#putting this together has done more to push me back towards writing than ninety percent of warm up's i've tried 🙏🏽 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gukyi · 4 years ago

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the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur.

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks.

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all.

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode.

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments.

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did.

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself.

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half.

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you.

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off.

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything.

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong.

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds.

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you.

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated.

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly.

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly.

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you.

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years.

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost.

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about.

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless.

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together.

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest.

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you.

��A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement.

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows.

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click.

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why.

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair.

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems.

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you.

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship.

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it.

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio.

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic.

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since.

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have.

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows.

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in.

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once.

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this.

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right?

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins.

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing.

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention.

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind.

Another voice breaks you from your trance.

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide.

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes.

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to.

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you.

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you.

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you?

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence.

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them?

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met.

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor.

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook.

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this.

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you.

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief.

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it.

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it.

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory.

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away.

You wonder what he sees.

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders.

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door.

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door.

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left.

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind.

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet.

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side.

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet.

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive.

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist.

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him.

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them.

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted.

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing.

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter.

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash.

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them.

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him.

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card.

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black.

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure.

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body.

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is.

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you.

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown.

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back.

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further.

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you.

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him.

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet.

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment.

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester.

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there.

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that.

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk.

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room.

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world.

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well.

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen.

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written.

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page…

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling.

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom.

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else.

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head.

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease.

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart.

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you.

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving.

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless.

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?”

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating.

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him.

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain.

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing.

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure.

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth.

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about.

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out.

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process.

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world.

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious.

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side.

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her.

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the love project #yes i am finishing this at 6am on the day its meant to be posted... MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

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lettheladylead · 4 years ago

Text

avoid the unhappy ending (ch6)

ships/characters: Goldie, Huey, Louie, Beakley, Scrooge/Goldie words (ch6): ~2200 summary: Goldie comes to town to see Scrooge. Instead, she somehow manages to run into literally everyone else. ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108943/

[1 & 2] [3] [4] [5]

Chapter 6 below the cut:

Goldie, finally alone, took the opportunity to climb down the stairs. Duckworth had said Scrooge was down there at some point. Of course, Scrooge was all around the manor at some point. Not the most helpful clue. But still, there she went.

Quietly creeping down the staircase to ensure the housekeeper wouldn’t notice her, she poked her head around the side and glanced every which way. There was definitely someone in the kitchen and she had no doubts who that was. It was not a confrontation she was interested in having. Sure - Goldie could take out Twenty-Two with minimal effort. But did she want to? Not particularly.

She tip-toed her way towards the dining room, hoping to see Scrooge eating some of his disgusting family recipes or reading the paper. And as she opened the door, she saw someone sitting at the end of the table right underneath the large portrait of Scrooge’s parents.

Even with the giant newspaper covering his face, she recognized the signature top hat.

“Finally.” Goldie stepped forward and leaned on the table flirtatiously. “Scroogey, where have you-”

The newspaper was pulled down to reveal the red triplet, who just happened to be wearing Scrooge’s hat.

Goldie and Huey stared at each other for a full second before they both yiped.

Huey grabbed the top hat and threw it across the room. “I-I wasn’t pretending to be Uncle Scrooge!”

Goldie watched the hat’s descent. “Um…”

“Wait, what? Miss Goldie?” He blinked several times and then shook his head, focusing on neatly folding up the newspaper. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m - ”

“Stealing something? Visiting Scrooge? Come to talk to Louie?”

“...it’s -”

“Are you going to tie up Mrs. Beakley again? She probably won’t appreciate that.”

“...”

“Well?”

Goldie crossed her arms over her chest. “I was waiting for you to stop talking.”

Huey stood up straight and popped his normal hat back on his head. “I’m done.”

“I’m looking for your uncle. Contrary to apparently popular belief, I don’t need to steal something every time I’m here.” She glanced around the room and a few items of significant monetary value stood out to her. “...of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

He followed her eyeline and frowned. “Why are you looking for Uncle Scrooge?”

Goldie picked herself up and sat on the edge of the table, one leg crossed over the other. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“You being in my home makes it my business,” Huey said matter-of-factly. “I don’t think I’m wrong to assume that you broke in here, which means the manor isn’t as secure as it should be considering the types of people who try to just come in whenever they want to.”

Impressed, she smiled down at the kid. “So serious. You know, I spoke with your brother earlier and he’s busy putting on a show, while you’re down here pretending to be an ancient businessman with a back problem.”

He stiffened. “What’s your point?”

“My point…” Goldie leaned over and flicked the brim of Huey’s hat, knocking it off his head. It was easy to change the subject with kids. “...is that you don’t seem to know how to have fun.”

Huey reached over and grabbed his hat to put it back on. “I make my own fun! The girls have their sleepovers and Dewey is...Dewey. And Louie doesn’t do anything! Scrooge is alone all the time so I thought imitating him might give me some ideas!”

She frowned at that. “What do you mean, alone all the time? He has a million people living in this house with him.”

“Well, yeah, sure. But he still has his alone routine he fell into before we moved in.” Huey scratched his arm. “He takes long baths, usually eats meals by himself, drinks a lot of tea alone on the couch, spends hours writing stuff at the desk in his room…”

Goldie’s frown deepened. Was this kid trying to pull one over on her? Those specifically sounded like activities she could be joining in on if she were a more regular resident of the manor. “I’m sure he prefers it that way,” she said with a shrug.

Huey gave her a suspicious look, almost like her reaction was not what he thought she’d say. He clearly gave his response some consideration before saying, “Yes, well...that’s the life of a bachelor, I guess!”

She laughed. “What would you know about a bachelor’s life? You’re, what, 10?”

“I’m 11, thank you very much.” Huey clasped his fingers on the table in front of him. “And I may not know a lot about bachelors, but I know Uncle Scrooge! Plus I know you’ve,” He pointed at her dramatically, “been running around all afternoon trying to find him and you won’t tell anyone why. So I think you miss him, and he’s lonely. And Duckworth thinks it’s some anniversary for you guys. So you can keep pretending that you’re just here to get on Uncle Scrooge’s nerves, but I think it’s pretty obvious that you just want to spend some time with him and it’s kind of ridiculous that even at your age, you two can’t seem to just sit down and have a normal conversation about it. Considering what Webby told us about your little adventure down in Florida, I would’ve thought you two would be better at communicating by now. I guess one good trip can’t undo over a hundred years of messiness.”

Goldie stared at him, quite taken aback. She wasn’t used to anyone speaking to her like that.

“I’d say I know quite a bit, Aunt Goldie.” Huey stood up and grabbed the paper in front of him, stuffing it under his arm. He shuffled towards the exit. “Tell Uncle Scrooge I said hi when you finally find him.”

She was still staring at the empty chair when Huey left the room. This was really turning out to be some kind of day, wasn’t it? Scolded by children. Lectured by children. Pitied by children. Interviewed by children. There were too many kids in this house, she didn’t need to tell Scrooge that. Communication wasn’t the problem - he knew exactly how she felt.

Goldie hopped off the table. She brushed some dust off her shorts and considered the possibility that maybe Scrooge didn’t one hundred percent know how she felt.

...no, no. He knew.

She looked at the doors around the room. That was the one she entered from, that one went to the kitchen, and...she didn’t remember where that door led. So…

The door creaked quite a bit as she pushed it open, revealing the living room. Oh, yeah. Now she remembered. And there was someone sitting on the couch, sipping a drink and watching television.

Goldie smiled and walked over, plopping down on the armrest and leaning against the back of the couch.

“Hey, can you get me another Pep? I’m almost out.”

Her smile turned into a smirk as she realized Louie wasn’t paying enough attention to figure out who was with him. She snatched the soda out of his hand and chugged the rest of it.

Louie stared at his now-empty hand. “Hey! What do you think you’re…” He turned his head to confront the soda stealing culprit and then froze. “...wait, what?”

“Hey there, Sharpie.”

“What are you doing here?!” Louie jumped over to the far side of the couch and checked his pockets to see if anything was missing.

“Just hanging out. Talking to your entire family, for whatever reason.” She shrugged. “And what are you up to? Judging from the number of empty cans here, I take it there’s no scheme in the works.”

“I’m not constantly scheming,” Louie said with a frown. “Unlike you, I have a life outside of that. Y’know, family and friends.”

Goldie didn’t let his comment annoy her. (Almost.) “More proof that family just bogs you down. Let me guess; they ruined your last scheme?”

Louie shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Nope.”

“Oh?”

“They actually saved my last scheme. I guess having a family isn’t as bad as you seem to think it is.” He smirked at her, feeling like he was on top again.

Goldie scowled and turned her body to face him, letting one leg droop onto the couch while the other hung over the edge of the armrest. “What is with everyone today?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spoken to ninety percent of the people who live here, including several random children that I’ve never seen before, and everyone is just constantly talking about how great and important family is.” She shook her hands for emphasis. “Are you people always like this or is it just a special topic for me?”

Louie let out a short, rude laugh. “Ever think you might be a little paranoid? If everyone’s talking to you about family, that’s probably your own fault.”

She scoffed. “Paranoia is good for a person like me. It’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

“Oh, really?” He sat back down, leaning against the other armrest to look at her smugly. “It’s not because of magic? Or fountains of youth? Maybe some dimension hopping?”

“That all came later. Before I found my first fountain, I was just a normal duck who had to be better than every other duck or dog or pig that came to town. No family or friends to support me or fall back on.”

Louie snapped a finger and then pointed a finger gun at Goldie. “You just brought up family again with no prompting.”

“What?” Goldie frowned and thought about what she’d said. “No - you know what? That’s because I’m surrounded by you people!”

“So you admit that it’s your own fault.” He smiled and adjusted his position so he was facing the TV again. “Does denial come naturally when you get old or is it just you and Uncle Scrooge?”

She glared down at Louie for a moment before picking herself up and plopping down on the couch next to him. “So what are we watching?”

Louie glanced up at her, surprised that she hadn’t left. “Ottoman Empire. It’s my favorite show.”

“What’s it about?”

“I don’t even know, it’s so stupid.”

A minute passed with them silently watching the show together. Louie was clearly very comfortable, and Goldie had to admit that just sitting and watching some nonsense with her favorite of Scrooge’s kids was...nice.

As annoying as the day had been, there were a few moments she enjoyed. This was definitely in the top three, as embarrassing as that fact was. There was something about Sharpie that made her feel lighter. Sure, she’d betrayed him, but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge like his uncle tended to. He didn’t seem to care at all. He even told one of the other ducklings that she was soft.

“Why’d you tell Lil Vanderquack that I’m, quote, a softie?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the boredom of a commercial break.

Louie didn’t even look at her, taking a sip from an old can of Pep that still had some liquid at the bottom. “Cause you are.”

Goldie hummed in response. What would be the point in disagreeing with him? Clearly he’d made up his mind. And here she was, snuggling with him on a comfy sofa, watching bad reality TV while not twenty feet away was a woman who wanted to rip her head off and not five feet away were treasures worth more than her home. Maybe he had a point.

“Do you always think you’re right?” she asked.

“Do you?”

Goldie frowned deeper and put a hand on top of Louie’s head, brushing her fingers through some of his little feathers. “Of course.”

He didn’t stop her from playing with his hair, enjoying it more than he’d admit. “Then there’s your answer.”

She was tempted to get into a whole pointless argument of ‘well we can’t both be right,’ but it would get old fast. “So I’m looking for your uncle.”

“No kidding.”

“...he wasn’t in his bedroom -”

“Ew.”

Goldie rolled her eyes. “Have you seen him?” She removed her hand from his head and started to stand up.

“Ehh…” Louie sat up straight for a minute and combed through his hair to set it back to normal. “I’m not sure. I thought I saw him looking at some old treasures earlier. Near the garage.”

“Alright.” Goldie looked at the TV again for a moment, genuinely interested in where the episode was going.

But the sound of footsteps walking towards them from the kitchen took her out of that stupor. She leaned down and left an unprompted smooch on Louie’s head. “Seeya round, Sharpie.”

“Wha-?! Gross!” Louie angrily rubbed a hand over the spot she’d kissed and when he looked back up, Goldie was gone.

“What’s gross?” Beakley asked as she stepped into the room with a fresh can of Pep.

Louie smiled and grabbed it. “Oh, nothing. Goldie’s here, by the way.”

“That is quite gross.”

#scroldie #goldie o'gilt #huey duck #louie duck #bentina beakley #fic #fics #ducktales #scheme team

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fenweak · 4 years ago

Photo

High School AUs

College/University AUs

⭐ A+ fics (imho) | All of the recs

High School AUs

High Scores by popfly ⭐

Kaner is a DDR master, Jonny is ultra-competitive. Bollig just wants to make out with Shawzy.

Dynamical Systems by jezziejay ⭐ - math geek patrick! jock jonny!

Jonny’s plenty smart, but there’s hockey practice just before a double math period every Tuesday and Wednesday morning. He gets to class on time. Physically, he’s there. But his mind is still on the ice. Throw in a kidney infection that keeps him home for two weeks, and Jonny’s struggling. Not failing, but that C is dragging his GPA down, and his mom is making clucking noises. The same noises that mean hockey time is coming up for review.

There’s a note on the student boards advertising tutoring.

promise i'm worthy (to hold in your arms) [One and Only series] - teenage angst and american douchebags ft. ryan kesler

"So come on and give me a chance to prove I am the one who can walk that mile."

love is a contact sport by hazel, mermaid ⭐ - high school soulmates!

"And the tragic reality of Patrick's life is that even though they broke up over a year ago, he and Johnny still play beautiful hockey together."

A high school AU, featuring dream-fish, bad movie dates, and a little bit of magic.

Movie Nights or Five Times Jonny Wanted Popcorn (and One Time He Didn’t) by CoffeeKristin

Patrick had only been working at the movie theater a few weeks when a noisy bunch of boys from his high school burst through the doors just before the last showing of Captain America: Civil War and come tumbling into the lobby, whooping it up. He sighed and put down the containers of popcorn he was counting, mentally preparing himself for the asshattery he was likely to endure.

“What can I get you?” he asked the crowd, and true to form, no one was listening so he waited another moment. Finally one of the boys got pushed to the front, stumbling into the counter. “Fuck, Duncs, not so hard,” he said, and oh. That was Jonathan Toews: Captain of the high school soccer team, president of the student council, son of the mayor. Basically, everything Patrick wasn’t.

do it how you want it done ⭐

(very vaguely) grease-inspired high school au.

yeah, i went there.

kissing your honeyed eyes by forochel

The one that's the British boarding school AU.

This Is What A Love Song Sounds Like by fourfreedoms ⭐ - reunion fic but god the flashbacks! the angst!

When he came out after his freshman year of college his mother said she’d always known, and he’d had to fight down the bizarre wave of paranoia that maybe everybody knew, maybe they’d all just been letting him sweat all those years. It was crazy of course, there was only one person who’d known, who had any idea.Patrick Kane.

Ten years after they fucked around in high school, Patrick and Jonny meet back up at their high school reunion.

roll with it by hazel ⭐

The one where a bunch of Blackhawks inexplicably go to boarding school, Tazer is the world's meanest DM, and Pat doesn't know why anyone would think cutting the head off a hydra was good idea.

Light Me Up by sahiya - where they both went to Shattuck!

Being serious about hockey always meant Patrick would have to leave home. For a long time he thought it would be for juniors and a billet family. But things don't go as planned, and he finds himself at Shattuck-St. Mary's.

His roommate's name is Jonathan Toews. He can't keep his water bottles on his side of the room, and he's unfortunately, stupidly hot. Because Patrick's life sucks.

boot theory by mentalistecbm - teen angst, break up

Everyone knows that they're broken up.

glory days by liketheroad ⭐ - soulmate, teen angst

He never expected his destiny to involve anything but hockey, never thought it would show up in flip flops, but when Patrick smiles at him across the locker room, quick and surprised, Johnny lets his priorities shift and change without a hint of reluctance or regret.

There's Only Blood Running In My Veins by mikarala - pwp

Patrick and Jonny are making out in Patrick’s bedroom when Jonny says it. “I--I,” he stutters out, in between a moan, “I want you to fuck me.”

Gold Seeking Ends by liveinfury - Flipped AU

“Wanna go on the tire swing with me after?” Jonny asks.

“No,” Patrick answers.

“Oh,” Jonny says, looking deflated. “What about the jungle gym?”

“Nope."

“Um, okay,” Jonny says, shrugging before walking away.Sam giggles some more. “I can’t believe Jonny, the dirt eater, likes you.”Patrick smirks at him. “Everyone likes me.”

(or Patrick and Jonny meet in the second grade. Jonny's instantly smitten, Patrick is...not. Ten years later, things start flipping.)

Keep Calm and Don't Think of Star Wars podfic by exmanhater ⭐ - A Clueless AU

After I once again assure Abby that Johnny and I are not, NOT related (by googling the difference between half-brother and stepbrother because jesus fucking christ am I am the only knowledgeable one around here?), she agrees to help.

but i can write a song

“We’re not going to be called Jonny and the Patricks,” Jonny says, sounding entirely too put upon about a name that’s clearly awesome.

[or; the high school band au you probably didn't ask for]

lost in brightness - pat, jon and a crowded train

“You’re gonna get caught one day,” Jonny sighs, herding Pat in front of him as they squeeze onto the train, the crowd thicker than usual. It’s been raining on and off, fall well and truly taking the city in its grasp. Jonny’s already looking forward to meeting Pat by his house every morning, red-cheeked and rugged up, his face barely visible between his toque and scarf.

you're mending what's broken - a stats nerd Patrick story

The guy who sits behind Jonny in AP Stats wants to know how many shots on goal he had last Tuesday. Or at least, that's how it starts.

A high school AU featuring stats nerd Kaner and his Tragic Hockey Backstory (TM), without much time or inclination toward actual tragedy. Instead there is discussion of Corsi. And kissing.

Examine Other Beauties by kiwoa - theater kids!

"I," Jonny says, and he slips his headset up from around his neck to nestle over his ears, "am not an actor."

"Good thing I don't need you to act."

"No."

"Jonny."

"Patrick."

"Please?" Kaner cants forward and tilts his face up to blink at Jonny. In the fluttering light that filters in from the stage, his eyes look unnaturally pale. "Just read the lines, okay? I want to see how well I've memorized them."

Jonny scrubs a hand over his face. The motion knocks his mike askew. "One scene."

A/S/L ⭐ - 90s teenaged kids meeting on webcam omg

The internet is a dangerous place, or:

Patrick and Jonny meet, lie through their teeth, and fall in love. Mostly that last part.

Actual Prom King Brandon Saad by popfly ⭐

Patrick might be a little jealous of the new kid.

Sure Brandon is basically the prom king from every feel-good teenage movie Patrick’s sisters have made him watch, but that doesn’t mean Jonny wants that.

