The giant letters, I. O. D. S. stare back at you in Ariel font.

Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Just accept her death and move on.

Inside of Investigations of Death Services you nod to the secretary, an ex of yours, and continue on to your destination. While in the elevatored your vision feels blurry but now isn’t the time for tears. Arriving at your floor, you spot his office and walk in without so much as a knock or invitation.

“One second,” he speaks into the phone. “Can I help you?” His dark eyes look angry, like he doesn’t recognize you. You take a step forward, offering your closed palm to him. “What? What is this? A fucking magic trick?” You slowly open your palm towards him, revealing the silver clover pin. The suited man looks like he’s just seen a ghost. “Shane, I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone, then reaches from you hand. “Where did you get this?”

Snatching you hand back and putting the silver back in your pocket. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

He narrows his eyes on you before answering. “Can’t say I do.”

“Back in 03′ you knocked up Carin and proposed I go on assignment. Granted I was the only person who was fluent in Italian--or so I thought. Come to find out there were five other agents who could’ve been assigned there. You chose me because I was up for your job.” Your anger is boiling over quickly. “You were a shitty employee and they were ready to fire you.” You take a daring step forward. “Until you proposed infiltrating Valhalla with one of the foreign operative agents. You told them there were only two fluent agents. Back then we had never met but I knew who you were, Hell, we all knew how much of a screw up you were. Guess you don’t recognize me anymore? I mean in your defense its been years and I’ve lost a few pounds due to the stress you caused me but that’s for another day. How about we go back to 2003.” For a man with toxic masculinity issues, he looks pretty scared. “You couldn’t just out right suggest me so you have to offer up someone else. Coincidently Carin got pregnant right around the time she was starting her training, by you I might add, and could no longer go.” A wide smile starts to grow on your face. “Bet you were counting on my death, huh?” Awe poor baby seems to be shaking. “No...you’re too much of a pussy for that. I bet you were hoping I’d go to Italy and screw things up for the whole operation.” Now you’re toe-to-toe with him. “Mess up so bad that they’d have pull me out and demote me. Or! Reveal myself and hope Doyle’s men killed me or I’d go sprinting home with my tail between my legs.” His silence is starting to irritate you. “So which is it, Mark? Hmm? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry!” He yells with a reddened face. Out of the corner of your eye you see his co-works looking through his glass walls but you couldn’t care less. “I’m sorry, y/n. What do you want from me? I’ll do anything!” Now we’re getting somewhere.

You push the pin into his face “Where is she, Mark?”

“Where is who?” He’s still fucking shaking.

“Asking me another stupid question and there will be hell to pay.” You’re not really going to hurt him but considering the circumstances, this is justified. The man put your life on the line over some stupid position, a bit of threatening wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay okay. All I know is that after you left she was taken by ALPHA and later faked her death. When Lauren Reynolds died, Emily Prentiss got to go home and Ian Doyle went to a North Korean prison.”

“And now...”

“Last I heard she was working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI but was recently killed under suspicious circumstances.” At your expression, he continues. “We know she died during a scuffle with Doyle and there was a funeral but we are yet to have a death certificate on record. Sometimes it take anywhere from a week to a month for us to receive proper records on agent deaths. I thought that-”

“Stop, talking.” You cut him off through gritted teath.

Italy - Autumn 04′

“What is your problem, Lauren?” You’re out on the patio in front of the pool on a warm day. Lauren has a four course meal on the table, courtesy of the chefs.

“Nothing...” She shrugs with a mouthful of strawberry.

“You want me to leave.”

Another fucking shrug.

“Be serious.” You’re trying to stop yourself from stomping your foot.

She puts down her food and clasps her hands together. “Yes I want you to leave.” You watch as she gets up and smooths her skirt; taking your hands in hers. “Your time is thinning and you’ve been her a lot longer than me.”

“And leave you here alone? No way, I know you’re invincible but even Superman had his down fall.”

“Superman?” She loops you in closer. “Why not superwoman? Awfully sexist of you.”

“Oh, shut up.” You nudge her back a bit. “But wouldn’t you miss me?”

She gives you one of her wide smiles. “Let me show how much I’d miss you.” She leans in for a light kiss against your lips. You pull away quickly so as not to be seen. El, like the letter, picked out a blind spot that’s covered partially in shadows. “I have to leave in 15 minutes but until then...” She trails with a very telling expression.

“Where?” You laugh. “Not in the second floor bathroom again because that was...tight.”

Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches upward, “And you were loud!”

You hop past her to sneak a grape. “Hey! You do know that was mine, right?”

“What are you going to do about it, Superwoman?” You turn to grab another grape, while doing so you feel her presence behind you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, L.”

“Oh why not?” She lightly trails down your backside. “It’ll be so much fun.”

You turn back to her. “Ten minutes?”

“In the library?” She smirks and you nod along.

Virginia - present

This four hundred dollar airplane ticket is going to serve its purpose but paying it back is going to suck. Your government salary was nice and all but $400 is still a lot.

Just two days before, you rushed around you place to pack all of the essentials for a quick flight to Paris; charger, hygiene, two outfits, and the pin all tucked into a stylish backpack.

That brings us here, standing in the streets of downtown Paris alongside the buzzing mopeds weaving through the streets. In front of you is the little café Elle would go on and on about, naturally this is the first place you could think to look.

You didn’t even know what you were looking for. The woman you fell for was a brunette with light curls and bangs.

You were looking for Emily. The woman Lauren introduced you to. The woman you grew to love in the same way you love Lauren, but Lauren is dead. Has been for awhile, now its time to find Emily. Your Emily.

You find nothing, no one who even slightly revels Emily on your first day there. So you find a hostel to lay your head in and continue on the next day. Again and again with the same routine for five days straight.

You wasted all of your time here for what? A memory? A dream? Two woman who no longer exist on the same astral plane as you?

That’s when you see it, a head of dark brown hair a few tables ahead of where you’re standing. With all hope lost you almost think its a mirage.

You sit a few tables ahead of her, careful to keep your face hidden. When the waiter comes around to take your order you give him very specific instructions.

Emily’s POV

Being a dead woman is lonely and isolating...at least the coffee is good. The waiter who dropped off the hot beverage not too long ago has circled back with a cheese croissant in hand. That’s odd, I hate cheese croissants. “Cette personne là-bas m'a demandé de te livrer ça.” That person over there has asked me to deliver this to you. He points over his shoulder to a person who’s face I can’t quite make out. “Ils m'ont également demandé de vous donner ceci.” They also asked me to give this to you. He reaches from his front pocket and softly places a silver clover pin that I haven’t seen in years, and a pressed Violet. I can feel the air drain out of my lungs at the objects in front of me. “Merci beaucoup.” The only person who knows what these objects mean are Doyle and-

At the sense of being watched my head shoots up at the source. At first there’s nothing there but then I spot the familiar figure. Its been weeks since I’ve actually seen them, it can’t be. I must be seeing things. Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breathe, I open them to see that they’re gone.

“Boo.” I hear in my right ear; looking up to see y/n standing beside me with a bright smile.

“You scared me!” Realizing how loud I am, I take a breath.

“Miss me Elle?” I left you behind, twice. I died twice without letting you know. You’ve had to start over too many times and its not far.

“Y/n, how did you find me?”

“Really, Elle. Did you really think I’d fall for that party trick you pulled at the BAU? I’m not dull, and besides,” Y/n/n gently puts their hand over mine on the coffee mug. “You’re my Superwoman, you’ll never die.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟ･*:.

@beyondprincess @confused-and-really-hungry @millipop18 @supercorp8388 @groovygoob @emilyprentisswife@covetedcoven @justaghostmonument @rabid-wild-misfits @nomit16 @afuckingshituniverse @mys2425 @fanfictionfangirl04 @aaron-hotchner187 @lisztomaniacalice @thestrawberrygirl @miidguardian-exe @criminalmindsmoodrn @ssacandice-ray @davidrossiismydad @garcias-batcave @ssaemxlyprentxss @andreaxxg13 @emilyprentissistoocute @mortallythoughtfulgurl @iamyouknow-yours @aesthbaby

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donttouchmeimwriting · 3 years ago

Text

Argo ch. 3

Friday the 13th - Friendship/Romance - Jason Voorhees/OC M/M ship

2983 words, 3rd person POV

I'm just as surprised as you are that I'm cranking these out so fast. Thanks, NaNoWriMo!

Cross-posting on FFN under PyroTheWereCat

...

Saturday dragged so sluggishly for Jason as he waited impatiently to visit Lijah again. He spent the day stalking the outskirts of the camp, trying to watch Lijah as he worked. He was fascinated by Lijah's effect on others; it was clearly shown that it wasn't just Jason who was compelled to change behavior simply by listening to him. The kids loved him, and he was popular with the other counselors as well. Jason caught himself daydreaming a few too many times of being one of them and being able to spend the day with Lijah out in the open like they could.

During one of these moments, Jason stared off across the surface of the lake, the sunlight sparkling across the ripples in the water. He wondered what would have happened over a decade ago if Lijah had been at the camp with him...would the other kids have been enraptured by his presence and listened to him then? Would Jason and Lijah have become friends as quickly as children as they had as adults? Or was it their personal experiences that drew them together now and they were all the better for it?

"Enjoying the view?"

