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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag. You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash. You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing. jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. idiots to lovers. fluff, angst, smut. the holy trifecta, babies! explicit, obviously.

tags / warnings. mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc. 12.2k of nonsense. pure nonsense, i tells ya.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her. i love you both sm!!! ✨💜

author note. the long-awaited fic is here!! i really hope you enjoy it. if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something? i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot. anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you! stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker. That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him. It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard.

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove. Sometimes, she’s by herself; often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste. They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique. Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be. You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit.

“He has no idea.” It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts. “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder. How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair? It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie.

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”. Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else. Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention. Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him. Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face.

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,” she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does. She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough. Zero tact, though. Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble. You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested. “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags. (God, what awful taste.) There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best. (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction. You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place. Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on. When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes. He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW. Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress is.

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect. It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?” He upspeaks. It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first. A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect. “What’s the item and the name it’s under?” You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine. Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

You’re floored. This is Jeon Jungkook? This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger? You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face. It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers. “I’ll grab it! The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly. He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends. He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance. It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears. There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend? I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.” Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off. “She said she was leaving on Friday.” Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made. “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall. You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.

You do feel bad. Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this. For hurting this stranger. (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality. He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip. He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet.

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off. Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in. (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.) As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth. “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend. Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid. Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours. Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say. Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation. “Oh, maybe. I’m sorry.” The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t. That’s a thing, right? Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?

God, you’re an altruist.

“It’s fine.” When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not. You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word. (You won’t.)

“Here it is!” Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands. If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing. You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand. He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying. You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found. Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start. Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,” you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands. It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card. The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently. You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder. It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum. (You either, but still.)

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers. “What?”

“You know— that!” She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago. “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,” you correct.

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response. There it is.

“What?” There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable.

“What?” It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery. You can read every emotion that runs through her expression: shock, displeasure, confusion.

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth. (She really does remind you of your little sister.) “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder. You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now. There was no way he didn’t.

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts. That’s all.” You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done. You’d want to know if you were him. Consider it an act of goodwill.

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind. What’s done is done. Now he knows, or something close to it. The chips would simply fall where they were meant to.

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him.

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift. She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway. Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding. It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship.

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening.

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter. “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression. “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.” You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person. Sensible.

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front. You suppose it’s your responsibility now. You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell.

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker. “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?” Upspeaking again. How cute.

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.” You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter. “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“ It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice. Um, I can come pick it up today?” There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back. “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out. He truly was a sucker.

“That’s fine. We’re open until six tonight.”

“I’ll be there before dinner.” As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough. “Before six, I mean. Um, is around five-thirty okay?”

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation. Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation. “Of course. We’ll see you then.”

He hangs up immediately.

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last. It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest. You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon. You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday. Somehow, you like it more. The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair. It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person. (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him. Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.

“O-oh. It’s you.” The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified. “I m-mean, just—” He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again. “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.” Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.

“That’s right,” you say evenly, expression neutral. It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary. Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room. You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?” He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store. You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again. He makes the same trip twice more. “Can I have it?” To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed. He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress. Good job, you think.

“Of course.” You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter. Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip. You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything. (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment. Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides. It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended. Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact. “May I have it, please?”

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand. You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable. Is he going to say thank you? Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems. “Why did you do it?” There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?” You know what he means. You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?” Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you. You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him; it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side. For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies. It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his. “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror. He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head. It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin. (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes. Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.” For once, he doesn’t sutter. The lisp doesn’t present itself, either. Was this the same Jungkook? You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?” He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name. How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit? It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?” The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no. You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly. It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.

“I mean like— talk talk.” The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else. His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.

“Sure, we can talk talk.”

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“W-what? No!” Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears. “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding. Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance. He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow. Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down. His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving. You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie. It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall. “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly. “Huh?”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Um—” He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence. There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking. “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out. “You want to talk about… you?”

“That sounds bad.” The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.

“It’s fine. We’ll talk at dinner.”

He nods. You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy. Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?” He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden. Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure. (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.” Everything here is incredible. You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place. His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel. You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish.

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections. Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?” You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute. “So?”

“What did you want to talk about?” If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often. As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper.

“Oh.” Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth. He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle. You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting. He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected. It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline. “What?”

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot. You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip. Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.” It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you. You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel. Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you. You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable. A little different, sure, but altogether nice. Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake. You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not. His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does. (Seriously, how big are his eyes?) You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth. Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?” He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.

“What?” You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out. It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent. Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.” Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare. “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?” The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.

“That’s not my name.” The bite disappears past his teeth. You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook. Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do. Juvenile in a way but enticing in another. You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,” he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down. (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.) “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation. He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations. He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea. Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,” you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.” He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact. “You care about people. You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone. You want to do what’s right. Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey. He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts. He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up. He decorates his apartment with the most random things: limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates. He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years. All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on. (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.) He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his). He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,” he insists from behind his coffee cup.

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable.

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.” It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap. It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now. He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had. Youngin is good for him, though. You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips. When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone. “Girls are scary.”

You laugh. Cackle, really. You can’t help it. He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon. He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak. He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says. (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary. Death is scary. Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.” He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest. From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture; from him, it’s patient. “Girls aren’t scary. Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.”

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good. Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags. Like he’s living life in greyscale.

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze. Instead, he laughs. “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.” You’re adamant, insistent. He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft. An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.

You want to protect him, teach him to fly. Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes. He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it. He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.

“Fine,” he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long. It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused. It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days. You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse. If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton. He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew). He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it. (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?” It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso. It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm.

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him. He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for. To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings. “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is.

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence? (You wish you were joking.) It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.

“This one?” He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face. Medium-weight cashmere. Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist. It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,” you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels. “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law. You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.” He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.

Your response is a shrug. “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.” You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates. You know there’ll be something good on the menu.

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist. You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him. Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink. Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch. That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other. “Hey! You’re leaving already?” It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone. It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes. For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes. “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.” A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh? Well, that’s certainly something new. Good for him, you think.

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.” It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words. “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her. Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes). Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date. It’s a big deal.

