#paired with a god damn sauvignon BLANC

[spookyagentfmulder]

🐻 “MOTHER OF GOD PLEASE DON’T EAT ME–”

i'm kidding i just thought that was funny. you are 🐹 a wee hamster and so fucking nice.

How Intimidating Am I?

I'm going to FUCKING eat you.

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 3 - C’est Un Gars

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none... just some instant attraction and flirting ;)

Word Count: 2.6k

Author's Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is when reader and Benedict finally meet. Yep, that's the whole chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

Paris, September 1939

Benedict doesn't turn up the next day. Or the day after that. Some snag with travel arrangements that Eloise doesn't explain, and you don't pry. You suspect she championed any excuse for him to delay his trip. But it does mean his arrival is not particularly front of your mind as the days slip by.

It's a week later - after an exhausting workday in uncomfortable shoes - when you get home and notice the door is unlocked. Assuming it's Eloise, you enter the apartment distractedly, reading a flyer you picked up on your journey home.

“El, did you see this?” you call out without looking up, dropping your bag as you unbuckle your T-strap heel, the relief to your foot palpable, flinging the first aside. “There is a new jazz night in Montmartre… I think we should go, seeing as your troublesome brother is never turning up…”

“He is actually…” a refined, resonant voice calls out from across the room with a wry tone. There, silhouetted by the bright window, is the outline of a tall man.

You stumble in shock, twisting your ankle quite heavily as you remove the last shoe, and he rushes forward to your aid, large hands grasping your waist, stopping you from falling down and righting your stance. His hold is gone as soon as you are stable. 

Discombobulated and embarrassed, you find yourself staring up into the most handsome face you have ever seen in your twenty-two years on earth, tongue-tied and awkwardly holding your right shoe. Not the introduction you would want with anyone.

“Benedict?” you squeak, mouth rapidly running dry.

“The very same,” his acknowledging smile is crooked, and something gallops hard through your chest. “Y/n, I presume?”

All you can do is nod. You can see the family resemblance - chestnut hair, blue eyes, a proud jaw - but damn if this is not the most fetching male version of Eloise’s prettiness. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looks very dashing in a royal blue three-piece suit with a crisp white shirt and burgundy and gold striped tie. 

“Are you alright?” his forehead creases in concern as he nods to your ankle.

“I… I think so?” you stutter. There is a slight throb there, but it's almost background to the riot in the rest of your body at the very sight of this man. 

Oh god, Eloise is going to disown me…  

Her warning from last week is ringing in your ears as you attempt a step but can't hide the wince at the bloom of pain as your weight transfers.

“Hmmm, I think that's a no,” he hums. “Come, take my arm, let's get you seated and this foot raised…..”

And so you find yourself clinging to the arm he offers, feeling the latent power under the layers of fabric as he provides a solid brace to lean on. Still a touch mortified, you drop onto the sofa as elegantly as you can, raising your ankle onto the coffee table and sighing with relief. You don't miss how his eyes linger briefly on your stockinged leg before he bustles over to your refrigerator and grabs a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. 

“Here, this should help,” he explains as he walks back. 

“Drink until it doesn’t hurt anymore?” you guess drolly. 

His responding laugh is warm and crinkles his eyes so beguilingly. “Stop the swelling,” he explains as he slides to sit on the coffee table next to your leg and presses the bottle against your ankle. 

You hiss gently behind your teeth, the coolness seeping through your stocking. Your eyes meet, and you swear his dilate a fraction, the hand not holding the bottle wrapping around the inside of your ankle to align your foot better, long elegant fingers cupping your arch. Just that simple touch is enough to make your pulse race. Something about this man feels electric. Like standing beside a humming pylon, an energy coursing through you.

“It’s nice to finally meet the artist,” you murmur, gesturing to the artwork you know so well now.

His eyes track to the painting, and his face lights up. “You like it?” his tone so hopeful.

“It's beautiful,” you confess, a tingle where you can feel the warmth of his fingers flexing around your foot, contrasting to the cold of the bottle.

“Thank you,” he demures, bowing his head and looking up at you through his lashes, a dot of colour high on his cheekbones.

“What the….”

You both twist to see Eloise standing in the doorway, mouth agape. Benedict’s hand flinches away from your foot, and you realise it must look more incriminating from her angle, unable to see the cold compress. All she sees is him sitting on the coffee table, grasping your leg as you talk softly to each other….

“El! Hi!” you call, attempting a breezy tone, “I tripped on my way in, and Benedict here was just helping me. I’m okay,” you add preemptively.

He jumps up from the coffee table and indeed indicates your injury. Eloise nods to acknowledge it, then narrows her eyes at him before walking over and giving him a quick embrace, kissing his cheek.

“Hello, brother. I was hoping you would never show up,” she greets sardonically.

“Hello, little sister, always such a warm welcome…” he drawls.

You can’t help but giggle at their exchange, and both seem pleased to have entertained you, twinkles in their similar eyes.

“Well, this rather scuppers tonight’s dancing plans…” Eloise motions at your ankle.

“You and Solene go without me. Why not take Benedict, too?!”

“I’ve had a full day of travel. I’d rather not…” he confesses when Eloise looks at him expectantly.

“Spoilsport,” she rolls her eyes. “Where are you staying?” 

“I haven’t booked anywhere...” he confesses, looking a touch sheepish. as you clock a suitcase against the wall. 

“Well then, your choices are to find a hotel now or sleep on our sofa,” she shrugs. 

“If it means it will get you packed quicker, I’ll stay right here,” he answered pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

“Brother, have you ever been to Paris before?” You can tell Eloise is winding up for one of her persuasions with that opening gambit, so you chuckle and relax back into the sofa, crossing your arms, about to enjoy the show.

“Is this going to be a two-minute or a ten-minute Eloise soliloquy?” he misdirects dryly, catching your eye and winking, which makes your heart skip.

Undeterred by both of your reactions, Eloise launches into her argument. “I know for a fact you haven’t, so let me say this. You are an artist. This is the art capital of the world. It would literally be irresponsible for you not to stay a while. Enjoy the galleries. Soak up the atmosphere. Get inspired. Hell, y/n here works in a gallery and has quite the encyclopedic knowledge of all the artists on display in the city - a literal font of knowledge…” As she extols your virtues, his eyes cut to you, an admiration and curiosity in them that makes your lungs feel tight, “…I would personally judge you for not staying. At least a week? Maybe two…”

“Delay tactics, El,” he sighs, but even you can see him wavering.

“Paris may not always be here, at least not as it is now,” you append, unwilling to look at him as you say it, looking out across the rooftops wistfully. “The art truly is spectacular, and if war comes to its doorstep in the next few months, who knows what could happen? You may regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t experience at least some of it.” Your focus back in the room as you look upon his art again. “Someone who paints something that beautiful deserves to see the old European masters up close…” you end on a shrug.

His gaze feels heavy like a cloak as Eloise waves her hands towards you. “Yeah… THAT,” she adds with finality.

Benedict sighs and tips his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows heavily.

“Fine. Three days,” he capitulates. “But, Eloise, you must be packed and ready to leave by then. I mean it. I don’t need Mother’s wrath about this…” his warning avuncular.

“Promise,” she smirks, before grinning and whooping in victory, doing a little jig as he shakes his head with exasperated affection.

“Prêt à partir?”  Solene's face appears around the doorframe, her face made up for a night out.

“Not for me,” you pout as she opens the door fully. “ I twisted my ankle. But I’m pretty sure Eloise wants a bit more victory dance time,” you smile as Eloise nods furiously, still swaying. 

They all offer to help you to your room, but you steadfastly refuse, confident you can hobble to bed when the time comes. Wishing them all well, you’re looking forward to some quiet alone time after an eventful day. 

—

Half an hour later, you are reading a book and feasting on brie and crackers when there is a soft knock at the door.

“Come in?” your call is tentative, unsure who might be knocking this late.

You frown as a key jangles in the door, then a warm flush down your spine as Benedict appears in the doorway, suitcase in hand.

“Eloise gave me a spare key. The hotel is fully booked for tonight,” he grimaces apologetically. 

“Sofa it is?”

“Appears so…”

“So there’s only one hotel in the whole of Paris, then?” you tease softly as he removes his hat and drops his case.

“Only one in close enough proximity to ensure Eloise doesn’t have time to pack and up and abscond to god know where before I can intervene, yes…” that crooked grin reappearing.

“I’d never let her do that!” you gasp in mock outrage. “At least not without taking me too….”

He laughs heartily and moves to the counter to grab two wine glasses and a bottle opener, asking silently with an eyebrow raise if you want to join in, which you enthusiastically agree to.

“What will you do? When we leave?” He asks over the glugging sound of the glasses being filled. 

“My family has told me to move up my return sailing to as soon as possible…” you can’t hide the disappointment in your tone. “I know I should do it… I just…”

“…Don’t want to give up on something before you even know how much you need it?” He guesses as he hands you a glass.

You are momentarily floored by how accurately he has pinpointed your feelings.

“Yes,” your reply is quiet but emphatic, a jolt to your being as your fingers brush while taking the drink, “that’s exactly it!”

“I understand…” and there is a world of empathy in his tone, raising his glass in silent toast, which you mirror. “But time isn’t on your side…” he reminds after a sip, “a few weeks, months if we are lucky, and Paris may well be invaded.”

“England too…” 

“Perhaps, indeed. So you should go. Be safe. Back home to America…”

“What if that’s the very last thing I want?” your whisper is more fervent than you intended.

“That sounds more like a reason you don’t want to go than a reason you want to stay,” he surmises, again frighteningly on target with his assessment of your feelings, almost as if he’s in tune with them somehow. “But yet… Eloise said you’re engaged?” he aims for nonchalant, but you could swear there is dejection too.

“Sort of…” a wave of guilt crashing into you as your thoughts slide to Stanley. Good, reliable, comfortable, safe Stanley.

“How does one become ‘sort of’ engaged?” he frowns bemused, using air quotes. 

“Growing up down the street from someone your age whose father happens to be your own father's best friend and business partner?”

“Oh…” there’s a pause, “you’re not being pressured, are you?” his query filled with concern. It makes your ribs glow that he might even care.

“No… just… a life plotted out,” you echo the words Eloise threw at you on your first night here.

“And it’s not the life you want…?”

“I used to think so…,” you sigh, eyes cutting to the side as you feel a swell of a tear forming.

“You have the right to change your mind,” Benedict attests softly as you twirl your glass between your fingers. “You don’t owe anyone else your happiness.”

You want to climb into his lap, grab his jaw and kiss him senseless. The impulse so strong you can feel a tingle where his stubble would abrade your lips if you did so. Suddenly worried you'll act recklessly if you stay any longer, you rise to your feet, make your excuses and limp mildly to your room… laying in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time before sleep claims you.

–

It's the middle of the night when you awaken thirsty and decide to get a glass of water, your ankle much better from the laydown. Half-asleep, you wander out of your room, fumbling towards the kitchen area, when you almost trip for an entirely different reason. Well, perhaps the same reason you tripped in the first place.

There on the sofa, in a shaft of moonlight, is Benedict, fast asleep; his face is so peaceful in repose. But that is not where your eye lingers. He is topless, a blanket pooled around his waist, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. And you cannot look away. He is all smooth planes of skin peppered with occasional moles that your fingertips itch to trace patterns between. His shoulders are indeed broad without a suit, and it's obvious he is somewhat of an athlete; the play of muscle and ribcage as he breathes deep utterly entrancing. It's so completely different to how Stanley looks - hairy and stout - that you drift closer without realising it, drawn to the sight. It's the closest you’ve seen to a breathing Statue of David, a shape you didn't think real humans came in…. until now. 