Jason spun to face the speaker, relieved it was only Lijah. Lijah laughed at his reaction and looked out across the lake to see what Jason was seeing.

"It is gorgeous out here, isn't it?" he sighed, his expression dreamy, "I've worked at a few different camps over the years but I think Crystal Lake is my favorite."

Jason's heart still pounded in his chest, despite the surprise having worn off. Why was he so nervous to stand here next to Lijah like this? Did the others feel this way around him too?

"Oh, hey!" Lijah said suddenly, pointing down at the nearest dock where two campers and another counselor stood, "That's Terry and Kira over there with Julie. Kira was bullying Terry since day one of camp, saying she looked ratty and pushing her down - you know, stupid kid insults like that. Terry didn't want to be a tattletale, so she wouldn't say who was picking on her, even though we all knew. The director has a rule that we can't interfere unless the kids come forward so we were stuck for a little while. The other counselors and I came up with a detective game to make Kira realize she was doing something wrong and hurtful and she came forward on her own yesterday to admit it. She's been doing great today at making up with Terry and I think they'll be friends really soon. It's so cool what a little positive reinforcement can do."

Lijah crossed his arms over his chest and gazed proudly out at the two kids, but Jason couldn't stop staring at Lijah. What was it he was feeling right now? Impressed at his ability to handle bullies in a way that the counselors when he was a child never could, certainly, but what else? What was it about Lijah that made Jason want to throw his machete in the lake and never hurt anyone again?

"What's up?" Lijah asked, noticing Jason staring at him, "Did I say something wrong?"

Jason shook his head, but could not tear his eyes away. Lijah had his hair tied back today, pulling it off of his neck and away from his face. There was sweat around his hairline, sticking strands of hair to him in tiny swirls and lines. His freckles were more pronounced in the daylight, and his tanned skin almost glowed, even in the shade of the trees. To Jason, this view was much more appealing than the lake.

"Alrighty then," Lijah said, shrugging it off, "Anyway, I just wanted to say hi since I saw you hanging around up here, but I gotta get back to my group. I'm seeing you tonight, right?"

Jason nodded fervently, excited by every second he got to spend with Lijah. Lijah smiled broadly and waved as he set off back to the camp.

"See you later, Jase!" he called.

Jason gave a small wave back, his stomach full of butterflies. He decided he didn't care why he was feeling this way or what it was about Lijah he liked so much. He felt immeasurably and inexplicably happy for the first time in a long time and he didn't want to overthink it. After all, wasn't that what his mother wanted for him?

-------------------------------------------------

Jason returned to cabin 5 that evening a little earlier than planned. The sun had set, but the sky was still relatively light and the camp was winding down from the day. Jason looked through the bedroom window, but Lijah was not in there yet. He tested the window to see if it was unlocked, and to his luck, it was. He checked his surroundings to ensure no one would see him struggle to squeeze through the narrow opening. It was embarrassing enough that Lijah had to see it last night. The coast was clear, so Jason pushed himself into the bedroom, nearly getting stuck in the process. Once inside, he straightened up and closed the window so bugs would not get in. It struck him as he looked around that he was in Lijah's private room alone.

A little snooping couldn't hurt, right? Jason allowed his eagerness to drive his actions as he explored Lijah's room. He first looked in the dresser drawers to see what other clothes Lijah had besides his work shirts and shorts. From the brief snoop, it seemed that Lijah liked light, muted colors and pants with deep pockets. He also seemed to be a fan of chunky bracelets and wristbands, probably to camouflage and support his delicate wrists.

From there, Jason moved to the books on top of the dresser. Adventure novels, a couple college textbooks in the subjects Lijah had specified as his course of study, some notebooks, including the one Jason had used to communicate with last night, and one romance, all paperbacks that looked well used. Curious about the romance novel, Jason flipped through the pages. Mother never had these kinds of books at home, so he wasn't sure what to expect. His eyes fell upon a passage that described a kiss between the heroine and her strapping, yet emotionally manipulative love interest:

"...her cerulean orbs meeting his stormy grey ones in a passionate stare before their lips collided in a kiss so fiery, so full of desire, it would warm the hardened coals of even Wyatt's darkened heart. Charlie swooned into his massive arms, surrendering herself to his rough touch. Wyatt growled into the kiss, his stubble scratchy against her smooth face, but not unbearable. He gripped the back of her neck possessively, but Charlie knew it was part of his insecurity in that he never wanted to let her go. Funny, she thought before the intensity of the kiss forced her mind to become a blank slate of ecstasy, He won't talk about his abandonment issues, but I can feel them here in his kiss..."

Jason set the book down, frowning. Did Lijah really see himself in this Wyatt character? It didn't seem right, but it probably wasn't important. Jason turned instead to the notebooks, but they were mostly blank aside from sparse doodles, camp schedules, and Jason's shaky handwriting. He put the notebooks back where they were and opened the door to the rest of the cabin.

Across from this door was the door to the bathroom, but Jason didn't need that at the moment, so he ignored it and proceeded left down a short hallway to the living area. The hallway opened up to a tiny kitchen and dinette on the right and an ancient, faded couch with a rickety coffee table and an old antenna TV and VCR atop it. This area was not as bright and full of Lijah's personality as the bedroom was, but Jason figured that was to be expected. His own bedroom at home was a reflection of what few interests and hobbies he had. The bedroom was a sanctuary for the individual, and held a piece of their soul. At least, that's what a bedroom should be. Mother had told Jason all about the filthy, lecherous activities young people would get up to in bedrooms. Only a married couple should share a bed, she had told him. It was a sin otherwise.

Feeling slightly hungry, Jason made for the short refrigerator, needing to squat down to see its contents. A couple sandwiches wrapped in plastic occupied one shelf with a handful of apples on the lower shelf, some cans of soda on the door. Jason reached for one of each, hoping to finish them before Lijah returned to avoid accidentally showing him his face. He brought the food to the couch and sat down, his weight causing the seat to sink lower than it was meant to. He removed his mask and devoured the sandwich and apple as quickly as he could, feeling somewhat like a ravenous raccoon. He cracked open the soda can and chugged it, realizing too late that it was a bad idea to drink a carbonated beverage so fast. Bubbles surged up through his nose and he sputtered, covering his face so he did not spray soda everywhere. He coughed and gagged, but the feeling soon went away. He made a mental note to drink anything bubbly as slow as possible, but preferred the idea of never having soda again. It was too sweet for him anyway.

Finished with the meal, Jason located a small trash can at one end of the kitchen and disposed of the remains. He pulled his mask back on just as he heard the front door to the cabin open. He tensed, preparing for a fight, but it was Lijah, alone, who gave a start upon seeing Jason's towering figure in his living room.

"Oh gosh, you got me again!" he cried out, laughing nervously, "You're here early."

Jason nodded once and watched as Lijah locked up and set down the pack he was carrying near the door.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, a tiredness in his voice that worried Jason. Would he be able to stay up tonight? Did he stay up too late last night? Jason shook his head and pointed to the refrigerator, silently telling Lijah he had found the food. Lijah yawned.

"Oh, good," he said, shuffling towards the bedroom, "Sorry, I'm a little worn out from today. We can still hang out, but I might crash a little earlier than last night if that's okay."

Jason nodded and followed him. Lijah turned to the dresser and tilted his head at the stack of books.

"You checked out the romance novel?" he asked, disbelief in his voice, "Huh, didn't see that one coming. It's not very good, but it was free, so I figured why not, y'know?"

So Lijah didn't choose that book for the plot, Jason realized. That made much more sense. Lijah opened the drawers and retrieved a stack of clothes, brushing by Jason to head to the bathroom.

"You can relax in the bedroom if you want for about fifteen minutes while I shower," he said, stifling another yawn, "I'll try to get my bedtime routine done quick so we have some time together."

Jason had no problem with waiting for him to prepare for bed. He was happy just to be in the same building with him and not anxiously wonder where he was like before. Jason sat on the edge of the bed, having grabbed the notebook and pencil he'd used yesterday in preparation for the conversation he would be having tonight. He heard the shower turn on in the bathroom, and an unwelcome thought of what Lijah looked like in there sprung into Jason's mind. Startled by this, Jason shook himself. What was he thinking? His mother's warning about college aged young adults surfaced and he wondered, horrified, if these thoughts would consume his brain like the counselors he'd killed or if he could fight them and keep his head clear and pure. What would happen to him if he couldn't get rid of them?

Jason struggled with this fear until the sound of the water stopped and he heard Lijah moving around in the bathroom. He squeezed the edges of the notebook to ground himself. What would Mother say if she knew what he was thinking about? Realistically, she would probably forbid him from coming back here and have him read Bible passages until the thoughts went away. Mother knew what was best for Jason.

Lijah entered the room once he was done in the bathroom, his hair still damp and his cheeks slightly flushed from the steam. He wore a loose fitting navy blue t-shirt with an unfamiliar logo on the chest and green plaid boxers. He brought with him a wonderful, clean scent of shampoo and mint flavored toothpaste. Jason wrote on a fresh page of the notebook,

"feel better?"

Lijah hummed in agreement, stretching his arms over his head until his shoulders softly popped.

"Nothing like a hot shower to take the day off and get you ready for bed," he said, climbing up onto the mattress next to Jason, "How's your day been?"