“Yeah—“ Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky. “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“I will,” he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place. It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever). It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you. He’s going on a second date, after all. Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant. You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine. Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine. The two of you are friends. You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come. Baby boy was growing up.

“Y’know.” You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment. It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?” He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.

You wiggle your hand dismissively. “Second date and all that.”

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on. It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots. “Just stick around. I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door. “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,” you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake. It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook. This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook: Hey. from jeon jungkook: I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook: If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook: Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date. It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing. (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook: i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops. Of course. He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions. (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook: it’s fine! have fun! to jeon jungkook: turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up. Good, you think. About time he finds someone nice. You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact. He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic.

“I want you to meet her,” he mumbles, like that makes it better. As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over. (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.) You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.” But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is. Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately. “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that. No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman. It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set. Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise. It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch. (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.” His vague response speaks volumes. The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery. When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway. “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!” Of course. It’s obvious. She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that. (He is.) “I’m not coming to dinner.”

“You’re already in the car,” he reasons.

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve. Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.” When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him. Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal. Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,” he repeats, almost pleading. You can’t look at him. You won’t. The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause.

“Fine.” You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off. You’re not actually mad. Just worried. You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand. It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person. You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that. Should, anyway. You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it. He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line. (Truthfully, it’s your fault. All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by. You’ve got a reputation to uphold.

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat? How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer: you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.

“What’re you doing here?” At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness. Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really). “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge. It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired. So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance. He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin. You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day. “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,” the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well. Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,” you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold. You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else. If you had to guess, it’s her perfume. It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses. You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter. You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare. “So?”

“W-what?”

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning. Something’s happened. Must have. There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?” You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him. He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression. He’s stalling, you can tell. You hate when he does this. You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small. “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced. What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges. You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual. Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned. (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.

“So.” You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves. You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest. He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs. Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.” The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said. Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look. It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?” It explodes out, a question that demands an answer.

He’s staring past your head, unblinking. You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp. “I c-couldn’t. It was just…” The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”

“Just—” There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot. He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise. He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket. “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean? Feel right?

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete. It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down. Didn’t he understand that? Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’” You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window. “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately. He doesn’t.

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?”

“You like her, right?”

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out. Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there. “So, you like her.” It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way; you don’t mean it in any way but supportive. You just want him to be happy. “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer. But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise. Hope, maybe? Fear?

“What?” You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight. He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer. (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest. His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair. He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer. Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,” he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.” It’s cruel. “You’re making a bad choice. You’re into this girl. Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements. “I’m not dumb.” There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask. It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay. Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question. You can’t blame her. You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.

“What?” It’s less snark, more sigh. You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter. “You’ve been in a bad mood all week. I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.” She’s right, of course. You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what. “Did something happen?”

You grit your teeth. An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,” she tries again, concerned.

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!” She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly. “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough. So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right. It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload. (Maybe it’d be helpful. Probably. But you’ve never found comfort in other people. At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.” Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on. “It’s fine. Really.” You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I just need to get some sleep.” And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action. It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.” You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater. He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,” he mutters, refusing to meet your stare. At least, you think he’s refusing. It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes. It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away. It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?” You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated. He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding. “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.” This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him. He hums a noise but offers nothing further.

This is how it’ll be then. Fine. If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go. He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth. “I— I don’t— I didn’t say that.”

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now. Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.

“W-what?”

“Tell me.” You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round. “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters. What have I got that she doesn��t?”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. You think he might say no, outright refuse. You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.

“You’re funny. You’re honest. You speak your mind.” You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people. He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him. “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t. You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen. As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.” He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again. “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”

There’s something thick in your throat.

“You make me want to try.” He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it. “Y-you make things not so scary.”

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you. He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself. You make me laugh.” He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.” You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit. Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs. Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words. They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism. “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here. Just a chance.” He’s got a peculiar look on his face. “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, he’s close. Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be. There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down. The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.

“You kind of ruined my life. I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense. You’d ruined his life? (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.) You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.

“I’m kidding.”

It feels like whiplash. You’ve created a monster.

“But you do owe me, I think. So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing. He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams.

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out. He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed. He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money. He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him). If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either. Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge. He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,” he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you. You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom. “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff. It’s adorable.

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends. You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head. You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups. Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together. Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects. Surely there’s more to this. Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?” You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”

“A playsuit?” You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in. Would it even fit? Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns. “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected. Or at least, you think it does. If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim.

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal. He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,” he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds. The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs. He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick. “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.

“Use your words, gorgeous.” As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck. He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob. Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh. He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be. The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.

“You like this, don’t you?” His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy. “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,” you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts. The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin. Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.

“Good girl.” Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips. You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall. Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips. “Such a good girl for me. My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she? Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard. Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate. It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest. Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it. Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear. You know he’ll catch you. “I want you.”

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same. Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm. The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,” he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer. Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am. I am. I am,” you chant, tears welling along your lash line. They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you. It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you.

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much. Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings @veronawrites @notmontae97 @papillonsgf i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

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raysofcrosby · 4 years ago

Text

WLTAY BONUS CHAPTER SNEAK PEEK

below the cut is a sneak peek of the second half of the bonus chapter: "there's a piece of my heart in plymouth, mi." clearly i have zero self control, but enjoy 🤪

“Mommy, can Ollie come in the bath?” Scarlett asked, resting her chin on the side of the bathtub.

“Ollie already had his bath, sweetie, we’re just waiting for you two to finish up so he can go to bed.” Caroline replied, keeping her hands on Oliver’s sides as he held onto the side of the bathtub, patting his hands against it. “I know Ollie, we want to go to bed don’t we?”

“Here, Owwy.” Payson smiled, handing Oliver a purple plastic fish that went with their magnetic fishing pole bath time set. “Fishy.”

Oliver squealed, shuffling his feet side to side as he reached out with his right hand to grab the fish.

“No, PayPay!” Scarlett pouted, grabbing the toy before Oliver could and holding it. “He’s too tiny, he’ll eat it.”