So much so you don't even realise when his eyes flutter open, just transfixed by how his breathing pattern appears to change the flex of his abdominals.

“Are you alright?” his voice is a rough whisper and you startle. His eyes seem to focus, and you notice they flit down your body before he seems to stop himself.

“Sorry,” you stumble in apology, feeling your face flushing violently as your eyes fly to his face, then look away, embarrassed to be caught ogling so obviously.

“Do you need anything?” 

Yes, to run my tongue over that divot right there… your mind screams.

“No, no... I just came out to get some water and worried you might be cold uncovered,” you bluster. “I was going to cover you up, but you awoke before I could….” 

You are mildly impressed you can come up with an excuse as your heart pounds in your ears. Benedict’s face morphs into an intriguing mix of knowing, lopsided smile and bashfulness, pointedly pulling up the covers until they are tucked under his chin.

“Better?” he rumbles, and you could swear it is with a teasing lilt.

“Much…” you nod before awkwardly turning away.

“Y/n…” he calls softly, and you look at him over your shoulder, a flutter in your belly as you catch him glancing at your bottom.

“What…?”

“I'm glad your ankle seems better,” he offers softly.

“It is, thanks to you…”

“De rien…” his response, low and deep, in a flawless French accent, makes goosebumps break out over your arms.

Damn you, Benedict Bridgerton.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[nalgenewhore]

Too Late To Turn Back Now - Epilogue

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

                                                One Year Later

Elide had taken off her heels long before they walked down the hall to their penthouse. The champagne in her blood from the countless toasts at Fenrys and Nehemia’s rehearsal dinner was losing its touch and she felt clear-headed as she unlocked the door and dropped her shoes and mother of pearl minaudière.

Her clutch matched the drop pearl necklace she wore, her accessories simple with her dress. A light lilac silk number with a ruched bust that looked beautiful on her, like a liquid as it clung delicately to her curves. The colour of her almond-shaped acrylics – just long enough to scratch his scalp the way he liked when she played with his hair – matched her dress as well.

“Baby!” she called, spinning around as Lorcan shut the door behind him. He smiled and she felt her lips – painted a dark berry that was stark against her pale complexion – pull up into an intimate grin.

They lived in Orynth now. Elide had quit her job as a prosecutor basically the day they returned from the Northern Isles and when she had gotten an offer as a child advocacy attorney in Orynth, they’d both agreed that she should take it.

Elide had moved to Orynth nine months ago and they stayed separated as Lorcan finished his articling and then snagged a position with Crown Counsel in their new city.

“Princess,” he replied, his voice deep and smooth as he wrapped his arm around her waist and his hands slid down to the curve of her ass. It sent a shiver down her spine. “You looked nice tonight.”

“’Nice’?” she repeated, fake ire in her dark eyes. “That’s all you have to say? I look nice?”

Lorcan rolled his eyes as she went on, chiding him for his ‘lukewarm’ compliment as she put it. With a sigh, he cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking over the apple of her cheek, “Darlin’, you look beautiful, as always. Absolutely stunning. Drop-dead gorgeous. A fuckin’ goddess. Exquisite.” His other hand splayed over her lower back and his thumb circled over her tattooed wyvern’s tail. Due to the slinky, low-cut back of her dress, her tattoos were on full display, something she never would’ve done a year ago.

He switched to Ozuye, praising her in the language she loved so despite only understanding the basics. A pleased, soft grin appeared over her mouth and Lorcan leaned down, resting his brow against hers. “Is that sufficient, your Highness?”

“I think it’ll do,” she whispered, tilting her chin up and kissing him so softly, her hands coming up to cup his face, her fingertips resting elegantly on his stubbled cheeks. With a happy little gasp, she pulled back, “Will you make me food?”

He laughed, his head tipping back. Elide giggled, eyes tracking her boyfriend’s joyful expression. “Yeah, princess, I’ll make you food. What do you want?”

“Ooh remember that pasta you made, like, a week-ish ago? That,” she said, almost buzzing from her excitement. "Please."

Lorcan chuckled and leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips, “Ok. Let me change and I’ll do it.” Before he could lead her to their room on the second floor, she stopped him, wiping her lipstick from his lips.

“It’s not your shade. Clashes with your suit and skin tone,” she told him, patting his cheek, and letting him tug her behind him.

Entering their bedroom, they found a nest of blankets on their bed, though it had been made before they left. Elide squealed lightly, “Hell, baby!” A furry head popped up, icy blue eyes bright even in the darkness of their room.

Lorcan chuckled as Elide scooped up the Husky puppy – named Hellas – and cradled him close. “I told you he’d be lonely,” she accused him, frowning as she bounced the bundle in her arms. It never failed to make him smile when he remembered just how soft her soft spot for fluffy, little animals was.

“And I told you Mia would kick both our asses for bringing him,” he answered her mildly, taking off his suit jacket and tossing it onto the armchair in the corner. He loosened his tie and went to change while Elide spoke quietly to their pet, his paws swiping the air above him.

By the time he was changed into sweats and a cut off t-shirt, Elide had done nothing except move to the balcony, holding Hellas so that he could look over the glittering city. She held one of his paws, pointing out various sights. Lorcan walked to her, freezing as he approached the threshold of the sliding glass door, unable to think of anything else but when Elide would hold their child like that.

Kids were… abstract to them. They were both fairly young and neither felt any pressure to produce any offspring. Creator damn him, they weren’t even married. The ring in his pocket was practically burning a hole through his sweatpants, taunting him.

“Princess,” he said, his voice low, “I’m gonna get your food started. You want anything else?”

Elide spun neatly, smiling brightly as he reached for the dog and put him down after kissing the top of his head. “Nope! I’m gonna pop in the shower and I’ll be down soon,” she said, resting her hand on his chest as she rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and then thumbed off the mark her lips made. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” he murmured, patting her ass, “c’mon, go on.”

“Someone’s eager to get me wet and naked,” she said, voice cheeky and sultry all at once as she winked.

He leveled her with a flat look and her cackle, indicating she was pleased with the reaction he’d given her, followed her as she waltzed into the master bath, her hips swaying hypnotically.

Lorcan hadn’t been sure when he would ask her, but tonight was perfect.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide toweled her hair dry after changing into a crewneck from her alma mater and a pair of her boyfriend’s boxers. Hair damp, she threw it up in a messy bun as she walked down the stairs, able to see Lorcan at the stove, his back to her.

Hellas was curled on the staircase landing and she scooped the three-month old puppy up, putting him on his feet. He bounded down the stairs, tail wagging as his nails clicked on the hardwood floors. Lorcan leaned down, not taking his eyes off the saucepan to scratch Hellas’ belly when the dog practically threw himself down at Lorcan’s feet and whined softly.

Elide laughed softly and walked down the rest of the stairs, crossing the open-plan floor of their apartment. She stopped by the wine cooler, browsing for a moment before choosing a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, one that paired well with the creamy and rich pasta alla vodka she loved.

They didn’t speak as she sat herself on a barstool that opposed the stove, set in their kitchen island. Lorcan smiled as she passed him his glass and sipped lightly, nodding at the flavour. “Solid choice, babe.”

Elide laughed at his commentary and drank from her own glass, moaning softly, “If this wine was a person, would you be mad if I left you for them?”

“Like I wouldn’t be the one to leave,” he snorted, lifting the wooden to her lips. “Taste.”

It was delicious, buttery, tomato-y, creamy, rich – “Oh, fuck that’s good. This is, like… head worthy.”

“Keeping it classy as always, are we, Lochan?”

“Only way I know how,” she said, wiggling her brows as she took another sip of her wine, the slightly acidic notes and citrusy undertones cutting through the velvety heaviness of the sauce. “This is the life, you know.”

“Oh, really? Elaborate, if you will, princess,” Lorcan drawled, expertly tearing leaves from the basil plant they had on the black marble countertop and chopping them up, the sharp knife merely a flash of silver.

“Cute dog, lovely apartment, a pretty man to make me pasta whenever I ask for it… every girl’s dream,” she said. “I’m a very lucky gal.”

His eyes softened, the shade of his irises melting into liquid obsidian. Lorcan spoke, his voice quiet, “I like to think I’m the lucky one.” There was a certain intimate happiness, domestic bliss to have her bare faced, hair messy, wearing an old, faded sweater and underwear. Gods, he loved her.

Elide’s face softened as well, her grin small. “I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree,” she whispered, running the tip of her index finger over the rim of her glass.

Soon enough, Lorcan placed her dish and a fresh glass of wine before her on the little table. They were on their living room balcony, their dog curled up inside on the L-shaped couch, his snout tucked against his side.

Elide had her feet in Lorcan’s lap, her legs stretched out beneath the table. As they ate, he kept one hand on her right ankle, thumb steady over scarred flesh as he traced gentle patterns over the mangled skin.

They talked about absolutely everything and utterly nothing at the same time as they ate, wrapped up in their own little world.

When the dishes were clean, the bottle of wine empty, Lorcan cleared the table, his heart practically throwing itself against his ribcage, similar to how a wave would smash against a cliff, over and over, harsh, and vicious each time.

Elide noticed it as he pulled her into his lap, but he didn’t give in to the feel of her stare on his face. Instead, he kept his gaze on the city. Despite the late time – far past midnight – it was still bustling. “What’s wrong?”

Her fingers ghosted over his face, gripping his chin, and turning his head to her. “Baby?”

“I have a question for you.”

“Don’t hold me in suspense,” she quipped, whatever had been clouding her eyes in worry dissipating.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Elide said, a look of confusion passing over her face.

“And I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he continued, smiling as tears sprung up in her eyes and she realized. Lorcan dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the ring, a simple silver band and a kite-cut black diamond.

“Oh,” she gasped, her hand coming to rest on her throat.

“Every day, I want with you. Remember a while back, you had gone out with the girls and I came to pick you up and you asked me why you?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, biting the inside of her cheek. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Because I didn’t know why, I just knew. Nothing else, nobody else makes sense, except for you. You’re the only person I want to commit marriage fraud with, the only person I’d make pasta for at,” he glanced at his watch, a rough chuckle escaping his lips, “…3:27am. Marry me.”

“That’s not a question,” she whispered, smiling so widely, her nose scrunching up. “Not exactly giving me oodles of options.”

“Do you need them,” he questioned her, raising a brow as his heart lodged itself in his throat.

“No, I don’t need them. Of course, I’ll marry you. Yes, yes, yes,” she said, sitting up to straddle his lap as he took her hand and slid the ring on her finger. “Perfect fit.” Her hands gently cupped his face, like they always did before she kissed him.

Her lips were soft against his, slow and searching as his rough hands gripped her thighs. Elide deepened the embrace as she looped an arm around his neck and fisted her other hand in his shirt, holding him tight to her.

Lorcan obliged her demand, pulling her closer with his arms around her slim waist. Elide nipped his bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth and caressing it with her tongue before letting go. He let loose a groan, looking up at her with lidded eyes.

Elide brushed his hair back from his brow, “Do you think Fen and Mia are going to yell at us for getting engaged on their wedding day?” They would keep it quiet, of course, not at all wanting to take away from their friends’ day. But their group were a perceptive bunch and even if she didn’t wear her ring, they would sniff it out somehow.

Especially Aelin and Rowan. They were like Gossip Girl, secrets just went to them, like moths to a flame.

Lorcan shrugged and stood up, wrapping her legs around his waist, his hands sliding to lock beneath her ass. “They’ll yell at us for doing it today and yell at us for not telling them. There’s no good option.”

She laughed, tilting her head back as he walked them to their bedroom. “We are a loud bunch, hmm?”

“Just a bit.”