Jason thought about it, but didn't want to be too honest that he had pretty much just been waiting all day for this meeting. He wrote,

"did alot of walking. liked what u said about the bully. ur really good with kids."

Lijah waved him off modestly.

"Aw, that wasn't just me," he replied sheepishly, "I can't take all the credit. All of us counselors worked together on that. They're a good group of people. I'm glad I got the chance to work with them."

Jason tilted his head to one side, his interest piqued by this statement. So all the counselors were good, not just Lijah? Would Jason even need to kill anyone this year, or had the nightmare of wicked counselors finally ended? He wondered what his life would become if he didn't come here to kill every summer. It would probably be much like last year, quiet and content with his mother, having everything they needed and just going day to day, living the life she built for them. But Jason knew he couldn't live that life now. He wanted his life to include his new friend, and he wasn't sure how he could do that, with Lijah going back to college at the end of the summer and moving into an apartment somewhere probably far away.

Lijah tilted his head to mirror Jason and catch his attention.

"What's on your mind, big guy?" he asked. Jason considered his next few words and decided to avoid the topic. He wrote,

"u said u had a sister rite? tell me about her?"

Lijah's entire face lit up with a huge smile and his joy was so infectious, Jason couldn't resist matching the expression.

"Phoebe!" he exclaimed, "She's the best little sister anyone could hope for. We're thirteen years apart, so I'm pretty protective of her, and it was really hard for me to go away to college and leave her behind. I call home once a week and send her letters every month of cool stuff I've learned or seen. She likes bugs and dolls and dinosaurs. Our parents won't let her see Jurassic Park though - that's a scary movie about dinosaurs - but I think she can handle it. She's a tough kid. Definitely way tougher than I was at her age. I used to get beat up in school for being, uh, different."

Jason felt a surge of protectiveness for Lijah, though he didn't know who had hurt him. How could anyone even want to hurt someone like Lijah? He curled his fingers into the bedspread, fists shaking with anger. Lijah noticed and addressed it,

"Hey, it was years ago; don't worry about it! Besides, I'm a lover, not a fighter. I'd rather solve my problems with communication than violence."

Jason nodded and forced himself to relax. What was he going to do anyway? Find the bullies and kill them even though they probably haven't been anywhere near Lijah in years? Stupid. Jason tried to explain his thoughts by writing,

"sorry bullies make me real mad. i got bullied to."

Lijah offered a sympathetic look. He moved a hand towards Jason, but rethought the action and stopped, biting his lip.

"I bet they wouldn't mess with you now though!" he said instead, trying to look at the bright side, "I bet they'd take one look at how tall and muscular you got and run away. The machete helps too."

Jason grimaced under the mask. That probably wouldn't be the only reason they ran away...Still, Lijah meant well and he couldn't blame him for trying. It was more effort than anyone had put in before, and that was worth something.

-------------------------------------------------

The conversation continued for a short while, but Lijah soon began nodding off. In one of their quiet moments, Jason looked over and saw Lijah slumped on his pillows, sound asleep. Jason sighed and took that as his cue to leave. He rose from the bed and set down the notebook on the dresser. He looked back at Lijah, bemused by his awkwardly scrunched limbs and his face pressed unflatteringly into the pillows, before turning off the light and leaving through the window to let him sleep.

It was moments like these that Jason was beginning to dislike his heightened energy levels during night time. It worked great for serial killing, but not so much for spending time with a friend. But he was beginning to have a hope and some confidence that things would work out and that he and Lijah would find some sort of rhythm together.

#friday the 13th fanfiction #friday the 13th #jason voorhees #canon/oc #slasher fanfiction #slashers #argo fic

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years ago

Text

Idiots ~ H.D.

A/n: God I love requests when people KNOW my branding!!

Request: “Hamish duke x male reader we’re the reader is a magician but can’t tell when someone is flirting with him and hamish trying to get his attention” by anon

Word Count: 3800+

Masterlist

Once upon a time, two boys sat at a table together in a little coffee shop. One of them went on and on and on about something and the other watched him with an expression that channeled both confusion and adoration. Everyone looking on had the same mixed expression, but this time with different emotions: charmed amusement, and frustration.

See, Hamish and Y/n were adorable and obviously in love and those who didn't even know them looked at them and saw a couple and smiled because young love. Because young love gave everyone hope. Because it was fresh and pretty and admirable and kind of funny when you thought about all they were going to go through, imagining it with a happy ending of course.

Unfortunately, for those who did know them, Hamish and Y/n were really fucking annoying.

They were obviously in love with each other - or at the very least attracted on some level. Y/n always listened to Hamish ramble, even though he obviously had no idea what Hamish was going on about most of the time. Likewise, Hamish dealt with Y/n's severely annoying ability to not perceive literally any attempt at flirting Hamish threw at him.

Don't get me wrong, Hamish was trying. REALLY HARD. He's been trying since they first met. Hamish had been forming a friendship with this girl- the only person who could keep up with him when he talked about his field and major. But there came a moment when he noticed that she lost interest in him and what he was saying, even as she talked and joked along in time. The day he'd met Y/n, the boy had been talking to that girl that Hamish was sort of becoming acquaintances with. He used to know her name, but she had been quickly forgotten when Hamish had noticed how Y/n never lost interest in him, even though the poor English major was obviously way over his head trying to understand what Hamish was saying.

Long story: the girl and Hamish stopped talking in favor of Hamish giving Y/n all his attention. He preferred to be cared about and he appreciated the effort Y/n was giving, even if he couldn't deliver with any results. He liked that he could go on and on about anything - even things outside of school - and Y/n would listen without complaint. There was something so genuine about Y/n. It drew Hamish in a lot. After a while, their conversation drifted from Hamish talking and Y/n listening to Hamish trying to get as much information about Y/n as he could. Y/n was willing to talk about a lot, and where he was hesitant Hamish recognized the line he'd drawn and let it be. They were only friends for five and a half months, but in that time Hamish had developed very deep feelings for Y/n. Which had lead him to try his hand at flirting.

At first he'd thought Y/n wasn't interested, but then someone had made a joke about them being a couple and Y/n had gone along with it without hesitation. Which seemed to Hamish as if he didn't mind the idea. He had looped in a classmate on a promise he'd do the kid's next assignment. The kid had flirted with Y/n, getting the same complete lack of understanding Hamish did. It seemed that despite Y/n being super affectionate and kind, and even though he was quite smart if Hamish gave the time and effort to help him understand, Y/n was the single most oblivious person Hamish had ever met. At some point Y/n had decided that no one would ever like him, or maybe he'd accepted flirting in some other form. Whatever it was, Y/n did not pick up on any common form of flirting at all.

Hamish tried for two months. TWO. MONTHS. He gave up and even tried straight up pick up lines. Y/n's response had been to return with pick up lines of his own and then to say, "I love that we can joke around like this. It's so refreshing, when everyone around here seems to be so gloomy and shit these days."

Hamish was at his wit's end. He was ready to just take a leap of faith and tell Y/n his feelings straight out and take the hit if Y/n rejected him. Before he could, unfortunately, he found a blue rose on his desk one morning as he prepared for his TA period. He'd looked around to see what it could possibly mean and after several hours and dark holes and wrong paths, came across the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose. Instead of confronting Y/n about his feelings, he decided to go to this thing tonight. It seemed interesting and might give him time to clear his head. He enjoyed new things and learning opportunities. Something fresh to figure out might even clear his head and help him with this whole Y/n predicament.

That evening as Y/n and him did their usual afternoon studying together, Y/n seemed upset about something. Hamish wasn't going to prod about it, as he'd learned that Y/n only shared his thoughts and emotions when he was ready to, but it was setting a weird mood.

"Hamish?" The blonde boy looked up, expecting Y/n to finally share. Whatever he'd been expecting, what Y/n said next threw him off. "Don't go tonight."

Hamish's eyebrows came together. "Don't go to what?"

Y/n pursed his lips before looking at the colored pencils he'd been doodling with. They'd found that if Y/n took a few seconds every once in a while to do something other than homework, he had a lot better time studying. That didn't seem to be what he was thinking about now. He picked up a blue pencil and reached over, handing it to Hamish. "Will this one be okay to use on your notes? I know you're peculiar about how you organize them.”

Hamish didn't highlight his notes. He stapled them by units and had a different folder for each of his classes, but that was it. If he really needed to remember something, he would use blue pen instead of black. He hated using pencil though- it faded and smeared.

However, despite the oddity, Hamish was not confused about the message Y/n was sending. There was only one thing Hamish was doing tonight, as they'd made no other engagements. And the only way Y/n would know about it...

Y/n was part of the Order of the Hermetic Blue Rose. And he was telling Hamish not to come to the whatever it was.

In Y/n's eyes, Hamish saw a plea for Hamish to avoid the thing altogether.

"It'll be fine," Hamish said slowly. Y/n's level of code and secrecy lines up with the Order. After all, they were kind of like the Illuminati, if the Illuminati were real. It was super secret and most people thought it a big joke. Hamish had thought it a joke himself before he'd gotten that rose. He'd only heard of it in passing, mostly when homework "went missing" and people joked about the Order whisking it away, or someone wasn't in class and people played with the idea of them having crossed the Order. If Y/n was apart of it, he would never say it in any way.

"No," Y/n argued. He seemed to think for a second and Hamish realized that he was trying to deliver a message to Hamish. "Honestly Hamish I think this class is bad for you. You seem to struggle with it a lot. Maybe you should just drop it. I've been... meaning to tell you for a while now."