Payson glared at Scarlett, mirroring Matt’s frustrated look before she grabbed the little bucket bobbing along beside her and tossed the water inside at Scarlett. The toy inside of it, flying out and hitting her while the water splashed Oliver as well— who immediately burst into tears both at Scarlett taking the fish and the water hitting him in the face.

“PAYSON!” Scarlett whined. “Why did you do that?”

“Alright, bath time is over,” Caroline said, resting Oliver on her hip before standing up and grabbing the two hooded bath towels. “Come on, let's get out.”

“Mommy no!” Payson cried, still sitting down in the water as Scarlett crawled over the edge of the tub.

“Out PayPay,” Scarlett said, turning towards the bathtub and resting her fists on her hips. “You ruined bath time!”

“I sowwy!” Payson wailed, shaking her head as her face turned red and tears fell down her cheeks. “Stay pwease”

“You know we don’t throw toys, Payson,” Caroline sighed, leaning over the bath tub and reaching out for Payson’s hand, only for Payson to snatch it away and scoot back. “Do you want me to count to three? If I have to count to three, you’ll have a 1 minute time out tomorrow.”

“No twree,” she cried, splashing her legs in the water. “No twree, no twree, no twree!”

Caroline closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling as she opened her eyes. Bath time was so much easier whenever Matt or even Ethan were around. It was an extra pair of hands who could take Oliver while she attended to Payson, or even the other way around. But with the season going on, Matt would be traveling every now and then and Ethan was off in Plymouth, leaving just her to sort out the circus.

Most days were good days and the nights were good as well, but even the good days had bad nights— nights where one of the kids were just a little extra tired and grumpy and would push and test the limits— nights like this where all Caroline wanted to do was put them to bed, pour a glass of wine and just cry from the overwhelming routine she was still getting used to.

“Scar, sweetie can you go get Ollie’s walker for Mommy?” Caroline asked, looking down at Scarlett had put on her hooded towel and was holding Payson’s.

“Okay, Mommy,”she nodded, looking back at Payson. “Ethie would say you a bad girl, PayPay.”

“Scarlett Faith, go,” Caroline sighed, nudging her out of the bathroom.

“I want Ethie!” Payson cried, still sitting in the tub.

“Payson can you please get up? It’s time to go to bed,” Caroline asked, Oliver still crying and pressing his face into her side as she held him on her hip.

“No!” She yelled, crossing her arms. “I want Ethie!”

Yeah, well me too, Caroline thought.

“Ethie’s at school,” she sighed, leaning over and reaching for Payson’s hand again. “Just grab mommy’s hand and we’ll-“

“No! Mommy, mean!” Payson sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand before letting it plop back in the water. “Want Daddy! Want Ethie, no you!”

“Here, Mommy,” Scarlett said, pushing Oliver’s walker into the bathroom and standing in the doorway.

“Payson Rose, you have three seconds before I put Ollie down and pick you up. And if I have to pick you up, you will get a timeout tomorrow and no iPad.”

“No!” Payson pouted, crossing her arms.

“1…”

“I just wan play!” She cried, leaning forward and collecting as many toys in her hands before bringing her legs up to her chest and hugging the toys to her chest. “Let play!”

“2…” Caroline said, trying to tune out Oliver’s sobs in her ear, no doubt Payson’s tantrum making him cry too.

Payson shook her head, dropping her toys into the tub and scooting back towards the faucet. “Mommy, no!”

“3,” Caroline sighed, turning around and placing a crying Oliver into his walker before bending down and grabbing Payson’s ice cream hooded towel and climbing into the tub.

Payson, clearly tired, just cried and cried as Caroline stood her up and placed the towel on her. She brought her left hand up to her mouth, placing her middle and ring finger into her mouth as she kept crying, even after Caroline picked her up and placed her onto the bathroom floor.

Caroline could see the tiredness written all over Payson’s face as she dried her off with the towel, Payson sniffling in between sobs as she looked at Caroline with her big blue eyes, her fingers still in her mouth as Caroline used the hoodie to dampen her soaked hair. “M’sowwy Mo-mommy,” she sniffled, bottom lip quivering as she took her fingers out of her mouth and wrapped her arms around Caroline's neck. “I’m not bad girl.”

“I know Pay,” Caroline sighed, rubbing her back as she sat back on her heels and brought the hood down off of Payson’s head, using part of the towel to wipe away the snot and tears from her face. “You’re not a bad girl, you’re just tired. But you know we don’t throw toys, right sweetie?”

She nodded, sniffling. “No throw toys.”

“Good girl,” Caroline smiled, holding onto her sides. “We still have to do a timeout tomorrow because Mommy had to count to three, but only for a minute, okay?”

Payson nodded again, her pouty lips only accentuating her baby cheeks and her dark, long lashes framing her teary blue eyes. “I sowwy, Mommy.”

“It’s okay, baby.” Caroline replied, welcoming the hug from the tired toddler. “Make sure you apologize to Scar and we’ll get you ready for bed, okay?”

Payson leaned back, filled her cheeks with air as she puckered her mouth, waiting for a kiss. Caroline laughed and gave her a kiss, only for Payson to blow the air out of her cheeks like a raspberry and giggling. Something Matt always did whenever it came time to kiss them goodnight.

“You are your Daddy’s daughter,” Caroline laughed, kissing the top of her head before looking at Scarlett. “Scarlett, will you take Payson to your guys’ room? I’ll be right behind you.” Caroline said, reaching back into the tub and lifting the drain.

“Okay, Mommy,” Scarlett nodded, walking by Oliver and over to Payson, pulling the hood onto her head. “Come on PayPay.”

Payson was still sniffling as Scarlett put her arm over her shoulder and walked alongside her and out of the bathroom, heading to their shared room. Leaving Caroline and Oliver in the bathroom.

“Are you ready for bed my sweet boy?” Caroline asked, bending down and taking Oliver out of his walker. He had stopped crying the moment Payson walked out of the bathroom, his cheeks still wet from tears as he yawned. “Was that a yawn?” Caroline gasped playfully, poking his belly as he curled up against her. “Let’s get you to bed,” she whispered, kissing the top of his head.