Elide smiled down at him and Lorcan thanked the gods for her, for the chance to make her smile like that every day for the rest of their lives.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: hehe we done! thank you all for reading 🥺 i loved writing this and i may have....like.....a new project or whatever.....

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere e @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @superspiritfestival @yikesitsmaddie @flowerspringsea @queen-of-glass @sleeping-and-books s @b00kworm @bat-wing-rhys @poisonous00 @empress-ofbloodshed @feyrethedarklady @gorl-power @keshavomit @ifinallygavein @rosegoldannie @pilesoffriles @julemmaes @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @januarystears

[maviemesregles]

Twas two days before Christmas

This one-shot fic was written for @thelallybrochlibrary​ Holiday exchange.

A prompt from @maryooch​ :  "How about Jamie meets Claire while she’s trying to skate (badly) at Rockefeller center during the Christmas season. Both are unattached and in the city for different reasons."

Special thanks to Anne  @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur​  for always getting my messy ideas and improving them. For once again for making sure it's nice and readable for you guys.

Hope you enjoy and feel a wee bit festive! ❄️

AO3

New York, New York Frank Sinatra sang. The Big Apple stretched out all the way to the horizon in a milky white blanket of snow. The skyline pierced with gleaming structures of steel, glass, and concrete.

Claire stared out of the window where snow became even thicker than an hour ago and turned the buildings into giant ice cream cones.

“Honey, are you there?”

“Yes, Mum.” Beauchamp pressed her ear to her iPhone and climbed onto the high hotel bed. “I’m listening.”

“Baby, what did they tell you about the flight? Father has been calling British Airways at least a hundred times today. You know what he’s like.” Julia Beauchamp rattled around in the kitchen cupboards.

Claire dropped her head into the mass of pillows crispy scented of fresh laundry.

Of course, something like this could have happened only to her. After the three-day medical conference in New York, with bags full of gifts, sweets, booze for Dad, and cosmetics for Mum, Claire was ready to go back home for the holidays.

But this year the family tradition wasn’t going to happen because Claire got stuck in this city for God knows how long. The heavy blizzard came upon New York, forcing all the transatlantic flights to be cancelled. Red-faced, hands full of bags, and sweaty in her jumper, the English surgeon hissed “Fucking morons” when she was told she’s not flying today. And most likely not for the next three days. Her cell-phone kindly reminded her today is the 22nd day of December. Only two days left before Christmas. If not for being scared to be without a means of contact, Claire surely would have smashed the device on the white airport tiles.

“They put me into the hotel. It’s all paid.” She glanced at her suitcase, surrounded by shopping bags. “All flights to London cancelled.”

Reaching into one of the bags, Claire grabbed a chocolate bar, not caring about a proper lunch at the moment.

“What about Bristol? Manchester? Anything at all?” Her mother sighed, looking at the shopping list for Christmas dinner. “Dad could pick you up. Lamb just got the car back, all fixed.”

Chewing on the mint chocolate, Claire flicked through the menu on the side table.

“Nothing. I even checked flights to Edinburgh and Dublin. It looks like I’m stuck here.”

There was silence for a while. Claire could hear their dog Pop, an old pug, snoring in the background. All she wants to do is cry. Is it so much to ask? To be home for Christmas time?

“Oh, darling.” Her mother’s voice is soft and reassuring. She knows. “It’ll be fine. I’m certain that you will get home right in time for Christmas.”

After a brief goodbye, Claire checks the flight schedules again. Her frustration mounts and she begins to pace a circular path for at least ten minutes. Her nerves begin to fail her and she decides a cup of chamomile tea would be just the thing.

“Or better yet, a bottle of red," she speaks out loud filling the void for the room. She may as well take advantage of all this suite has to offer.

Her body relaxes into the lavender-scented bath foam, warming her chilly flesh as the fruity Sauvignon Blanc infuses her mouth. Later spurred by the TV forecast (damn the winter) Claire gets into leggings and oversized, knitted horridness of a sweater (decorated with mistletoes and festive ornaments all over it).  She shortly video chats with Geillis who is hugely disappointed Claire won’t get to the annual work party at the hospital.

“I do hope ye willna waste yer time in New York, a thasgaidh,*” hummed her ginger colleague. “Go to Time Square, Central Park or… Oh, weeeel, ye can go skating! Mebbe ye’ll find some attractive American who’d lay an eye on ye.” Geillis smirked.

Checking the explosion of hair on her head in the mirror, Claire sighed.

“If that attractive American is a pilot that takes me home, I would not mind, just tell me where to find him.” She tried to secure the naughty curls into something that could resemble a bun but eventually giving up.  “I feel like bloody Kevin McCallister,” Claire said as she slid into her boots.

“Weel, just dinna get in trouble with burglars.” Edgars barked a laugh and wished Beauchamp to have fun.

                                                   🎄  🎄  🎄    

Claire surely could say that Christmas time in New York must be wonderful. Even though her mood sunk to the lowest level, she became determined to raise her spirits. God, all those books about positivity and visualization her Mum reads out loud to her should have a hint of truth to them. Right?

The streets were decked with glimmering lights and dazzling displays. The chill in the air burned her cheeks and Claire was swept up into the herd of people like a fluffy sheep in her soft white woolly coat.

Roads were covered in a sparkling powder that made a nostalgic crunchy sound under feet. People were dressed in layers of scarves, cardigans, and warm winter coats. Some held onto hot beverages to warm their hands as well as their bodies. Some brave tourists were sporting red noses just like the one of Rudolph the reindeer Claire had seen in a Macy’s display. Everything was bright and festive. All the Christmas lights twinkled and the colourful signboards reflected off the snow. Christmassy music played from the shops displaying their wares touting them as the perfect gifts. The sounds of Christmas could be heard coming from phones and the passing cars. It was everywhere. Claire softly hummed a tune as her feet followed the crowd leading her to Rockefeller Center. When Claire lifted her head, her heart grew tender with childhood memories. She stood right in front of the huge Christmas tree, adorned with all its lights, the star on top causing Claire to get teary-eyed. She literally felt like a movie character standing here now. Glancing at rosy-cheeked, laughing people on the ice rink, she joined the queue.

“To hell with it.” She could make her own Christmas memories here, alone in NYC.

Claire had to admit she underestimated herself, thinking that skating is like riding a bike. But, she found that it most assuredly wasn't. She tried to keep her legs as steady as possible, trying to get used to gliding on the ice. Holding onto the rail, she wobbled around before she braced herself to finally go into the middle, and actually skate.

She surely thought that she looked like a penguin trying to find its friends, as she awkwardly moved around in the crowd. Occasionally, she squealed and even closed her eyes when particularly fast skaters passed her by. The moment Beauchamp thought she had got it, she pushed harder and began to glide on her skates. Before she knew it, she crashed into someone else. Clenching her fists and closing her eyes before her body hit the ice.

“Jesus. H. Roosevelt Christ!”

Falling down on her bottom, surgeon hissed at the burning feeling of her palms meeting the ice.

“Here, let me help ye.”

After no needed pause, Claire opened her eyes, glancing at the owner of the soft burr. The stranger whose hand was stretched out to help, smiled, a pair of blue eyes studying her intently.

“Thanks.” Giving a faint nod, Claire accepted the man’s hand. A swift pull and she was back on her feet, trapped between the arms of this bloody good looking man.

He was handsome from the depth of his cobalt blue eyes to the gentle tilt in his voice. A face with striking features Claire was sure she likely won’t forget. The strong jaw with a shadow of stubble and lips that took the soft shape of a smile. A scent of expensive cologne swirled around him. And the hair of the brightest red she’d ever seen.

“Yer didna hurt yerself, lass?” The man steadied her with both of his hands firmly on her waist.

Claire’s cheeks turned into a lovely shade of pink and she could feel the heat of his touch growing on her skin. Beauchamp dropped her gaze down her feet, mumbling.

“I’m fine. Though it takes some time for the pain to settle in and I can only hope I will be able to walk tomorrow.” She waved her hand in no particular direction but rather in frustration.

The stranger smiled as they awkwardly skated to the rail. Claire glanced at him through her lashes smiling back.

“So yer a Sassenach then.”

“Excuse me?” Claire furrowed her eyebrows, unable to stop looking at him. Damn him, he was attractive.

Her saviour let out a soft laugh.

“Yer English, no?” Besides his remark about her Englishness (Claire figured he was a Scot in mere seconds), his tone was kind. “It means an English person or an outlander.”

“How lovely.” Claire snorted examining her palms.

“I didna mean to offend ye.” He leaned to touch her shoulder gently. It took Claire longer then it should to speak up, the words burning against her dry throat.

“You didn’t.” The surgeon gave him a lopsided smile, stretching out her hand. “I’m Claire. Thanks for saving my arse.”

The Scot barked a laugh and took her hand in his. Claire wasn’t sure if she imagined it or not, but the way his skin felt upon hers gave her the rush of goosebumps all over it. Did he feel it too?

“I’m Jamie. And I’m more than glad to save such a lovely arse.”

What an eejit, he thought to himself. Who says that to a lass ten minutes after meeting her?

He already opened his mouth to give her a stream of apologies but she bit her lip and the bell of laughter warmed his heart. A Dhia, she was lovely.

Jamie had noticed her almost immediately when she entered the rink. That mass of curls that made her look like a fairy that stepped out the Scottish legends. He had to smile at the lass when she tried to skate (and very badly to his own good luck). Jamie watched her for a while when he could catch a glimpse of her absolutely horrid Christmas jumper and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her arse did not escape his attention either, perfectly round in those leggings.

As they made their way toward the lockers to gather their belongings, he learned she was from London. A surgeon visiting here for a medical conference. And no, she has never been to Edinburgh.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the window, Claire mentally admitted there were times when she had looked better when a man approached her. She could feel Jamie’s eyes on her back as she did her shoelaces, slowly she brought her head up, eyes locking with his.

The blue oceans met the whisky rivers. Claire wanted to say that she should go, it’s getting dark, and this day had got the better out of her. But instead, she took a step as if an invisible magnet was pulling her towards him. There was a silence that drowned them both into the abyss of unknown but much-needed connection.

“Jamie, I -” Her tongue, feeling like sandpaper, moved ever so slowly.

She felt hypnotized, barely registering that she started to walk the opposite way to the exit. But the next second, she found herself staring at their linked hands and his eyes travelling to her face.

“Wait, Claire.” Jamie wet his lips, the corners curl into an almost apologetic-like smile. “I ken it might be daft as we just met, but would ye do me the honor of joining me for dinner?"

She glanced at him, with eyes warm like a fine aged scotch.

“I would not mind a company.”

“I ken a perfect spot.” His hand on the small of her back, leading out of the crowd.

                                                   🎄  🎄  🎄

Claire was sure the air crackled with electricity or chemistry (or whatever they call it) as she and Jamie walked through the snowy streets of New York. The roads have been only partially plowed and cleaned. Beauchamp found her legs drowned up to the ankles in the fluffy mass. Jamie carried her over the asphalt where the snow began to turn into mushy puddles from the trampling of an endless stream of pedestrian traffic. Claire giggled as he carried her across each puddle, and felt the tips of her ears turn scarlet red.

The distance between them grew closer and closer until eventually, their shoulders were brushing against each other. She had learned that Jamie was born in the area of Inverness. He had a huge family, a sister and a brother which included many nieces and nephews as well. Claire smiled when she noticed his proud tone when he spoke about his father and the particular tenderness when he mentioned his older sister Jenny. Jamie had worked for the last three years in the US and at 34 years old he was a successful entrepreneur.