Raising an eyebrow, Hamish tried to figure out what Y/n was saying. Did he think this would be too hard for Hamish? That he wasn't smart or tough enough? No, that wasn't in character. Y/n always encouraged Hamish to do things even when Hamish himself set a limit. He decided to test the waters, push back a little. Try and get more information. “I mean it's not that bad. I've been enjoying it."

Y/n frowned. "I took it last year and it almost ruined my transcript. I know how much you care about your grades- it might really hurt them. Dangerous stuff you're playing with here." Hamish's eyebrows came together. Before he could ask, Y/n stood and gathered his stuff. "I'll see you tomorrow." He gave a tight smile, fear in his eyes. What was he afraid of? He left and Hamish gave only a small nod.

Was the Order really so serious? I mean honestly it was just a bunch of college kids. Were they... cruel? Maybe it was more of a gang than some powerful organization. Maybe Y/n was in trouble.

Well that meant that Hamish absolutely had to go. He needed to know what was going on and how to help Y/n, if he could. If he couldn't, at least they'd be able to watch each other's backs.

So he did.

And before anything happened, a weird ringing sound took over his entire mind and the next thing he knew he was in a room he sort of recognized but had no memory of. Naked. Covered in blood.

The next time he saw Y/n, surprise surprise, actually wasn't when they were all attacked by those they'd been closest to the last six months. And by they, he meant the three other people he also kind of recognized but, yet again, had no memory of. No, it was actually a little after he discovered what the Order really was and found out he was a werewolf. Alyssa Drake of all people popped out of nowhere, promising to give their memories back. And as she talked to Jack and tried to convince him to trust her, Hamish spotted Y/n next to her.

He became human and put a robe on, coming into the room. He felt a lot of emotions. They pushed him to blow right past Alyssa and Jack, straight to Y/n. Hamish pinned him against the wall, anger seeming to have taken the most hold for now. Y/n looked terrified, but when their eyes met his expression softened. Hamish got the impression that Y/n was not afraid of him, but something else. It made worry boil up and he pushed it down, trying to keep hold of himself.

"Tell me you weren't sent to watch me. Tell me you aren't one of them, Y/n."

The room was very quiet as the others came in, everyone watching. Y/n searched for the words for a second. "I- Hamish, I'm part of the Order." Hamish stepped back and Y/n's eyes watered. He seemed to be more panicked now. "I didn't become your friend just to watch you like the others though! We weren't ever supposed to meet or talk, not like we did. The- the girl I was talking to the day we met. SHE was supposed to watch you. But you started ignoring her and seemed to take to me better, so I- I- I hate it now, but back then I was just doing what I was told."

"So you took my memories?" Hamish demanded. "That didn't strike you as wrong?"

"Okay first of all," Y/n snapped. "I didn't even know who you were for like two and a half weeks after we started talking, okay? When they told me, they introduced you as some incredibly dangerous monster who was hellbent on killing everyone who used magic so even if I had, it would have been in self defense because I thought you were dangerous."

Lilith stepped forward. "If you had?"

Y/n huffed, straightening his clothes. "I didn't ever dust you. By the time they told me who you were, they only told me because I was talking to someone about this guy that I-" he cut off, and Hamish shifted upon seeing the blush rise up his throat. Lilith and Alyssa both wore the exact same look. They knew exactly how Y/n felt. "I was friends with." It was then that Jack's eyes went wide with understanding too. "They tried to convince me to stay away because of what you are, but all you've ever been is funny and smart and really talented and snarky as hell." He huffed in amusement. "I was always kind of impressed with you, your sass is like next level it's amazing." Everyone in the room felt the oddity of the warring emotions of everyone else with the weird sort of light and humor Y/n brought to the table. They wanted to smile, but there was too much else going on. Y/n cleared his throat, trying to not default to humor. Hamish cursed himself for being concerned- he knew that Y/n struggled a lot with being emotionally vulnerable. "Anyway, I don't know who did it or how or when, but they never even asked me to. They thought that we had stopped talking for the most part. I never talked about you again at least."

"Until now," Alyssa spoke up. "He confronted me. Begged me to help because he said I would understand since I was... friends with Jack. I told him about my plan to come here and help you guys and he was more than willing and ready. We were hoping that together we might be able to convince you."

The Knights got quiet, all listening to each other. But it was clear that everyone but Randall was nearly completely convinced, and Randall didn't care enough to argue. If his friends were going, so was he.

They all lined up and Alyssa dusted them. At first they panicked but when they all woke up with their memories completely returned, Hamish's eyes immediately landed on a very hopeful Y/n. He scrambled to his feet, trying to find his words. "You lied to me." Y/n paled. He seemed to be terrified again, but this time Hamish knew immediately why. He was scared of losing Hamish.

Again.

"Hey guys! How are we doing?" Y/n was smiling as usual. It was dazzling to Hamish.

"Better now that you're here."

Y/n laughed. "I know you've been having a hard time with homework, but have you really been so miserable without the comedy relief around to lift the mood?"

Everyone exchanged looks. Everyone but Y/n, who was as always oblivious to everything. Hamish had struck out again.

The first memory was the easiest to swallow.

"Hey Hammy."

"You've been spending too much time with Randall," Hamish sighed as Y/n greeted him upon entering the Den. Y/n laughed. "Maybe you should be spending more time with me."

"Miss me?" Y/n teased.

Hamish looked up from his book, locking eyes with Y/n. "Yeah. Maybe just us? Tonight? Dinner? Movie? Something else?"

Y/n shrugged, his expression unchanged. "Yeah sure dude. I'm starving, and the new-" Hamish stopped listening after that. His message had gone unreceived once more.

He could remember everything, and yet he found himself mulling over the ones about Y/n the most.

"You should wear that shirt more often. You look very good in it."

"Thanks man."

And-

"You free later? I was thinking maybe we could get better acquainted."

"And see I was sitting here thinking we were already best friends." Y/n’s frustratingly beautiful laugh rang out again and Hamish felt his shoulders slump. "Yeah I'm down to hang. Anything for my best buddy."

Then there was-

"Hey Y/n nice pants. They'd look great on Hamish's floor."

"Very funny Lilith," Y/n hummed as he read a book. Hamish shot her a death glare as he sat next to Y/n, his arm draped over the back of the couch they both sat on.

"Not a joke," Randall chimed in. "I think they'd really match the walls. Maybe try it out?"

"I would have to take them off to do that, and I don't see the point of going all the way back to my dorm to get another pair of pants for me to wear just so we can see how these look on Hamish's floor. Total waste of time, especially when I have to have this book read by tomorrow for class."

Eventually Hamish had just turned to pick up lines.

"Hey Y/n, can you hold this?"

He held out his hand and Y/n went to take whatever he was holding, only for Hamish to interlock their fingers. Y/n laughed and didn't drop his hand, even as he rolled his eyes to dismiss what was happening. "Now who's been spending too much time with Randall?" After Y/n looked the other way, Hamish frowned and dropped his hand.

Attempt after attempt after attempt....

"Kiss me if I'm wrong but dinosaurs still exist right?"

Y/n didn't even blink. "Dinosaurs do exist, silly. Well, their bones do. We can go the museum to check them out if you want to?"

Hamish huffed. "What about the kissing me part?"

"Well you were wrong, so I'll have to pass," Y/n reasoned calmly. Hamish glared at the opposite wall so Y/n couldn't see.

He had tried everything.

"You remind me of my homework, because I'm going to slam you on my desk and do you all night."

Y/n burst out laughing. "That's a good one! I haven't heard that one yet. Did you go on some weird kick and look all these up? You've had a load to share lately."

Hamish sighed. "Yeah. Randall got drunk and shared them all with me. I thought they'd make you laugh."

Until he'd finally just said it.

Hamish stood in front of Y/n, desperate. At this point, even his friends thought Y/n was a hopeless case. Maybe they'd been wrong. Maybe Y/n didn't like Hamish. Maybe he was just trying to be polite. "Will you go on a date with me Y/n?”

Y/n smiled at Hamish. "Lose to Cup Pong with Randall again?" Hamish didn't even waste the time to come up with something. He just turned around and walked away, ignoring Y/n's familiar laugh behind him.

He'd been sure that Y/n just wasn't into him. Until:

"If we die today, I need you to know that I love you."

"I love y-"

"No." Hamish grabbed Y/n by the shoulders, his eyes boring into the other boy's. "The Order is probably going to kill us today, or the next chance they get, now that they know about us. Even if it's not today. I can't die without you knowing that I've legitimately fallen in love with you and it's driving me insane."

Y/n's eyes were wide and earnest, but before he could respond Vera and him had to face the magicians outside who had found the Den, and after there had been too much going on... He hadn't even gotten to get Y/n alone before his memory of Y/n had been taken completely in one go.

Hamish remembered everything. He remembered scheming with Randall, who knew Y/n the most of course because-

Randall was the first to move after they all woke up, dazed and trying to process all their new memories. He, of course, tackled Y/n in a hug immediately. They were both crying. "I'm sorry I forgot you."

"I knew you'd come around," Y/n reassured. "We're brothers man. You can't get rid of me even though you totally want to."