Sign it with your heart by tictactoews + podfic by exmanhater ⭐

Patrick loses a bet and is dared to plant an anonymous love letter into a random locker. It just so happens that the locker belongs to one Jonathan Toews, captain of the school hockey team.Meanwhile, Jonny finds himself in need of a math tutor, and following the advice of his teacher, he asks the new kid, Patrick Kane, for help.

a complicated kindness by liketheroad - young and figuring out d/s ⭐

Patrick still remembers how scared Sharpy looked, just for a second there. He remembers not understanding why anyone would back away from Johnny when he was like that, why they wouldn’t want to strain closer, pushing to see how much further he’d go.

What Comes Easy by impertinence - summer camp of angst

Kaner's determined to never grow up; Tazer's determined to grow up as quickly as possible. Over eleven years of summer camp, they learn to meet in the middle. Set in stlkrchk's Camp Quaquanantuck universe.

mathletes are totally athletes by ukiyo91, yukonecho

Mathlete Patrick Kane never thought that when he was assigned to tutor hockey jock Jonathan Toews that he would be swept up into a new sport...or into Captain Serious.

Toews was like the guild leader Patrick had always aspired to be in WoW, but more of an asshole.

i'll be the embrace that keeps you warm by longtime_lurker - huddling for warmth

It is like death, but it is not death; lovelier. / Cold, inconvenienced, late, what will you do now / with the gift of your left life?

Clumsy by CoffeeKristin - a short first kiss fic uwu

“Knock it off,” she hissed at him. “He’s looking at you!”

“Who?” Patrick said, his head swiveling around, resulting in Erica smacking him again. “Hey! Quit hitting me!”

“Then quit being an idiot,” she huffed. “Jonny Toews, you dunce. He’s looking over here, and you’re biting on the string of your hoodie like a moron.”

look around once in a while by achilleees

One man’s struggle to take it easy.

Based off of “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” but instead of girlfriends and daddy issues, there’s hockey and pining. And daddy issues.

Summer Lovin' by CoffeeKristin - est. relationship insecurities

Patrick's home from summer camp, and Jonny's first on his list of to-do's. Somehow a little actual angst/plot worked it's way in. But mostly it's just porn.

Ninety-Nine Point Three Percent by jimtiberiuskirk - best friends mutually pining

The problem is, is that Patrick is 99.3% sure that Jonny knows all about his giant, embarrassing man-crush on him.

bring it if you really want it by staraflur - harry potter AU

It starts like this:

Well, okay, Patrick has no idea how it actually starts. But as pertains to him (in other words, the important part), it goes a little something like so:

America, being a nation composed in large part of a melting pot of immigrants who may or may not have taken over land already owned by others using less-than-savory means, doesn’t have much of a magical national identity. Much less a magical continental identity. There’s no grand heritage going back thousands of years. Magical families home-schooled all their kids until, like, the 1800’s, and tough for the muggle-born, apparently. Hopefully you got noticed by someone who knew what to do with you before you got burned at the stake. Since you probably can’t control your powers, sport.

(if you're feeling down) i can feel you up by hawkeytime

"Hey," Patrick said appreciatively from behind where Jonny stood, stoic as always, by the side of the pool. "Did you sit in a pile of sugar? Because you have a sweet ass.”Or: How Patrick Kane spent his summer hitting on the hot lifeguard with the help of some inspired (read: awful) pickup lines.

kiss and tell by hawkeytime

“Trust me,” Sharpy says, “this will be good for you.”And then, he shoves Jonny into what appears to be a mostly empty coat closet and slams the door shut behind him.

“What the fuck, Sharp!” Jonny calls, pounding at the door which is, of course, locked.

“Enjoy your seven minutes in heaven, Tazer,” Sharpy singsongs.Then, the bare bulb mounted on the ceiling flares to life, illuminating one Patrick Kane.

Fuck.

i know you are (but what am i) by booktubelover7 - always a girl!pat

Pat throws up her arms in celebration after Toews makes a beautiful goal off of Pat’s assist. She crows in celebration as Toews slams into her, shouting in her ear.

Pat’s playing, she’s playing, she’s playing. Not just that, but she’s winning too.When her line gets back to the bench, Pat leans over to speak into Toews’ ear. “Thank you,” she says. Her teammate just turns his head to look at her, a grin spreading across his face.

Love or Torture - a/b/o

Patrick Kane is too short, too Omega, and his heat too delayed for him to play hockey. Jonathan Toews has a plan to bring glory to both of them.

keep buying the stars by medusacascade22- teacher!Jonny

“Fuck,” Jonny groans. He props his elbows up on his desk and lets his head fall into his hands. It’s going to be a long fucking year.

(or, in which Jonathan Toews is Patrick Kane's teacher, and shit gets real.)

College/Uni AUs

cello suite no. 1 - THIS IS ONE IS A CLASSIC 👌

The first time Jonathan meets Patrick Kane is because he hits him with a lacrosse ball.

In Jonathan's defense, he threw a perfect pass to Seabs, who failed to just reach the one or two feet above his head to catch it.

"Oh shit," Jonathan says when he watched the ball arc across the lawn and whack a blond kid squarely between his shoulder blades.

"Heads up!" he calls belatedly.

this is how we do it series by staraflur ⭐ - frat bros AU!!!

He doesn’t think Zeus is supposed to have a sword, but their Zeus does. So now Jonny does, because of course he’s in charge. He looks, Patrick is drunk enough to acknowledge, far better than anyone has a right to in a grody old Halloween costume that’s probably soaked up the butt sweat of dozens, if not hundreds, of Theta-presidents past. Jonny wears it, Patrick gets the sword. Win-win.

AKA that time there was a frat AU (of course).

This Heart Is Not For Wasting by fourfreedoms - oblivious best friends

Patrick puts his head in his hands. “How could this get any worse?”

“Wait, it’s not like, a big deal is it?” Duncs asks, looking at him and Jonny in turn. “The way you and Jonny are weird about each other? She’s gotta have made her peace with it ages ago.”

A college AU.

love song for love songs by boodreaus ⭐ - angst, internalized homophobia

“Right,” Jonny says. “Cool.” He seems to hesitate, pausing when Patrick goes for the door handle, and then, right as Patrick’s bracing himself to run for the house, Jonny says, “You should come.”

Patrick turns back at him and is handed a piece of paper. “To our next show, I mean,” Jonny is saying as Patrick examines what turns out to be a flyer, thick black lettering taking up every square inch of space on the brilliant sunshine-colored surface. “It’s tomorrow night, at the showcase. Feel free to say yes or no or whatever. If you don’t know, it’s cool.”

“I’ll,” Patrick starts, and then stops, blinking up at him. Jonny’s just watching him, kind of, elbow resting on the steering wheel. “Maybe,” he finally says, and Jonny smiles.

yet we will make him run - some more angst, except more erudite

Kaner the English Lit major AU.

Sigma Chi series by hatrickane - frat bros hook up and then angst about it

Jonny and Patrick run into each other at a frat party. Patrick proposes a way to pass the time.

Can't Wait by LouLa - first time pwp

Pat's on a hair trigger.

when you flex like that - hookup in a frat party

Johnny isn’t drunk, but he does let Sharpy and a couple of frat-looking guys he doesn’t even know talk him into a contest of shots. It’s Sharpy’s fault — he appeals to the competitive side he knows Johnny can’t let go of at the best of times, and one of the guys, blonde curls, a lazy smirk of a grin, picks up on it pretty fast too.

Hope you don't mind by haroldslouis

“Oh, sorry, man,” the guy says, giving him a quick grin. “Thought you were someone else.” He taps the visor of Patrick’s snapback and just like that, he turns around and disappears into the crowd.Patrick doesn’t know how long he stands there, just looking at the general direction he disappeared in.

or, 5 times Jonny mistook Patrick for someone else + 1 time he definitely didn't

Room 4 Rent

Patrick stares at the ad for a while, clicking back and forth between the Craigslist page and his fantasy hockey league, chewing on his bottom lip.

3 bedroom apartment near Loyola. One room available, others occupied by two male students. Shared living room and kitchen. Two bathrooms. Rent split three ways. Email [email protected] or call 773-639-7812 for more info. No texts please.

are you buying what i'm selling? - frat party buddies

The Sigma Chi Halloween Bash is in a week, Jonny’s holding two tickets, and he has nobody to go with.

He had a somebody to go with, until that somebody decided Jonny’s student athlete life wasn’t worth hanging around for. Their relationship was already tanking anyway; Jonny’s more upset about potentially wasting a $40 ticket than that shit ending. Whatever.

Just A Spark by heartstrings ⭐ - magical realism!

In a desperate attempt to hide his feelings from the object of his affections, Patrick accidentally drinks a love potion that causes the people around him to fall for him. Too bad it seems to work on everyone but Jonny.

do you know who you are? by liveinfury - frat bros

“Sure, Cap. I’ll try to keep it quiet.” Patrick winks at Jonny. “But be honest, you like the noises I make, huh?”

“What? Of course not!" Jonny sputters. "I’m not gay!”

(or where Jonny can't figure out why he feels so uneasy when Patrick brings guys home to their frat house).

The Great Desk Assembly Project - they were roommates

“I’m going to nail some shit,” he says. “Jonny, come watch me nail some shit.”

“We share a room, I don’t need to watch you nail anything else.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” Pat says with a laugh in his voice. He reaches back behind him and punches Jonny in the shoulder for good measure.

No, It's Not A Secret by SimoneClouseau ⭐ - always a girl Jonny

Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your boyfriend. No way, no way. I think you need a new one.

Jehanne Toews is dating a loser. Sometimes it takes a ridiculous awesome young star on the Blackhawks to see the light.

good form - always a girl Pat! ⭐

“Best head of your life?”

“Yes, he was better than you, you competitive motherfucker.” Hayds says it like it’s a joke, like it’s funny, like it’s not the single most devastating thing a girl could say to Pat.

“A hockey bro gave you the best head of your goddamn life? Am I in the fucking Upside Down?”

“Believe it, baby. Jonathan Toews: hockey bro and magical pussy-eating wizard.”

forever i'll try for you and i by staraflur - always girls Jon and Pat!

It’s extra great—whenever Jo’s losing, she always makes like their running point tally competition isn’t real. Tonight’s true to form: when Trish holds up three fingers and points at herself, then two before pointing at Jo, Jo actually scoffs as she pokes at a couple chicken breasts with the tongs, trying to find the best one.

remedial at love - jonny ‘i'm great at math but the math tutor's really hot so i'm gonna pretend i'm not' toews

There have been a lot of things Kaner’s done that could be considered suspect. He chose the Backstreet Boys over Nsync for the Kane Dance-Off Championship when he was 15. He opted to go to Disneyland instead of Disney World for his high school graduation present. He frosted his tips after coming out in 12th grade because he thought that was like, the obvious thing to do until he realized this was not, in actuality, the 90s.

But this one. Calling up ‘Jtoews’ and requesting tutelage in math when he was a fucking wiz at math was -- the most highly suspect of all.

Drink yourself under, fuck yourself over by Mythisea

Jonathan Toews is the sophomore captain of the college hockey team. Patrick Kane recently quit hockey before coming to college.

Jonny thinks Patrick would be perfect on his wing. Patrick would rather be drinking. Jonny does not approve.

Make The Moves Up As I Go by agirlnamedfia - tutor!Jonny with a dash of angst and pining

Patrick has his first Econ 202 class on the second day of the spring semester. It doesn’t exactly go well.

how to make boys-next-door out of assholes series by bessyboo, thisissirius - textfic

Yo man, Sharpy's having a party tonight. You up for it or you gonna be a boring shit and study???

it's only you and me by crystaljules - graduation blues

"We're so fucking stupid."

Overdosed on Confidence by runphoebe ⭐ - fwb, internalized homophobia

“Someone could -,” Jonny starts, breaking off when Patrick ducks down to draw Jonny’s lips against his, kissing him fever-hot and wet and desperate. Jonny’d be embarrassed by how hungrily he responds, but he knows Pat’s into it, moaning unashamedly into Jonny’s mouth when he tightens a hand around Pat’s neck. “Someone could see,” he finally gets out, voice rough, when Patrick pulls back, as if Patrick’s supposed to believe that that’s any sort of protest.

Patrick licks his lips, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of them in that familiar way like when Patrick's got a particularly bad idea on his mind. “Guess you better be quick then, huh?” he says cryptically, waggling his eyebrows at Jonny. Jonny’s a second away from rolling his eyes and asking what he means when Patrick slithers off Jonny’s lap and onto his knees on the floor beneath Jonny’s table and - oh. Oh.

Silence Gives You Space by liveinfury - pining, misunderstandings

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“’Course not,” Patrick says. “I’m just letting you do your own thing.”

“My own thing?”

“Yeah, didn’t want to crowd your space,” Patrick blurts out. Fuck, he didn’t mean to actually say that.“You’re not…”

“Cool.”

tuck you in - getting together

“You sexiled again?" He smirks and stuffs down the fondness that rolls through him at theway Jonny’s hair is rumpled and a little bit wavy.

Jonny sits up slowly, groaning. “Yeah. Fuck, this is the third time in a week and a half.”

obvious from the start - radio DJs Pat and Jon!

It’s not like Patrick even likes radio, because he hasn’t really listened to anything that’s not on his iPod or his Pandora stations in years, but when he notices the red and white flyer advertising the student radio station on the ground, he picks it up with the excuse that he’s trying to be environmentally friendly.When he played hockey they told Patrick that he was too small, too short to be a hockeyplayer; that he’d never make it because of his size. Hockey is, was, his heart and soul, and he’d put years and years of his life into the one thing he knew he was good at; threw his very being into the best he could be to prove that he can do it, be the best, even if he was small.

Patrick supposes maybe he'll find something else that he’s just as good at.

stupid college boys series by 19trash88 - Jonny is the cute guy from Econ class

Patrick’s not one to wax poetic about a penis, but if ever there was a reason to, Jonathan Toews’ cock would be at the top of the list.

Green Light by heartstrings - friends to lovers

Patrick knows two things: he likes sex and he likes Jonny. If Jonny's newly single there's no reason not to combine the two. Right?

Everybody Wants to Touch Some(body Paragraphs) by Kerfluffle ⭐

Wherein Jonny writes the worst essay ever, and weirdness abounds.

Motivation by somethingnerdythiswaycomes ⭐ - pwp

Only Jonny could keep working on his LIT-110 paper while Patrick was getting himself off next to him. Fuck, but Patrick loved him so much.

Muse series by by somethingnerdythiswaycomes

So Jonny had applied for every damn job he was qualified for, even the "life model" one TJ goaded him into.So Jonny had received an email the next day asking for his availability to come in for a session.So, as it turned out, it wasn’t some random chick that was going to draw him. It was some random dude.

So "life model" apparently meant "nude model."

You Love Me, I Love You Harder So by leyley09 - overly competitive boys on the hockey team

Patrick circles around him at center ice. “Jonathan, my team is going to kick your team’s ass so hard your parents will be embarrassed without even knowing why.”“I’m gonna give you a lesson in goal scoring you’ll never forget.”“Toews, you couldn’t give me a lesson in long distance spitting. Anything you can do, I can do better.”“Oh yeah?”“I can do anything better than you.”

Jonathan Toews is used to be being the best. He has zero clue what to do with competition.

Especially when the competition is cute.

middle ground by boodreaus - college road trip, friends to lovers

Jonny, Patrick, and an excellent adventure.

Who Knew by themistrollsin

Jonathan and Patrick meet after they're forced to go to a party by their best friends (Adam and Brent respectively).

Night Moves by heartstrings - meetcute

After a series of unfortunate drunk events that lead him from falling into a snowbank to being laughed at by the police, Jonny meets Patrick in an elevator.

Ignite My Fire, Object Of My Desire by ThalassicThedes ⭐- theater boys!!!

A good ol' fashioned College Au in which the college itself is hardly even mentioned. Just... make of this what you will.

absolute beginners by heartstrings, thundersquall

That time Jonny walked into a diner and accidentally got himself a temporary fake boyfriend.

Like A Classic - royalty!Jonny

So: due to a series of complicated and improbable events involving some sort of life debt and signed promise from two generations ago, it was decreed that Patrick had to marry the Crown Prince of Canada.

Captain Oblivious by wantstothrill - royalty!Pat

Why would Jonny care about the American royal family visiting his university? He's Canadian. He hasn't paid any attention to Prince Patrick since he was a teenager. He's more concerned with the very hot guy he's just run into, who's name also happens to be Patrick. What a coincidence.

check out the high school AUs tag aaand the college AUs tag @ 1988rebloggedfic!

#patrick kane #jonathan toews #hockey rpf #blackhawks #chicago blackhawks #1988 #1988 fic rec #for any corrections and suggestions DM ME!!!#i think the best part of making these reclists for me is thinking up cheesy names for a theme and creating the banner lol

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cherry3point14 · 4 years ago

Text

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 8

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Insulting a bald man. Word count: 4,137. Chapter Summary: You’re only allowed to do this one thing and then you’re out of the game. Somehow the case isn’t your top priority though. A/N: This chapter has been the bane of my existence but I HAVE to write it to get to the last two, so, yeah. Enjoy.

Ao3 if you prefer

The knock at your door interrupts your hand as you apply a muted lipstick. In the office, you’re a lip balm kind of woman but going to the bank today is an outing you put in a little more effort for. Your skirt and blouse are your normal work attire but there’s extra makeup, hair falling over your shoulders instead of wrapped up on your head, and your heels are half an inch higher. This is not new behavior. Going anywhere on company business always gets this kind of effort, in the same way that you’d dress up if you were going out for the evening. The result gets you a little more kindness in the world outside of your office walls.

The effort has absolutely nothing to do with the man on the other side of your front door.

“Y/N? You in there?” The knock comes again while you’re dabbing at the smudge from his first interruption.

“Yes! One second.”

Dean had insisted on coming with you, the trip is completely routine you’re glad to have him. You’re not paranoid, it’s not like the shifter has magic powers to know what you’re going to do, it can’t pop out of the woodwork at the bank to get you. You’re ninety-nine percent sure anyway. It will still be nice to have backup as if you’re doing something important. Even if you’re not, even if you’re doing your job and nothing more.

Dean has returned to his car when you step outside, he’s propped against it and from where he is he looks you up and down while you lock up.

“Well, don’t you look nice for a visit to the bank?” He asks once you’re approaching him.

It’s pointless to try and hide the blush but you look down at the ground anyway, in an attempt to. "I'm going on behalf of work, so, you know?"

He pushes himself up from the Impala and winks, “you sure you haven’t got a will they won’t they thing with some nerdy teller?”

“Why does he have to be nerdy?” you play mock offended.

“Because I bet all the nerds like you.”

You purse your lips. “Whatever, nerd.”

Y/N had worried about many things since opening her eyes that morning. Where was her lost shoe? Why didn't she have milk in the fridge? How long would it take to find the shifter? All of these paled in comparison to the concern she had over how easy things had become with Dean. This man—impossible as he and his brother were—was supposed to be, well, an inconvenience. Or she was supposed to be his inconvenience. Her blood should boil when she spoke to him and at best they were supposed to work together begrudgingly. Perhaps with Sam wedged between them to referee.