Claire mentioned the nomadic lifestyle she lived when she was a child. Her parents worked a lot and she had spent two years travelling with her uncle Lamb. She had a best friend, a Scottish lass named Geillis. Beauchamp liked to read and spend time in the garden with her mum. She sadly recounted that she had made the mistake of getting married only to find herself divorced after four months of the young marriage. Her ex-husband’s name was Frank. The memories made her uncomfortable and she did not want to remember more. Jamie did not ask further, only stating he never married.

“And yer telling me ye have no boyfriend?” Fraser’s hand curled over her delicate shoulder, encouraging Claire (to her own delight) to nestle closer against him. It was such a casual move that she had thought she knew Jamie for ages already. The warmth that was radiating from him rooted deep in her belly and was rising up and up, making her ache at the very core of her being.

“Seeing no one.” Claire shook her head, peeking at him through her lashes. “And how is that my fellow Brit is not with a lassie? ”

Jamie made a sound deep from his chest, something typically Scottish she’d gathered.

“I am with a lassie, and a verra bonnie one, I must say, am I not?” He smirked, though his voice was painted with seriousness.

“Flatterer.” Claire dropped her head, pretending her boots were much more interesting than anything else she’d seen. In truth, it was to hide a smile.

Later their hands merged together, fingers entwining. The strangeness and absolute familiarity of their palms fitting together was something neither of them could explain. Everything seemed to be suspended around them causing the time to become disjointed. Finally, they arrived at their destination.

“Highlands NYC?” Claire read out loud the name of the place Jamie had brought her. “Really? Out of all places in New York, you brought me to Highlander bar?”

The tips of Jamie's ears burned, the red matching his hair. Letting a shaky breath, his lips leaned over to her ear.

“Sassenach, ye should experience Scotland to its fullest.”

That moment Beauchamp went weak in her knees. The raspiness in his voice and… God damn, all of him almost forced her to drag Jamie to the nearest toilet and indeed enjoy one of Scotland's sons to his fullest. She did not.

They sat at the bar since all the tables were booked. The barstools migrated as close as possible for Jamie’s fingers to run freely at the expense on her back, sending goosebumps all over the skin. Her knees accidentally touched his. She laughed, loud and infectious at his stories. Throwing her head all the way back, exposing the pale skin on her neck, placing the blue of her veins in full view. The sight made his cock twitch. She laughed heartily, smacking her palm on his thigh when she found his joke particularly funny. Jamie's breath hitched becoming shallow and broken. She licked her lips. Claire slid her hand over the cold glass containing her cocktail. Her movements were deliberate, slow, down and up over the patterned glass mimicking... What did Geillis say about the unconscious signs?

Fraser shifted in his seat, more than ready to suggest they go somewhere where they find their way to each other. The hot air inside the pub and between them made both ache for each other.

But the food arrived distracting them from their lustful thought. They dined on Haggis dressed in whisky butter, and warm quinoa with crispy spiced chickpeas. They laughed and joked, speaking of this and that learning about each other. As the evening wore on, Claire found her heart beating its way out of her ribcage. She leaned in planting a soft kiss on Jamie's cheek fearful of having to whisper words of parting lying on the tip of her tongue. But she found she was not yet ready to say goodbye yet.

“Would ye like me to walk ye to yer hotel?” His voice was hoarse, scented with the whisky he had drunk. Claire leaned into him whispering:

“Yes.”

They hadn’t said goodbye in front of the hotel. Not in the foyer, either. Certainly not in the lift. As they stood in front of each other surrounded by glass cubicle she moved first.

Before he knew it Jamie’s mouth was claimed by hers. Chest heaving and gasping for air, both parted and stared at each other until the lift announced their destination with a soft Ding.

Claire’s hands shook, the room card almost slipping out of her sweaty palms. The second her feet entered the room, Jamie had pulled her closer by the waist. The lengths of the bodies pressing, Claire’s cheeks flaming hot. He breathed heavily as he left a trail of burning kisses down the column of her neck.

“Christ, I want ye.”

Cupping her arse Jamie’s lips traveled up, taking her bottom lip between his. She smiled against his mouth, hands pulling at his nape, closer and closer, until the kiss could actually hurt. She could feel the length of him, hard and ready through his jeans and it made her almost blind with animal-like want.

“Take this off,” Claire whispered pulling at the hem of his shirt. Aching for him became powerful to the point where she could not bother unbuttoning his shirt, Claire just yanked the soft material over his head.

She could swear she heard him growl when her sweater followed the same destination as Jamie’s shirt and landed into the fabric puddle on the floor. No bra in the way, Jamie did not hesitate to kiss his way down Claire’s cleavage, stopping for the thorough exploration of each breast. Her mouth dropped open in a silent plea when his lips captured the nipple. Almost burning with the heat that grew between her thighs and made her belly ache, Claire reached down, to unbuckle his jeans. Tongues danced, lips bitten surely to swell come the morning, teeth raking over the soft skin of the neck. Pulling the leggings with underwear to her ankles Jamie definitely left blueish trails where his fingers pressed. But it was a delicious feeling that bordered with painful pleasure. They stumbled upon the bed, falling into it, a suppressed laugh emerging between their mouths. Gently but firmly Jamie had pushed Claire flat on her back, letting his hand trace the invisible paths all the way from the high hills of her neck, down to the valley between her breasts, the plain expanses of her belly, all the way down to the hidden secrets between her thighs.

She moaned into his lips when his fingers had found her apex between her thighs. His bold caresses drew sighs, moans, and keening that he longed to hear. With the right pace and rhythm he drew those sounds out of her. Claire’s curls flew all over the white pillow. Air! She needed air and began to take deep lungfuls. Writhing as the sweet torture continued, Claire took large fistfuls of linens as an anchor. Arching into his hand, she had lost all the train of coherent thoughts.

“Jamie…” Gasping for air burning hot in her throat, she finally broke into the million atoms finding herself thousands of light-years later, breathing heavily, the sweat trickling down her nape.

“Ye’re so beautiful when ye become undone.” Jamie murmured, lips pressing a soft kiss at her brow.

Still shaking Claire reached between them finding a condom and gladly placed it on him. She’d found herself again in Jamie’s embrace. Still, she kissed him hungrily with the remnants of her own satisfaction yet to fade, asking for more. Jamie did not need much encouragement and with the slightest nod of her head, guided himself into her. The sudden, hot sensation of him made Claire throw her head back. Seized lungs could not produce any coherent sound. As Jamie’s hips moved fast into her, reaching that right spot, again and again, she could only cling to him for dear life. When Jamie’s own breathing became slow and shuddering, it wasn't clear where he began and she ended. The world expanded beyond itself. It grew into a million colourful stars shining brightly around them.

Well into the night, as Claire slept, he drew tender paths with his fingers mapping the lines and valleys of her body.

Later she awoke from her sweet slumber by the quiet rustle next to her. Jamie sat upright, hands roaming on the floor in the search of his underwear and jeans. For some reason, it bitterly stung. Claire slowly brought her hand up, gently touching his back.

“Please stay.”

                                                 🎄  🎄  🎄

Claire was sure it’s all had been a dream. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and in ten minutes her mother will call her downstairs to help start making dinner preparations. The brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes are not going to cook themselves. Her still sleepy mind started registering unusual noisy traffic outside, quite the opposite of the calm London neighbourhood where her parents lived. She turned to her side, eyes still tightly shut. Claire wasn’t sure now if she wanted to open her eyes and find herself home (where she so desperately wanted to be just twenty-four hours ago) or to wake up to the reality of finding one particular Scot next to her?

The mattress felt unfamiliar and too comfy. Her old bed in Beauchamps house surely did not feel that way. Moreover, the heat radiating from her left side was more likely from a person than the furnace. Claire’s eyes snapped open and she had to blink several times to get used to the bright sun, bouncing off the snowy scenery outside.

“Weel, hello to ye, sleeping beauty. I was afraid ye’d been cursed and would never wake.” Jamie rolled onto his belly, propping himself on the elbow. “Though it’s rather a nice sight to observe”

He ran his fingers down the line of Claire’s jaw before leaning in to kiss her.

“So you’re not a dream.” She smiled and pulled the blanket up higher than her waist, suddenly feeling shy. “What’s this?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion as Jamie fished his phone out, nodding to the screen.

“I don’t understand.”

“Ye’re going home, Sassenach.” He chuckled, feeling quite proud that he’d managed to find them both tickets to Edinburgh this evening. Jamie rather never did say out loud the price he paid but the look on Claire’s face was worth much more than that.

“Bloody hell!” She squealed, not believing her eyes. “How can I ever repay you?”

Jamie smiled when her hands wrapped around his neck.

"Love me some more, Sassenach.”

[slippinmickeys]

Fools In The Rain

Inspired by the prompt set forth on Twitter by @IngridDaS1013: “Mulder and Scully get caught in the rain on the way to Mulders apartment so they go up and Scully has to wear something of Mulder’s while her clothes dry…”

XxXxXxXxX

It had been a bit of a shitshow from the start, Scully thought, as they ran down the wet cobbles of Prince Street, dodging puddles and doing their best not to slip and fall.

What had started as a weekend work session at Mulder’s apartment had turned to pell mell running through a deluge when lunchtime rolled around and Mulder had nothing in his fridge or pantry but a jar of pickles and 3 month old milk.

Scully supposed she was partly to blame as well, having turned down Mulder’s offer to have pizza or Chinese delivered, and they headed out into Old Town without checking the weather.

They’d landed at the Majestic, which had a salad Scully had been craving for weeks, and midway through lunch, the sky had opened up and the heavens wept. And wept. And wept.

Their waiter suggested they stay as long as they needed to for the weather to clear, and, feeling bad for taking up a table on a busy Saturday, they both ordered a drink. And that’s how they found themselves, 3 Yuenglings and 2 rather large Sauvignon Blancs later, dashing through Old Town, and the 15 minute break in the rain they thought they had ended up being only about 5.

It was pissing rain, they were soaked to the skin, and as uncomfortable (and tipsy) as she was, Scully wasn’t about to soak the back seat of some pour cabbie’s ride when Mulder’s apartment was only another 3 blocks away.

When they were one block away, Scully had almost fallen twice, and at that point, Mulder took her hand and didn’t let go.

Hegel Place loomed ahead, and of course Mulder fumbled with his key, dropping it twice before they practically fell inside, finally out of the weather.

Scully looked at Mulder as they ambled toward the elevator bank. She hadn’t seen him this soaked since the hurricane thing with Arthur Dales down in Florida, and his hair plastered to his head, with little rivulets running down both cheeks reminded her of an otter. She thought of Mulder holding a rock with two hands trying to open a clam shell and she laughed out loud, the sound of her guffaw echoing down the hallway. Mulder shot her a look askance.

This was the last time, she promised herself, she was ever drinking in the middle of the day again.

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder was glad Scully thought this was funny, because an hour ago, he was pretty sure she’d wanted to kill him.

Not just for the fact that he had no food in his house when he’d invited her over, but he’d also forgotten the envelope of receipts in the office that they needed for their last two expense reports, which is why they were working on a Saturday in the first place. He’d been as chivalrous as he could while they were out, hoping to make up for it – picking up the tab at lunch and helping her over giant puddles at several intersections too deep and wide for her to jump over.

He suspected her mood had more to do with the ¾ bottle of Marlborough’s best she’d had after lunch than his own quiet acts of heroism, but he let her lighthearted laugh take some weight off of the day’s general mood.

He grabbed another look at her as they stepped off the elevator on the 4th floor, and he forgot about his own discomfort at the sight of her.

She’d dressed down, it being a weekend, and had been wearing an apple green fitted sweater and a pair of lightweight black slacks. Both were now clinging to her almost lewdly, plastered to her body like they didn’t want to let go. Her hair she’d pushed back with both hands and it was slicked back away from her face. He was reminded of the old Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issues he’d hoarded in college, and his mouth went dry despite the humidity.