Leaning away, Randall laughed as he wiped his tears. The pair had been a duo for as long as any of the pack had known either of them. Randall was the one who acted like an idiot but was super smart. Y/n was the one who everyone thought was super smart because he got great grades and knew fun facts, but who was actually a total idiot in the sense that he had absolutely no people skills and misread almost every situation and made everything either really fun or super awkward. With help from Hamish he'd been able to figure it out a little. That's how they'd all met. Hamish had told them both about the Knights, but only Randall had been chosen by one of the furs. They'd all been friends until...

"Wait, you're part of the Order?" Hamish voiced.

Y/n sighed, Randall's arms falling away from him. "Alyssa came to me before. She begged me not to tell you, because if they didn't dust you then they were going to kill you. I figured it would be better to have you guys forget me than to be dead, at least until we could figure... something out. I told mom that something really bad had happened and you had disowned me. Said-" He blushed. "I said you and Hamish were together and I'd made a move on you. She was PISSED and left it to me to fix. I was just glad she didn't mention me to you at all. She's been mad at me for ages and demanding I figure out a way to fix it, so when Alyssa had the idea to just work with you guys instead of doing what we were told... I was all for it."

"He joined the Order so they wouldn't wipe his memories," Alyssa continued. "Because all of last year's additions had been... eliminated one way or another, we needed more people anyway. And since Y/n already knew about magic and you guys, it was only too easy to convince the Grand Magus to induct him."

Hamish stood and Y/n did with him. Randall immediately got protective, but Y/n placed a hand on his shoulder and he calmed. Not that he could take Hamish... maybe. Now Y/n was curious, but this wasn't the thing to be worrying about right now.

Hamish opened his mouth to speak, and from the look in his eyes Y/n could see what he was thinking. So he skipped the pleasantries and rushed to him, pulling him close by the back of his neck so their lips could press together. Everyone else, despite everything going on, cheered. After everything they'd been through and all the hardships they'd faced, finally - FINALLY - Y/n had figured his shit out.

When Y/n pulled apart, both boys were grinning. "I've been being your friend for the last few months so that when I finally found out a way to get your memories back, they wouldn't question it when we got together because goddamnit Hamish, I love you too. And I hope you still feel the way you did then, even knowing that I'm part of the Order. That I... I know magic, and use it." He looked like he was ready to get rejected.

"You still know nothing," Hamish whispered. "The fact that you could feel me miss you back and you still think I would chose any other relationship or person over you or let anything get between us... How can you be THAT stupid?"

Y/n socked him on the shoulder. "Asshole."

Hamish just grinned before hooking his finger in Y/n's belt loops. "Your asshole."

"Damn right," Y/n whispered, smirking.

Lilith reached over and chucked a pillow at them. "OKAY OKAY! We do have shit to deal with other than your guys' love life." She was right. The boys parted and everyone got ready to do whatever they had to next to make the scales balanced again. To make it all right.

But as they all headed to the the temple, Y/n leaned over and added, "I owe you a date."

Hamish just smiled at that. "More like you owe me ten."

#hamish duke #the order #knights of saint christopher #hamish duke x reader #hamish duke imagine #nonbinary reader #the order x reader #the order imagine #male reader

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btschooseafic · 4 years ago

Text

Hey you, what’s your dream?

Pairing: platonic!oc x ot7

Details: manager!oc, predebut/idolverse, partial BTS World!verse

Summary: Aviva struggles to keep up with all of her new responsibilities as a manager.

Warnings: This is a fictional story based on real events. The characters presented here are not the same as their real life counterparts. [Masterlist]

Track 9: New Responsibilities

Responsibilities- Thane, Anderson .Paak, BJ the Chicago Kid

“I ain't stressin' bout the future, take it day to day

It's a marathon baby I'm just learnin' the pace”

Aviva stared around at the graffiti on the walls of the private space she had rented for their first dance practice. It wasn’t much, but…

“Siljangnim?” Hoseok called out.

“Hobi!” She called back. “Stop calling me that!”

“But, you are our manager,” he said simply.

She blinked.

“Ah. Right.” She grimaced. He laughed.

“Did you forget?”

“No, I just… you could at least use ‘maenijeo’...” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Or should I call you Jung Hoseok-ssi all the time?”

He rolled his eyes at her formal address.

“Now you’re just making it weird... Have you heard anything from Jungkookie or Jiminie? I texted them, but they haven’t responded.”

She chewed her lip. “They’re not responding to me. Jungkook-ah always showed up to practice on time when I was with him in LA, but I haven’t worked with Jimin-ah that closely yet.” She looked at Taehyung. “What’s his work ethic like?”

Taehyung hummed. “Jiminie works very hard… but he also has trouble sleeping sometimes.”

“That’s understandable,” Yoongi thought.

Jin clicked his tongue. “Kids these days.”

Everyone laughed, although Aviva’s laugh was a little restrained.

“We’re almost out of time for the practice space,” she said worriedly. “Should I book another slot…?”

“Do we have the budget for that?” Yoongi asked bluntly. Aviva sighed.

“I guess we should start the practice without them.” She turned to Namjoon. “Namjoon-ah, you said you had some music you wanted to share with everyone?”

“Yeah.” He popped a CD into the player on the floor.

Taehyung bobbed along to the music. Jin made an uncertain face. Yoongi started arguing about the merits of local artists over international ones.

“Look, we can listen to both,” Aviva said, trying to calm them down.

“Yes, but the order we listen to them is important,” Yoongi insisted. Aviva massaged her furrowed brow.

“Listen, Yoongi-oppa—”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Jungkook said, looking exhausted as he and Jimin walked into the room. They looked more than exhausted, they looked about ready to cry.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Aviva asked worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“We weren’t trying to be late…” Jimin said.

“That’s all okay!” Taehyung said cheerfully. “Come in, my friends!”

“You could’ve let us know that you were going to be late,” Hoseok commented.

“We were too freaked out to think about that,” Jungkook said.

“Freaked out about what?” Aviva pressed.

“You should have called to be considerate,” Jin agreed with Hoseok. “There were a lot of people waiting on the two of you.”

“Hey, it’s only one tardy! Let’s just let this one slide!” Taehyung suggested, smiling brightly. Aviva nodded thoughtfully.

“Only one tardy?” Yoongi said, giving them a cold look. He crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re not here to play around. Whether you meant to be late or not, you have obligations to the group.”

“I agree with Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon said, crossing his arms too. “You don’t succeed in this industry with just hard work alone.” He sighed. “I’m disappointed. I thought you both were more dedicated to this group. Do you really want to be here?”

“Hyung… how can you…” Jimin was now unmistakably teary eyed. “How can you doubt something like that?” Jungkook patted him on the back, leading him to sit down. Jimin took deep breaths. Aviva frowned, noting the bloody stain on the knee of Jimin’s pants.

“Jimin-ah…” She kneeled down in front of him. “Tell me what happened—how did you hurt your knee?” A few of the older boys made noises of surprise behind her.

“I waited so long for our first practice,” Jimin said. “I was so excited I ran here. But I was dumb and fell down a flight of stairs…”

“I had to convince Jimin-hyung to go to the hospital, that’s why I didn’t think to call,” Jungkook explained.

“Hey, I’ve been excited too,” Aviva told him. “It’s not your fault you fell over—Namjoon-ah does stuff like that all the time.”

“Yah!” Namjoon cleared his throat, his face pink. Jimin laughed a bit, his tears interrupted.

“But I’m glad Jungkookie convinced you to go to the hospital,” Aviva continued speaking to Jimin, ignoring Namjoon. “What did they say?”

“They said it’s fine. Just disinfected it, and gave me a Band-Aid, but it’s coming off already…” Jimin frowned at his knee.

“Oh, I’ve got Band-Aids!” Aviva said, popping up and running over to her bag.

Namjoon chuckled. “You’re just as clumsy as I am, Avi-yah.”

“I’m not,” she disagreed, handing Jimin the Band-Aid. “Does it hurt, Jimin-ah? Do you need anything else?”

“No.” He smiled at her. “The Band-Aid’s enough. Thanks for worrying about me, manager-nim.” He took her hands in his. “But you keep up your health too, okay? Don’t overwork yourself.”

Namjoon frowned slightly as he watched them.

A couple of days passed, and Aviva was still worried about the group dynamic. They kept arguing about small things, like who should change the water cooler. Such arguments were bound to happen, Aviva figured, but the boys seemed to be disproportionately angry in relation to the issue.

Jin and Jimin were refusing to speak to each other, sending Aviva back and forth with messages.

Taehyung interrupted, pointing out that their time slot was over.

Aviva glanced at her phone. “I’m sorry, I’m running late! I need to go, please get home safely, all of you.” She ran out of the room.

That night, the boys accidentally ran into each other in the practice room. The older boys were impressed when they realized the younger boys had been staying late to practice, sleeping over to be able to make the best use of the time.

“Well, that, and we couldn’t find anywhere else to sleep,” Taehyung finished.

Jimin nodded, grimacing.

“You hyungs are still sleeping in the supply closet at the offices?” He wondered.

The rap line trio nodded grimly.

“Usually Avi-yah would’ve realized by now,” Hoseok thought. “Especially when her new office isn’t too far away from the supply closet. Maybe she really is overworked…”

“Is that why Namjoon-hyung lied to her about having found a place to stay?” Taehyung wondered, blinking at him. Namjoon flushed slightly.