That's how it had started and that's how she had expected their relationship to stay. In that reluctant space between enemies and acquaintances. Yet she slipped into the front seat of his car, a figurative piece of him, and sunk into the soft leather. It wasn’t her first time inside his Baby and that was only further proof that things had become too good. Much better than they should have been. She was comfortable.

Comfortable was not a safe place to be with Dean Winchester. Comfortable led to preposterous behavior like flirting, and flirting begets terrible decisions. For Y/N those end results were, admittedly, looking better and better with each passing minute.

You hate her sometimes. Maybe all the time. She’s trying to kill you after all.

If you weren’t so afraid of 'it' then your biggest worry wouldn’t be flirting with Dean. It would be the death hanging over your head. Unfortunately, it’s all too easy to put that in the back of your mind. Most people don’t think about death on a daily basis, that’s kind of the human condition. Knowing that it’s coming but ignoring it till the bitter end. So, Dean, the shifter, what shade of lipstick you’re going to wear—you make them all so much more urgent than they are.

The writer helps with finding distractions in things. You’re still allowed to hate her. You can hate that she knows you so well and that you don’t know if it’s because she created you, or you’re just unlucky. You can hate that she still hasn‘t told you how you’re going to die.

You’re also pretty sure that you hate her for the slow descent into liking Dean. It’s bad enough in your head. In the story online, it’s an actual love affair. And you still don’t know if it’s you or her that made the choice about him. Does she write it because you feel it, or do you feel it because you hear her? Or both?

“You're quiet over there.”

You’re looking out of the window, seeing the world through Winchester eyes. “Sorry," you grin to yourself, "didn’t realize you were a chatty Kathy while you're on a case.”

He chuckles, “didn’t realize you weren’t.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. Dean glancing in her direction. Glance might be too much of a word for the half a second he takes his eyes off of the road. It would hardly warrant a thought were it not for his shoulders tensing when he’d faced forward again. Quiet anxiety settled over him, which doesn't suit him.

Y/N ignored it, wrapped up in her own murky thoughts. She lightly tapped her foot but the sound sinks into the floor mat of the Impala. She couldn’t show Dean that the closer they get to their destination the less at ease she felt. Nerves she hadn’t thought she had. It had been her idea, her assurances to Dean that all she would do was go to the bank and leave. Nothing else to do with the case. Still, she was a civilian and even this much involvement was causing her fingers to tremble against her leg. Out of sight, of course, she wouldn’t want him to know. Dean would pull the rug out from under her if he suspected she might not be able to handle it.

You could handle it fine. You were the queen of handling it. You squeeze your hand into a fist anyway to stop your nervous habit in its tracks.

With the bank finally in sight she resolved herself to take control of the situation. Dean was her backup, not the other way around. This was another Thursday morning visit to an establishment she had been time and again. She would walk into the white stone building and do the same thing she has a hundred times before. And then Dean—plus Sam who is at the motel in case something comes up—would stay. Y/N had already wrestled with the idea that her actions might also cause the shifter to stay, but that felt like a necessary evil. If they killed the shifter now then she was saving a life down the road. Which in her more selfless moments was the motivation that she clung to desperately. In her own infinitesimal way, she was helping to save someone. The path that had brought her here, to this new version of herself, was one that ultimately made her braver. If only at the very last minute.

It’s rare that the voice says exactly what you need to hear. Although in the grand scheme of things the voice has only been around for a few weeks. It just feels longer because you’re not supposed to hear a voice in your head at all. On this occasion though she’s helpful. You step out of the car with a renewed sense of purpose. Once you start going through the motions, that begin with walking the steps up to the entrance, you really did calm down. This is the same old song and dance. And even if it wasn’t, you're brave now, because she'd said so.

The bank is familiar territory. You’ve come here before to stop payments for legitimate reasons, you’ve been here to authorize money orders and verify paperwork. Sometimes you’re here for your personal banking too. It’s like Cheers if the show was about a financial institution; everyone knows your name.

Dean stays hot on your heels but doesn’t say anything at first. He’s silent as he holds the door open for you. Then as you’re walking towards the first teller he bumps your shoulder and nods at the man standing a few desks over, finally breaking the silence, “that your boyfriend?”

You stop dead and turn to him. Shocked by his audacity. Not only because he made a joke while your back is tense and your jaw firm, but for making you smile despite your resistance. Oh and there’s the fact that the teller he’s motioning at is a fifty-nine-year-old man with the largest bald spot you’ve ever seen, short of being actually bald.

“You’d make a cute couple.” He adds with a shrug, somehow resisting grinning, which might add insult to injury.

You feel your shoulders sink, the tension rolling away, and you try to bite back your laughter, and fail. “I’m not his type, but hey, you might be. Go and introduce yourself.”

“I would but I’ve got to stay here and keep an eye on you.”

She doesn’t miss the emphasis, exactly as she hadn’t missed the way he’d complimented her when he picked her up. Or the way he’s looking at her now. As if they’re not in the middle of a bank, in the middle of the day, but in a bar somewhere about to make some bad decisions. She found it easy to push away her own feelings and refocus when there’s work to be done. However it was becoming more difficult to ignore Dean’s potential feelings. Not only did she not know if she was misreading the situation, but even if she wasn’t; what could she possibly do about it now?

“Next.” The sandy-haired woman you haven’t seen before calls, making it easy to ignore him, and the voice.

“Hi. I’ve got an appointment with Mr. Jones to submit some financial reports on behalf of First National.”

She nods, “his receptionist is out sick today. Give me a second and I’ll go check if he’s ready to see you yet.”

She wanders off and you turn to Dean and the curiosity he's wearing on his face. He leans in closer than he needs to and whispers to you, “we have an appointment?”

“Yeah, in real life you usually need an appointment for these kinds of things. Plus I told my boss I was coming so he asked me to bring in last month's report backups to save someone else a trip.”

He ignores your reference to real-life versus his life as if he's not standing there; existing. “You told your boss?”

They get away with so much in the books that clearly they have no idea how things work for normal people. “I told you this needed approval, I made up some anomaly and he signed it off.”

Dean looks at you like he’s thinking the exact same thing you were. That life is much simpler when you lie through your teeth.

The teller that you don’t know returns and he steps back freeing up your personal space. Truthfully you hadn't realized he was still that close. She leads you to a small office with ‘Mr. Jones’ painted on the door before knocking and leaving.

“Y/N, always a pleasure to see you. Sorry about the wait.” Ben beams as he opens the office door, hiding his surprise to see Dean trailing behind you. “You haven’t been by in a while?”

You shake the hand he’s offering you with a smile, “they've been keeping me busy. Luckily I had something I needed to be rushed through so I jumped on the opportunity to come by.”

Dean closes the office door behind him and clears his throat.

“Oh, sorry. Ben, this is my colleague Dean.” You only comprehend that you’re supposed to use an alias for him after his name slips out. It’s only a first name though, that doesn’t count, hopefully. You tuck your hair behind your ear in an attempt to throw him a quick, apologetic look. “He’s new. I’m showing him the ropes.”

Ben shakes Dean's hand and does an excellent job hiding how tight Dean’s grip is. Something you see evidence in when his knuckles pop white.

You all take a seat and then everything becomes simple, routine. You hand over the financial reports and Ben takes a cursory look at them. He promises to dedicate proper time to them later. There’s small talk over mutual acquaintances from your office and some disputes from the month before last. This is something many of your colleagues have done before you. Someone always has business here and paper backups need to be brought in. So, over the years, it became a standing catch-all appointment. Reports and insurance and some chit chat. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“There is one more thing.” You begin in a charming tone.

Ben lets out a small business like chuckle from behind his desk, “of course there is. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

You pull out a few sheets of stapled forms that Mark signed off yesterday afternoon. “It’s nothing really. We submitted this claim for payment but have since found some irregularities. I was hoping you could stop the transfer until we straighten everything out.”

“You wouldn’t ask unless we still had time, so I don’t see why not.” He takes the papers and checks if everything is in order before he starts typing on the screen in front of him.

For the first time since you walked into the office, your attention isn’t required on the banker in front of you, so you check in on Dean. He’s staring intently at Ben, hard eyes that are trying to bore a hole in the man’s skull. It's a good thing Ben has been focused on you and not noticed.

“All done. Don’t tell me that’s all you came in for?” Ben calls your attention back.

You shrug, “you know me. I like to do these things myself.”

He nods, understanding, and stands up at the same time you do. He holds out his hand again, bending towards you a little as he takes yours, “that’s because you’re nothing if not thorough.”

There’s a scoff from behind you that you ignore because you are indeed thorough, and whatever Dean wants to say can wait until you’re outside.

“I could say the same for you. Thanks for your help, Ben.”

You make a hasty exit and get halfway across the tiled floors outside of Ben's office before Dean speaks again. “That’s the guy then, huh? Think you'd do better with Danny DeVito over there.”

There’s none of his playfulness this time. Nothing inappropriate or light about his mood. Even with his callback to something that had been a joke earlier, his words are as steely and hard as he’d been staring at Ben.

Something familiar brews in your gut. It’s stormy and turbulent. It’s the hint of an argument on the tip of your tongue. Dean has turned serious for some reason and he's sending you hurtling towards angry.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” you’re grinding the words out through your teeth at a volume only he will hear, “but no. Ben is married. Besides you’re the one who started this joke, I never said anything about having a boyfriend.” You’re storming towards the doors because you’re not prone to making a scene and you don't intend to start now.

Infuriatingly he says nothing. No smart-mouthed comeback that forces her to be equal parts furious and infatuated, which means that each step until she hits the fresh air outside is like another twist on a wind-up toy. Eventually, she’s going to snap.

Y/N hadn’t felt like this since they’d broken into her office. She’d found herself falling in other ways since then, but the anger had dissipated since that night until it faded away altogether. In an instant, his irrational reaction has sparked the flame again. She had done exactly what she was supposed to have done, and she had done it well. No suspicion or fumbling over her words. Before he’d opened his mouth she might have even been proud of herself.

You had indeed been proud of yourself. Ben had no clue and he’dstopped the payment like needed him to do. You pace on the sidewalk. A few steps on the spot wondering what in the hell is going on. He is supposed to be giving you a ride home so you can work. Both the Winchesters insisted that the office might not be safe until the shifter was dead. Since all roads lead back to you and all google searches lead back to your office building.

That all would be well and good if you weren't so livid you can’t even see straight. Worse than that, you have no idea why you're quite as angry as you are.

She'd left him standing inside, feet planted in the same spot he'd been in when she told him off. She'd gone without him or his permission to leave, and she hoped her act of defiance annoyed him half as much as she was. Y/N considered walking away, there was a bus stop around the corner and she could get most of the way home. Public transport would give her a chance to rest outside of his car that smells of worn leather mingled with his scent. She inhales until fresh air fills her stomach, then her chest and then she holds it. A borrowed breathing technique from the week of yoga she took years ago. Her lips shake with her exhale and it helps. Not to explain anything, not his reaction nor hers, but her heart rate steadies. She'd be mad about calming herself down so immediately if she hadn't just calmed herself down.

You don't turn around when you hear his footsteps catching up behind you however you do stop pacing. You're a fair woman and you'll give him the chance to apologize.

"Get in, I'll take you home."

His hand is on the Impala when you spin to face him, he's about to get in and expects you to follow him. He tosses his head in the direction of the car telling you as much.

"No."

"Y/N, get in." One foot moves in your direction and before he can take a full step you tell him again.

"Didn't you hear the first time? No."

In that crystalizing moment, Y/N decided that she did, in fact...

"Oh, you can shut up too!" You spit out, eyes flicking to the sky because, where else do you look when you're shouting at a writer's voice in your head?

You're not concerned about your outburst towards the voice in front of Dean. Instead of worrying you turn before he can stop you, and you know immediately that you are making the right decision. How? Because the voice does shut up, which meant whatever she wanted involved you staying there and talking to Dean, not striding away to the bus stop.

You can see the bus shelter in a few minutes. There's a woman there, along with her son, waiting not so patiently. It's surprising to see anybody there in the middle of the day. The bus stop hadn't been far from the bank but you suppose it took him a moment to get in his car and debate leaving you, so that's why you make it this far before you hear him pull up.

He slows to a crawl in the road beside you, engine low but still rumbling away and burning fuel. "Would you stop being so stubborn and let me take you home?"

That doesn't sound like much of an apology. Or any apology at all.

"Come on sweetheart, please? I need to get you safe."

If he wasn't Dean Winchester then that line would sound like macho bullshit. Except, he is Dean Winchester. It had only been an hour ago you were scared to even go to the bank. And he might not have said sorry but he did, at long last, say please.

You're not giving up, you're heels are a little higher than normal is all and a ride home would save your feet.

You don't say anything as you step to the passenger side door, he doesn't say anything as he stops the car completely. You're both good at that. Silence.

The seat is as soft as it had been at the start of her day. The music is at the same volume he'd set it at when he realized she wasn't looking for a conversation. The difference was, she wasn't tapping her foot to fight the nerves now. Y/N was too busy cycling through the last hour of her life like each minute was an index card in a library catalog. Or, say, a folder in an insurance filing cabinet. She was, mostly, confused. Everything had been smooth sailing, in a way her life hadn't been since she found out that monsters existed. And then things changed. Flip flopped. Again. Until she's back in his car, unable to escape him. Realizing that she never had a chance to.

You sigh. It was your own fault for thinking you could step off of this insane rollercoaster that was your life. The voice was never going to leave, Dean would, and in a year's time you'd be rocking yourself to sleep inside the asylum you'll be living in by then. Assuming you weren't dead.

When he pulls up outside your house you're up and out before Baby has stopped, "bye Dean."

You don't dream that he's going to follow you.

You don't imagine he's going to walk you to your door and stop the key in the lock with his hand on his shoulder.

You don't ever expect him to kiss you.

Dean has a hundred rules, though he only ever cites one or two at a time. One he's quoted time and again to Sam, "you don't kiss the girl till the fat lady sings." Or till the monster is dead, as the case may be. He has broken this rule a hundred times before, since a rolling Dean gathers no moss.

Y/N doesn't know that, even if she did, she wouldn't care. She has her hand wrapped around his tie, using it to pull him closer, tasting him and moaning into his mouth. Grateful for the extra height of her heels today. Thankful for a chance to feel his full lips against her own. She kisses him back until she's lightheaded and a little longer still. Y/N had found the new life that was worth dying for and it resided in the space between their mouths, it was wrapped up in kissing him.

You laugh breathlessly as he pulls back, "so, I did a good job today?"

Dean hooks a finger under your chin and presses another chaste, brief kiss to your bruised lips. "Such a good job, sweetheart."

And then he says his goodbyes because he has a job to do and it’s still the middle of the day. He leaves you after making you promise to stay at home and safe. He tells you he's going to call when everything has 'blown over'.

You're still giddy when you get inside and lock the door. Smiling as you start up your work laptop and turn on your tea kettle. Cheeks flushed pink when you hear the ping of new emails on your computer.

Hi Y/N,

I'd say sorry that this took so long except you said it yourself, you didn't have a lot to go on. Guess you're lucky that I'm the best. The names Emma Eiffel. Couldn't get you a phone number but I did manage to get you an address out in Des Moines. Details below.

Normal fees are fine.

Stan

Continue to Chapter 9.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson @starsandmidnightblue @ceisbill

#dean x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean dean the soft lil bean

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bxcketbarnes · 5 years ago

Text

Routine Dinner Turned First Date

photo isn't mine

Pairing: Dacre Montgomery x Reader (College AU)

Words: 1500+

Author's Note: I saw this picture and immediately wanted to write something on it and my lovely friend, @bumblebet-20, gave me this fluffy idea. Enjoy xox

"Hey, cutie. You wanna meet up at that cute Italian restaurant that's just down the road from your apartment after you get done class? x"

You smiled at your text from Dacre who you've been friends with since elementary school. You make a quick glance towards the front of the classroom, double-checking to see if the professor was distracted before texting him back.

Dacre sat on his couch, rubbing his sweaty hands against his jeans as he read your text. A smile comes to his lips before running a quick hand through his hair.

"Hey, handsome. I would absolutely love too. Classes have been rough this week and the idea sounds wonderful. I get let out in ten minutes then I'm going to go home and drop shit off. I'll meet you there?"

You pressed send, biting your lip as it said he read it and the three bubbles at the bottom notified you he was typing.

The sandy-brunette types his message before quickly deleting it, dipping his head down at he gathers the courage to just ask if it could be a date. He's had a crush on you for ages and for a while he didn't think you felt the same way until the past year.

"Just do it, Dacre," he talks himself up while closing his eyes. "You're ninety percent sure she feels the same as you, so you shouldn't be nervous." He looks back down at his phone, typing the message for the last time and presses send before he has time to pussy out again.

"Would it be possible for it to be our first date?"

You let out the tiniest gasp, covering your mouth quickly and looks up towards your teacher to try and make it seem your paying attention. The professor's eyes glance towards you for a few seconds before looking away.

"Okay, class, that's all the time we have for today. Enjoy the weekend and please don't forget your paper on Wrongful Convictions is due Tuesday!"

You pack up your things and rush out of the classroom. As you're walking towards your apartment you realize you haven't texted Dacre back. "Shit," you mumbled to yourself and grabs your phone from your jacket pocket.

"I'd love that, Dacre. x"

You bring your bottom lip into his mouth, not being able to contain your smile and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Is this actually happening?

Dacre hears his phone vibrate against the coffee table as he slips his shoes on, getting ready to head towards the restaurant to get a table by the window. Something you've always loved sitting near when going to restaurants if it was possible.

He picks it up and read it almost five times, not actually believing his eyes. "She said yes. Holy shit, she said yes."

The phone buzzes in your hand, signaling that he'd replied back and you look down at the device.

"Really? Oh, wow, I was a bit worried you'd say no by how long you took."

You frowned a bit, kicking yourself slightly as you quickly responded to him.

"I'm sorry. I sort of made a noise and didn't want to get caught by the professor. Then the class was over and I got a quarter way to my house when I realized I didn't text back. I'm sorry! But, I'm at my place. I'm going to dress up a bit and I'll be there in 15!"

You set your phone down on your vanity, taking a deep breath before heading towards my closet to find a cute outfit. You pulled out your denim skirt along with a red off-the-shoulder top. You quickly put your put it on, adjusting the skirt a bit before applying a minimal amount of makeup. You slip on your black Toms and grab your purse on your way out the door.

It takes you almost ten minutes to walk to the restaurant, getting a bit nervous knowing it's gonna be an official date. You rub your clammy hands together as you stepped up to the door of the Italian place and opened it, heading inside.

Dacre sat at the table for almost fifteen minutes, looking out the window as he tried not to get too nervous. His blue eyes glance down at his phone, seeing a text from one of his friends. He grabs his phone and texts him back as you stepped up to the table, a huge smile on your lips.

"Hey," your voice snapped him out of his concentration and picked his head up.

His lips parted slightly, taking note at how beautiful you look. "H-Hey, you look… you look gorgeous," he mutters and stands up from his seat.

You giggle and feel your cheeks heat up a bit. Dacre wraps his arms around your shoulders in a quick hug before he pressed a kiss to your cheek. You went to take a seat when he quickly pulled your chair out for you. "Thank you. You look mighty fine yourself," you tell him with a shy smile.