“Mulder?” Scully said, looking at him quizzically.

It took him a moment to realize they were standing in front of his door. He shook himself and unlocked it.

XxXxXxXxX

The second they were inside, Mulder disappeared into his bedroom and was back a moment later, shirtless, toweling off his hair with one hand, while he held out a towel to Scully with the other.

It took her a moment to take the proffered linen, momentarily distracted by the sight of his bare chest.

At various times in their partnership, Scully had had the opportunity to see Mulder shirtless – generally while he was injured and under duress – and she’d seen him both sprinkled lightly with chest hair, and shaved bare. He was currently the latter, his skin smooth and slightly tanned, the definition of his rectus abdominis pointing like an arrow to the area of his anatomy she shouldn’t be thinking about but definitely was.

“Here,” he said, as she took the towel. “You can have the bedroom to change. Grab anything in the dresser to wear – if you put your wet things outside the door, I’ll run them down to the laundry and throw them right in the dryer.”

She ran her eyes over him again as she nodded and walked slowly back toward his bedroom, closing the door behind her and giving the towel a dubious sniff for freshness.

It smelled like Tide and Mulder, a heady combination that brought her to flashes of his clasping embrace, of evidentiary conversations in rental cars, in interview rooms -- his low brushing voice three inches too close. It was fresh breeze and moschate, and she pushed her nose into it and let herself have the briefest of moments.

Moving herself off his rug and onto the hardwood,  she peeled off her clinging clothes, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. She toweled off quickly and moved to his dresser, assessing her choices.

She dismissed dress shirts and slacks, passed by jeans that she’d practically swim in. Finally in the bottom drawer, she found what might work – a tatty pair of grey sweatpants with a drawstring and a faded Knicks T shirt.

She gave herself a quick look, realizing that all her clothes without exception were completely soaked through, and she’d have to sit in Mulder’s apartment for a good hour wearing his loungewear sans bra and panties.

She’d have driven home right then and there if she felt like she wouldn’t be driving slightly under the influence.

Gathering up her sopping clothes and holding them in front of her like a shield, she headed for the door.

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder was rifling through his desk drawers on a mission to find quarters when he heard the door to his bedroom snick open.

He turned toward her, and there she stood in an old pair of sweatpants and his Knicks shirt, dwarfed by their size, looking like a bird just emerged from an egg. She held her wet clothes out in front of her like a sacrifice proffered the gods.

“Never let it be said,” Mulder said, straightening, shoving the loose change he’d found into a pocket, “that no one looks good in sweatpants. You’ve proved the adage wrong.”

She gave him a small smile, and he leaned forward, taking the bundle of wet clothes from her.

The rain had stolen whatever makeup she’d been wearing and she was fresh-faced and nubile—her skin having the dewy collagen look of a Neutrogena commercial, and Mulder thought his best course of action was to get down to the building’s laundry room before he embarrassed himself.

He changed into jeans and a grey T shirt quickly and bounded out the door, careful not to look behind him.

Once in the laundry room he discovered that all it took was a rainy Saturday for the rest of his building to decide that it was laundry day -- all the dryers were currently being used. He threw the pile on top of one that had the least amount of time left on it and made his way back upstairs.

He opened the door to find Scully leaning over his desk almost suggestively, peering out the windows.

He cleared his throat and she straightened.

“There’s definitely going to be flooding by the river,” she said, looking at him over shoulder. “It’s still coming down out there.”

A few years ago there had been more precipitation than normal and the river-adjacent areas of Old Town had flooded – he and Scully had gotten close once and watched people with canoes and kayaks paddling down the street. He thought back on the memory fondly.

“The dryers are all in use down there,” he said to her as she turned and made her way to his couch. “It’ll probably be another—“

He cut himself off as she sat on his couch, tucking her feet under her. The loose T shirt pulled at her chest as she settled on the couch and her nipples were pert and erect, pushing against the fabric.

“It’ll be…?” Scully said, looking at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat and turned, looking for something he could busy himself with.

“Probably at least 30 minutes before I can get all the clothes in,” he said. “Would you like some coffee? I’m going to make some coffee.”

Scully declined and he beat a hasty retreat into his kitchen. How he was going to survive this day with his reputation and manhood intact, he didn’t know.

XxXxXxXxX

Scully pulled down the blanket that had been resting over the back of the couch the second he was gone and wrapped it around herself like a cocoon. As soon as she’d sat down she could feel her nipples pushing against the soft cool cotton of his T shirt, and while it felt divine – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat around in just loungewear (probably college) – she could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

She was feeling a little drunk, and a little in love with her partner, and a little morose because there wasn’t a damn thing she could really do about it.

And Mulder was of course sashaying around in bare feet and jeans and a tight grey T shirt, with his damp hair and his delineate biceps and she wondered how many years past seven she would possibly be expected to not jump his bones.

It wasn’t fair.

He came into the room then carrying two steaming mugs. She lifted her eyebrows at him as he held one out to her.

“Tea,” he said, by way of explanation since she’d declined coffee.

She accepted with a small smile, but thunked her head into the back of the couch in defeat, still feeling petulant. He was even being thoughtful. Why the hell did he have to be thoughtful and sweet right now?

She took a small sip, careful not to burn her tongue and the heat of the brew sliding down her throat made her shiver.

Mulder noticed, his brows creasing in concern.

“You’re cold,” he said in a voice tinged with frustration, and Scully could tell just by looking at him that he thought he’d somehow let her down again.

“Here,” he said, moving toward her, opening up his arms and gesturing with one hand toward himself.

She was feeling buzzed and weak and sorry for herself, so she just stood and walked into his embrace, the blanket falling down behind her.

It’s so effortless, she thought, her arms tucking perfectly under his ribcage and around his waist, her head snuggling under his chin . It’s not fucking fair.

She breathed out a sigh and so did he, his warm breath wafting around her, smelling sweetly of the yeasty fug of beer and a warm, masculine scent of what was just indefinably him.

She wondered how long they could stay like this. How long until the phone would ring or the doorbell would chime or another monster would come to call.

She could feel her hair starting to soak a wet spot through his shirt, so she pulled her head back, turning up to him to apologize, and found him closer than she expected, his head bent down as if to tell her a secret.

Later, she would blame the wine (it wasn’t the wine), or her time of the month (it wasn’t that) or the lunar pull of Mercury in retrograde--anything to blame but her own weakness—but whatever it was, she found herself on tip toe, pushing her lips into the cushy softness of Mulder’s own, his breath sucked in in surprise.

There was a split second where he didn’t react, his body tense and unmoving and her belly dipped low, the rip of embarrassment of his not reciprocating about to tear through her, but then he did move, his lips suddenly pushing into hers urgently, his arms pulling her into him, locking like vices.

The tip of his tongue tentatively touching her lips was all it took for her to let go. She could feel something inside herself unclench and suddenly she was filled with an insouciant lightness and she smiled, she actually fucking smiled and let her own tongue dart out to meet his.

Fuck it, she thought.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It had to be her call. It always had to be hers, Mulder knew, and that she’d called it today of all days, in his cluttered, dusky apartment, her hair slicked back, pluvial and sleek, the tips of her breasts pushing toward him through his own worn T shirt was almost too much to take in. He felt like he was living out a good bad dream.

Scully hummed low in her throat when he plunged his tongue inside her mouth to taste her and the sound turned him animalistic. He reached down to grab her ass, grinding his hips into her and that move elicited a gnarl from her as well, so he continued on lifting, hoisting her up into the air. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him and he could not believe how perfectly she fit into his arms. It was like she was made for him. Strategically, specifically crafted for ultimate Fox Mulder compatibility. Breathless from the realization, he almost didn’t notice that she was yanking at the bottom of his shirt, and he leaned back, trying to catch her eye. Her eyes flicked to his and her tongue rested on her upper lip as she drew breath. He shuffled his feet a bit and backed her up against the wall outside his bedroom, her breath catching as he pressed her into it. “I like where your head’s at,” he said, gently nipping at the flesh of her neck, “but I don’t want to put you down.” “Shirt. Off.” Was all she managed to get out and he grinned into his ministrations. He pressed her further into the wall and brought up his knee, using it to hold her in place while he took his hands off of her and ripped his shirt up and over his head.

The next thing he knew, she was grinding herself into his leg, using the friction from the whole of her weight pressed into small square inches of his knee.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She shared the sentiment. Their pull toward each other had always seemed elemental, gravitational—an undeniable force more than a fleeting biological imperative. Had she known touching him this way would feel like this, she would have done it ages ago. It was electric. Anywhere his skin touched hers, it sent a frisson of awareness through her, of lust.  She remembered that gravity was the most powerful force in the universe. When she ground her hips into his knee again, he gave a strangled moan and hoisted her up, moving them through his bedroom doorway and into the room. He paused at the foot of the bed, his mouth on her neck and mumbled into her— “Do you… do you want this?” She almost laughed. His concern about her consent was touching –she also felt a nudging in the back of her mind – a pinging worry that they both might regret this later and she knew he was feeling the same—but the fact that he was asking while she was dry-humping his hips was a comedy unto itself. “Yes, Mulder, Jesus,” she answered, just as he sunk his teeth into the skin where her neck met her shoulder. He laved his tongue over the bite, an apology, and tipped her back onto the bed then, needing no further encouragement. Before she knew quite what was happening, his hand was under the waistband of the sweatpants and his fingers were curling into her sex. Her hips bucked up off the bed at the sensation. “Jesus, Scully, you’re so—“ she nodded at him, knowing the evidence of her arousal would not be hard to come by and she blew out a lusty breath, looking him in the eye. “I need you,” she said, “now .” He stood quickly and raked his jeans down over his hips, kicking them aside. She moved to do the same—wanting no barriers between them, but he held out a hand and stopped her. “No,” he said, “leave it on. Leave everything on.” He knelt back down on the bed, and reached a hand to cup her breast through the thin material of the T shirt, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb over where her nipple was straining through. She wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into the hot flesh of his back as he brought his mouth to her other breast and sucked on her through the shirt, his breath hot through the material, his tongue soaking it through. He moved then back up to kiss her and the wet spot he left on the shirt turned cold and she thought she might come just from the sensation. He kissed her soundly, thoroughly, and she could tell he was trying to draw the experience out, but she pushed into him and turned the kiss ruttish, reaching down to grab him, stroking him while trying to draw him to where she most wanted him, not wanting to wait, not able to.

She felt him reach down and pull the waistband of the sweats down, just enough. He positioned himself at her entrance and canted his face back just enough to catch her eye before easing into her.

She returned his look, unblinking, and his top teeth bit into his bottom lip as pushed himself the rest of the way into her, pausing at her apex, filling her right up to her soul.

Love. She’d felt it for him for years, but couldn’t say it. How could she put a word to something so much bigger and stronger than herself? How could mere words contain it? Four letters. Seven years. Miles and miles of feeling inside of them.

Other people felt love, but they didn’t feel this. It was too big, too consuming, too frightening. If other people felt love, she was sure, it was merely in the prinprick light of a star — what they had filled the whole of the sky.

She felt tears forming in her eyes, so she shut them tight and nudged him with her hips. He took the hint and started moving, slow at first, but quicker as she dug her fingers into his back and pulled her knees up to his shoulders. The new angle had him hitting her perfectly and she could feel the slow tingle of orgasm starting to build.

She could tell by his breathing that he was close too, and she pulled him tightly to her, his head tucking into the curve of her neck, the wet slap of their coupling the only sound in the room save their urgent breaths, syncing together as they seemed to do with everything else.