“It wasn’t, a lie, exactly.” He ran his hand over his face. “The renovation announcement was so last minute, and she’s got so much on her plate already, I didn’t want her to have to worry about this, so I said I’d take care of it, but I haven’t been able to find a place big enough for all of us, and when she asked, I couldn’t exactly tell her that…” He felt guilt heavy on his chest when he remember how relieved she’d looked when he told her it was all taken care of.

“Look, what’s this?” Taehyung picked something up off the ground.

“It’s Avi-yah’s notebook.” Namjoon took it from him, smiling as he recognized it as one of the many he’d bought for her over the years. He started flipping through it.

“Isn’t that an invasion of privacy, hyung?” Jimin commented.

Namjoon’s smile turned sheepish. “I don’t think she’d mind.”

“She’s always writing in there,” Yoongi said, leaning over to get a look. “What does she write?”

“Um, everything.” Namjoon skimmed over cartoon doodles in the margins and hand drawn marketing graphs. “Our schedules, research on hip hop groups…” He smiled, pointing. “Look, she looked up both the international artists I suggested, and the underground local artists you suggested.”

Yoongi smiled slightly, shaking his head. “She does work hard, that one.”

“Right?” Jin agreed. “She’s only been here for a few years, but she’s already basically fluent in Korean.”

“Still, I bet she misses home sometimes,” Hoseok thought. “Did she seem happier when she was there, Jungkookie?”

“What?” Jungkook flushed. “Um, well, she seemed pretty happy, but she didn’t actually grow up in LA, so, I don’t think that’s… I think she was just happy to be able to speak English so much again, and to see Jenny-ssi.”

Hoseok grinned. “If you and Avi-yah’s little sister get married, maybe she’ll come live here too, and Avi-yah will be happier, and your older sister!”

Jungkook tilted his head. “I wouldn’t mind…” He waved his hand. “Not that I’m saying I’d want to marry Jenny-ssi—we’re not even really dating at this point, more like pen pals?” They all laughed. He huffed. “Anyway, we’ve got off track, we were talking about Aviva-noona.”

“I wouldn’t want her to be my older sister,” Taehyung said quietly.

“I wonder if this is really what she wanted—to manage a group of trainees like us?” Jimin said more loudly as Namjoon gave Taehyung a funny look.

Namjoon flipped through the pages, frowning at the color-coded blocks.

“Hey, Jimin-ah, did you know about this? Is that why you told her not to overwork herself?” He held up the schedule.

“Oh yeah.” Jimin grimaced. “I saw something like that the other day, when I was borrowing a piece of paper.”

“Speak to groups about getting members as featured artists and backup dancers, listen to lectures, hire instructors… and this is all after supervising our practice. How is she doing all of this in one day?” Namjoon shook his head. “When does she have time for sleep?”

“She needs to take better care of herself,” Yoongi thought aloud. Namjoon snorted. Yoongi frowned at him. “What?”

“Are you really the one to be saying that?”

Aviva rushed into the practice room, having gotten the keys from the janitor, after explaining she forgot an important notebook inside.

She felt around the wall for the light switch, but couldn’t find it. She let out a huff of frustration and used her cellphone light instead. She squinted her eyes at an oddly placed plant. Then she heard movement and squeaked, nearly falling over.

“Yah, careful!” A familiar voice called out. Aviva froze up as she felt the warmth of someone’s arms around her, holding her up. “The floor is hard.”

She shivered at his breath in her ear. “…Yoongi?”

“Wow, nice catch!” Another voice said.

“Taehyung-ah?” Aviva recognized his voice as well. She blinked as the lights flickered on. Jungkook and Jimin popped out from behind the suspicious plant Aviva had noted earlier.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook wondered.

“Are you alright?” Jimin asked concernedly. “Manager-nim, are you hurt?”

“I’m, I’m okay,” she said a little shakily. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jin came over. Namjoon looked at Yoongi and Aviva and frowned. Hoseok looked back and forth between them and then smirked. “Thanks, Yoongi-oppa… you can let go of me now.”

“Yeah…” He let go slowly, frowning at Taehyung. “Why’d you scare her like that?”

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” Hoseok agreed. Taehyung pouted, stepping closer to her.

“I was actually trying not to scare you—I thought it would be scary if I was too loud, so I was trying to be sneaky—are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure,” she told him. “It’s okay, Taehyung-ah, I just get a little jumpy sometimes.”

“Oh, so you don’t like horror movies?” Taehyung wondered, sounding disappointed.

“Sorry, not really.”

“You don’t have to apologize… I was just hoping we could watch one together.” He sighed, but then quickly recovered his usual charming smile. “What kind of movies do you like?”

“Action,” Hoseok said.

“Mystery,” Yoongi said.

“Fantasy,” Namjoon said. They looked at her.

“I like all of those,” she said.

Taehyung nodded. “We’ll watch one of those instead, okay?”

She blinked at him. “Okay, that sounds good.” She frowned. “Wait a minute, what are all of you doing here at this time of night anyway?” They looked around at each other nervously. “Huh…” She rested her hand on her hip. “It’s nice that you guys appear to be getting along again, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Um… I left something here,” Hoseok said slowly.

“Oh yeah?” Aviva said, doubtful. “What did you forget?” Hoseok rubbed his neck. Aviva frowned at the pain patch on his neck, spotting another one on his arm. “Seriously, guys, what’s up?” She looked around the room, spotting a few sleeping bags in the corner. Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping here?”

“…I mean, it’s the first night for here for some of us,” Hoseok said, cheerfully raising his hand. He chewed at the inside of his cheek. “Though, we were… kinda… sleeping in the storage room before that…”

“…Fuck,” Aviva said.

“Yah!” Jin covered Jungkook’s ears. Jungkook shook him off, grumbling.

Taehyung grinned. “Manager-noona, I’ve never heard you curse before.”

“Yeah, I taught her,” Namjoon said, smiling proudly.

“This is all my fault,” Aviva said, rubbing her temples. “I’m so sorry, Joonie, I shouldn’t have left this all on you. I knew finding a big enough place nearby would be difficult, so I should’ve checked in.”

“Why didn’t you?” Yoongi wondered.

“I’ve been distracted,” she admitted. “But that’s no excuse.” She bowed. “I apologize, it was my responsibility to find you a place to live, and I didn’t.”

“Aw, manager-nim, no need to be so formal,” Jin said, patting her on the back.

She straightened up.

“Right.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait!” Namjoon called after her. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to find you somewhere to stay—and someone to stay tonight right away!”

“But you’re busy already,” he protested.

“Gone already.” Yoongi grimaced. “She’s quick.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to mention it to her,” Jungkook said, sighing.

Jimin smiled. “I think we’re in good hands.”

“Right?” Taehyung held his hands over his heart. “I’m touched.”

“I found a temporary spot,” she said, later that night. “The commute isn’t bad, and you’ll have access to a backyard, and the living room and kitchen are a little bigger than the last place, but it’s still a one bedroom so you’ll still have to share.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind!” Taehyung said happily, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Namjoon crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ve all slept in the same room before. I’m just happy not to have to sleep on the hard floor!”

Aviva shook her head.

“About that, Tae… it isn’t fully furnished either. I got them to throw in two and a half couches—“

“Half a couch?” Jungkook wondered. Hoseok elbowed Jimin.

“That’s for you, little Jiminie.”

Jimin scowled at him.

“So some of you can sleep on those,” Aviva continued, ignoring them. “But I couldn’t find seven beds on such short notice.” Taehyung’s face fell. “I’ve got two sets of bunk beds.”

“Even just that is impressive in a couple of hours,” Namjoon thought.

Taehyung nodded slowly. “…A couch is still better than the floor,” he decided.

“Yeah, at least bring a sleeping bag next time, dummy,” Yoongi muttered.

“Ah, Yoongi-yah cares so much,” Jin said, slapping him on the back. Yoongi frowned at him. Aviva smiled slightly.

“Anyway, I’ll text you guys the address, so feel free to meet me there.”

“Where are you going, noona?” Jungkook wondered. “Don’t you have a lot of other things to do tonight?”

“I finished the meeting, so I’ll postpone the other things,” she said. “The temporary unit I found doesn’t have any food, so I thought I’d grab some groceries for you.”

“We can do it,” Jin said. “Don’t worry, just continue on with your normal schedule.”

She bit her lip. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” Jin said. “I can make a dish out of anything, I’m not just a pretty face you know.” She laughed. He grinned at her.

“And I like grocery shopping,” Taehyung commented. “It’s like a treasure hunt!”

“Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

“Before you go.” Namjoon held her notebook out to her. “Don’t forget this again.”

“Oh.” She smiled at him. “Thanks, Joonie.” She waved and hurried off again.

“Thanks, Joonie,” Hoseok imitated in a high-pitched voice. “Hmmm… tell me again why you haven’t asked her out?”

Namjoon flushed slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. “What, you mean, besides the fact we could both lose our jobs?”

Hoseok nodded. “Yeah, besides that. People do break the rules and get away with it, you know. If you decide the risk is worth it…”

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck. “Is it? I mean, we’ve both been working so hard for this debut, should I really throw it all down the drain just because Aviva-yah is so…?” He waved his hands inarticulately.

“Cute?” Taehyung suggested.