You giggled at the story he was telling you as you twirled the pasta around your fork. The date's been going on for almost an hour and it has been amazing. It's not much different from the other dinners you've been on with him which is great.

"So, he literally throws a balled-up piece of paper at the teacher but misses and hits the girl he's been into for a year and a half," Dacre chuckles and you let out a laugh after chewing your food, covering your mouth with your hand.

"Oh, no! What happened? Did he lose his chance with her?" You asked as you set your fork onto your empty plate, leaning back in the chair you're in.

"That's the thing! He's literally charming as fuck that he managed to get her to agree to a date with him," he shook his head and lets out a scoff. "If I were to do that to you, I doubt you'd go out with me afterward."

You shrug your shoulders, a playful smile on your lips. "I don't know, I might've. If we didn't know each other, I probably wouldn't consider it as much but I probably would've. You're cute," you confess to him and Dacre grins.

"Really? You think I'm cute?" He asked and you bite your lip softly, nodding your head.

"Of course I do. Have you seen yourself? You're like, a total babe," you mentioned and he reaches his hand out, gently grasping yours.

Dacre's eyes are set on your guys' hands and you look down as he slowly intertwined them together. "Well, you're also a total babe and what's special about you is your personality. You have such an amazing personality. It's the main reason why I fell so hard for you," he confessed to you and your heart pounds against your chest.

"Dacre… you're so adorable," you giggled and shook your head. "Your personality and sense of humor is the main reason I fell for you, too."

He grinned and looks like a kid on Christmas before the waiter brought over the bill. The sandy-brunette pulls out his wallet, handing the guy his card before the waiter walked away to process it.

"Do you wanna stay the night tonight?" You asked him and his blue eyes darts to you. "We could watch a movie? Play some games? Cuddle?"

Dacre holds up a finger as the waiter came back, giving him his card and receipt. He signs the piece of paper with his name before giving it back. The waiter bid you two a good night before walking away.

You and Dacre grab your things and head outside, not walking more than ten feet before he stops you. "I'd love to stay over tonight. It is a tradition, isn't it?" He grinned and you nodded your head. He strokes your cheek with his index finger, pushing some hair out of your face. "Can I kiss you?"

Your breath hitches in your throat as you look up at him through your lashes. Your heart's beating a million miles a minute as your hands found his waist, gripping his shirt a bit. "Y-Yeah, yeah you can," you whispered and he nodded slightly before dipping his head down.

His lips brushed against yours, your grip on his shirt tightening as he pressed his lips firmly against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, his hand moving to the back of your neck as his other moves to your hips.

A sigh leaves your nose, kissing him back as you tilted your head the other way while wrapping both your arms around his neck. The two of you get a little carried away and you realize you're in public still. You pull away from him, grinning like a fool and looked up at him.

"C'mon, Mr. Romantic, let's head back to my place."

"Alright, alright," Dacre grins down at you as you grab his hand and laces your fingers together as you begin to lead him back, both of your hearts fluttering wildly. You two look at each other as you walk side-by-side, his hand squeezing yours lightly and you smile widely while pressing your head against his arm.

Dacre Taglist: @daisyxbuckley @bumblebet-20 @thebookamongmen @lovefilledtragedy @sammi-rent @okaybutsteveharrington @makeupbychio @hlnicoleee @calculatingtax @hanoi15 @lightsonaaron @mcuvlxgs @harringtonsbaseballbat @tellmehows @fenderkeery @the-almond-dinger @l0ve-0f-my-life @serpentwithatardis @arewegonnagetsuedforthis @devilslittlebabygirl @omgdani17 @rozi3cheeks @galaxy-mindsxx @queenmissfit

#dacre montgomery x you #dacre momtgomery #dacre montgomery x reader #dacre montgomery imagine #dacre montgomery imagines #dacre montgomery fanfic #dacre montgomery fanfiction #dacre montgomery fic #dacre montgomery fluff #dacre momtgomery angst #dacre montgomery smut #fluff #angst #smut

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cap-samwilson · 6 years ago

Text

hand to heart

(where tony gets his reactor removed a bit later, and bucky is there for the result.

tony/bucky, established relationship. angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, tw: hospital scenes and mentions of bucky’s trauma

read it here on AO3, or after the read more, beware, mobile!)

bucky is there when the reactor is taken out of tony’s chest.

it happens in stages – the initial appointment with the doctor who’s going to do the procedure, the follow-up meetings where the doc gives the details of how exactly it’s going to go down, the twenty-four hour period where tony isn’t allowed to eat or drink a damn thing and starts to spiral, the fourteen-hour procedure – and bucky is there for all of it. holds tony’s hand when the surgeon starts mentioning the scary stuff, like how delicate the operation is even with something as useful as the reactor holding all the shrapnel in the same spot. it’s weeks and months of preparation, even more time just trying to come to the damn decision, and bucky is there, like a shadow, making sure tony’s supported every step of the way.

of course, tony needs the support. he needs to have someone there for him, and sure steve and potts and rhodey all want to be there, and are there sometimes, but bucky is there. and he sits through the meetings. pulls himself together. pushes away the panic that comes from bright and white and medical.

the day of, tony’s hands are wringing, his stomach growling and his eyes half closing after not having a single drop of caffeine for a world-record day and a half. he’s snappy, nervous, the smile he shows the nurses one that the outside world usually gets. but when the gown goes on, and he gets the first needle prick of an i.v., bucky presses a kiss to his fingers and lays them against tony’s forehead.

“i won’t let anything happen in there. anything that shouldn’t happen, at least,” he teases, and tony takes it with a better smile, one that’s small but real.

with a shrug, the restless patient glances toward the door, as if expecting the doctor to burst in and do the procedure then and there. “i mean, the longer i’m in there, the more you get peace and quiet,” he jokes back.

“hey.” bucky stops him, lifting his metal hand to keep the words at bay. it’s weak. they both know he lives off tony’s energy, the way he laughs, the way he talks, the way he lights up the damn room. steve calls it love or something. bucky’s prone to call it that, too. “you’re out any longer than a day, and i’m suing the whole damn place. you got the lawyers, i’ll make it happen.”

that gets a laugh, and together they wait, hands clasped together until tony falls asleep and he’s wheeled out, followed close behind by the sound of bucky’s boots as he goes to wait in the theater.

one moment, it’s there, shining and bright and blue. the next, it’s gone.

not gone gone, it’s still there, still bright, but the shine comes from the metal of its encasing and not the soft glow of life.

the docs, all of them crowded around tony’s body like he’s just another experiment weapon patient, pull back the curtain to showcase the new scar where a hole used to be. a reconstructed sternum, rearrangement of the superior portion of the ribcage, and the removal of twenty-five pieces of shrapnel later it’s done, the souvenirs all in a convenient to-go cup. some of them are so small that bucky can’t even see them with the best sniper eyes in the business.

bucky goes and throws up a couple of times, wipes his mouth with a determined set of his jaw, and starts waiting all over again.

during the procedure, he’s all nerves and anxiety and dread, sam and steve bringing some food, natasha clothes for them both. after, the waiting is expectant. for tony to wake up. to see the thing there, on the bedside table, apart from him. a whole different kind of awful, but a little easier because the docs say he’s fine, that he’s gonna be okay and awake any minute.

and bucky should be happy, because tony’s free. the arc reactor did its job, kept tony alive, and now it’s gone and tony doesn’t have to cling to it. doesn’t have a crutch. no more fear.

so why isn’t he?

there’s no way to pinpoint it, but bucky’s sure it’s because tony’s not awake yet. because he still doesn’t look like he should, out cold with tubes coming in and out of him in a way that gives buck the shivers. like he’s dead. or close to gone. the sight of him without blue coming from his chest makes it worse, more vivid, and he has to close his eyes tight to get that thought out and away from him

a few more hours pass. bucky writes a bit in the journal doctor hall gave him, a way to get out thoughts before they fester, and puts it away so he can stare at tony some more. worries. writes some more. rests a bit, eyes closed but not really sleeping before he hears the telltale hitch of breath.

“buck?”

with a soft whimper tony winces, the stuff that’s supposed to keep away pain starting to fade because he was out for a bit longer than expected.

“hey, doll.” he reaches for tony’s hand again, squeezes it. “good job out there.”

“shouldn’… you be thankin’ the guy who done it?” he’s slurring like he did at Christmas, the spiked nog having been a bit too much. he looks like he’s gonna pass out again, too, his eyes are already closing. but bucky keeps talking.

“nah, you were the star. the picture-perfect patient.”

“mmhmm?”

“yeah, baby, you did swell. you look great, too. they did a good… good job.”

why does the word hitch? struggle to get out? it’s not a lie, it’s not. but tony doesn’t even notice the internal conflict because he’s got medication in every part of him, and bucky’s left alone in that hospital room once again, wondering why there’s a rush of bile every time he sees the reactor on the table.

“tony, for the last time, you can’t do something like that for at least another three weeks. operating heavy machinery, remember? big no.”

it’s the result of a rough few weeks. tony’s more restless than bucky’s ever seen him, basically bouncing off the walls after bedrest in a hospital room, then bedrest at home, then limited activity, then… slightly less limited activity. especially considering that it’s an operation that’s never been attempted, one that will probably never be replicated. there’s no precedent, so everything goes slow. they have the timeline posted on their bedroom wall, ticking off the days until he’s full health, back to himself.

limited activity. limited food. limited sex. everything has a limit, for the man without any. he complains about it all, and bucky lets him. it sucks, that’s for fucking sure.

“how am i supposed to get out there as iron man when right now the suits i have all run on arc reactor power? no arc reactor, remember?” tony’s voice is accusing, as if bucky could somehow forget.

“i know, i was there,” he sighs out, before pulling the genius toward him with the grip of a firm hand, lets his arms wrap around him so he can start pushing kisses against dark curly hair, gets a whiff of shampoo that cost more than him and steve’s rent at one point. “why don’t we go and watch a movie or something, huh?”

“we’ve been watching movies for a month,” tony mutters, but the fact that it’s not at the top of his lungs is a good sign. another one is the way he melts at the contact, sinks into bucky’s arms like they’re good pillows. “movies, tv, reruns, new shit. only so much you can do when you’re not allowed to go forth into the outside world.”

right.

suddenly, something swims to the surface of bucky’s mind, something on their timeline that they had been counting down to.

the arms around tony loosen a bit, but before the genius can protest bucky’s hand start to slide down his sides, run over his hips, under the waistband of sweatpants that he’s about ninety percent sure aren’t tony’s at all.

“what are you doing? remember? no sex until i’m up and at it,” tony hisses out, but the sound bucky lets out is low, a little laugh. tony starts to pull away a little, spins to face the soldier with a look that asks why he would do a thing like that when they both know it’s not an option.

“a month.”

“what?”

“a month, tones. today.”

understanding dawns over tony’s face, slow and steady. suddenly, there’s a burst of color to his cheeks, a small noise leaving him, and a fierce nod, a “god, yes” before they’re against each other, bucky’s hands gentle but his lips fierce, needy, so goddamn ready.

tony has no such restraint, until something he does, probably the way his shoulders move, pulls a noise from him that’s definitely not of pleasure. bucky freezes and his eyes are wide and fearful, but tony just lets out a sigh of frustration.

“i still can’t do much,” he explains, reaching up a hand to press over the tank top that has no cutout in the front.

but bucky just hums, leans forward and takes tony in his arms once more. his lips are gentle against a sharp jaw, breath ghosting over a perfect neck.

“let me handle this, sweetheart,” he whispers, and the feeling of tony’s body shivering against his is like the best drug. “you don’t have to move an inch.”

it doesn’t take long to sate them. a month away from any kind (or most kinds) of sexual contact does that, and bucky takes pride in squeezing out two orgasms from tony, pulling him apart bit by bit with his mouth, his fingers. seeing tony fall apart does it for him, and so he’s taken care of a couple times, too, and puts the sight into the back of his mind for later when he’s feeling reminiscent. bucky can’t give tony what he really wants, what he was begging for, not for another two weeks, but this is enough, is so much more than they had, and by the end of it tony’s out like a light, breaths long and deep.

it’s good, but… something keeps bucky’s eyes open. keeps him tossing, turning, unable to sit still. tony’s dead to the world, but bucky… bucky stays awake for a while. stares up at the ceiling, listens to tony breathe, his metal hand tucked behind his neck, his other hand resting on his stomach.

the room is dark, pitch black now. no stars or moon outside really to push shine through their window, and the curtains are drawn tight to prevent any unwanted eyes, so. no light, no shine, no… no blue.

suddenly the bile claws its way up his throat again, and he has to force it back down, close his eyes. the cold metal of his hand sends a shiver down his spine, and he opens them again to get rid of visions of medical facilities and masked agents forcing shit into his body.

tony’s free now. free of his vice. it sits on one of his stands in his shop, not a place of honor, but not discarded either. it’s just there and when bucky goes down there to get another tablet or something tony can tinker with, it mocks him. the steel winks at him and his arm answers back.

it’s so dark in the fucking room.

with a soft huff, he pushes himself out of their bed for the third time that week, lets tony sleep, watches him to make sure his breaths are still steady before pushing out the door and closing it without a sound. the hall lights rise to half power, and bucky winces before pushing forward to the front room. the walls are lined with windows and he can stare at lights all around the city with a view like this.

the same thoughts had been riding him for a month now, ever since tony came back from the procedure with the circular scar that he now carried with him. it’s a reminder, more than anything, and once the pain faded it would be the only thing left. sure, there’d be reactor power everywhere, in the tower, the compound, the city… but it wouldn’t be in tony anymore.

his vision blurs a bit.

and that’s what the genius wanted. wanted to be free of it, right? and bucky had supported him, because he loved the asshole and wanted what was best for him and this was what was best. he was proud and he still loved tony, that would never change, right?

so why can’t i sleep next to him anymore?

gripping his head, bucky falls backwards into the couch. the light of outside cuts across him, and he realizes he’s still naked. flesh and bone, except…

his hands clench into fists as he pulls them in front of his face, lets his eyes scan over them.

and then it clicks, clicks with the soft sound of whirring that makes bucky’s jaw tight, as his metal fist compacts itself into a weapon of mass destruction posing as a hand.

tony’s metal parts were bright. soft. lit up the room. bucky remembers hours spent just staring at it, when the genius was asleep after laughing and talking for hours before those moments to himself. they were good. they kept tony alive.

bucky’s metal parts made him walk off balance. made him wince when he stretched wrong, ached as the metal inside him rubbed against nerves and muscles in his shoulder. invaded every part of him. they had killed and murdered and had ruined lives.

tony used his reactor for so much… so much good it hurt. had changed the world with it, created sustainable energy that would last lifetimes, had saved himself with it.

when bucky closed his eyes, he still saw the damn red star on the shoulder. a regime that wiped away the weak and strong alike. took apart power and built it up again in the image of themselves.

he blinks. feels something fall down his cheeks. when he wipes it away, it’s with the hand that he’s cursed with, and he feels a tug as the interlocking parts tug at his skin.

when he stands again, he’s shaky, and he makes sure there’s no crying when he goes back to tony. can’t show what’s filling his head, and he’s not sure he’s able to hold a pen long enough to get them onto paper. when he slides in next to tony again, his metal arm is buried in the sheets. his normal, good, better fingers reach for tony’s hand before he stops, feels a strangled noise leave him, and curls up on his own side of the bed.

he doesn’t sleep. can’t. gets up early, dresses, makes sure the coffee maker is going and there’s breakfast waiting for him. he’s sure tony will wake soon, needing pain medication, some comfort, so he grabs the pills out of the cupboard, too. but looking at them makes his stomach roll. makes his head hurt, his heart pound. but before he can put two out, with a glass of water to be safe, the bottle is crushed in his hand. the little white pieces of comfort scatter, and bucky watches in horror. unfurls the metal fist to see white powder, crushed orange plastic, tony’s name on the paper.

his breathing speeds up, the night’s thoughts rushing back, and before he has time to think, grab a pen, try for sanity, he’s out the door. because he knows now.

tony had gotten rid of his metal parts. tony was whole again.

bucky never would be.

once he’s out in the open air, though, he freezes. he doesn’t want to disappear. doesn’t want to vanish without a trace, though he knows he can. but something tells him going and grabbing his go bag would worry people, and he doesn’t deserve worry. so he starts walking, then running, one foot in front of the other.

his phone starts to buzz. first texts, then calls. tony, steve, even sam all try to reach him. for a moment he wonders if he should turn around, if he should go back, apologize, say he’s fine. but doctor hall keeps telling him lying when he’s not okay doesn’t do any good, and to face them all would be a lie itself.

that he was good. fine. good enough, especially for tony.

as it gets later the calls come less and less. one or two after six, and then his phone is silent. he’s grateful for it. they’ve surely realized by now, what he’s doing, what he needs to do. get away. his feet hurt, he’s hungry, tired after no sleep the night before, but he keeps pushing, sprinting, going forward. he’s walked so far the buildings have start to spread out, get low, become sprawling suburbs. he pushes on.

the sun sets. it gets cold, and he pauses his sprint to zip up the jacket. walks some more. doesn’t even realize he’s stopped until he processes that he’s staring at a sign, the glow of neon almost hurting his eyes after he’s stared at his boots all day. doesn’t realize what about it keeps him from just pushing forward until the blue catches his eye.

arc reactor blue.

everything hits him at once. the pain, his hunger, his exhaustion, his hurt, and he collapses into the wall of the diner the sign belongs to. he’s sliding, now, onto the ground, and everything is blurry. when he lands, his metal arm scrapes against concrete.

doesn’t hear tony’s voice until it’s right next to his ear, can’t get up until steve lifts him and helps him to the backseat.

“what the hell was that?”

“tones…”

“no, steve, shut up,” tony snaps, and his voice is full of righteous anger, frustration, fear. bucky doesn’t process all of it exactly but knows that the force of it is directed at him. his chin tucks a little close to his chest. “i think i deserve an explanation as to why my boyfriend vanished without a trace this morning. what some coffee and a plate of buttered toast and all would be fine?”

“tony,” steve tries again, but his voice is immediately drowned out by since tony’s volume only goes up from there.

“we text, we call. no answer. we try all damn day, we tried to contact you all day, bucky, and what do you do? you ignore us! hell, give us something, why don’t you, so we don’t think someone’s kidnapped you, or hurt you, or fucking killed you! and where do we find you? fucking miles away, at a rundown diner, looking like you’ve been –”

“tony!”

it’s the captain america voice, the one that booms without needing to overpower everyone else in the room. it’s enough to get tony’s attention at least, since he stops talking. bucky’s hands clench into fists, goes so still that he feels like he’s not even breathing.

“steve,” tony whispers after a few moments, the silence thick. “can you give us a minute?”

bucky can see steve’s own boots disappearing, hears them until they’re out of range, and then, and only then, is when he manages to look up enough to meet tony’s eyes.