She turned left down the hall where Scarlett and Payson’s room was, poking her head into the room to see them sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. “I’ll be right back to get you girls ready for bed, okay? Say goodnight, Ollie.” Caroline whispered, waving her hand at the two girls.

Oliver lifted his arm slightly, waving it lazily before bringing it back into his chest, hand grabbing at her necklace and instead getting the collar of her shirt.

Scarlett ran over, tugging at Caroline’s shirt and standing up on her tippy toes as she puckered her lips to kiss him goodnight. Caroline leaned down and let Scarlett kiss his cheek. “Night night Ollie,” Scarlett smiled, turning around. “Payson Rose, say night night to Ollie, now! Ethie would!”

Payson pushed herself up onto her feet and walked over. Her blonde curls were already dry from having the hood on her head, her blue eyes still wet with tears and Matt’s signature pout on her face as she leaned up and kissed Oliver’s cheek. “Night Ollie.”

“If you guys are in your pj’s by the time I get back, I’ll read you a bedtime story.” Caroline said, standing back up as the Scarlett scrambled to their closet, pushing the door open where their plastic dresser had a drawer that held their pajamas.

Caroline walked down the hall towards her and Matt’s bedroom, stopping at the door on the right where Oliver’s nursery was. They were preparing to move his crib over into his own room next month, so for right now, they did everything in the nursery, but he always slept in their room.

Oliver has his fingers twisting in her hair as she reached into the dresser to grab him some pajamas before laying him down on his changing table, having to blow raspberries against his cheek to get him to giggle and let go of her hair. She handed him one of his favorite toys, a small stuffed turtle, to keep him occupied while she put on his pajamas, getting his pants on first and then his owlet sock before tickling his belly as she took the turtle away so she could sit him up and put on his shirt.

“Is it bedtime?” She asked, smiling as she tickled his sides, getting him to giggle as he brought a hand up to his mouth. “Yes it is, it’s time to go night night.”

She picked him up and cradled him in her arms as she left the nursery and walked into her bedroom over to his crib. She leaned down and kissed his cheek before lowering him down into his crib. She rested her arms on the side of the crib, reaching down and rubbing his belly with her left hand. “Sweet dreams Ollie,” she smiled, as Oliver cooed and grabbed at her hand as she reached up and poked his nose. “I love you.”

His dark brown hair was fluffy and his eyes had recently started to darken from the light blue he was born with, to Caroline’s hazel— officially making him her own little mini, besides the dimples in both cheeks whenever he smiled, that was all Matt.

She reached over by the dresser and turned on the galaxy night light that spun stars out on the ceiling, something they only kept on for the first 30 minutes after they put him down for him to go to sleep. She walked out of the room, leaving the bedroom door open just a crack before walking back down the hall and heading to the girls room.

She walked in to see Payson already curled up beneath her blanket of her new crib toddler bed, since she was getting way too good at escaping her crib, and Scarlett sitting on her bed holding a bunch of books in her arms. “Did you cover Payson up?” Caroline whispered, walking over to Payson.

“Yes, Mommy,” Scarlett nodded. “She was too tired to wait.”

Who would’ve thought that the peaceful curly headed blonde curled up beneath her Disney Princess blanket had been throwing the world's biggest tantrum only minutes earlier. Caroline pulled the blanket down below Payson’s shoulders before leaning down and kissing her temple, then turning around and walking towards Scarlett’s bed. “Okay, what do you want to hear tonight?”

“These please,” Scarlett smiled, handing the stack of books up to Caroline.

“I don’t know about all of these,” Caroline laughed, taking the books from her and sitting down, spreading them out on the bed between her and Scarlett. “I saw those big yawns during bath time, I know how tired you are. So if you could have only one story tonight...which would it be?”

Scarlett looked at the row of books and picked one up, handing it to Caroline before crawling out of bed and grabbing the rest of her books in her arms, running over to the book nook and coming back over, crawling back into bed. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Caroline sat next to her and rested the book between them before reading the cover. “I am Not Sleepy and I Will Not Go to Bed, featuring Charlie and Lola,” Caroline read, smiling down at Scarlett. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Scarlett giggled, shaking her head as she nudged the book open. “Just read Mommy.”

Caroline smiled as she turned the pages before reaching the first of the story. “I have this little sister Lola. She is small and very funny. Sometimes I have to keep an eye on her. Sometimes Mum and Dad ask me to try and get her off to bed. This is a hard job because Lola likes to stay up late.” Caroline turned the page and looked down at Scarlett as she rolled onto her left side, curling up against Caroline’s leg.

“Lola likes to stay up colouring and scribbling and sticking and wriggling and bouncing and most of all chattering,” she turned the page. “Usually, when I say, ‘Lola, Mum says it is time for bed,’ she says, ‘No! I am NOT sleepy and I WILL NOT go to bed.’ I say–”

“No mommy,” Scarlett said, reaching her hand up and touching the page. “You have to do the voice like Ethie does.”

Caroline frowned but quickly recovered with a half-hearted smile. “Well, how does Ethie say it?”

“Like this,” she spoke, trying to deepen her voice as best as her four year old self could. “Talk like Ethie, he reads this to me, ‘cause it's our book.”

“Okay, sweetie, I’ll try my best,” Caroline nodded, clearing her throat and turning back to the book. “I say, ‘But all the birds have gone to sleep.’ She says, ‘But I am not a bird, Charlie.’” Caroline tried her best to mimic Ethan’s voice and when she didn’t receive another critique from the still awake Scarlett, she figured it did the job and kept reading.

As she flipped through the pages, she occasionally checked to see if Scarlett was still awake and as they neared the end of the book, she was still fighting off falling asleep.

“‘Don’t be silly, Charlie, I wouldn’t let a hippipotimus get into my bed. But I think there’s one in yours,’ says Lola, as she climbs into bed. ‘Goodnight Charlie. Goodnight Hippipotimus,’ ‘Goodnight, Lola.’” Caroline finished, looking down to see that Scarlett had finally fallen asleep, still clutching the stuffed light brown bunny from build-a-bear that Keith had gotten for her birthday eight months ago. He’d dressed it as a St. Louis Blues bear as a joke against Matt, putting a sundress as another outfit in the box it came in, but Scarlett loved it– much to Matt’s dismay.