Namjoon frowned at him. “That she is!” Hoseok agreed cheerfully. “But Joonie’s acting pretty adorable right now also.”

“Shut up,” Namjoon muttered. “Anyway, even if I’d be willing to risk it, there are other people involved, Hoseok-ah and Yoongi-hyung especially, I wouldn’t want to ruin all your hard work.” Hoseok nodded, thumping him on the back.

Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“Let’s just go to this new place and get some sleep.”

#bts #fanfiction #bts x oc #ot7 x oc #bts predebut #idolverse #manager!oc #bts world #ot7 #my fics #hey you what's your dream

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starlocked01 · 4 years ago

Text

Beautiful Mistakes

AO3 @tsshipmonth2020

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary- Remy can't think before he has his coffee and that causes problems for him and his soulmate.

A/N- Slightly altered so that the marks disappear a few minutes after they’ve been received.

Day 9 Remile- Whatever you draw on your skin shows up on your soulmate

Emile could feel the slight itch on his cheek that indicated a message from his soulmate had appeared. He flushed with embarrassment but kept his composure. He quickly scrawled on his wrist.

Not now, Rem. I'm with a client.

He turned back to his patients with a smile and his wrist itched as Remy replied.

Oops

"Doc, you okay?"

"My apologies, my soulmate likes to send messages when he wakes up. Except he works… at night," Emile sighed, affectionately yet exasperated.

"Well the flags look cute, I guess as long as you're okay with your patients knowing..." Dot smiled and nodded encouragingly.

Emile paled, "he didn't…"

"I think he did," Larry replied.

Emile put a hand to his cheek, "it's a pride flag isn't it?"

"Oh don't worry, Doc! It's so cute! Larry, isn't it cute?"

"He's going to be rather upset with me. I can't check it, and he's not out at work yet… but enough about me, back to Dorry! Or if you prefer, Larrydot?? " Emile grinned despite the looks of confusion the couple were giving him. His cheek and wrist continued to itch but he insisted on staying focused on the session.

By the time Larry and Dot were leaving, the itching had crawled up his forearm. Remy must be rather upset.

He checked his watch. The next appointment was in 20 minutes. He could take 5 to read through the tirade and would still be able to review notes for the next couple. He rolled up his sleeve to see a block of text that grew more frantic the farther it got up his arm.

Babe check out the drawing!

I worked hard on that girl pls appreciate me

Em i have work in an hour

Look. At. Your. Cheek.

This isn't funny!

Okay it was supposed to be funny but i can't have a gay flag on my face at work they will kill me!!!!

Bitch

You don't love me im gonna die because you don't love me

No one is gonna believe me if i have to lie about this

Please????

>:[

Emile chuckled and wrote back quickly.

This is your fault for drawing on your cheek. You know I work and can't check messages right away.

He checked the time again and pulled out his phone, opening the camera app. He admired the little gay flag crossed with a pan flag. He took a quick selfie to preserve the drawing on his phone. It really was sweet, if unfortunately timed. Luckily, most of his clients would be fairly understanding. Remy's coworkers on the other hand would not.

The tirade on his arm had faded and been replaced with a new line from Remy.

Don't judge me I didn't have my coffee yet girl

Emile chuckled and pulled his sleeve back down, finding the file and notes he had for the next couple's session.

Remy sat in his car, obsessively checking the mirror until the flags on his cheek faded away. The last thing he needed was to get outed by a soul mark. He was usually late anyway because of the line at Starbucks, what harm would one more day do?

A lot of harm, apparently.

His boss was waiting by the loading dock, impatiently tapping his foot as Remy strolled up.

"'Sup? What are we-"

"Don't even bother clocking in. You don't do shit here and this is the fifth time you've been late this month. You're done."

Remy sputtered, "this is homophobic!"

His boss stared hard at him, eyes narrowing, "You're lazy and you're gay? You're FIRED!"

"Whatever! Your loss, you prick!" Remy turned and flipped the man off as he walked back to his car. He got in and locked the doors, taking some deep breaths. He considered writing to Emile, but decided this was probably an in-person topic.

He restarted the car and drove home, mentally preparing for a lot of explaining.

Emile was surprised to see Remy's car in the driveway when he got home and more than a little concerned. He parked and hurried inside. He found his soulmate sitting in the dark, sipping coffee, and scrolling instagram.

"Remy? Are you okay?"

"Got fired."

"Oh my stars! What happened?"

Remy gave an exasperated sigh, "he didn't like me being late. He also blamed me being gay so idk maybe there's a lawsuit there."

"Was it because of the flags? I tried to check as soon as possible…"

"No… I'm usually late anyway," Remy sank deeper into the couch and Emile moved to sit down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Maybe it was time for a career change. You can find somewhere more accepting with less crazy hours."

"Maybe I'll become a stripper. They make good money right?" Remy mused, leaning into Emile’s side. The other man wrapped him in a one armed hug.

"While I am sure you'd be a natural, I'd be very concerned for your safety as a sex worker, dear. What about something you're passionate about?" Emile tried to be encouraging, numbers running through his head calculating exactly how long they could live off a single salary.

The outlook was not super promising.

"Don't worry, babe, I'll do some research tonight and fill out some applications. Promise," Remy gave Emile a smile that was skin deep, "what do you want for dinner? I'm starving."

After a week of Remy submitting applications and hearing nothing back, Emile was about ready to suggest the exotic dancer route himself. It wasn't that they were under financial stress (yet), moreso that Remy was a lot more rambunctious being cooped at home during the night. He kept waking Emile up too early and the loss of sleep was starting to affect his clients.

"Hey Doc? You're kinda unusually quiet today…"

Emile shook himself back to alertness, "sorry about that Elliott, where were we?"

"Um," they tapped their fingers together while thinking, "I think I was talking about how my soulmate never writes back. They check every message but I never get any from them. It doesn't… feel good."

"Remember what we've said before, Elliott, your worth isn't based on your soulmate. Whatever reason they choose not to write back, the fact of the matter is that you're still an amazing and powerful person in your own right."

Emile was interrupted by an itching on his wrist. Remy would usually still be asleep by now it was late enough in the morning.

He resisted the urge to check the mark as he spoke with Elliott and he could feel the itch crawling up his arm.

After the session, Emile quickly pulled up his sleeve, praying for good news.

I GOT IT!!!

Finally got an interview for tomorrow!!

<3 <3 <3

There were several more hearts and Emile allowed himself a small smile of relief. He doodled back a heart or two for Remy before returning his focus back to work.

They could celebrate when that interview turned into a position.

He greeted the next couple with a broader smile and a tad more exuberance, much to their dismay.

Remy was nervous. This job sounded too good to be true and they'd practically hired him on the spot. He wasn't about to let his soulmate down though.

He followed the man down the hall, sipping his tea for comfort.

"Honestly just don't let anyone eat anything inedible or hit each other and you'll do great," the man smiled, showing Remy into a room with a dozen kids and two other frazzled looking adults.

Piece of cake right?

Emile was in the middle of a session when he felt the itch on his cheek. He tried to smile through it, but then he felt more itches on his legs and arms and nose. His clients were too preoccupied actually talking through their issue with each other so Emile checked his arm to find a rainbow of scribbles that kept growing.

He put a hand to his face to cover his nose and cheek. What had Remy gotten himself into?

Pretty soon his clients were used to seeing Emile with colorful marks all over his face. He explained that his soulmate worked with kids and almost everyone nodded knowingly. He did ask that if they ever saw an inappropriate drawing they let him know so he could check it right away.

Some days he would draw little cartoons for the kids to fill in. They loved that and he always sent them little hearts back when they did a good job (they always did a good job).

And most importantly, Remy was having a great time with his job and got to be home at nights, so they saw each other a lot more often. They both enjoyed that.

#tsshipmonth2020 #Soulmate September 2020 #writing on skin #cussing #remile #remy sleep #emile picani #larry and dot #elliott #homophobia #soulmate au

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crimsonbluemoon · 5 years ago

Note

6, 3, 7 H2OVanoss! You know me heh ( •ॢᴗ•ॢ⋈)

Ahhh Owlbun! So I hope this fits the perimeters of a cute-meet cause I don’t know if it does but I think it does? Idk, its cute, please enjoy this mess of a story. >.> It’s a diff style than I normally do, but….hope it works out!

AU: Coffee shopTrope: Meet cutePrompt: “You had no idea, did you?”

Pairing: H2O Vanoss

If Evan was being honest, he hadn’t expected the chalkboard wall at his coffee shop to make much of a difference. The Owl Cafe was a staple in the community, and he had an okay group of regulars that liked to come in and check out his new blends on the daily. There were ones he knew by name, like the 6 year old girl Momo who loved Brian’s hot chocolate, or the late-night writer Kryoz who always seemed to appear when the place was deserted. Some regulars he didn’t catch names for, so he titled them as he saw fit; Runner man, vlogger teen, cute sweatshirt guy. All had their place in his cafe, which was steady in its sales. He wasn’t rolling in cash, but it was enough to pay Brock and Brian, so he felt that he was doing alright.