“you shouldn’t have been driving,” he gets out, voice rough.

he feels like he’s back at the beginning, when steve found him. hair dirty, body grimy, voice unused, bones stiff. a mess. broken. beaten.

but tony seems to just get out a snort, even through his anger. he knows now. how lost bucky is. now it’s just waiting for the inevitable.

“really? you go missing and come back looking like you went to hell and back and i’m what you’re worried about?”

bucky can only shrug, both shoulders lifting, and when they lower tony’s shaking his head at him, in disbelief. it’s enough for bucky to push his chin back down. he was trying to protect tony, didn’t he understand?

he doesn’t look up again until he feels a hand on his wrist, his metal one. it shocks him, that he would even dare after everything.

“buck? you wanna sit down?”

there’s a fierce shake of bucky’s head. no. he doesn’t need to sit to know what’s coming. what needs to happen.

tony’s voice doesn’t sound angry anymore, though. it sounds soft, low, soothing, and still so worried. his voice when dum-e got a virus. his voice when natasha came back with a broken leg. his voice when bucky had a nightmare in the same bed for the first time.

“okay,” he tries again, and bucky braces himself, tenses, can basically hear the words before they leave tony’s mouth. “do you mind… do you mind telling me what’s going on? and… what i can do to help you out?”

wait.

“wha-?” the word is barely formed, almost a half of what it should be, but tony seems to read the surprise to know what was trying to be communicated. his eyes scan tony’s, trying to find something forced in them, but there’s nothing.

“i want to help, buck,” tony whispers to him, and his other hand lifts so that he can have both hands outstretched, one on his metal hand, the other on his shoulder, rubbing the spot there. “i, i don’t know what’s going on, but something is. something’s… hurting you, and i want to know what. i want to help.” he smiles. gentle. “is that so hard to believe?”

“yes.” it’s immediate, and tony winces. bucky feels the color, whatever’s left, drain from his face. that hurts. that look tony’s giving him, like he’s been stabbed.

“it is?”

“no.” immediate backtracking, immediate regret. “not… like that.”

“like what, then? buck, please, did i do something to make you think that?”

each word hurts bucky more and more because it hurts tony. he can hear it, see it play across his face, each line. this was why he had to walk away, because tony was whole and bucky just pulled him apart. “no, it’s not you. it’s never you.”

“then… then, what?”

there’s a beat, two, bunch of moments where bucky tries to put together what he can. he needs to explain this perfectly, so tony can get it. so he can understand why he doesn’t work. why he’s so broken.

“you got your arc reactor out,” bucky whispers, and tony seems confused. raises a brow. but bucky forces himself to keep talking, even when he wants nothing more than to run off again.

“you – you got it out, and i missed it. couldn’t really sleep without it, i just… missed… missed the way i could look at it. look at the metal, and the blue, and.. listen to you explain how it worked all over again.” the words begin to trickle out of him, gentle, and he lets the momentum carry him, even as tony’s eyes stare at him, even though he can’t meet those beautiful brown eyes.

“i missed seeing it when i woke up some, when the nights got bad. it was a good blue, y’know, and helped me remember you were there, and i missed touching the cold metal on the outside, but. it was gone. and you… you deserve that, you deserve it not there, anymore.” it’s a stream now, a stream of consciousness that tangles and jumbles but still gets pulled out. he pushes through it, keeps it going. “but… most of all i missed how it made us the same. not – not exactly the same, because you’re – you’re so fucking good, tones, but how we both had something. something.”

“something,” tony repeats, and bucky nods, doesn’t like how it sounds in tony’s mouth because it sounds dumb. stupid. dumb because it is. tony wasn’t like bucky. never was.

“something.” he forces himself to keep the stream going, even though now he feels the threat of tears in his eyes once again. third time, two days, but he had to keep going. “it was something.”

“but your something was good. good and pure. it kept you alive, lit things up, it fucking powers the whole place, don’t it? and mine… my something just hurts. hurts me, hurts you. hurts everything it touches. and now you’re something’s gone, and you’re just… you’re free.”

it’s rapid now, everything coming out of him, and the dam breaks before he can stop it, his eyes squeeze close, but the tears keep coming.

“you deserve someone who’s got a good something, or nothing that’s holding them back. you deserve someone who’s as whole as you are now, someone who can keep up, who doesn’t have a stupid fucking hydra arm stuck to his side. you deserve someone who can hold you with two fucking human hands instead of a metal one, deserve good. i’m not good, i’m not whole, and.. and i – i never will be.”

and after all that, he’s met with silence. a beat. two.

when he opens his eyes, tony is staring. mouth agape, just a little. his eyes are wide, beautiful brown eyes, and bucky realizes that they’re shiny, his cheeks are wet. tony was… was crying.

“i’m sorry –” he whispers, but before he can continue there’s a couple of fingers over his lips.

“you’re… you’re the best man i know, buck.” tony’s voice is shaky, is breaking, and bucky watches. watches as his fingers pull away, as his lips replace them.

when they break, neither of them are breathing well. bucky’s is coming in shaky inhales, tony’s too hard, too rough, but they’re clinging to each other. bucky’s got his fingers wrapped up in tony’s shirt, and tony’s nails are digging into bucky’s hips.

“when i see you, i see something,” tony whispers, when he can. their foreheads are touching now, and at one point they’ve hit the ground. “i see something beautiful. a man who came back from the depths of hell alive, and clinging to life, and fighting, i see something good, a man who made me coffee and toast with jelly on it this morning, who’s done that every day for the past year because he knows i don’t really eat on my own. bucky, i just see you.”

“tones, i don’t –”

tony kisses him, surely to shut him up again, and bucky can’t argue, kisses him right back, lets his fingerprints skirt along the other’s ribs. when tony’s voice is heard again it feels like it echoes, travels warm through bucky’s veins, down his spine. .

“i might seem whole, bucky barnes, but that’s only because i’ve got you. you make me whole. not the reactor, not the surgery, nothing but you. you show me how i can get up each morning. and when i woke up, and you were gone –”

“i’m so sorry, tony, god, i’m so fucking sorry,” bucky gets out, before he can stop himself, and tony’s eyes go wide. “i know i shouldn’t have, but you just… it got too much, the thoughts in my head –”

“no, no, buck, no. you’ve got nothing to apologize for, i promise. you’ve… you’ve been feeling this way, and that’s nothing to be sorry for.” that shuts bucky up as good as a kiss, and tony’s looks at him head on, takes bucky’s demons by the horns and toss them aside. fucking obliterates them, for the moment. “just. next time. please don’t run. come to me, talk to me, and we can… we can talk about this, because… i need you, buck. fuck, i love you.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“tones,” bucky gets out in a breath, and he pushes forward again. “i love you, too. i love you so much.”

and for the moment, for once, bucky feels a little less broken.

bucky’s home. he’s at his home.

he’s leaving the bathroom, his hair still damp from his shower, and as he’s toweling it off he realizes there’s a gentle blue glow in the dark room. it’s centered above the bed, where they sleep, and when bucky tilts his head up there’s a rush of… something.

“tones?” he asks, and the man peeks up over the covers, grinning at him. bucky can see it, because of the light. it’s soft enough that it’s not blinding, but bright enough that it feels like… like…

“i had jarv help me set this up,” tony tells him, looking proud of himself, sitting up against the headboard. “you like it?”

“what… what is it?”

“it’s kind of a mock… well. mock arc reactor. the blue shines while i’m in the room, especially at night, and – well, just watch.” tony lifts himself out of the bed, starts walking towards bucky, and the light follows. tracks over the ceiling, follows tony until it settles above where he is now, which is now directly in front of bucky, staring up at him, giddy.

“you made this for me,” bucky breathes, and in a rush, he’s lifting tony by his waist because it’s not a question. the other’s legs wrap around his hips, and he holds the other there, pulls him down for a kiss.

“for me, too,” tony retorts, but his smile is so big it’s hard to argue. “i mean, i had the thing for years, hard for that kind of thing to just be gone. but. yeah. for you. mainly. also me.”

“tony?”

“yeah?”

“i love you.”

the words are soft, so soft tony almost doesn’t hear them. but he knows them. loves those words. loves him.

“i love you, too, buck.”

#tonybucky #buckytony #ironwinter #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #my fic #hope you all enjoy!

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carmenlire · 7 years ago

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Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 8

read on ao3

Humble Pride: The Duality of Alec Lightwood Out Magazine Feature, June 2018 Article by Andrew Bronheimer Photos by Connor Murphy

Alec Lightwood. Heartthrob to millions, artist extraordinaire, last year’s Paris Fashion Week surprise when he walked down the Armani runway in a truly delectable teal suit with suitably dramatic eye makeup. Lightwood’s been the talk of the town for over a decade now. He released his very first song a week before he turned sixteen and the rest, as they say, is history.

Lightwood’s illustrious career has spanned controversy and continents and just recently has earned him the title Entertainer of the Year just a few months ago-- for the third time. For those that don’t know, Alec writes all of his songs and can play a variety of instruments including the guitar, piano, drums, and the clarinet.

Alec has just wrapped up his latest world tour. 128 tour dates, over a million tickets sold, and an estimated 700 million dollars in revenue resulted in a sold-out tour for a triple platinum album that puts this superstar at the top of his game.

We don’t see him falling anytime soon.

Because I’m obsessive about making a good impression to my guests, I showed up to the little cafe we had agreed to meet up at half an hour early. It gives me time to review my notes and take a breath, opening my mind for first impressions-- both good and bad.

The cafe in question is cute. It’s full of bright colors-- splashes of crimson mixed with ribbons of turquoise gives the place a kitschy, bohemian air. The pastry display at the front of the shop is beautiful with fluffy scones and gigantic cupcakes covered with a mountain of frosting.

It’s turning towards evening and the golden light adds to the summer ambiance. I was just debating between a piece of raspberry swirl pound cake or triple chocolate muffin when the little bell above the door chimed and in walked the man of the hour.

Alec Lightwood is even more stunning in person, dear readers. He’s sporting a five o’clock shadow that makes his face a little more rugged and his patrician features look carved from marble. He’s wearing slim fit pants in an alluring olive green with the bottoms rolled up to show surprisingly delicate ankles for such a tall man.

His navy sweater is just right, offering a lovely contrast from the pants and working well with his coloring.

Lightwood slips his sunglasses off and tucks then into the neck of his sweater. His eyes sweep across the surprisingly empty eatery before landing on me. Immediately, I’m a little intimidated. Razor sharp hazel eyes that show a surprising intelligence and his giraffe-like height are a little overwhelming when you’re a foot shorter and not expecting such attention.

In the next moment, Alec smiles and it’s a warm, engaging thing that instantly makes everything more comfortable.

We chat for a few minutes before deciding to order. Alec orders a coffee drink that is at least ninety-five percent sugar-- a concoction with caramel, mocha and whipped cream. We both choose a few pastries-- Alec goes for the dark chocolate scone-- and we settle in to our little table. He’s patient as I set my recorder up and seems content to happily munch on his baked good, giving the impression that he’s not bothered that I’m a little scattered today, of all days.

Then we begin.

Out: So, Alec, welcome back home. How does it feel?

Alec: (Laughs). Thanks, man. It feels great. I’m a New Yorker born and bred and while I love traveling nothing quite beats being home and taking that first subway ride after a while abroad.

O: You just wrapped up your latest sold-out tour. How did it compare to previous tours?

A: This tour was definitely the biggest on any scale, whether it was tickets sold, venue capacities, or effort. The crew was amazing every night, putting together sets and making sure that everything went off without a hitch. And the fans, well, they just continue to blow me away. Their enthusiasm is unmatched. While grueling-- it’s the longest tour I’ve ever done and covered the most distance-- it was indescribably brilliant. I had the time of my life and I hope everyone else feels the same.

O: World tour, check. What’s next for you, Lightwood?

A: That’s the million dollar question. I have a few months before I start recording my next album. I plan to take this summer and write most of the material for that record. Plus, I want to enjoy some time off. It’s been a year since I was last in New York and I want to get reacquainted with the city and with my family.

O: So, both work and play?

A: Yeah, I guess so. There’s always that push to think ahead in terms of my career-- what’s the next step, where can I go from here. I’ll definitely be working this summer. I have a few writing sessions lined up with artists I really admire and I’m excited to see what emerges from them. An Arrow in the Dark was a huge phase of that career, though, and coming off that album cycle kind of just leaves me with a desire to sleep for a century (laughs). I’m using this time to recharge and make my seventh album the best I can, the best I’ve ever done.

O: Can you tease anything from the next album?

A: I think this album might surprise the fans a little. I’ve been at this for over a decade. I want to stretch my legs and experiment a little. I don’t know what will make it on the record, but I need to change things up or I’ll get stale and that’s the worst thing for an artist to become.

O: So, you’re doing something different? We should prepare ourselves for something a little out of the box when we think of Alec Lightwood?

A: I guess that’s a takeaway. I just want the fans to go into things with an open mind. I’ve lived a lot in the past two years and those experiences will probably show up in my next album. I’m looking for new shit, man. I don’t want to put any parameters on my art-- who knows what’s going to come out.

O: Speaking of living a lot, you’ve been linked to several men, including Emmy-winning Actor Jason Desker. Can I ask if anything is going on there?

A: Sure, you can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer. But, truthfully, there’s not much to say. Jason and I met up at an after-party and the next day rumors were swirling around about the two of us. I can tell you, 100 percent truth, that I am single and unattached. I’m not in a relationship and I haven’t been in one for years.

O: But what about all of the rumors?

A: They’re just that. Rumors. False gossip and idle speculation.

O: No one’s caught your eye, then?

A: No.

O: Okay, then. There’s the truth straight from your lips. Now, Alec, you’ve been out since almost the beginning of your career, which began when you were a junior in high school. What can you share about your own experiences coming out during such a turbulent time?

A: I’ve known I was gay since I was a little kid. Absolutely no doubt about it. It took me years to learn the name for what I felt and even longer to reconcile that part of me with everyone else’s expectations. When my family asked if there was anyone special I had me eye on, I’d shrug and deny anything, offering that school and sports were taking all of my focus. My siblings knew everything wasn’t what it seemed, but they let me have that shield to hide behind until I was ready to admit to the world that I wasn’t straight.

At the very start of my career, there was a lot of contention between a lot of parties on what my image should be. I kept quiet for months and was well into my senior year of high school when I decided to make my public move. I was the captain of the soccer team and had been going out with one of my teammates for a few months.

I was just fed up with it all. I had a hit song on the radio and the whole damn school knew about the two of us-- it was almost an open secret. The guy at the time was in the closet but ready to come out and I was standing in his way. So, the day we won the state tournament, I kissed him in front of a few thousand people out on the field. IT was an incredible high and I don't think either of us could believe what I'd just done.

Shit was a little crazy after that. The media took to the story like a house on fire and things at school and home were a little hectic for awhile. But I felt a lot of relief and everything was worth it in the end.

O: That’s quite a story.

A: (Laughs). Yeah. It was dramatic as hell and I caught a lot of heat for it, but I was just tired, you know? I was a month from graduation and planning to go on tour right after that and it was almost like, it was now or never. So, I chose now. The moment I did it was a cathartic release. All that weight just dropped from my shoulders. That isn’t to say that things were smooth sailing, because like I said there were a lot of parties that were unhappy with me and my irrevocable decision. My coming out wasn't just for my own mental health or peace of mind-- it was a deliberate business decision that I knew would impact my career from the second I went through with it, but I haven’t regretted anything. If sharing the absolute terror and relief I felt helps anyone, then I have no problem talking about my story.

O: You have a lot of fans and are a role model to many of them, especially those in our community. Do you have any advice for them?

A: I’d say, just share your truth. That sounds like such after school special bullshit but it’s true. Even if you are straight or cis, you can still be going through things that are difficult to handle or acknowledge. Once you start living your best life, is when you start really living. There will be hate and ignorance and all that bad stuff but being free and unapologetic about it is a powerful balm to any insults or accusations that might get hurled your way. Remember, there’s nothing wrong with what you feel. You’re valid and it’s going to be okay.

O: Wise words, Alec. Now that you’ve been out for almost a decade, can you share your ideal man? Give some of us some hope (laughs).

A: I don’t really have a type, man. I like intelligence and wit and kindness. I’m pretty basic that way. I can’t explain what catches my eye because it seems to change every time. I’ve been with guys who were vastly different, from a broker in the London Stock Exchange to a drummer in a Brazilian metal band. I don’t limit myself.

O: So no teasers on who we might next see you with?

A: Not really. All I can offer right now is that I’m looking for someone who sees beyond Alec Lightwood in all capital letters. I’m just a guy and when I do fall for someone it’s going to be real. Who knows when that will happen but I’m in no rush. I have a lot on my plate and things will happen when they’re meant to.

O: With that last statement, let’s end things with a fun tidbit. What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened on tour?

A: Embarrassing, huh? That’s certainly a different direction. There was that time in Dublin that I ripped my pants and my cartoon underwear showed for almost the entire concert and I didn’t know. But, I think I’d have to say that the most embarrassing thing that ever happened on stage was when I fell. It was an open arena and it was raining. Not too hard, but enough to make things slippery. I was in the middle of the dramatic chorus when I slipped like a cartoon on a banana peel. Everything was silent for a moment before I got my breath and stood up. By ass hurt like hell but I was only halfway through the set. I could feel my blush for the rest of the concert. It was awful.

O: And on that note, thank you Alec for agreeing to talk with Out Magazine.

We talked for a few more minutes, informally, before I had to leave for my next appointment. Alec was ushered by a photographer right after I left for the spread you can see in the following pages.

Lightwood is a powerhouse. He has the voice of a generation and a kind heart. He’s self deprecating and one doesn’t get the impression that he’s just another stuck-up celebrity out of touch with the average person. By all accounts, his fans are rabid over him and it’s not hard to see why. He’s a professional at all costs and is always engaging with fans on social media. With over eighty million followers on Twitter and Instagram, it’s undeniable that Alec has built an admirable foundation of support.

Watching behind the scenes videos and fan blogs, it’s obvious that there’s a rapport between Alec and his fans that not every artist is fortunate enough to have-- or cares enough to curate. There’s respect and love from both sides.

Alec Lightwood isn’t just a pretty face. He works as hard as his discography and grueling schedule indicates. The day we had the interview, Alec had a meeting with his record company board and met with the people at ABC for his Good Morning America appearance. His day didn’t end until almost dawn, as the photoshoot took hours after our sparse dinner. But Lightwood didn’t complain. A trooper, he seemed genuinely interested in our conversation and from what the photographer and wardrobe team told me, he took direction well and had fun with the shoot-- even though he had been up for almost twenty four hours at that point.

Alec Lightwood is an enigmatic man. He guards his life zealously. Everyone sees him stumbling out of clubs with a different guy on his arm every week. Everyone has seen his interviews and fans catch glimpses of the man behind the scenes, but that’s all they are. Brief looks into the private life of America’s favorite celebrity.

It makes one wonder about what lies beneath the surface. From our conversation, Alec had a wit and bluntness that’s admirable in the upper echelons of America’s darlings. He has a brother that owns an award-winning gym in Brooklyn with a mile-long waiting list and a sister that’s featured on countless magazine covers herself-- Isabelle Lightwood is set to appear in the Victoria’s Secret show in the fall and has racked up quite a following of her own.