Caroline slowly stood up and closed the book, walking over to the small nook and putting it away before walking back over to Scarlett and covering her up the rest of the way. “Goodnight sweetheart,” she whispered, brushing back her dirty blonde hair and kissing her forehead before walking out of the room, turning off the light and turning on the constellation projector light, dimming the brightness and closing the door.

And then...it was quiet.

No crying, no yelling, no giggles or playing...it was just...quiet.

7:30 at night three months ago, she’d at least hear the TV in the living room going off with Matt meeting her in the living room so they could watch together. 7:30 at night three months ago, there would be the sound of video games, a netflix show or a facetime call coming from Ethan’s room.

But now both were silent and until the late morning hours when Matt came home...it would be just her.

Three months later and she still hasn’t gotten used to the neat and tidy empty bedroom across the hall from the girls room, Ethan no longer occupying it...at least for the next six months.

Caroline turned off the hall light and walked back down the hall to their bedroom, slowly opening the door and walking in, closing it behind her. She walked over to Oliver’s crib to see that he was sound asleep. She leaned against the crib, staring down at the sleeping baby and...just felt sad, that’s all she could describe. When Scarlett and Payson were born, she had the same feeling– knowing just how fleeting these baby days were before they turned into toddlers, then school aged children and then high schoolers who got embarrassed anytime you tried to say something and went off to fancy hockey programs and attended a high school almost 3,000 miles away.

It was just something that came with parenting– that knowledge that you were actively watching your kids grow up and turn into their own individual personalities. It’s not a bad thing, Caroline loves catching the little differences as they get older. Ethan calling her Momma turned into him calling her Mom the moment he turned 13, though when he was feeling super sentimental, he’d fall back into calling her Momma. Scarlett, ever the sass Queen, always used to climb up onto Matt’s lap the moment he sat down anywhere, but now she’ll nudge Payson to do it instead. And Payson, six months away from turning two, used to refuse to eat her sliced banana pieces, but now she’ll bounce besides Matt or Caroline chanting ‘nana’ as they cut one up for her.

Even Oliver, having turned five months old just a bit ago, was starting to babble more, inputting his baby gibberish whenever he saw someone and especially when Matt would be laying on the floor with him, gibbering right back. They were all growing up in front of her eyes and while they had been the entire time, it wasn’t until tonight that she realized just how sad it made her feel.

It didn’t help that Olivier was almost an exact replica of Ethan when he was a baby, and looking down at his sleeping figure, reminded Caroline of all the times she used to just sit and watch Ethan sleep when he was a baby. And it was only worse when she remembered that Ethan wasn’t down the hall anymore and he wasn’t that little baby that relied on her or the toddler who would shower her face in kisses or the child who would crawl into her bed when he felt sick. He was an almost 16 year old teenager who was off in Plymouth, following the footsteps of his Dad and Uncle and chasing his dream of playing hockey with some of the best.

Still, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t wish that he was that little eight year old again who wanted her to wash his hair because it made him feel better and then would crawl into her bed and snuggle beside her.

When Ethan had mentioned he got invited to the evaluation camp, Caroline was thrilled for him. She’d been through that process with Matt and knew just how big of an opportunity that was. Being invited to the evaluation camp meant that the NTDP scouts saw something special about you and your talent. She was already on maternity leave and being a month away from her due date, she was unable to go. But with both of their families already in Calgary, Keith and her Dad flew with Ethan to Plymouth and watched after him while he went through the tryout process. And when he came back, the next two months were just a waiting game for Ethan while the family adjusted around Oliver joining the bunch.

And when Ethan came home and let them know he was one of 22 players that got chosen for the U17 team, she was ecstatic for him, even through the moments she knew what that meant, she was happy. She was on the other side before, as a girlfriend, but now she was on this side as a parent and while she was happy for Ethan, she was also already missing him even though he was standing right in front of her. Matt was no help, because how would Matt know how to get through it? So she had relied on Chantal and Keith for a little bit of guidance, Chantal, as always, being the literal angel she was and helping Caroline navigate through what to expect now that the baby she’d raised for almost 16 years, was off and out of the house two whole years earlier than expected.

Even with all of her help, there was never a point where Caroline didn’t miss having Ethan with them in Calgary. And while the always missing him, super sad moments had faded out in September, there were still times even now, almost three months later where she would catch herself calling out for Ethan to come and help her or stop by his room to ask hima question. Those heavy moments of missing him have faded, but that didn’t mean there still were moments like this when she just got into bed and cried.

She would’ve called Matt, but he was in the middle of a flight back from Montreal and wouldn’t land for another two and a half hours. So she just turned off Oliver’s night light, crawled into bed and curled up beneath her blanket and just cried about how this was going to be her first birthday since she had Ethan, where he wouldn’t be there to celebrate with her...until she fell asleep.

“Mommy,” Scarlett whispered, leaning her face closer to Caroline’s ear and nudging her arm. “Mommmmmyyyyyy.”

Caroline opened her eyes, just as Scarlett sat back down onto her feet and her right hand holding onto Caroline’s arm. “What’s wrong?” Caroline asked, exhaling heavily as she sat herself up, looking over towards Olivers crib to see no disturbance. “Are you and Payson okay?”

“I had a bad dream,” Scarlett pouted, leaning against Caroline. “Where’s Ethie?”

“Oh, Scar…” Caroline sighed, patting her lap and letting Scarlett climb up onto it, wrapping her arms around her once Scarlett curled into her chest. “Ethie’s at school, remember? We said bye bye in Michigan in August and then we got on the big airplane.”

“But I have a bad dream,” Scarlett whined, rubbing her tiny fist against her eyes as she started to sob quietly. “Ethie a-always lets m-me sleep in his bed a-and gives me s-snuggles.”

“Sh, I know, sweetie,” Caroline whispered, rocking Scarlett back and forth. “Do you want to sleep in here tonight?”

Scarlett shook her head, wiping her face against Caroline’s shirt. “I want to sleep in Ethie’s room.”