The chalkboard had been something of a whim. A friend when he was younger had a wall in his bedroom with chalkboard paint that Evan had always enjoyed drawing on before bed. When he’d bought the cafe two years ago, he hadn’t really remembered the fun times he had scribbling across the bedroom wall. He was too focused on payments and attracting customers to stroll down memory lane. That had changed three months ago when bumping into Lui, the two speaking about their times as a child. The wall came up, of course, and Evan couldn’t let the memory go for days after. Lots of his customers had children, and college kids were always quick to bore when waiting for coffee. So one night, after a really good week at the shop, Evan went out and bought the paint in order to make his wall next to the waiting area a drawing board.

The result was amazing; people loved coming by and adding their own doodles to the wall, filling it with different styles of art or funny sayings. There were always the punks who tried to draw dicks or write derogatory marks, but street justice tended to stop the crimes far quicker than Evan or his friends picked up on them. Evan enjoyed looking at the board at the end of the night, seeing what secrets it held from the customers he served. He tried to guess who drew what, or where each blurb of inspiration writing came from. Was the struggling mother of three the one who drew the calm beach? Did the preppy college girl express her darker thoughts in the corner of the board? Or was that old couple who shared a coffee really sweet enough to write their 70th anniversary with a heart around it? All of the pieces of the board was a collection of minds, hearts, and souls, and the nights didn’t feel complete for the shop owner without gazing at them in appreciation.

His favorite part was the confessions; like an anonymous message board, people left words of secrecy every day. Evan felt it was a safe way for customers to express themselves without having to reveal their identity, and so far he hadn’t gotten any confessions that worried him. Brock always enjoyed reading the romantic ones where someone would claim their love for a friend, an ex, or a person they could never have. Brian’s favorites were the weird claims; he made Evan keep the ‘I like smelling feet’ confession up for three days. Evan couldn’t really say he had a type he sought out, because all of them were fun to read. If anything, he liked taking in the handwriting of the confessions, seeing whose were quaking with fear or more broad with confidence that only anonymity provided.

It was nearly two months into owning the board that a message caught his eye; it didn’t have much color or outlandish design to it, so Evan wasn’t sure why it stuck out to him so much. But the writing just…looked different. Friendly. A little messy but with long enough strokes to show some care went into it. The words only took up a small part of the board.

I come here every day because I think the owner is nice. And maybe cute? I wanted to ask for his name, but I’m too nervous.

Evan blinked in surprise, feeling his face heat up when he read it again. Someone…confessed about him? It was sort of risky, since this was his shop and he could have checked in on the board at any time, but it was also endearing. Someone was too shy to approach Evan, but felt strong enough about him to confess on his wall? He read the line two more times while he cleaned off every other drawing and confession, leaving the words in the middle of the board. Slowly, his eyes dropped down to the basket of chalk at the bottom of the wall, fingers twitching by his side. Despite having it for months, he’d never actually written on it. He left designing the morning greeting to Brock, as he was the artistic one of the three. But now…

He kept the confession where it was, drawing a little circle around it with the red chalk. Then, with block letters bright enough to catch any returning customer’s attention, he wrote out a simple reply.

It’s Evan. Nice to meet you.

He didn’t think about the teasing Brian would rain on him, or how unlikely it was for him to get a response. The confessions were meant to be anonymous, not openers for conversation. So sure that his words would be left unanswered, Evan didn’t look once at the board the following day, trying to keep focused on making his customer’s happy. Any time he wasn’t working, he rushed into the back, trying to stay occupied so he didn’t stare at the wall. The day dragged on forever, but when the final customer was out the door, Evan nearly fell flat on his face vaulting over the counter to move to the board.

“Desperate much, buddy?” Brian’s shout from across the shop went ignored when Evan scanned the wall, looking for any sign of a response. At first, the words around the response were disheartening; nothing connected to what he’d said. The drawings were still cute, and he wanted to read the confessions, but his heart slightly dropped at the sight. Had he scared off the anonymous messenger? He felt his frown start to capture his lips, but then his eye picked up on something. A blue circle had been wrapped around Evan’s words, and a line of chalk was drawn to the left of the board. Curious, his eyes tracked the line. Like thread in a maze, Evan was led to a familiar handwriting.

Your name fits you! I’m…Jonathan. Is that okay?

“Jonathan.” He rolled the name around in his mouth, his smile small when he finished. He knew instantly what his new secret penpal was asking, and he found the red chalk from before in order to scribble out his answer.

That’s totally okay. I bet your name fits you, too, though I’m not sure who you are. Care to give me a hint?

And for the next two weeks, the hints poured out.

I like to wear blue a lot. Luke says it matches my eyes. But I think yours are prettier.

Evan counted seventy three customers with blue eyes who wore blue that day, but it did little to limit his search.

I saw you drop that lady’s coffee on purpose. She deserved it for treating Brock like that. You’re a really good boss.

The incident had been in the morning around rush hour, which probably meant his penpal was at least his age.

You only wear hats when you clean the mocha machine; it really looks good on you.

Except this was something he did at night, so maybe he had different shifts throughout the week?

Whenever little Momo comes in, you always give her the best smile. Sometimes I wish you’d smile at me like that.

Evan’s face hurt from how many smiles he gave out that day, but there had been nobody who hinted at knowing why he’d been grinning so much.

You’re so beautiful. I really want to ask you on a date.

Evan’s face flush red for the rest of the night.

After the days of trying to piece together just who ‘Jonathan’ was, Evan was almost ready to throw in the towel. The little banter between them was fun, and peeks of Jonathan’s personality came out with doodles or smilies at the end of his sentences. He mentioned his friends, his dog, and if Evan closed his eyes, he could almost make out a voice to the words. Everything just felt so familiar about this guy, like he was already seated comfortably in Evan’s life. But he just couldn’t come up with a name, or anything to sink his teeth into.

So, with a shot of courage (Brian may have supplied the alcohol) and nothing to lose, Evan wrote out one final message.

Anything but coffee, and I’ll say yes.

Evan tried not to look at the board, just like the first day, hoping he wouldn’t scare away his crush by staring the wall down. Brock and Brian helped distract him, jokingly picking out old men and toddlers as ‘his secret admirer’ before laughing at the outlandish suggestions. Evan tried to smile and joke with them, but his shaking hands when giving out the orders always proved how nervous he was. Each time a customer came up to him, his back tensed, wondering if it’d be his penpal. But they never were, always asking for sugar or a bag for their half eaten muffin.

When the last minutes of the day ticked away, and just a few regular souls lingered in the cafe, Evan finally broke. He left Brian and Brock behind the counter to walk up to the wall, hands shoved in the pockets of the apron to hide his twitching fingers. Slowly, his eyes scanned the board, trying to find the blue handwriting he’d grown to adore over the couple weeks he’d gotten to see it. But there was nothing; his crush hadn’t replied.

“I scared him away.” Evan sighed and pressed his head to the chalkboard, eyes closing in defeat. His shoulders slumped down, unable to hide his disappointment. He’d just wanted to know who this guy was, because starting to fall for a chalkboard he technically owned was starting to feel a little creepy-

“Um.” An unsure voice made Evan bite back a groan, trying to keep his composure. Even if he was being ghosted by an anonymous customer, it didn’t mean he could ignore his other ones. Pulling back from the wall, Evan turned to catch sight of a familiar face. Cute sweatshirt guy had been a regular for months, always polite but never one to really engage in much conversation with Evan or the others. He always contributed it to the slight stutter in his speech, which only seemed to come out in longer sentences. It was actually kind of late for cute sweatshirt guy to be at the cafe; he’d bought his coffee close to an hour ago, and though he normally left right after, he’d seemed to linger now. He’d been one of the people who’d come up to Evan, looking like he was going to burst out in a confession, only to ask for creamer.

And sugar.

And a new cup.

…And more creamer.

For a coffee he always drank black.

“Wait.” Evan’s breath hitched in his throat as his eyes widened on the blue gaze nervously watching him, fingers curled into the worn down sweatshirt that was identical in color.

“Yeah, I’m-that was me. Jonathan. Who you were-I’m the guy tha–that, um, fuck. Luke said I should’ve just-but the wall was…was our thing.” Jonathan’s face lit up in color at the confession, the nervous laugh that poured out loud and uncontrolled. It echoed from the emptiness of the cafe, and both men jumped when Brian swore and knocked over a stack of cups in surprise. Tagging that as future Evan’s problem, he turned his attention back to Jonathan, who looked ready to let his sweatshirt swallow him whole. The smile he gave only lifted half his mouth, proving he didn’t feel confident. “You had no idea, did you?”

“None,” Evan admitted, hands pulling out of his apron at the defeated look that sunk over Jonathan.

“Right, that’s- I don’t have to ask you on a date if this isn’t what you…if I’m not who you-”

“Ask me!” Evan cut him off fast, not wanting to let Jonathan feel rejected for a second longer. He rushed forward, snagging hands that tugged the end of torn sleeves to entwine their fingers. Blue eyes widened above him, but Evan refused to let his racing heart of reddened cheeks stop him from repeating his confession from before. “Anything but coffee, and I’ll say yes.”

“Dinner? Can I-would you like to get food with me tomorrow?” Like a puppy, Jonathan’s body perked up at the possibility. Evan laughed before lifting their hands to cup Jonathan’s cheeks. He pushed up onto his toes, feeling the slight intake of his customer’s breath before he answered with a kiss.

But just to be safe, he wrote ‘yes’ on the chalkboard the next morning.

#kihoori #H2O Vanoss #H2O Delirious #VanossGaming #OTP boys #<3 #Crimson drabblez

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