This family is determined and, above all, generous. It’s been a pleasure watching Lightwood grow from the somewhat awkward teen to the self-assured man he is now, comfortable with his fame and the scrutiny of millions. This is the second time Lightwood has graced our Magazine’s cover and it’s always a delight. I, and the team at Out Magazine, wish Alec Lightwood all the luck on his next album. We can’t wait to hear it!

An Arrow in the dark, Lightwood’s sixth studio album and latest release, is out now and can be found online and in-store at a variety of merchants. See below for more details.

At the time of press, Chocolate Raspberry, his latest single, had sold over five million copies and was topping the charts at No. 1.

Word on the street has it that fans can expect another single to drop soon-- the acoustic and dark-toned Empty Hearts.

#httbt #my writing #this very much sets up the beginning of the next chapter #and was just fun to write in general!!#malec #malec fic #malec fic rec #singer!alec #celebrity!alec #famous!alec

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6feetunderbooksblog · 6 years ago

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The Billionaire Boss Next Door, an all-new hilarious romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!

My new boss has it all. In spades.

Gorgeous green eyes? Check.

Hard-and-sexy body? Check.

Intelligence? Check.

Success? A big fat billionaire… Check.

Too bad I haven’t started out on the best foot.

My big mouth has already turned him against me, and tempting good looks and success aside, Trent Turner is no peach either. He’s stubborn and thick-headed, and son of a fruitcake, he thinks he knows everything there is to know about the hotel business.

With him running the development of the new Vanderturn New Orleans Hotel and me doing the design, our work relationship is far too intimate for two people who absolutely despise one another.

But that’s not all.

See, he isn’t just my billionaire boss from hell. He’s my new neighbor, too.

Same city.

Same building.

Same floor.

Trent Turner is my billionaire boss next door.

Holy moly, let’s hope my career—and hormones—can survive.

Disclaimer: If you generally love to suffer, hate fun of any kind, and are allergic to laughter, this book is not for you.

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It only takes five minutes inside the hotel gym to realize why my original plan was to eat a hamburger in bed.

I do not got this.

I’m not good at working out, I’ve never been good at working out, and I’ll never be good at working out.

I don’t know what to do with the equipment, and it doesn’t know what to do with me.

Clearly, it’s been designed for people with half a foot more height and fifty percent more muscle, and even on the lowest of settings, I fumble my way through biceps curls like an uncoordinated inchworm.

I can barely reach the handles, so I have to kind of stoop to get in position, but the newly formed curve of my spine makes me have to arch and wiggle to complete the curl. If it weren’t for my kick-ass Metallica T-shirt, I might start to worry that I look foolish.

The ten-pound weight clanks as I drop it the inch and a half I managed to lift it in the first place, and I stand up to find a different machine. Surely there’s something in here I can operate without having a special license.

I find some kind of seated thing with weights on one end and a padded face rest on the other. I sit, lay my face down, and attempt to slide my legs underneath the weighted bar. But, it’s completely awkward and uncomfortable, and I start questioning what in the fuck this thing is even supposed to do.

Just before I give up completely, a throat clears deeply beside me, and I look up to see a far too muscular man staring down at me in confusion. “Uh…wow…I didn’t realize you could use it that way…”

Huh?

I nearly ask him what he’s talking about, but his actions answer any and all questions I might have.

He sits down on the machine beside mine—an identical machine to mine—and it’s then I realize the face rest is not a face rest.

It’s a seat. For asses.

A seat for sweaty, workout asses.

Jesus Christ. I shudder and disentangle myself from the machine.

“You okay?” Arnold Schwarzenegger’s long-lost brother asks, but I just nod off his question and put some much-needed distance between us.

Also, I scrub my face with the hand towel I brought down from my room like it’s a fucking Brillo pad capable of removing the ball sweat that’s probably found itself a home in my pores.

Note to self: take one thousand scalding-hot showers tonight.

With a deep inhale, I try to regain some of the pride I lost back there by Mr. Muscles and peruse the room until I find a machine that’s labeled with instructional pictures to boot.

Hip. Abduction.

Do I need aliens to use this thing?

Against my better judgment, I study the pictures and peptalk myself into sitting down on the seat and swing my legs over to the inside of the knee pads.

No face-to-butt-sweat mistakes happening here, folks!

The weight is set on one hundred and fifty pounds from the person before me, and it makes me wonder if Thor is staying at this hideous hotel too.

I pull out the pin and put it on forty instead.

After a quick test push with my legs, the setting seems doable, so I take out my phone and start scrolling through it to set up some music to accompany me.

Yes. Yes. That’s exactly what I need. Some workout jams.

Of course, once I’m on it, I get distracted by Instagram, and five minutes go by before I realize I’m sitting on a machine, not a couch, and the purpose here is to do something other than lounge.

I glance up from my phone and scan the room, wondering slightly if anyone knows how long I’ve been sitting here. Mr. Muscles has moved on to a new machine, but a different guy across the room makes eye contact and smirks.

Busted.

Normal human decency dictates he should let me off the hook and go about his day, but this fit, Adonis-looking, sweat-covered, brown-haired, green-eyed—good God, he’s attractive—man apparently has no manners.

Shit.

His sleeveless white T-shirt clings to his tanned body as he strides my way, and his athletic shorts conform to a muscular set of thighs and ass.

I look everywhere but at him, fiddling with the machine as though I’m doing something productive, but he still doesn’t get the hint.

Raspy and firm, the clearing of his throat sounds right next to me.

I look up as innocently as I can manage and pull out my earbuds as though I had music playing.

“Um, hi,” I say with a cute little manufactured laugh. “I’ll be done in just a second.”

He laughs too, but his seems genuine and undeniably directed at me. “If you keep up your current pace, I think it’s going to be a little longer.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on,” he says good-naturedly—the prick. “You’re just pretending to work out.”

Oh no, he did not just say that….

“I’m not pretending to work out,” I deny. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

He nods knowingly.

“And setting up my music,” I continue.

He hums.

“I’m just about to catch my stride.”

“Sure you are.” He calls bullshit with his smug, green as fuck eyes, and for the briefest of moments, they glance down at my chest and my legs before meeting my gaze again. “But there are people who would like to really use it, so if you’re done…”

What. The. Fuck.

Who does this guy think he is?

“Are you always this rude?” I question, and his green eyes lighten a bit.

“All right, you’re right. I’m really not trying to be a dick,” he says and runs a hand through his hair.

Should it really take that much effort not to be a dick?

“Let’s start over…” He pauses and pushes a small smile to his full, kissable lips. “How are you enjoying the hotel?”

Start over? How about let’s never have started at all?

Still annoyed, I don’t censor my answer. “It’s…swell.”

He laughs at first, but when I raise an eyebrow in contention, he frowns. “You don’t like it?”

“Maybe ugly décor and a whole buttload of pretention are good for some people, but not for me.”

“Ugly décor? Really?”

How can he be shocked by this? Anyone with eyes could see the design flaws here.

“Are you kidding? I feel like I’m in my ninety-year-old grandmother’s living room, except it’s a waking nightmare and I’m about to be eaten alive by the curtains.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad. It’s timeless.”

Normally, I’m not such a snob about design, nor do I make a point to make other people feel bad for their likes and dislikes, but for some reason, this handsome prick and his dickish attitude just bring it out in me.

Before I know it, I’m channeling Regina George.

“Well…” I pause and scrunch up my nose dramatically. “I’m sorry to break the news to you, but the design of this place looks like it was done by a blind rat. Gilded sailboat pictures and tapestries with oxen on them aren’t timeless. They’re old.”

His eyebrows pinch together, highlighting the otherwise perfect features of his face. Goddamn this ugly hotel for housing such perfect-looking humans.

“What did you say your name was again?”

Shit. Emory will absolutely murder me if she finds out I got into some kind of confrontational tête-à-tête with a random Romeo in the hotel gym.

Let’s also not forget this hotel gym is located inside a hotel that is owned by the company you’re about to interview with…

Shit. Yeah. I’d better cut and run while I can.

“I didn’t.” I jump up from the machine with the exact agility I’ve lacked during the rest of my workout and offer a saccharine smile. “But, hey, good news. Machine’s all yours.”

“Aren’t you going to wipe it down?” he asks as I walk toward the door, and I can’t help but turn around for my parting shot.

“Why?” I smirk at the pouty-lipped asshole. “After all, I was just pretending to work out.”

Because you know what dicks can do?

They can go fuck themselves and wipe down their own workout equipment, tight asses and chiseled jaws be damned.

Suck on that, workout Romeo.

About Max Monroe:

A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.

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catty-words · 8 years ago

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so if you’re lonely (why’d you say you’re not lonely)

summary: Despite all the rumblings in the office, Nathaniel is not going soft. He’s not. Nathaniel and Rebecca go on a trip for work. Word Count: 3,200 Author’s Note: Thank you so much to @bethanyactually, who beta'd this while she was feeling less-than-great. I am very very excited to have TWO shows you can beta my fic for. I'm kinda consumed by this pairing right now (if you are too come talk to me!!) and couldn't ignore the urge to write fic about them. But this is my first attempt at CEG fic so let me know how I did? this one-shot was inspired by my own damn emotional tumblr post.

(ao3)

~~~

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Son?” Nathaniel can picture his father’s stern and skeptical face even though he’s only on speakerphone.

“Of course,” he says, and then cringes inwardly at the high pitch of his voice. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “I’ve given presentations to the partners before. Everything will go as planned.”

“Yes, but this is not some fruity lecture on why we should run a greener firm. This is about our work, and if you’re not completely prepared, we may have to deem this West Covina experiment a failure.”

“That will not happen, Sir.”

“It had better not. See you on Tuesday.”

When the line goes dead, he takes a deep, steadying breath before climbing onto his treadmill desk. He gives the presentation in his head between sprints.

Despite all the rumblings in the office, Nathaniel is not going soft. He’s not.

Last week when he sent Karen home early to attend to her sick snake? That had nothing to do with compassion. He was just tired of hearing her creepy whining.

And all the extended lunches he lets Darryl and his boyfriend take? It’s not like he thinks they’re a cute couple or anything. It’s simply easier to get work done when Darryl isn’t hovering over his shoulder like a puppy begging for scraps.

And he definitely hasn’t been going easy on Rebecca, letting her constant tardiness and lack of productivity slide. But if he were, could anyone really blame him? She’s been through a lot, and he’s not heartless after all.

But he’s not soft, either. No siree.

Rebecca knocks on the door to his office, jarring him out of his thoughts, and he waves her in.

“You wanted to see me?” she asks, flopping down on his couch and examining her nail polish.

“I did,” Nathaniel says, turning the speed on the desk down to a casual stroll. “I know that during previous discussions on the matter, you’ve expressed your preference to stay behind while I present our progress to the senior partners back in New York.”

She seems to know what’s coming because suddenly all her focus is on him and she’s widening her eyes and pouting out her lower lip, which trembles just the right amount.

It’s not getting to him, though. Not even a little.

“But it turns out the big wigs are interested in meeting you,” he says, swallowing hard and tilting up his chin. “So I guess you’ll have to suck it up and wear a decent outfit for the first time in a month. We leave Monday morning.”

“What?” Rebecca jumps to her feet. “You can’t just spring this on me. Like, I mean, what if I had a pet? This would not be enough time to find someone to watch it. Do you know how many friends I have? Not many, and you can’t just leave anyone to look after a pet. It’s gotta be someone you trust and—”

“Good thing you don’t have a pet,” he says, cutting her off.

Her mouth tightens and she eyes him suspiciously.

He sighs, already exasperated with himself for asking, “What?”

“This isn’t a get into my pants thing, is it? Cause I’ve been watching a lot of the classic rom-coms in an attempt to torture myself, and, in addition to really igniting my fury over casual misogyny and Western beauty standards and the existence of men in general, it’s made me wary of heterosexual male and female best friends, paying some guy to be your date to any kind of formal event, time hops, time loops, and work trips. They’re all dangerous. All of ‘em.”

“Great, I’ll be sure to make note of that.”

“Well? You didn’t answer my question.”

Nathaniel turns off the treadmill and leans over the desk, clasping his hands together and leveling her with a serious look. “Here’s the deal, Pudgy the Librarian—”

“Don’t make me lecture you about the Western beauty standards because I’ve got enough material to last me hours.”

“—do I still want to have sex with you? Strangely, yes, that hasn’t gone away. And has it escaped my notice that you’re no longer in a monogamous relationship? Of course not, who could forget the disaster that was your breakup. But my main focus is going to be on wowing the senior partners, as should yours. Anything that happens between us at the hotel will be some long-overdue icing on a successful business trip…cake.”

Rebecca raises her eyebrows. “Sometimes I wonder if even Freud himself could chip through the overwhelmingly large iceberg of pathologies inside that brain of yours.”

“Funny, I could say the same to you.”

She flips him off on her way out the door.

“Monday morning,” he shouts after her. “I’ll see you at LAX at six-thirty sharp!”

~~~

Rebecca is just barely on time.

“Since it looks like you actually washed your hair, I’ll give you a pass,” he says in greeting when she shuffles up to the table he’s been waiting at in the airport café.

“Can you please not be mean to me until I’ve had some coffee? I didn’t have time this morning because my flaky boss only told me I’d be needed for a cross-country trip three days ago.”

Nathaniel shakes his head, unimpressed, and slides a coffee over to her. “It doesn’t take weeks of foresight to set your alarm ten minutes earlier so you can stop somewhere on your way to the airport.”

She ignores him and takes a sip of the drink he ordered for her. “Mmm, hazelnut. My favorite.”

He allows himself a tiny grin. “I know.”

Before he can read too much into the pleased look she’s giving him, he slings his carryon over his shoulder and stands. “Come on, Pudgy, time to go check our bags.”

“Okay, seriously dude, stop projecting your body image issues onto me,” she says as she follows behind him. “I’ve already confronted and dealt with my internalized fatphobia.”

“Oh, really? I suppose your license has an accurate weight on it, then?”

“What? No. No one lists their actual weight on their license. Not even you, Mr. My Weight Is Ninety-Eight Percent Muscle Mass.”

He stops in his tracks, smirking, and she nearly runs into him.

“Oh my god, please stop doing that,” Rebecca says, taking a step backward. “You look like a serial killer who just got away with their fiftieth murder or something.”

“I knew it,” Nathaniel says, letting that dig slide. “You definitely still want to have sex with me.”

She makes an exaggerated gagging noise, but a blush creeps into her cheeks. “Whatever. Like, please get a handle on your extreme narcissism, dude. Nothing’s going to happen between us.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The important thing is that you still want it to.”

He raises his eyebrows at her, and she bites her lip, holding eye contact for a second longer than necessary before pushing ahead of him and stomping her way through the terminal.

~~~

“Did you get the final copy of the PowerPoint I emailed to you Saturday morning?” he asks, not looking up from his notes.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re super anal?” He glares at her until she adds, “God, yes. I’m totally prepared for this, alright?”

“You can never be totally prepared.”

Rebecca gives him a funny look. “You suddenly don’t trust me to do my job, or what?”

“You have been distracted lately.”

“Hey! There’s a totally understandable reason for that.”

“You’ve been processing your brutal breakup,” Nathaniel says, nodding.

At the same time, Rebecca says, “Trying to make Josh’s life implode is basically a full-time job.”

“Wait,” he says, setting his tablet screen-side down in his lap. “You’ve been doing what now?”

She twists in her seat, her face contorting with way too many emotions to identify. All he knows is that she’s feeling all of them intensely—so intensely that it’s hard to look at her straight-on. “Josh Chan needs to pay for what he did.”

Nathaniel gulps and tries for some levity. “You’re pretty much stuck at the anger stage of grief, huh?”

“I have a lot to be angry about,” she says, her voice unnervingly even.

“Sure.”

His noncommittal answer seems to piss her off more. With a scoff, she turns her back toward him and buries her face in a book, putting a definitive end to any and all conversation.

~~~

After a tense and silent ride to the hotel they’re staying at, Nathaniel and Rebecca barricade themselves in their respective rooms.

He orders room service for lunch and sends a quick text to his father to let him know they landed safely.

Around seven that evening, though, he starts to feel a bit like a caged animal. He orders something else from room service and then freshens up while he waits.

When it comes, he grabs his room key, tucks a just-in-case condom in his pocket, and walks down the hall.

He pauses outside Rebecca’s room and unbuttons one of the buttons on his shirt before knocking.

“I come with a peace offering,” he says when she answers, holding out the bottle of wine he ordered for them. She squints at him, expression unreadable, and then walks back into the room, leaving the door ajar. “Okay…”

It’s not exactly a rejection, so he inches inside.

“What was that?” He hears Paula’s voice and follows it toward the bed.

Rebecca’s leaning against the headboard, laptop balanced on her thighs. There are files and loose papers covering every inch of the comforter and an uncapped red marker rolling around among them.

Nathaniel sets the bottle down on the desk before leaning against the wall and watching her with curiosity.

“Oh, it was nothing—Plimpton with a bottle of wine.”

Paula makes a knowing sound in the back of her throat and says, “Such a classic booty-call move.”

“I know. He’s being totally obvious, isn’t he?” Rebecca shoots him a pointed look.

He shrugs in response. “There’s no shame in being straightforward. Subtlety is for losers who don’t know what they want.”

In a stunning display of maturity, she sticks her tongue out at him.

“Why am I attracted to you again?” he asks himself.

She’s already gone back to ignoring him.

“It might be good for you, you know?” Paula says. “Have some hot, no-strings sex. Might ease some of that tension you’ve been feeling.”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca says, frowning thoughtfully. “I don’t want anything to distract me from what’s really important right now. Also, he was a dick on the plane, so.”

“Hey!”

“Plus,” Paula says, “he is your boss. That could make things very uncomfortable around the office. He’s a fine piece of man meat, though. It’s a shame all that’s going to waste.”

“Hello, I’m standing right here,” Nathaniel protests, stepping up to the edge of the bed so he can lean into the camera’s frame and wave.

“So?” Paula asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“So maybe you should show me a modicum of respect. I could write you up for talking about me like that.”

“Oh please,” Paula scoffs. “You’re the one trying to sleep with one of your employees.”

Nathaniel feels his entire body flush. “That is…a fair point.”

Rebecca shoves him out of her personal space and gives Paula an approving nod. “Law school’s been good for you.”

“Well, I was a highly argumentative person before. It’s helped me hone my skills, is all.”

“Definitely. Very effectively shut down.”

“Thanks, Cookie. Oh, I’ll call you later! The car alarm is going off and I can only assume Brendan is trying to steal it again. We’re at a bit of a dead end, anyway.”

Rebecca sighs. “Alright. Good luck with the kid. I’ll text you if inspiration hits.”

“So it’s probably too optimistic to assume that all this,” Nathaniel gestures to the mass of paperwork, “is work related.” She tilts her head at him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“So, are you here to judge me some more?”

“No,” he says, nodding over to the bottle of wine. “I’m here to unwind a little before a stressful day of work tomorrow.”