And then she was there, her orgasm starting with a rush from her toes that flashed up through her body like quicksilver, pulsing at her center in a rush. That was all it took for Mulder to come undone as well, and he groaned once and clasped her to him, and they rode out his climax together.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He kept his head tucked into her shoulder, but reached up as their breathing slowed, running his fingers gently down her cheek and into her still damp hair.

“That was...” Mulder mumbled into her shoulder, not knowing how to finish, “I feel like we should high five.”

He finally tilted back to look at her, and caught her wearing an impish grin, her cheeks flushed and rosy.

He felt something dip heavily in his heart and he turned serious.

“I can’t go back to the way we were,” he said, “knowing what this is like, how this feels.”

“Do you think it’ll be too much?” She took his hand from her hair and held it to her cheek.

“I think it’ll never be enough.”

“I… I know what you mean.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Do you forgive me for forgetting the receipts?” He asked her after a few minutes of comfortable, reverential silence.

She blinked at him slowly and ran her fingertips lightly up his arm, goosebumps following her touch.

“Ask me again once my clothes are dry,” she said, and crooked a finger at him, all things forgiven.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The End

[ilytuan]

First Love 「mark」

genre › boyfriend!au |  sickening amounts of fluff 

pairing › reader ︱ boyfriend!mark tuan

word count › 5,493

warning  ›  language | alcohol 

synopsis › a series of throwbacks as you reminisce over the past year you’ve spent with mark, your first love.

Thunderous roars and cheers filled the large space of the club, successfully managing to make a smile bloom on even the grumpiest of party-goers and late working bartenders. They all screamed and rejoiced, because it was a new year now. A chance to rewind and forget about the past year, to start afresh.  

Resolutions would only last a month, while the joy of it being a new year would last even less, approximately a week, before adults would get thrown back into their hectic work schedules and students would be forced to return to school for half a year of myriad studying and cramming for exams. Your relationship with Mark however, would be renewed for another year, and possibly the longest thing you’ve ever kept going. Making resolutions had never been your thing, but you found yourself motivated to keep the relationship steady with Mark, because he was the best thing to happen to you.

As the countdown to midnight started, Mark decided that now was the best time, and there had never been a better time than this, for him to utter the words, “I love you.”

It was the first time he had ever mustered up the courage needed to confess the declaration that was love, despite the many years of prior dating experience he held under his belt compared to you, which was a pitiable zero. There was never anyone he loved despite the multiple relationships he had been in and there never would be, other than you. The words came out in a tumbling mess, whispered and timid and you had squinted your eyes at him, seeing his mouth move but not hearing anything come out of it.

Mark had never been great at expressing his thoughts through words.

He shook his head upon seeing your curious gaze on him, gathering up the most courage he ever had to, more than the courage he needed for his debut showcase or for going up and asking you out on a date, which was a damn lot.

“I love you,” Mark shouted it this time, declaring it proudly and gallantly because he was oh so in love with you. Endorphins released rapidly from his brain upon saying the words and he felt exuberant, like he could say it a thousand times over and mean it even more each time.

The angelic smile which he had grown to love in your time together had magically graced your face, followed by the mellow sound of your joyous laughter at his boyish behaviour that pleasantly surprised you every time, no matter how used to seeing it you were.

“I love you too.”

That was the first time you’ve ever said it to him and likewise with Mark to you. You realised that you truly did love him, and a whole lot at that. He was the one who you had experienced practically all of your firsts with - first kiss, first boyfriend, first date, first time, first confession. Yet, you wouldn’t have wished for it to be any other way or with anyone else. 

Mark was experienced yet he never pressured or coerced you into anything you were unfamiliar and uncomfortable with, never expected anything because it was your first everything and he knew how strange and awkward everything must have felt. He comforted you while letting you explore a whole new world of experiences and happiness, which you would never exchange for the world.

It was past midnight now, and he had planned to say the words right when the countdown had reached zero, but the crowd was being considerably loud and you were busily sipping your Sauvignon Blanc when the clock struck, cheering to the New Year which you hoped would be more prosperous and fun-filled than the last, and wishing for more endless felicity with Mark.

But it didn’t matter because he had said it in the end, and so did you. It was only past by a few minutes anyway; the meaning didn’t change with the amount of time that passed and he felt incredibly pleased at the thought, wishing he could say it to you every day.

Mark’s eyes had stars and glitters in them as he stared at you with an indescribable feeling of fondness, and his heart was set to stone the more he observed you. There was no one else, more beautiful than you and he couldn’t believe that you were all his.

Your entire night of New Year’s eve had consisted of drinking and dancing along with your friends and Mark’s fellow members, who had insisted on joining him on this date but promised to stay out of his way and avoid any cockblocking. He only let them trail along because he thought it would be better than letting them stay cooped up at home on such a marvellous and young night, like they usually tended to do like the coach potatoes they were. Chances only come once in a lifetime, they say, and he wanted them to get a good experience out of their youth. And a small, tender-hearted part of him also wanted to relive and recreate the memories of the previous year.

˞ ˞ ˞ ˞

Mark was busy partying the night away and downing shots of whatever expensive alcohol he could get his hands on, the boys cheering noisily around him because it was their first night out after a busy month, popping bottles of champagne and watching the magical night sky filled with stars and sparks of fireworks outside. 

There was never many chances for them to all go out and have fun like this, and Mark was enjoying it to the fullest. Being an idol had its perks, but its downsides too. Luckily that year, there had been no year-end show he was required to attend so they all made an agreement beforehand to go out in the evening and enjoy the last night of the year together and celebrate their achievements as well as toast to their future.

Mark’s tipsy state and alcohol infused blood allowed his eyes to wander around the intensely packed club after he downed a particularly strong shot of alcohol, meeting your warm brown orbs in the massive crowd and he flashed a daring wink and smirk at you, feeling his head spin with exhilaration and intoxication. You were the first girl to catch his eye.

Flushed cheeks and equally as drunk as him off a French Bordeaux wine that you didn’t know the name of, you were unable to take your eyes off of the insanely attractive and flirty man, for no other guy had ever approached you before and just one look from him made your insides feel like jelly. His hair was slicked up and exposed his forehead, his skin as clear as day, shiny teeth which were polished dazzlingly bright, unbelievable body proportions and the world’s most gorgeous eyes, paired with designer clothes and the finest jewellery that you could only dream of having. He looked recherche and you were intrigued but looked bashful at the most, unsure of how to act.

With such a shy personality, you were reserved and hard to approach for most, but on that fateful night, you were as free as a butterfly thanks to the alcohol and managed to cross paths with Mark, who was equally as awkward and timid as you on any other night. The only difference between the two of you was the of bundle of inexperience that you seemed to carry around with you everywhere and Mark’s collection of impressive experience with girls. Fate had it in store for both of you to meet on that miraculous night, just moments before the countdown to another prosperous year and you were so glad it did.

Stumbling his way over to you with a bottle of Pahlmeyer Merlot in his hand which he loved to drink, nearly tipping its entire content onto your golden dress that was sparkling amidst the yellow strobe lights of the club, Mark was charming and smooth in all of his compliments and speech, flattering you endlessly. Luckily, the dim lights of the club and the alcohol were there for you to blame your bright red cheeks on and he had gone along it with despite the smile that was fighting its way onto his face, charmed by your gentle innocence. Even on the very first day, you were enchanting to him.

Both of you chatted and drank together as the countdown went off into the night and cheers erupted throughout the booming, modern nightclub. It was the first time a guy had ever bought you a drink without trying to drag you out of the club for a night together and it was only a matter of time before Mark would pluck up the courage he needed to ask you out on a date, when it was daylight and you weren’t both heavily intoxicated, giggly and flirty messes.

˞ ˞ ˞ ˞

You were supposedly there at the club to be the designated driver for your small circle of friends, but when each of them had wandered off clinging onto an unfamiliar man’s arms ready to take off for the night and abandoned you, you figured it would be okay for you to let loose a little and have fun. 

Your curious eyes wandered and roamed around and fortuitously landed on Mark, bemused by his ear-splitting laughter that you could hear from a mile away and the way his friends were all in their own world away from the club, harmonious and collectively taking shots together in comfortable brotherhood. You and your friends couldn’t relate.

The memory made a fond smile appear on your face, attracting Mark’s attention but honestly, everything you did made him intrigued because he was entirely whipped for you. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Hmm, I was just thinking about when we first met, and how drunk you were.” You admitted, laughing heartily when Mark fished a silver coin out from his back pocket and held it up to dazzle in the light. He never failed to amuse you.

“God, you remember that?” His eyebrows crinkled, feeling embarrassed. “How were you even attracted to me in that awful state?”

“Clearly there was something wrong with the both of us. Remember how flustered I was when you first kissed me?” Your face contorted from the chagrin of it, remembering how you had immediately pulled away, only to smack your head into Mark’s nose and make it bleed enough to look like a scene straight out of a horror movie.

“You should’ve told me it was your first kiss!” Mark protested, feeling his nose ache just from the mention of the incident. “In my defence, it was impossible not to kiss you in that moment.”

˞ ˞ ˞ ˞

The sun was setting and your head was resting on Mark’s chest as he spooned you, arms wrapping around your frame on the couch to hold the controller comfortably where his fingers were moving relentlessly, tapping buttons rapidly on the device.

“Are you even listening to me?” You asked him incredulously as you craned your head back to get a good look at him. Mark was focusing intently on the tv screen, eyes moving back and forth rapidly to shoot players on the screen and hide on the battle zone and avoid getting killed.

“I am listening babe; you said that a guy barged into your lecture hall really late this morning and sat down with absolutely nothing on him, not even a pen and just listened to the lecture. And then five minutes before the end of class he walked out and said, “I’m not supposed to be here, sorry Professor.” And left with a salute, right? In my opinion, he was probably ditching his class and stumbled to yours.”

Your head cocked to the side, amused by his passive aggressive way of speaking and being surprised that he had actually heard you despite how intently he was concentrating on his game. Mark glanced at you briefly, before turning back to the screen and firing a load of bullets at once in quick succession, groaning after a moment of silence. “You just made me lose the battle.”

“Well, if you were less focused on your game then I wouldn’t be distracting you at all,” you justified, poking your tongue out at him in a cheeky manner.

Mark dropped his remote onto the glass coffee table in front of the coach before pulling you flush into his toned chest, lips centimetres away from yours.

“You want attention?” He whispered, eyes zoning in on your plush pink lips that you applied Chapstick to just mere moments ago.

His lips crashed into yours as a show of compliance and what you assumed to be a sweet and endearing gesture, but it was your first kiss and you panicked like a teenage girl, pulling away abruptly when his eyes were still sealed shut and he was just about to get serious.

Your eyes were blown wide and you were pulling away from him far enough to sit up and straddle his waist, but his head had been slightly tilted down to comfortably kiss you earlier and your head went crashing into his nose, eliciting a pained groan from him as his head went flying back from the force of it.

The next series of words that came tumbling out of your mouth were a combination of apologises, exclamations and, “you’re bleeding, Mark!” And, as if filming a dramatic scene in a TV series, Mark jumped up and held his hand to his nose only to discover that he was indeed, bleeding, and quite heavily too.

It poured out of his nose like a fountain and if not for your concern and remorseful feelings for causing it to happen in the first place, you would have laughed at the image of him springing up from the couch in such a fast manner and dashing to the bathroom, nose dripping as he cursed vehemently.

He rushed to the bathroom, a trail of dark, crimson blood dropping on his way and you ran after him cautiously to avoid stepping and slipping on it. The sheer amount of blood that came gushing out of his nose seemed to be enough to fill a whole donor bag in a hospital, and you felt nauseous the more you saw it, not being a huge fan of blood or anything medical-related.