“Okay, we’ll go to Ethie’s, just sit right here for Mommy really quick, okay?” Caroline sighed, reaching out and tossing the blankets off of her. She put Scarlett down onto the bed before walking over to the baby monitor that was sitting just by the end of Oliver’s crib, turning it on and walking back towards the bed, grabbing the other monitor on the bedside table. “Okay, ready?”

“Ready, Mommy,” Scarlett nodded, crawling off of the bed and grabbing Caroline’s hand with her right hand, dragging her towards the end of the bed before bending down and grabbing something.

“What are you holding, Scar?” Caroline asked softly, leading the two of them out of the darkened bedroom and back down the just as darkened hall.

“Groot,” Scarlett replied, her feet pattering against the floor as she tried to tug Caroline ahead of her.

As they stopped just outside of Ethan’s now opened door– which Caroline was more than positive had been shut earlier– she noticed that Scarlett had been kind enough to shut her bedroom door so Payson wouldn’t wander out. Scarlett clearly wandered into Ethan’s room earlier, not only because the door was open, but because she was holding onto the arm of the giant Groot plush Ethan had picked from the prize counter at Dave and Busters so he could match with Matt’s smaller one.

“Here, let me hold that baby and you climb onto Ethie’s bed,” Caroline whispered, taking the giant Groot from Scarlett’s tiny hand and nudging her into Ethan’s empty room.

When Scarlett climbed up onto Ethan’s bed, she crawled all the way over to the other side and dug herself beneath the blanket before holding her arms out for Groot. “Groot, please.”

Caroline handed the plush over, Scarlett shoving the body of Groot beneath the blanket before hugging it toward her and rolling over onto her side. Caroline peeled back the rest of the blankets and climbed into the bed, barely getting settled before Scarlett scooted into her side, Groot resting between them as she reached her arm over him and gripped onto Caroline’s shirt.

“Do you feel a little better now?” Caroline asked, brushing back Scarlett’s hair.

“Yes,” Scarlett sniffled, nodding her head as she buried it further into Caroline’s side. “When is Ethie coming back?”

“Daddy’s playing in Detroit next weekend, so instead of trick-or-treating, we’re going to fly out to watch Daddy play on Friday and then Ethie play on Halloween, Saturday. Daddy has the day off, so we’ll get to watch Ethie and then fly home together.”

“Is Ethie coming back with us?” She asked, tilting her head up at Caroline. “Or does he stay there?”

“Ethie will have to stay there sweetie, but he’ll be back around Christmas,” Caroline replied, a smile on her face. “Which means you’ll get to make cookies, play in the snow and maybe Ethie will help you write your letter to Santa.”

“And watch Grinch with me?”

Caroline laughed, nodding her head. “Oh yeah, Ethie will definitely watch the Grinch with you.”

Scarlett snuggled closer into Caroline’s side, still sniffling. “Do you miss Ethie too, Mommy?”

“Yeah,” Caroline whispered, exhaling heavily as she rested her cheek against the top of Scarlett’s head. “Mommy misses Ethie too.”

As she rubbed Scarlett’s back, Caroline couldn’t help but think about how this used to be her and Ethan. How back when it was the two of them, he used to crawl into bed and cuddle up beside her whenever he was sick or sad, or even just because. She would play with his hair or rub his back or his belly until he fell asleep and then she’d lay there thinking about how small he used to be and how sad, yet excited she was that he was growing up, but that he always came to her for that little bit of comfort. He was turning 16 in less than two months and long gone were the days where he’d ask her to wash his hair or crawl into their bed just because.

But there were still those moments where he’d just wrap his arms around her neck and hug her if she was sitting on the couch or how after a game, she was always the first person he’d give a hug too, after Scarlett rushed over to him. It was in those moments that she knew that even though he was grown up now and hugging or having your mom kiss you on the cheek was social suicide– he was still that boy who loved his Mom and would want that comfort, no matter how old he got.

#hehehe ugh i love this #surprise more children besides scarlett 🤪🤪🤪#wltay

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dramaqueeenamby · 4 years ago

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𝙎𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝗈𝖿 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 | seven

Parings: CEO!Chris Hemsworth x Stripper!OC // Words: 7.8K // Type: Series // Taglist: Yes/No (Inbox me to be tagged or removed) Warnings: Sexual harassment, racial themes, discussions pertaining to child death, miscarriage, alcohol/drug use, and suicide attempts. Angst.

A/N: I'm so sorry for the inexcusable delay in updates. This chapter is hella long and perhaps should have been split into two, but I promised ya'll some answers in the last chapter, so here they are!

“What is that haircut?”

“Why are you zooming in?”

Kaya said nothing, continuing to pinch her fingers to gain a closer look, her smile widening by the second. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding. “

Chris rolled his eyes. “All children go through phases.”

“This is beyond a phase, my friend. Don’t even get me started on the outfit.” As she erupted in yet another fit of giggles, he took advantage of the opportunity to snatch the iPad away from her.

“Go to sleep.”

Quieting herself down, she wiped at her eyes. “No. Come on. I’m enjoying this, and like you said, you were a dumb kid. How were you supposed to know these photos would haunt you till’ the end of time?”

“Only if they get out.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, sir.”

Chris closed the app and looked over at her. “What about you?”

Kaya’s brow lifted. “What about me?”

“What about your phases?”

She snorted. “Absolutely not.” He continued to stare her down, prompting her to cave, a surprising move even for her. Kaya’s tenacity was typically much stronger than that. “Fine.”

She grabbed her phone and unlocked it, opening Google Photos and scrolling mindlessly. She knew that any horrifically embarrassing snapshots would be from as far back as her library went. The older the photo, the higher the likelihood she would regret ever caving.

It took roughly two minutes for her to locate a set, her eyes shutting and a small moan leaving her partially closed mouth.

He smirked. “Found it?”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You’re going to make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Without a doubt.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “At least you’re honest.” Blowing out a breath, she issued a formal forewarning. “In my defense, I was young and dumb.”

“How is that diff—fine, I will reserve my judgment.”

“Liar.” When he said nothing else, she took another deep breath and gradually pulled her phone away from her breast, twisting her wrist so that he could see the screen. “I give you, thebaddestputa69.”