She regards him with caution. “If I drink that with you, that doesn’t automatically mean we’re gonna do it.”

“Yeah, I know how consent works.”

She sets her laptop on her nightstand and starts clearing off the bed. “There you go again, talking dirty.”

Nathaniel tries—and fails—not to smile. “You have a strange idea of what counts as seduction.”

~~~

“I swear it’s been so hard to dig up dirt on Josh Chan,” Rebecca says, tipping into Nathaniel as she tries to tuck one leg under the other. She takes an impressive swig from the bottle of wine—their second of the evening—and then passes it to him. “Barring the super obvious exception, that man is like…sunshine. Like dopey magical fairy dust incapable of misdeeds.”

Though his inhibitions are already lowered, Nathaniel takes a long pull from the bottle. His nose burns and his eyes water, but he’s going to need to be pass-out drunk if she keeps insisting upon the topic of Josh.

“And he’s like impervious to sabotage or something, which is surprising because he’s so easily distracted. I figured we could ruin the whole ‘become a priest’ thing by sending a pretty and willing lady his way, but he never took the bait. But he can’t actually be serious about it, right? I mean, he was supposed to commit to me, not God.” She grabs onto his shirt collar and tugs so hard their foreheads knock together as he turns. It doesn’t even give her pause, though. “What does God have that I don’t, huh?”

Stability is the answer that immediately pops into his head, but then his gaze drifts down to her angrily scrunched lips, and the response is gone quicker than it came.

“Uh.” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, drawing back a couple inches. “Have you ever realized you talk about Josh like he’s a character in a story you’re writing—more of an archetype, less of an actual human being?”

“What? No I don’t.”

“You kinda do.”

Rebecca scoots away from him on the bed, looking scandalized. “I most certainly do not do that.”

“Come on,” Nathaniel says, resisting the urge to grab her and pull her close again. “The first couple weeks I knew you, you referred to him almost exclusively as ‘the man of your dreams’. Now he’s ‘human sunshine’? Real people aren’t paragons, Pudgy.”

She grabs the pillow out from under her and swings it hard at his face, but thankfully she’s too drunk to have very good aim and he’s able to catch it and tug it out of her hands. Before she can pout too much, he passes the wine back to her.

She begrudgingly takes a sip.

“All I’m saying is, this weird hero-worship thing you have going on is staunching your ability to process what happened to you.”

Rebecca hugs the bottle close to her chest. “Who are you, Dr. Akopian?”

Nathaniel raises his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Nothing. Nobody.”

He watches her closely for a second before snagging the wine back and then continuing. “Anyway, this whole revenge scenario of yours isn’t a way to get back at the flip-flop. It’s a transparent attempt to keep your entire life revolving around this unworthy dipshit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. It’s okay to admit it.”

“And this convoluted pep talk of yours has nooooothing to do with trying to get me to say that I’m completely free of emotional attachments so we can have sex, I’m sure.”

“You’re the one who keeps bringing up sex, not me,” Nathaniel says, pursing his lips to keep himself from smiling.

Her mouth pops open and she gapes for a moment before sitting up straight and jabbing her finger at him. “Nope, nuh-uh, you’re not getting off the hook that easily. You just want an ‘I told you so’ moment, and I see right through you.”

“What would I have to say I told you so about?”

Rebecca pitches her voice low and says, “Commitment is stupid. It’s better to chase people around. We’re all sexual predators,” in a mocking voice.

He blinks.

“Whatever, I’m paraphrasing,” she says, grabbing the wine back.

“Okay. Let me make sure I have this right. Because I don’t believe marriage is worth it, you’re not going to admit you were hurt and move on…to maintain some falsely perceived moral high ground?”

She sneers at him before taking a drink. “The situation’s a lot more nuanced than that.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks. “Then spell it out for me. What are the finer points of this situation?”

Rebecca takes a moment to size him up. “You really wanna know?”

“You seem to really enjoy talking about it, so why not?”

“Fine. Yeah. I’ve known Josh Chan most of my life, and fate kept throwing us together, you know? That’s why I’ve always known our love was the real deal—because nothing could stop it. Not years of separation. Not his girlfriend. Not my sleeping with his best friend. No, our connection was stronger than all those things.”

“Wait, slow down,” he says, rubbing at his forehead. “That is a lot of new information to process.”

But she’s a runaway freight train and there’s no stopping her now. “And when it seemed like things really weren’t going to work out between us, I was going to accept it, okay? I really was. I was content to work on myself, but then fate intervened again and Josh and I were finally together for real. And I shared things with him…so much of myself. He knew how important our love was to me. He knew what it was gonna mean; what our marriage would be for me. But I guess the idea of sharing a lifetime with me is so repulsive that he had to turn to celibacy on our would-be wedding day!”

Her breathing is haggard by the time she finishes and she’s gripping the neck of the wine bottle so tightly that her knuckles are white and, damn, he’s not sure which of his impulses is stronger—to run from the room in terror or to give the human mess in front of him the comforting she so desperately needs.

He goes for the latter, easing the wine out of her hands and murmuring, “No. That’s not…that wasn’t what happened.”

She nods, shaking a single tear loose.

He gulps and brushes his knuckles across the overheated skin of her cheek, catching the tear with the pad of his thumb.

“Rebecca, no.”

The tears start gushing then, hot and unrestrained. She falls into him, burrowing her face into his chest. At first, he feels his lip curl in distaste, but then she makes a noise like a dying cat. With a resigned sigh, he gently guides her into his lap and wraps an arm around her waist, using his other hand to comb the curls back off her wet face.

“Why didn’t he l-l-love me?” She shudders with the force of her crying.

Nathaniel frowns, resting his forehead against the top of her head and taking a deep breath.

“I honestly have no idea,” he says, but he’s pretty sure he speaks too quietly for her to hear over the sound of her sobs.

He hugs her closer and thinks maybe—just maybe—he’s going a little bit soft.

#rebecca x nathaniel #crazy ex girlfriend #nathaniel plimpton #rebecca bunch #my fic

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omgdatphantho · 8 years ago

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The World’s Smallest Hotel Room

Summary: To admit your feelings, you will need: two giants, one broken car, and one tiny room.

Warning: Smut, Top!Dan, Dom!Dan, Language

Word Count: 3,711

Ao3

Fanfic Masterlist

The car rumbles quietly down the motorway, trudging on towards its destination. Dan glances in the review mirror and can see the last bit of the sunset slipping beneath the horizon. A few other cars are traveling along the road as well, but none of them are close.

A few more hours and they will, thankfully, finally be home. They had been traveling while filming something for the BBC and decided to drive back so that they could take a mini vacations before they return to the hectic paces of their lives. All and all, things have gone really well, but they were ready to get home.

Dan glances to his left and looks at Phil. Phil’s curled up in his seat with his head leaning against the window. His eyes are shut and a soft snore escapes from his parted lips as he lightly dozes. Dan smiles softly to himself as warmth spreads through his chest. Phil’s sleeping form is one of the most beautiful thing in the world, in Dan’s humble opinion.

He has his right hand on the wheel and his left one resting on his thigh. His fingers twitch against his jeans. The impulse to reach out and brush Phil’s fallen fringe out of his face is extremely prominent. Dan grips his thigh tightly as he mentally reminds himself why he can’t. Beyond the fact that it would clearly be an invasion of Phil’s space without his consent, he’s unsure that he could control himself. The urge to press Phil up against the wall and kiss him breathless grows stronger with each passing day.

Dan shakes his head and focuses back on the road. Music drifts softly out the speakers and he hums along.

“Dan.” Phil mumbles. Dan glances at Phil with his mouth open to respond, but finds him to still be asleep. He shakes his head and figures he must have misheard him.

Phil shifts in his seat and turns his body towards Dan. The sigh he releases as he settles is music to his ears and he finds himself smiling again.

“Dan. Come here.” Phil says quietly. Dan frowns and looks to confirm that Phil is still asleep. He shrugs it off and reminds himself that it doesn’t mean anything. They spend ninety percent of their time together, of course they’re going to show up in each other’s dreams.

Suddenly, the car starts to shudder. Dan watches in bewilderment as the car begins to slow down. He pulls off to the side of the road and puts the car in park before turning it off. Grey clouds of steam billow from under the hood.

“Phil? Phil, wake up.” Dan says as he blindly pushes his hand in Phil’s direction as he stares intently at the dashboard. His hand smacks Phil in the face and he wakes with a start.

“Huh? What? Why are you hitting me in the face?” Phil asks. His voice is low and groggy in a way that Dan would find sexy if he wasn’t so freaked out about what’s happening with the car.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. Something’s wrong with the car.” Dan explains. Phil gropes for his glasses in the middle console and his fingertips brush against Dan’s thigh. Dan mentally shivers as tingles travel up his leg.

“What do you think is wrong?” Phil asks as he blinks away sleep.

“I have no clue. It’s steaming or something.” Dan tries to turn over the car, but it doesn’t start.

“How far are we from home?” Phil asks. Dan quickly thinks through the route in his head.

“Um..about two and a half hours I think. Maybe three, but I’m not sure. I’m not sure where we even are right now.” Dan explains. Phil pulls up his phone and checks their location.

“According to this, we’re about three and half hours from home. The closet town is about twenty minutes away.” Dan pulls out his phone and searches for a tow truck; hoping against hope that he can get someone to come get them as it’s starting to get late. They had left hours later than they originally planned on because they wanted to suck every last moment out of their mini vacation. They had only been on the road for about two hours before they broke down.

Phil sits silently as he watches Dan call for a tow truck. He doesn’t have to wait long before Dan is ending the call and dropping the phone in his lap.

“What did they say?” Phil asks.

“It’s going to be about forty minutes before they can get here. They will take us to the next town as there’s a mechanical shop. We’re probably not going anywhere until late tomorrow or early the next day depending on what is wrong with the car.” Dan figures as he tries to remember what little he knows about cars. Phil nods his head and flicks through his phone.

“We might as well get comfy as it seems like we’ll be here a while.” Phil reasons as he opens a gaming app.

Two hours later, they’re standing at a check in desk at the only hotel in the tiny town. It’s near the highway and about a ten minute walk from the mechanics office. They dropped the keys along with Dan’s information in the overnight box before heading towards the hotel. They can’t leave the car and it’s too late to call anyone to come get them, so they’re stuck for the night.

“Hello. Welcome to High Ridge Lodge. Just the two of you?” the receptionist asks. She looks to be slightly older than them and wearing a pound of makeup on her face. Her brown hair is speckled with grey and pulled loosely towards the back of her head. Dan nods.

“How many nights?” she asks while looking at the computer screen. Her nails click against the keyboard as she moves through the menus.

“One night I believe. Our car broke down and we have to wait until at least tomorrow to get it fixed.” Phil explains. Dan’s thankful for him taking over. The whole ordeal has become very draining on him and he’s not the best at talking to people.

“Alrighty. Well we only have one room available with one double bed. Will that be alright?” the woman asks. They look at each other and a private conversation passes between them.

“Yes. That’s fine.” Phil says as he pulls out his wallet. Neither of them are happy about having to share a bed, but can deal with it for one night. They’ve shared bed before, but since Dan’s filled out, it’s become harder for them to comfortably do that anymore. Them sharing a bed as been reserved for extremely late night movie marathons or sleeping off a drunken night.

Dan can feel himself starting to freak out internally. Since he became aware of his feelings for Phil, he makes a point to never get close to him for prolonged periods of times. The thought of spending the night in the same bed, and both of them completely sober, terrifies him. He was about to tell Phil to call the whole thing off when he notices him returning his wallet to his pocket and accepting door cards from the receptionist. Dan bites his tongue and slowly follows Phil to the room.

“What the fuck?” tumbles out of Dan’s mouth before he could stop it. He’s standing in the open doorframe and with wide eyes, stares at the room before him.

It’s a simple, rather plain, small room. A bathroom vanity sits to the left, just inside of the door, with a small wardrobe that could only hold about two shirts or one jacket. Across from it is a small bathroom. A tiny shower stall and a toilet reside inside the room that’s no bigger than a broom closet. A double bed dominates the rest of the main living space. Twin side tables sit on either side with one pressed up against the wall. A small dresser with a tv sits not even two feet from the end of the bed.

“It will be fine.” Phil says as he attempts to figure out where to place his bags. Dan shuffles awkwardly forward so he’s able to shut the door. He’s stuck between the vanity and the bathroom door until Phil climbs onto the bed.

“No it won’t. This place wasn’t built for giants. We’re giants!” Dan exclaims. Phil huffs and flops onto the bed. He’s shoved his bags as far into the corner as possible, but figures it probably won’t be enough room for Dan’s bags as well.

Dan shuffles through the door and drops his bags next to Phil’s. They stick out into the doorway enough to cause a nuisance, but there was nothing that he could do. Phil’s bags are stacked in the corner and there is no other room in the space. Dan moves carefully around the bed and sits on the other side of the bed. There isn’t a whole lot of room between the two of them.

One pizza order and a few hours of crappy television, it’s finally time for bed. People would have probably paid good money to watch two giants try to get ready in what’s essentially a clown car. At least, that’s how Dan feels about the situation. The amount of times they’ve brushed, bumped, and jostled into each other became ridiculous. Dan can feel his face flush every time he came in contact with Phil.

They end up having to change in front of the door as they were both too gangly to change in the bathroom. They decide to sit on the bed with their back turned while the other changes. Dan plasters his hands to his face while he waits in an attempt to hide the blush he can feel on his face and the smile that threatens to break out at the thought of Phil’s near naked body right behind him.

Phil sat like a statue as Dan changes his clothes. He thinks that he may have seen him peek over his shoulder at one point, but he write it off as seeing if he’s done yet.

“I’m finished.” Dan announces before dumping his clothes into his bag. Phil turns around with a slight pout on his face. “What’s wrong?” he asks once he sees his friend’s face.

“I didn’t get to see the show.” Phil replies with a wide, cheeky smile. Dan rolls his eyes and ducks his face as a blush tints his cheeks. “Kidding!” he declares after seeing Dan’s embarrassed face and before scrambling underneath the covers. Dan can swear that Phil’s blushing, but it might be just a trick of the light.

Dan turns off the light, bangs his shin on the side of the bed, and joins Phil underneath the covers. There’s no space between them as they lay on their backs, side-by-side. The television plays quietly in the background as they wait for sleep to overtake them. When Dan shuts off the telly about an hour later, Phil is curled up facing him and snoring quietly.

After barely anytime asleep, Dan is awaken. At first, he’s confused as to why he’s awake, but the reason becomes clear very quickly. Phil is fidgeting around on his side. Dan figures he’s trying to get comfortable, but freezes as Phil speaks.

“Dan.” Phil says. Dan’s ears perk up at the sound of his name.

“Please Dan.” Phil continues. Dan furrows his brow. He’s trying to figure out what kind of dream Phil’s having, but before he can, he speaks again.

“You Dan. Only you Dan.” Phil says and Dan smiles. He settles down against his pillows in an attempt to sleep. He only has just closed his eyes when Phil speaks again.

“I like you Dan. A lot.” Phil whispers, but he might as well have been shouting due to how clear it came across. Dan sits up straight in bed and turns to face Phil. Before he can say anything, Phil begins to fidget. Dan guesses the direction things are heading and makes the decision to wake him up rather than get stuck with him having had a wet dream.

“Phil? Phil? Wake up.” Dan says quietly. He shakes Phil’s shoulder and watches him stir reluctantly from sleep. Phil sits up groggy and rubs his eyes. He strains to see in the nearly dark room where the only light is filtering through the curtains.

“Huh? What? Dan?” Phil questions. His head lolls to the side as he struggles to stay awake. Dan bumps his shoulder again and Phil growls at him. “Why did you wake me?” he asks while looking in the vague direction of Dan.

“I-Uh-Um-You-.” Dan trips over his words as his brain struggles to quantify the situation. Phil slowly becomes more aware of himself and his surroundings. Dan watches as Phil fidget around on the bed before turning on the side lamp next to him and grabs his glasses.

“Why did you wake me again?” Phil squeaks out. Dan looks over him and notices his poor attempt to hide his erection. He can feel his eyes widen and he quickly turns his head towards the wall.

“I-Um-.” Phil doesn’t finish his thought before he clammers out of bed and starts towards the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dan asks, his voice deep and demanding. It comes out as a slight surprise to himself, but his sleep deprived brain has convinced him he needs to be the one to get him off after all this time of pinning for him. Phil freezes and he swears he can hear the blood rushing past his ears.

“Turn around.” Dan orders in the same tone as before. Phil slowly turns around. His hands are balled tightly at his sides and he makes no attempt to cover his erection. Dan’s eyes sweep over him and he can’t stop himself from smirking at the sizable tent in Phil’s pants.

“I asked you a question Phil. Where are you going?” Dan asks again. Phil swallows hard.

“To the bathroom.” he squeaks out. Dan shakes his head and moves across the bed until they’re less than a foot apart.

“Come here.” Dan says as he beckons Phil closer with his finger. Phil shuffles across the floor until his knees hit the edge of the bed and they can feel each others’ breaths on their faces. Neither speak as their eyes roam each others faces.

They notice the swirl of colors in each others’ eyes and the pink glow that have spread across each others’ cheeks. Dan bites his lower lip as his confidence wavers. A nervous giggle passes through Phil’s lips as his eyes dart around the room and back to Dan’s face.

“I heard what you said.” Dan whispers in a husky tone. Phil furrows his brow.

“Just now or-.” Phil’s words die as Dan shakes his head.

“Before. While you sleeping. You were dreaming. You said you like me.” Dan says. Realization spreads throughout Phil’s face and his features grow wide.

“I-It’s not-I.” Phil blabbers. Dan’s face falls slightly and he turns away when he starts to second guess himself. Phil shakes his head and grabs onto Dan’s shoulder, turning him back to face him.

“Wait. Just wait.” Phil pleads. Dan watches him as he searches his face. Phil takes a deep breath.

“Do you like me Dan?” Phil asks. Dan nods. Phil smiles as relief washes over him. “Thank god. I’m going to kiss you now.” Dan nods again. Phil cups his face and crashes their lips together. It’s messy and Dan easily takes over dominance of it. Phil gladly melts into him and they tumble onto the bed.

“Oof.” Dan huffs out as his back lands on the bed. Phil giggles and situates himself on top of Dan’s lap. Dan brushes his hands up and down Phil’s naked sides. They’re both naked, save for their underwear and pajama pants.

“You’re so hot.” Phil says before diving in for another messy kiss. His mouth moves sloppily and wet across Dan’s cheek before moving down his neck. Dan lets out a low growl and flips them. Phil lets out a yelp as his back hits the mattress.

“I’m all for slow, sensual sex, but now right now. Right now, I want to release all our pent up emotions and fuck you into the mattress.” Dan whispers into Phil’s ear. Phil shivers and nods his head eagerly. Dan kisses Phil until both their lips are swollen and they’re out of breath.

“Are you sure you want this?” Dan asks during a breath break in kissing.

“Yes.” Phil answers all out of breath. Dan straddles his lap and rubs their cocks together. Moans tumble out of both of their mouths. He grabs Phil’s wrists and pins them above his head.