˞ ˞ ˞ ˞

Mark avoided kissing you for a whole month after that, and even when he did start kissing you, he would continuously be reminded of the incident and kiss you with a great deal of wariness, afraid of getting bumped by your head again.

It’s safe to say that he learnt to notify you beforehand if he ever kissed you, but that was over half a year ago and you’d like to think that he’s not worried about the act anymore. For your sake and pride anyway.

He pressed a firm kiss to your cheek, feeling saccharine with the memories of it all and expressing it in the quickest way he could. Jackson, Mark’s team member, bounded over with a half empty bottle of Kweichow Moutai, a strong Chinese liquor that you knew he couldn’t handle well because he’s a lightweight, and said in an obnoxiously loud voice, “are you having fun, y/n? Mark’s boring right? Come dance with me.”

Without being able to protest, you shoot Mark an apologetic look as you get dragged away by Jackson, who is still managing to hold the heavy liquor bottle and not fall all over the place. It was a wonder how he was even walking straight after consuming it, but you nebulously assumed it wasn’t all drunk by him and was shared among other guests and the members because it was insanely strong, and even you couldn’t handle the scent of it. Tradition really runs deep in some people, you suppose.

The dance floor was packed with people, sweat and heat being the most prevalent scent in the tight spaced area and you had to breathe through your mouth a couple of times in order not to gag from the intensity of it.

“Jackson! Slow down a bit or you’ll get sick!” You warned him, watching as he pushed past people to get to the middle of the dance floor, the Moutai still being held admirably in his right hand with his left hand occupied with holding your wrist.

“No I won’t. I’m trying to get the best spot for us to dance!” He exclaimed, a thrill running through his veins like a child opening their gifts on Christmas morning. You turned your head back to glance at Mark who was watching the pair of you fondly. Mark went into a dream-like state as he watched Jackson twirl you around and unceremoniously fall onto his ass in a fit of pure laughter.

It reminded him of your first date together, when Jackson had interrupted the two of you and resulted in Mark not being able to ask you to be his girlfriend for another month, which was during your third official date on Valentine’s Day. 

It took him a great deal of bravery to ask you because not being drunk and under the influence of alcohol made his personality turn a whole 180 degrees, and he had great difficulty conversing naturally with you without making a fool of himself, stumbling and stuttering over all of his words.

“Don’t laugh and help me up!” Jackson whined, leaving his bottle of Moutai on the ground as he reached both his arms up as a gesture for you to hoist him up. You were toppling over with laughter, unable to find the strength you needed to pull him up without falling over yourself.

“You’ll make me fall too! Help yourself up,” you pouted, clutching your stomach that was aching from laughing so much. “This is payback for ruining my first date!”

˞ ˞ ˞ ˞

Serene chatter filled the air down below you, which you hardly hear from where you were, up on the hill that Mark made you trek six kilometres through a forest for. You would say it killed your feet and drained all of your energy, but the view was absolutely breath taking and totally worth the ruination of your heels. 

It was a bad idea to wear them in the first place, but Mark didn’t give you any spoilers whatsoever about where he was taking you out to and you wanted to dress up grandly, hoping that the heels would be enough to jazz up your plain t-shirt and denim jeans.

“Y/n, your shoes-“ Mark had begun upon reaching the hilltop but couldn’t finish his sentence because you shushed him with your cheeks glowering pink, embarrassing by your pathetic attempt to look stylish. He coughed back a chuckle, apologising for not warning you beforehand.

“Do you like wine? Or is soda a better option?” He quipped as he set out a blanket on the damp grass and pulled open the basket you had questioned earlier, to reveal a stash of multiple drinks and snacks, no doubt to sate you during the lengthy film. “Maybe soda, we haven’t met without drinking before.” You tried to joke, but it ended up sounding flat and monotonous, as if you hated the idea of drinking with him.

“Oh God, not in that way. I just, want us to talk without being under the influence, and see what you’re like because I know my personality completely changes when I’m drunk. I’m so sorry if that offended you.”

In all the times Mark could have chosen to laugh, now was not the most appropriate time. His laugh was so vocalised and fortissimo that it had your cheeks blushing a dark shade of red, feeling embarrassed for rambling and making a fool of yourself. But he wasn’t laughing because of how stupid you were, but how adorable he found you.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself. You’re really cute.” He paused to gauge your reaction, continuing when he found only an impassive look. “I just thought it’d help us relax a bit. We’re both awkward and shy and I was worried about how I’d get through the night without being an idiot. But it seems like we’ll be just fine without it now.”

For the first third of the movie, you spent it faced away from Mark, still basking in the aftermath of your humiliation that even Mark seemed to be able to brush off perfectly fine. You could feel his gaze on you multiple times, side-eyeing you with amusement before he gave up when you wouldn’t reciprocate. After that though, you had begun to feel bad about ignoring him when it wasn’t even his fault but yours and tried to initiate a conversation by giving into your growling stomach and asking for him to pass you a delicious looking cupcake.

He passed you a red velvet one, topped with cream cheese and a distasteful red heart cut out of marzipan on the top, giving away the fact that he had bought Valentine themed cupcakes. There was at least another month until the holiday, but that didn’t stop the stores from putting out their seasonal goodies, and even Easter eggs had begun to show up despite Christmas just passing a mere two weeks ago.

You eyed him in amusement, finding it endearing how he had gone to the effort to buy decently decorated cupcakes and not just plain ones. Before you even had a chance to jest at him, he defended himself. “I wasn’t about to buy birthday cupcakes or those plain chocolate ones, okay? How can there not be a single normal cupcake out there.”

You decided not to say anything to that and quietly snigger instead, calling it a truce for your obvious embarrassment about the wine incident earlier. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

You could hardly contain a bubbly laugh from erupting when Mark groaned and rubbed his face in chagrin, “you totally were going to make fun of me. Don’t lie.”

“By the way, can you see the screen well enough from here? Is the film good so far?” Mark wondered. You glanced down at the binoculars you were holding in your hand and looked to his hands only to find they were not holding a pair. You had been selfishly using them for the entire first half of the film, not even considering the fact that Mark wouldn’t have one.  

“I didn’t exactly think this through and only brought one pair of binoculars. So, I can’t see anything and I have no idea what’s been happening in this film to be honest.” Mark admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his head in thought. You gasped in realisation, feeling penitent as you practically lugged it at him, apologising incoherently and hurriedly.

“Relax, it’s cool. Just so you know, you look pretty under the moonlight.” He concluded, throwing his head back as he took a huge gulp of the wine that you didn’t even notice him open. Your mouth was gaped open in shock at his confession, not knowing how to reply to such a frank statement. Had he been watching you the entire time instead of the movie?

“I know you said you want to get to know me without the alcohol and everything, but all the drinks disappeared and I was really thirsty. And now I’m edging on tipsy.” He reported, noticing the way your eyes were dubiously watching him drink the Chardonnay.

The fact that the drinks had disappeared should’ve been enough of a warning to you that there was someone else other than just the two of you, but you chose to ignore it and interact with Mark instead, deeming it safe for you to talk normally without acting like a headless chicken running around for once. “Are you a fan of wine?”

“I prefer it to other options, yes. Has a nice kick of sweetness and acidity that I like. Though I think all of my friends would way prefer soju or beer.”

“Hmm, I agree. I really like how classy it is compared to beer to alcohol in general.”

Mark hummed in agreement, nodding his head along. You both took turns sharing the binoculars between you to watch the movie. Sometime during the duration of the film, you had grown tired from trekking up the hill and you leaned your head on Mark’s, feeling comfortable and ready to fall asleep any second. The stars were twinkling and the moon was glowing wonderfully, illuminating you and Mark.

Without the binoculars being held to your eyes, you took in Mark’s perfect features. His scent was heavenly too – a mix between something musky and a sophisticated woody aroma that was intense but not overwhelming, and not to forget the obvious aroma of the Acacia Carneros Chardonnay that contained notes of apple and pear along with a spicy fennel and lemongrass scent. It made no sense how it all blended together, but you felt yourself feeling soothed by the fragrance. Or maybe just because it was Mark.

Somewhere along the next few moments, you must have fallen asleep because when you opened your eyes, Mark was trying not to lunge his body forward as he whisper-shouted at a figure in the distance who you couldn’t quite make out. He was shifting around gently, in fear of moving his shoulder and cause your head to drop and he also didn’t want to wake you.

“Jackson, don’t you fucking dare. I’ll kill you-” He whispered, anger seeping through his raged words. The figure, who you assumed was Jackson, started jumping about wildly, pointing somewhere as he stuck something into the ground. A flash of orange was spotted before it disappeared and he ran towards Mark, crashing into him and covering his ears.

Fireworks exploded up into the sky from where Jackson had stuck something into the ground, and you figured it out to be a tube of cheap fireworks that you buy from those street vendors. Definitely not the safest to use. 

A parade of golds, greens, reds, blues and possibly every colour you could think of, rocketed high up, painting the dark sky beautiful flashes of rainbow colours. You no longer felt sleepy as you sat upright and craned your neck back to admire them, marvelling at how beautiful they looked up close.

It was the first time you had ever seen fireworks this close, always choosing to stay indoors on Halloween nights rather than be out in the cold to ignite them.

“Woah, let’s do it again! I could do this all night!” Jackson roared, running back to the same spot and jamming another tube into the ground, feeling exhilarated and delighted like a little child. Mark sighed but was ultimately unable to contain his smile at his friend. Only then did you notice that the spot which was filled with people and cars earlier to watch the movie were gone, and you were the only ones left on the hilltop.

“What are the fireworks for?” You questioned, clinging to Mark’s arm in order to hear him better with the cacophonous blast of the fireworks being so nearby.

“Our 5th anniversary as GOT7.” He replied back, a venerate smile on his face. You kept quiet, not finding it appropriate to comment on something so dear and special to him. Cheers erupted after the fireworks ended and you turned your head to find the source, discovering a group of boys who you believed to be his members. It made sense now, why the drinks had disappeared and how Jackson was magically there when you were woken up.

You chuckled to yourself, wondering how on earth you hadn’t noticed it before. Mark nudged your arm, turning your attention away from the boys and to him. “Sorry for waking you up, Jackson doesn’t listen to me, obviously.”

“It’s alright. That was my first time seeing fireworks up close so it’s cool. They looked unbelievable.” You smiled warmly at him, turning to glance at the boys. “Happy anniversary,” you hollered, laughing when they all bellowed back a chorus of ‘thank you’s’ and I love you’s’.

Mark was shaking his head in amusement, wonder-struck by how the boys always managed to be so loud no matter where they went. He couldn’t exactly complain though, because when he was with them he only added to the chaos. But with you, in this moment, everything felt so intimate and familiar that he was calm and enjoying it.

His mouth opened to speak but closed it without saying anything. You wanted to ask him what he was going to say, but it was dismissed when Jackson came barrelling towards you, a drunken smile playing on his lips as he grasped your hand and gazed at you with bewilderment. 

“Mark wouldn’t stop talking about you and we were all convinced he was lying but wow. You’re really pretty, y/n.” You blushed at the compliment and glanced at Mark who was covering his face sheepishly while trying to swat Jackson away from you.

“Did you like my fireworks? Mark was the one who planned it but then you fell asleep and I was too excited to stop myself. They were cool, right?��

“I loved it.”

“I told you so!” Jackson jeered at Mark, sticking out his tongue playfully and before you knew it, Mark was shooting up and chasing Jackson around the hilltop, both of them hysterical as Mark tried to get his revenge. Everything felt so familiar and jovial that you found yourself wanting to go on more dates with Mark. Wherever they may be, it was bound to be prodigious and exciting.