She watched the corner of his lips lift upward as he fought off a smile in favor of a smirk. “Hotmail or aol?” Her surprise at his knowledge of the fallen email servers must have shown because he commented, “I’m old, not ancient.”

She matched his smirk and leaned over to whisper. “Hotmail. Definitely hotmail.”

“AIM username?”

“Come on, the same as my email. I wasn’t creative enough to have multiple aliases.”

He chuckled, grabbing her phone to examine the photo. “I certainly do not miss the peace sign era.”

“I’m pretty sure I used that same pose in all of my photos back then.”

He gestured to the plastered graphic that read ‘jealousy is a disease, get well soon’. “With the same masterful level of editing, I’m sure.”

“But of course, blingee and picnik were a staple.”

A comfortable silence befell them as he returned her phone, and she quickly swiped up to close the app. Kaya was grateful that he didn’t swipe right or left, something she was expecting him to do, if she was being completely honest with herself.

Kaya yawned and naturally laid her head on his shoulder as she reached over to grab the book she was reading when they somehow got on the topic of rebellious and wild phases of days of past.

“Are we th—”

“Finish that sentence, and I will personally throw you out of this damn plane myself.”

Kaya looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth pronounced. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“No, it was a legitimate question. However, it stopped being one when you asked me the fifth time.”

“I’m just trying to keep the conversation going. Damn.”

“No, you’re just trying to pester me.”

“Look, it’s obvious you don’t want to hear me talk anymore, so I’m just going to shut my mouth for the remainder of the flight.” He snorted. “What?”

“We both know that’s not possible.” He finally broke his gaze from his phone as he looked over with that knowing smirk that she despised. “You always have to have the last word.”

“That is not true.”

“Kaya, you’re like a child.”

“Keep it up, and you’ll be the one who’s personally tossed from this jet.”

“See what I mean.”

Groaning, she threw her hands up and shook the book in her right hand. “This is the second book in this series.”

“And?”

“And I started the series when we were still on the taxi.”

He shrugged. “Read slower.”

“Chris!”

He laughed, reaching to place his hand on her thigh as she sighed while banging her head back against the headrest. “Relax.”

“Don’t you think if I could, I would?”

“You were doing great five minutes ago.”

“That was in the past.”

“Next time, we’re taking separate jets.”

She didn’t know why but hearing him refer to future happenings both excited and saddened her, for more reasons than one. She cleared her throat. “This is a work trip, right?” He looked down at her as she placed the book down on the ground and held onto his bicep. “You know, something for your company.”

He studied her for a moment and looked up, closing his eyes as he laid his head back against the headrest. “I have the cover of this month’s GQ Italia.”

“Fancy,” she remarked, still unsatisfied with his answer-non answer. “So, I was right. This is a work thing.”

Chris thought about what she said, what she asked, as well as his response before he replied. “They offered to contract a photographer in LA.”

Brows scrunched, she had to ask, now more confused than she was just a few minutes ago. “So why go to them?”

His silence only irked her, the seconds dragging into minutes, which felt like hours. Frustrated and impatient, she called his name again. “Chris-”

“Jesus,” was all she heard before his lips were on hers, palm of his hand pressed against her cheek. Everything else after that was a sensual blur. His other hand moved to her hip, pulling her onto his lap, never once breaking their kiss. She placed her hands on his shoulders, giving a light squeeze, inching her body closer to his, close enough to feel the heat that always emanated over him.

And then, it was over.

Eyes fluttering and breath staggering, she nearly whined when he ran his thumb over her swollen bottom lip.

“This isn’t work for me.”

----

“This is our room?”

Chris looked up and chuckled, watching Kaya spin around the middle, eyes soaking in their suite. He placed her bag near the closet while crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“It is.”

Kaya nodded and grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt, tugging it over her head. She extended her arm out and turned around, lifting a brow. “And we have maid service, correct?”

He eyed her. “Of course.”

Kaya smirked and let the garment fall to the floor.

Chris chuckled. “You wanna explain that?”

“What?” She played innocent, fingers toying with the waistband of her joggers as she began to shimmy out of them. “Staying in a fancy hotel where I don’t have t0 clean up after myself?” She walked toward him, moving to grab her suitcase so that she could find her next outfit. “Granted, we have the maid service at home, but—” Both Christopher and Kaya paused at her statement, equally surprised by how easily it flowed, but more so with the statement itself.

Defense immediately kicked in and Kaya cleared her throat. “I mean, ya know, your place.” She refused to make eye contact that exceeded ten seconds, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and dragging it in the direction of what looked like the bathroom.

“Dibs.”

Her feet weren’t moving fast enough for her liking. In fact, they were slow enough that Chris was somehow able to cross the room and grab her by her arm. She looked up, managing to remain calm while inwardly panicking.

God, please don’t let him ask anything.

“Don’t take too long.”

She swallowed. “Why?”

Her grip on the handle tightened when he moved his hand to her face, the back of it brushing against her cheek. Had he been paying close enough attention, he would have noticed the way she shivered at his touch.

“You want dinner, don’t you?”

-----

“This isn’t exactly what I meant.”

Kaya looked up from her pizza, pausing mid chew. “What? Pizza in Italy? This is goals.”

He intended to take her to a fine restaurant, one where only the elite could afford to dine. Instead, she requested pizza delivered to their room. Kaya never ceased to surprise him. “And why are you eating pizza with a fork?”

She shrugged, adjusting the thin strap of her shirt. “Because pizza is messy, and my life's already messy enough. I avoid when I can.”

Chris didn’t say anything, simply watching her eat. She caught his gaze and looked away. If she could, she’d go back in time and stop herself from ever saying what she did. It’d ruined everything. He’d been acting different around her since, and she hated that. She also hated that she hated it.

Since when did she give a flying fuck about what people thought of her? Let alone him.

It was out of character for her, and she didn’t like it.

She didn’t like it at all.

Similarly, Chris also found it difficult to focus on anything other than the encounter from earlier, but not for the reasons Kaya thought.

Not even close.

“So, what’s the agenda for this trip?”