“Even I do this?” Dan teases with a raised eyebrow. Phil bucks his hips.

“God yes Dan. Please.” Phil pleads, grinding their crotches together more franticly. Dan chuckles and slides his hands down Phil’s arm.

“You going to keep them there like a good boy?” Dan questions in a stern tone. Phil nods his head.

“Yes Sir. Please touch me Sir.” Phil begs and Dan chuckles. Phil whimpers under the light brushes of Dan’s fingertips as Dan slides down his body. Dan moans as his erection brushes against the sheets.

An throbbing ache resinates from Dan’s cock. He would love to drag this out until eternity, but there will be time for that later. Right now, he wants to drive Phil and himself to pleasure. He quickly strips them out of their clothes. His eyes narrow in on Phil’s length and he wraps his fingers around it.

Phil’s hips careen in time with Dan’s strokes. He’s so desperate, so close, and yet so far away.

“Dan! I need-!” Phil cries out. Desperation is beginning to overwhelm him.

“I’ve got you.” Dan reassures him in a soothing tone. Phil nods. Dan climbs off the bed and rummages through his beg. He pulls out a condom and lube. Phil’s eyes go wide.

“What? Why?” he questions. Dan chuckles and settles himself between Phil’s spread legs.

“I always like to be prepared,” he holds up the condom, “and just in case I need to have a wank.” Dan says as he lifts the bottle of lube into view. Phil rolls his eyes and chuckles at him.

Dan coats his fingers in love before sliding one inside of Phil. He’s so warm and tight that Dan’s aching to feel him around his cock.

“I’m ready. I’m ready.” Phil declares a few minutes later. Dan had barely gotten his third finger inside before Phil’s declaring himself ready. Dan slaps his thigh lightly enough it won’t leave a mark, but hard enough that Phil will feel it.

“I give the orders, not you.” Dan reminds him sternly as he continue to pump his fingers inside of him. Phil nods his head and drops his gaze at the same time Dan removes his fingers.

“Yes Sir. Sorry Sir.” Phil apologizes while Dan readies his cock.

He positions himself at Phil’s entrance with his legs around his waist. Once his head has breached the tight ring of muscles, Dan looks up into Phil’s eyes and they maintain eye contact until Dan has bottomed out. After a few moments, he moves back and forth a little.

“Can I move?” Dan asks in a whisper. Phil nods his head, Dan grabs his hips, and he starts moving.

Phil can feel every inch of his length as it drags slowly against his walls. Dan pulls out until only his tip is left inside and then slowly pushes forward. He repeats this action several times and each time relishes in how tightly Phil is clinging around him.

“You feel so good baby.” Dan whispers in Phil’s ear before kissing down his neck and biting at his collar bone. Phil is letting out moans right in Dan’s ear. Dan’s grip tighten as his thrusts become more forceful.

“Ah!” Phil cries as Dan hits his prostate. Dan groans at how tightly he’s clenching and doubles his efforts. He sits up straighter and brings Phil’s ass off the bed. With this position, he can easily move onto the next part of his plan.

Dan wraps his hand around Phil’s cock and begins to stroke it. His hand isn’t moving as fast as his hips, but it’s driving Phil closer and closer to the edge.

“I need to cum Sir. Please let me cum!” Phil begs in a high toned voice.

“Cum.” Dan commands with a tight squeeze of his hand. Phil thrusts his hips up one last time before spilling all over Dan’s fingers and his own chest.

Watching Phil orgasm and seeing him come undone under his touch proves to Dan’s undoing. He shuts his eyes tight, thrusts deep inside Phil, and empties himself into the condom. A vision of a flush faced, fucked out Phil plays out behind his eyelids and that’s what he pictures while riding out his high.

He collapses onto Phil’s chest and wraps his arms tightly around him. Phil brings his arms down and cards his fingers through Dan’s hair before settling them onto his back.

“I didn’t say you could move.” Dan jokes. Phil’s laugh vibrates through him and they both end up in a fit of giggles.

Clean up and reclothing happen in quick secession. They tangle themselves in one another under the blankets as they settle back down to sleep. Soft kisses are exchanged, but words are not needed as their feelings for each other envelope them.

They’re only asleep a few hours before they’re called about the car. A hose ruptured causing the car to overheat. It’s a quick and easy fix that has them back on the road by the early afternoon.

Dan finds himself once again in the driver’s seat. Music softly plays out of the speakers which provides the perfect amount of background noise. He has his right hand on the wheel and his other is holding Phil’s. They smile at each other whenever they can as they head towards home; their home.

#phan #phan fanfic #dan and phil #dan and phil fanfic #smutty friday #dan #dan fanfic #phil #phil fanfic #dan howell #dan howell fanfic #phil lester #phil lester fanfic

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tellerford13 · 8 years ago

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MO ASTOR- CHAPTER 20

We don’t own the bikes, brothers, or any “related” Sons of Anarchy, trust us, if we did we wouldn’t have the time to write. No money is being made from our stories. So, please don’t sue. It’d be a fruitless endeavor indeed. That being said, Harley, Journee, and any other newbies are ours, and we don’t share. :Whispers in creepy voice: “My precious.” The universe This reality is a mix of cannon, and our own ideas. We strive to keep the boys cannon, but since we will be shifting around some of the events, that will reflect in our writing and their personalities as well. It’s our goal to provide you with quality fiction, and solid, fleshed out OFC. We appreciate constructive criticism and love LOVE reviews, they are a writers life blood and definitely help encourage us and inspire us. We will be posting on our Tumblr where we’ll have fun pictures from time to time as well. http://tellerford13.tumblr.com We’ll also be taking requests for one shots, preferences or imagines for all things Sons at our other Tumblr, so check it out and send your thoughts!http://tellerford13oneshots.tumblr.com/ And just for fun, we’ve decided to start a Pinterest for the story! So if you want a glimpse at our girls and see into our world, check it out! https://www.pinterest.com/tellerford/

A/N: Sorry this is coming in late tonight. Mr. Teller didn’t want to stop talking. Chibs has so much to say too so … we’re breaking our every other week rule for the next chapter, so expect an early Valentine’s day present. ;)

Mo Astor Chapter 20

Jax

“You got plans tonight, baby?” Mom asks as I wipe my hands off with a rag done with the final oil change of a day. Perk of the job here, I don’t do weekends.

“No. You need me to do something?”

She sighs. “Listen. Lee ain’t Wendy or any of those other waste off skins you’ve had for girlfriends. You need to put some effort in to keep her. It’s Friday night. A nice dinner and a movie or something goes a long way. You guys are more than just friends now. You can’t keep treating her the same way you used to.”

“Do I do that?”

“Take it from the lady who works in the office with her and the garage with you. Yes, you do.”

“Trying not to make the same mistakes Ma. I know how Lee is. You hold on too tight, and she gets antsy.”

“Ain’t nothing confining about a little romance. Trust me. Your Father was good at that.” She shakes her head and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “That man had a way of making me feel like I was the only woman in the world he saw. Even with all the things he had on his plate. He made time for me. It’s why I was willing to walk to that man. Loyalty and love are everything. You do whatever you have to do to keep that once you have it.”

The sincerity in her voice opened my ears wider than they usually were when she spoke. Even after all this time, I could tell she missed my dad. What they had was special, and I respected her advice when it came to that. I’d seen this life chew up and spit out so many couples. Hell Bobby was on wife number four, and still dreaming of forever after, because the big softy was romantic to the core. Maybe that was a requirement for all Elvis Impersonators.

“What would you suggest? And don’t play dumb, cause if you brought this up, you already have a plan.

She smirks and blows out smoke. “Can’t fool you, can I baby? Get her out of Charming. Go up the road to that nice new Italian restaurant they opened. There’s a movie theater near there or a place to go dancing. I know she and your sister always liked to go do that. Those two damn near gave us gray hair being out all night, after losing the prospects we assigned to trail them.” She shakes her head, and I laugh.

“And then you put me to the task.”

“Hah. Yeah, I did, and I think it made it worse instead of better.”

“What? They were safe, weren’t they?” I say with a sly grin.

“Yeah, and your rap sheet got longer.”

“And people got the picture and started staying away, didn’t they?” I took the job of guarding my girls very seriously. There was a time when Sugar got locked up, and Baby J had come to live with us for a spell. Given Menace’s position, and the fact that Sugar’s parent’s hated the club, there was no way Sugar could leave her or send her off with family. It had cemented our sibling-like bond.

“That they did, baby. You did a good job with those two. My little Samcro princess and my bonus baby.”

I shake my head at the satisfied smirk that lines her lips. She’d gotten exactly what she always wanted, Lee and I together and Baby J with a Son. One she respected and liked. I don’t know what woman wronged my Mom in her life, but she couldn’t stand ninety percent of females. Hell, I only think Aunt Luanne and her work so well, because Luanne is a follower who knows her place. My Ma’s shrewd like that. Can’t bitch too much when she’s taught me everything I know about ensuring my place and never letting anyone else get the upper hand.

I keep my mouth shut until I’m ready to make my move. It allows people to underestimate me. I like that. It gives me a chance to come up with a plan and execute it flawlessly. You make mistakes in this world, and you end up in a pine box.

“So dinner and a movie or dinner and dancing? I think I can manage that.”

“Good. And this time…keep your hands to yourself unless someone tries to touch her. Nothing ruins a night out worse than arrest.”

I snicker. “I Hear you.”

“Good. “ She tosses her butt to the ground and stubbs it out with the toe of her black high heel. “You might want to make reservations. Be a shame to make the drive and not get a table.”

“Why don’t you do it Ma. Since you did everything else.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.” She winks and walks off as I laugh.

Her words had me thinking about our interactions in the garage. We weren’t stiff, but I kept my hands to myself. Lee had always been the type to keep business and pleasure separate. She had to, in many ways, to keep her legitimate standing with the upper crust of Charming. Her beauty, schooling, and good reputation allowed them to overlook her Samcro ties. She was a much-needed bridge. One they should know had been claimed.. There’d been a number of square ass dudes who’d tried to tie her down. They didn’t see at heart; she was always made to be a biker’s woman.

She’d never be happy with some laid back, casual dude who wanted 2.5 kids, a white picket fence, and nothing to do with her family. Hell Tig, the most fucked up of us all, was her father figure. Someone outside the life would never be able to handle or understand that. Civilians were too damned judgmental for their own good.

I move to an area where I can see her without her seeing me. Dressed in a well-worn pair of faded jeans with ripped knees and a Samcro t-shirt she’s knotted at the waist to show a sliver off tan toned flesh, she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever set eyes on.

I don’t want her doubting her importance or her place in my life for a second. I’ve always been good at pushing her boundaries without toppling her. I have no problem doing that now to let everyone know we’re very taken. It’s healthier than killing people who cross a line with her.

She turns her head towards my mother, and genuine adoration colors her brilliant blue eyes. Seeing the affection between two off the woman I love most makes me smile. Yeah, she deserves more, and I can step it up and give it to her.

I finish cleaning in the sink, scrubbing my hands with the orange scented Pumice soap, careful to get under my nails and around my cuticles. I had plans for these tonight, and they needed to be spotless to be worthy of entrance into hot, wet places.

Satisfied with my hands, I splash water on my face and pat it dry with paper towels and pitch them in the bin. It’s Friday, and I’m calling it a day. We don’t have any pressing repairs that can’t wait or be finished by a prospect.

I make my way to the office and lean into the door.

“You about done in here, Lee?”

“I don’t know?” She turns to face my Ma. “Am I?”

“Yeah, you two get out of here. I’ll close down tonight. Unlike you two, my only plans are a party at the clubhouse.”

Lee looks at me confused, and I smirk.

“What’s she talking about?”

“Mr. wonderful here got you a table at that new Italian place at seven tonight. If you hurry, you’ll have enough time to get all dolled up before you leave.”

“Did someone mention dolls?” Tig asks shuddering as he comes into view, silent like always.

“Yeah, Tiggy. The kids are going out for a nice date.”

“Where you taking her?” he asks, eyeballing me.

I stand my ground forcing myself not to respond to his lasers as they bore a hole through me. I ain’t going anywhere, so he needs to get used to it.

“The cute little restaurant up the road,” Mom says.

“Apparently that’s where we’re going,” Lee says with an almost shy smile I know I want to see more often.

“Huh,” Tig grunts. “Take care of my girl.”

“Always do,” I say refusing to back down under his crazed glare. Tig could back up his bark, but I had no plan to give him a reason to do that.

He nods and walks over to kiss her on the forehead. “Have fun tonight.”

“I will, Tiggy,” she says kissing his cheek. He softens, and I turn away feeling like I’m intruding on a private moment.

“Well get out of here before I change my mind,” Ma says waving her hand. I wrap my arm around Lee’s waist, lift her off her feet, and carry her off.

“What are you doing?”

“Escaping while we can. It takes two seconds for shit to go to hell around here,” I say.

She giggles and relaxes against me. “Well, I’m going to need my purse.”

I return to the office and Ma hands her purse. “Ah, to be young and in love again,” She says.

Lee tenses and I squeeze her and jet out before my mother can freak her out more. It’s funny…I’m usually the gung-ho one who jumps into everything, but I can’t with her. At least not on the surface. She’s had too many men who counted disappoint her.

I ignore the whistles and hoots sent our way as we exit the garage into the sunshine.

“How long you need to get ready?”

“How pretty you want me?”

“You’re already drop dead gorgeous, Lee. The clothing doesn’t change that.” She gasps. “Oh, I forgot how much of a charmer you could be.”

“Just stating a fact, darling,” I say as I brush her lips with mine and set her down by her car.

“I’ll meet you at your house in say … one hour? It’ll give us both enough time to clean up and then hit the road?”

“Sounds good, to me Teller.” She pauses and studies me.

“What?” I ask.

She shakes her head and smiles as she unlocks her car and slips into the driver’s seat. I’m getting under her skin. Darling, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

I hurry back inside to my dorm and open my closet. Tucked in the back are a nicer pair of jeans and a button up. A knock sounds on my door.

“Yeah.”

I pull out the black button down and glance over my shoulder at Candy. The slender bleach blonde is poured into a pair of low-slung jeans and a crop top that barely covers her implants. Turgid nipples push out the thin white material.

“Ma need something?”

“No. I just thought I could help you get cleaned up.” She enters the room swaying her nonexistent hips.

“I’m taken.”

“Never stopped you before,” She purrs.

The words make me wince. She ain’t wrong.

“This time’s different.”

She pouts. “You sure about that? We always had a good time Jax.”

“Out.” I snap my fingers and point, and she huffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she stalks out.

I walk over, lock the door behind her and place my head against the door.

Sending away free pussy isn’t easy for any man. Especially when it’s a habit, but I’d cut my own arm off before I hurt Lee. She’d been betrayed enough to last a lifetime. Pushing away I head for the shower, wishing I could wash away my shady past as easily as I do the sweat and grime of the day. I let one heartbreak color my entire view on women, and now I had to pay for it, in the form of convincing my woman I could stay true to her.

***

“This is really nice,” Lee whispers as we walk up to Host/Hostess podium.

“Yeah, it is. I’m starting to think we might be missing out not getting out of Charming more often.” “Hah. Don’t let Gem here you say that.”

I smirk. “You know I’m smarter than that.”

The clientele makes me glad I left my colors at home and stepped up my attire. Blending in is an important skill to have, and while dressing up isn’t my thing I can do it when necessary. Lee’s little black dress and sky-high heels are worthy of a suit. The strapless number shows off her delectable collar bone and strong arms. I want to cover her in hickeys so any man would know in a glance she’s taken and well pleased. I find myself staring down anyone who looks for too long. I covet the shit that matters to me.

“Can I help you, sir?” The man in the black slacks, white button up, and black tie asks.

“Yeah, I have a reservation for Teller at seven.”

He opens his book and searches. “I see you here sir. Just one moment and I’ll show you back to your seat.”

I nod my head, wrap my arm around her waist and pull her to my side.

“I can’t believe you went through all this trouble for me.” The awe in her voice makes me feel like I’m on top of a mountain.

“Anything to see you smile, darling.”

She peers down, and a pink tinge appears on her cheeks. She’s got her walls down. It’s a beautiful sight because I know it doesn’t happen often.

“I want to believe that.” I tuck my finger under her chin tilting her face to look up at me.

“You should because I’m going to be spending my time proving it. You know I’ve never been an all talk kind of man.”

“I do know,” she whispers and I can’t help but peck her delicious looking lips.

We’re shown to our table, and I know mom must’ve pulled some strings because it’s a damn Chef’s table, set apart from the main room.

“Oh my God,” Lee whispers looking over the table.

“I know,” I say equally impressed.

The candle light flickering at the table paints her face in shadows. I’m lost in her eyes and in the moment. I’ve never done anything like this with a woman. It’s intimate and grown up as hell. What we’re doing isn’t playing at a relationship, it’s building a strong one.

We make small talk as we drink wine and eat food I can barely pronounce. I never imagined I’d be here doing this, but she looks right at home. It drives home just how unique my woman is; like a diamond made under pressure in the earth.

I reach across the table and take her hand, willing her to understand how much she means to me, even if she’s not ready for the words circling around in my brain.

I’ve been hit by lighting.

My eyes are opened, and my hurt is about to explode, yet I can’t say a word. It’s like having a secret too big to keep under wraps. My thoughts flash to Baby J. She’s a safe place. Once she comes back from her honeymoon, we’ll talk. I need help figuring out how to handle this. The last woman I gave myself completely panicked and bailed. That left a mark, and I refuse to watch Lee do the same. She’s a runner. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally. I can’t find myself on the wrong side of her walls. It would break me to lose all those years we’ve spent being each other’s best friends.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks as she scoops up a bite of Death by Chocolate.

“How lucky I am to be here with you like this right now.” I bring her hand toward my mouth, brushing her knuckles lightly with my lips.

She smiles and tilts her head. “Laying it on thick.”

“Being one-hundred percent real. The way we always are with each other.”

“I’m not used to this side of you.”

“What side?”

“This grown up serious side. It’s dangerous.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because it makes me want things that scare me.”

“You’re not alone in that, babe. But we both know I’m good at getting what I want, and the way I see it, as long as we’re on the same page, that’s not a bad thing.” I shake my head and smile at her.

Her brow furrows. “And you think it’ll be that easy.”

“Not easy, but when you really want something, it doesn’t matter how far you have to go. It’s never too much.”

Her eyes widen, and I clear my throat. Time to shift topics. “So, what do you want to do next?”

“There’s more?”

“If you’re up for it. I know accountants keep early hours.”

She kicks my shin under the table, and I jerk laughing.

“Oh screw you, Jackson. I see I need to remind you where I come from.”

The fire in her eyes makes me grin.

“The let’s pay the bill and see what you got.”

“What are my options?” She asks, sounding more like a general preparing for war than a girlfriend on a date.

“Movies or dancing?”

“Oh, Teller. I’m going to mop the floor with you. You’ll be begging me to leave before the night is through.”

I toss a couple hundred on the table and stand ready for a night of grinding and debauchery with my woman.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #Jax Teller #chibs telford #Mo Astor

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