˞ ˞ ˞ ˞

“Are you having fun?” Mark questioned as soon as you got back to him after dancing deliriously with Jackson. He felt tired just from looking at the way you were jumping and thrashing around, but happy to see you so elated nonetheless.

With a sated expression, you nodded drowsily, “I am.”

“Ready to go home?”

“Just let me stay like this for a while.” You hummed back in response.

Your head was resting comfortably, nuzzled in Mark’s neck which was warm and shielding. You felt so tired, but everything today had been so perfect and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Celebrating the New Year with Mark was something you never knew could mean so much to you, but it did.

All the moments you spent with him were the happiness memories you could have ever wished of creating. There wasn’t a single bad memory in existence that you had of Mark, because every second you spent with him was in complete bliss and happiness. Nothing could compare, and nothing ever would to the happiness you felt with him.

There wasn’t a single word to describe how things were with Mark. It was just perfect. He made you feel every bit loved, happy and content with the way things were and whenever you craved more, he would grant it a million times over and never leave you hanging. He showed you new experiences that you never would’ve even dreamed about undergoing, and he became your strength over the short span of a year since that fated day.

Mark supported you and loved you wholeheartedly, and you did too. Before you met him, your life was practically enclosed into a small bubble of school, work, friends and family. Travelling was something you could only fantasise about, but he made it possible. He made everything possible.

He helped you make new friends, even if they were just his dear company staffs and the members. He showed you how to truly live your life because in the end, the world is your oyster. You could do anything you wanted to you felt, after meeting Mark, because he guided you through everything with his own personal experiences, and if he didn’t know what he was doing either, he’d dive in headfirst with you; eager and intrigued every time. He gave you strength to live your life.

You realised, that you truly did love him. With your whole heart and soul, there was no one you would rather experience life with. You wanted to grow old together and find more hobbies and experience new aspects of the world with him, because you loved him.

“I love you,” you whispered into his neck, breath fawning over his neck and making him squirm a little. Your lips pressed a chaste kiss to the skin just under his ear, making his eyes flutter to a  close.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, kissing the top of your head with a gentle touch. Your heart immediately felt at ease and your eyes drifted to a close. There was nowhere else you would rather be.

[yaachtynoboat711]

Fonder Ch. 3

A/N: Hopefully, this isn’t as angsty as the previous chapters have been. I have become a monster 😭😭😭. Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy. Enjoy the houseclaim link too.

Word Count: 1966

Warning(s): Angst, slow burn

Friday, September 12, 2014, Los Angeles, California, 9:35 a.m., Winston’s Apartment

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Fuck. Already?”, Winston muttered to himself as he slowly twisted his body to shut the alarm off. Nearly three months after his breakup with Yaa and he still wasn’t used to not being greeted with a funny text of some sorts from her. No funny voicemail or meme to start the day off with. Fuck, I miss her.

His phone buzzed; it was from Michelle, his new girlfriend of almost a month and a half. She was sweet and caring, but not Yaa by a long shot. They kinda just met—no bells and whistles. They met at a coffee shop when he was filming for Person of Interest. She was coming to town for a few weeks for an assignment. As a freelance journalist, she didn’t have a choice to pick or choose what assignment to take.

“Hey, you.”, Winston answered.

“How are you, honey?”, she replied.

“Just waking up. Have you boarded yet?”

“They’re about to close the door. Calling you to remind you that my flight gets here at 2:35 and—“

“—and you want me to pick you up? I was actually thinking about letting you hang out at the airport for a few while I got dinner ready.”, he suggested nonchalantly.

“What? Winston,no! Why would you do that? You don’t want me there or something?”, she squeaked.

“Geez, Michelle, r e l a x. I was kidding! Can’t take a joke?”, he answered defensively. Michelle definitely wasn’t Yaa. By now, Yaa would’ve cussed him completely out before adding, “That’s why I’ll get some old dick or my side nigga to come get me, since you playin’ so goddamn muhfuckin’ much.” Yup, Khalida was a Carolina reaper and Michelle was a bell.

“Ok. I’ll call you when I land. Talk you then!” The phone clicked.

“Damn,bye.”, he said as he locked his phone.

After he showered, he walked into kitchen to hear Power 106 playing “Tuesday”. His song at the moment. Bop and bop, he danced without a care in the world. He’d had a productive week after all: he’d just returned from New York for more work, met his audition quote for the month, and folded his clothes the moment they came out of the dryer. He was long overdue for a haircut, but hey, he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

Since it was Friday, he had laxed schedule: gym, pick Michelle up, date at the house, take her to her hotel, and possibly watch some TV or Netflix.

But, since he had time before going to the gym, he was going out for a run.

4:27 p.m., Vons

Going to the gym before running bus errands was probably the dumbest decision he’d made in a minute. His thighs were still on fire and so were his arms. Dumbass. He sat in Vons’ parking lot for a breather and to Google what wine goes with lemon chicken piccata. Yaa had taught him the basics of wine pairing, but advanced pairings weren’t quite his forte. Sauvignon blanc. Bet.

Winston confidently walked into Vons ready to conquer the wine and spirits aisle. He got a little too overzealous; he went to the wrong aisle. When he finally made it to the right one, he just about had a heart attack. Is that—nah. She wouldn’t be out here. Lemme go over one more aisle and come through the other way to get a better look. He tussled with the idea that she would be in California, but then again, what other copper loc’d, Alabama crimson and houndstooth wearing, thick Black woman would be in Malibu? It is Khalida.

He conjured up the perfect plan: she was glued to her phone (when wasn’t she?), so he would intentionally bump into her cart so she could look up. Here goes nothing.

He got closer to the middle of the aisle, taking his box of cereal out of his hand basket. He bumped into her, causing his cereal to fall from his grip and her her phone.

“Goodness, I am so so sorry. I need to stop driving distrac—”, she finally looked up and her eyes immediately bugged out, dropping the box of cereal. “Winston?! Wh-wh...What are you do-doing out in Malibu?”, she tried searching for words. Winston chuckled deeply.

“It’s nice to see you, too, K.D.”, he said unenthusiastically. “The question is: what are you doing in California?”

The two hugged deeply. Three months apart and the spark was still there. They both took in each other’s scents and finally separated.

One thing he definitely noticed about her was that she was taking of her self. Fresh re-twist and color? Check. Skin cleared up? Most def. Been to the gym? Had she?! She was thicker, yet toned. Her ex-boyfriend had to be responsible. My God from Zion, she still looks like an image of beauty.

“Well, not even a week after we broke up, Kimya and I get a call saying we’d been invited to work out here in L.A. on this secret project. It’s due October 20th and we’re leaving November 1st. How’s LA been treating you?”

“I’ve been back in New York actually filming Person of Interest. I think I recalled you watching it at some point.” Why couldn’t I have just waited?!

“Word? I stopped watching after the first season if we’re keeping it a hunnit. How big of a role are we talking?”, she crossed her arms in anticipation of his answer.

He was ready to brag now. “I can’t say much, but it’s a pivotal role in the season’s progression. I’m playing someone totally opposite of myself.” He was feeling himself; he sported a full grin. “You look good. Working out?” Yes, God, she is. Blessed be.

She noticed him staring at her slightly toned but oh so edible thighs. Her calves were more defined. Thanks to dancing and working out with Matt, she was physically in the best shape of her life.

“I have, actually. Thanks for noticing.” She jokingly struck a pose. “ANYWAYS, I gotta go because I got oxtails braising on the stove and that’s the only thing that should be braising when I get back.” Oxtail?!?! Surely, that’s not just for her. Has to be Matt. Lucky bastard. She picked up the wine she came in for.

“That’s what I came for, too. I have a uh...date tonight and I just googled what to get in the parking lot.” They laughed.

Even though she laughed, he could sense her energy shift.

“A date?! Who’s the lucky winner?”, she asked.

“Her name is Michelle. She’s a freelance writer. You seeing anybody?” He asked with bated breath.

Khalida nodded and covered her mouth as she processed the new information. “A freelance writer? Nice.” Her energy reverted. “And to answer your question, nope. This project gotcha girl swamped. I don’t have time to entertain a relationship.”, she was partially lied. I'm surprised she didn’t pull anyone the week after our relationship. I’m amazed Matt hasn’t scooped her up.

Winston looked down at his watch. “Shit! I gotta go start dinner. Before I go, here’s my new number. It was nice seeing you.” He gave her his new number and they exchanged addresses before they hugged one last time and traveled their separate ways.

Deep down, he wanted to just scoop her up and drown her in kisses, but he still had to go home to Michelle.

“Hey, Wins.”, she called out, walking back towards the end of the aisle. He quickly snapped his head around.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

He lowered his head and laughed. “I won’t. I promise.”

8:36 p.m., Winston’s apartment

He replayed that in his head over and over again. Why did I just let her go like that? For some reason, he decided to play an Apple Music break-up playlist . Of all the songs that aided him with the agonizing break-up, only one spoke to him: She’s Out of My Life by Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson was Khalida’s all-time favorite artist (second was Beyoncé), so the pain stung a tad more. She kinda hated that song because she wanted to know, in her exact words,“who the fuck would hurt my good dawg Mike the way they did. Punk ass bitch. ” The thought of Khalida cursive a hypothetical person out 35 years after the fact always made him cackle. Even though the song came out in 1979, Michael was speaking to Winston’s exact to situation.

It’s out of my hands

It’s out of my hands

To think for [seven months] she was here

And I took her for granted, I was so cavalier

Now the way that it stands, she’s out of my hands.

So I learned that love's not possession

And I learned that love won’t wait

Now I’ve learned that love needs expression

But I learned too late

Winston stared off into the abyss, deep within his thoughts, and tears staining his face as the song looped for what seemed like an eternity. It was true: he sorta realized that he was being possessive about their love and that love wouldn’t wait. Damn Khalida for being right the whole time. Damn Carrie for throwing that stupid prophecy over their heads and ultimately being right. Damn Michael Jackson for making this song especially for him. But mostly, damn himself for allowing himself for pursuing a woman out of his league like Yaa. She was walking Black Girl Magic and he didn’t deserve to be in the same room as her, yet alone call himself her boyfriend.

He could hear his phone ringing in the other room. He let it ring and it rang once more before he got up to answer it.

He took the phone off the charger and saw 2 missed calls from his mom. Shit,shit shit. He tapped on the notification with the quickness; she quickly answered.

“Winston, my son, I called you twice. I began to worry.”, his mom opened.

“I know, I’m sorry,mum. I was in another room. Everything ok?”, he answered.

“I should be asking you the same question. I’ve been worried about you lately.” She could sense something was wrong with her youngest born. “I called because I’m worried about you.”

He sat up. “Wh-what? Why?”

“I sense an emptiness in your voice and in your spirit, Winston.”

“An emptiness?”

“Yes, my child, an emptiness. Like someone stripped away something precious.”

“I...I couldn’t honestly tell you. I may just be homesick and missing you.”

He wasn’t totally wrong, but neither was he telling the whole truth. While he was adjusting to the rapid LA pace and lifestyle as the “new normal”, part of that new normal was adjusting to his life without Khalida. It was rough, but he was managing.

“Well, just know that I’m praying for you. I don’t know what it is that void, but whatever it may be, don’t allow to rob you of the joy God has blessed you with, eh? It is my prayer that you find peace and comfort. I want you to have a full and complete life, ok? I love you.”, she said.

He flicked away the tear that fell. “I love you,too.”

Leave it to his mother to say what needed to be said without actually knowing what was actually going on. He sat at the edge of the bed, thinking about how much growth and maturity that needed to take place in his life. Khalida mentioned it before their break-up and she was right. Both of them needed to grow before they could be together again. The repairs on the plane were in its beginning stages.

Tag List, You’re Doing Amazing ,Sweetie.

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