He chuckled and brought the champagne to his lips. “And ruin the surprise?”

Her eyes narrowed as she replaced the fork with her fingers so that she could eat the crust piece by piece. “What surprise?”

“What kind of question is that? Who gives away a surprise?”

“Are you capable of ever just answering my questions with a straight answer?”

He pretended to think. “I could.”

“But?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You and fun? Never realized they were synonymous.”

“I’d like to think we have fun.”

“We have sex. Really, really, great sex.”

“You don’t consider that fun?”

“Fun isn’t a strong enough word to describe it.” He lifted a brow, and she scoffed, tossing a red pepper packet in his direction. “Stop it. I am trying to have a mature conversation here.”

“Not quite sure how possible that is when both parties are inebriated.”

“Bullshit. You know damn well neither one of us is drunk. You haven’t seen me drunk. Hell, I haven’t seen me drunk in a while.”

The way her tone changed toward the end of her sentence garnered his interest. “Why not?”

She looked at him, her smile faltering as she nervously cleared her throat. “I—uh—I get really bad migraines, and Excedrin is the only thing that works for me.” Telling him the truth, well, a fraction of the truth, felt strange yet relieving, probably because she’d spent so much of her life hiding and lying that the truth was unfamiliar territory. “Needless to say, meds and alcohol? Never really a good combo.”

“You’re drinking now.”

“I haven’t taken any medicine yet.”

“Maybe you won’t have to.”

She smiled sadly. “I will.” A beat. “It’s all I have.” Kaya snatched another piece of her crust and swallowed fully before explaining. “That’s why my sleep schedule, if you can even call it that, is so fucked up.”

He thought about it. “Excedrin has caffeine.”

“An insane amount.”

“It helps your migraines—”

“And keeps me up in return.” When he grew quiet, she offered. “Trust me. The insomnia is much better than the pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

She grimaced, eyes darting in either direction. “Why?”

He sighed and ran his hands all over his face. “That’s why you get so upset when I wake you up.”

“I wouldn’t say upset.”

“You threatened to slit my throat in my sleep.”

“Okay, maybe I was a little upset,” she confessed, and they shared a laugh before his tone grew serious again.

“I’ll be mindful of that.” Head tilted to the side, a sign she was still confused, he continued. “So that you can sleep.”

She smiled teasingly, abandoning the last bit of her food, and pushing her plate to the side. “Is that consideration I hear?”

“It is.”

The way he was looking at her, the lack of typical sarcasm in his tone, it was both welcoming and conflicting. Crawling across the floor, she moved his plate to the side and climbed into his lap.

Hands on his shoulders, she lowered her voice and whispered into his ear. “Well, I’m up right now.”

He made a sound and brought his hands to her hips. “You are.” Her eyes shut when his lips moved to her shoulder. “You should get some sleep.”

Immediately, she coiled back and glared. “Are you serious right now?” He laughed, which only upset her further as he stood up, her legs locking around his waist. “It’s been at least 8 hours.”

“You keeping a timer or something?”

“Look.” She waited for him to place her on the bed before she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and tugging so that he laid back on the mattress. She quickly climbed on top of him. “If there’s one thing I know about us, we are ideal intimate partners. Our sexual chemistry is astronomical.”

His eyes drank her in. “Is that it?”

“Is what it?”

His voice lowered. “Is that all you think we have?”

At that moment, Kaya realized a couple of things. This was wrong. She was suddenly very much uncomfortable. And this was a mistake. This was why she didn’t tell the truth. It meant putting yourself at risk for being vulnerable.

She was never good with that.

Clearing her throat, she climbed off him and flashed a crafty smile. “I’m gonna go shower.” She couldn’t handle seeing his face, so she turned around, purposely pretending she had to look around the room to search for her luggage.

“You should know I hate sleeping with blankets.” Kaya needed to redirect the conversation to another topic. This was becoming all too much for her.

He sat up and rolled his shoulders. “So, strip the bed? Got it.”

“Absolutely not. I could freeze.”

“You just said—”

Kaya stood by the door that led to the living room area and smiled sadly. “I’m a hot ass mess, Chris.” A beat. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”

-------

We need to talk when you get a chance. Please?

No matter how many times she looked at the phone, a new incoming gray message never appeared. She waited and waited, even scrolling up only for it to bounce back with no change.

She missed Nia. She missed their banter. She missed making tik toks with her. And she especially missed the advice giving, of which she could desperately use right about now.

Something was happening between them. With her and Chris. Of which she didn’t know, nor did she understand. It drove her mad because it was a new experience, one where she didn’t feel as though she always had to walk on eggshells.

Being with Chris….

“God.” She ran her hand over her face. What the hell was she doing? She wasn’t with Chris. Not like that, anyway. This was a business transaction. They were both using each other for selfish purposes.

Maybe it was the sex. Nia always warned her that behind every sexual encounter, there was at least some trace of feelings.

Kaya always thought that was bullshit.

Now….now she wasn’t so sure.

“You alright?”

She looked up from her chair and saw Chris walk in. She chewed the inside of her cheek as he sat down in the chair opposite of her. Kaya took in his wardrobe, so casual and laid back. She’d never seen him in denim before, but he looked good.

She didn’t even know the photographer, but she was a fan. A billionaire in Levi’s? Iconic.

“How does it feel to dress like us common folk?”

“Poor.” He winked as she glared. “We should be done soon.”

“Don’t rush on my part. The snacks here are delicious, and who knows, I could play dress up.” She wiggled her brows and straightened when there was a knock on the door.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the photographer spoke up and offered Kaya a friendly smile. “You’re Kaya, yes? I’m Elena.”

Kaya was surprised by the fact that this woman was both speaking to her and actually knew who she was, so her response was delayed. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” She offered her hand and noticed the woman was staring at her. Welp. It was nice while it lasted. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized but continued to stare. “It’s just...has anyone ever told you that you have amazing bone structure?”

Kaya sputtered. “Not unless they wanted something from me.”

Elena smiled. “Well, I suppose this is no different.”

“I don’t understand,” Kaya asked, looking over at Chris. He was surprisingly quiet.

“How about we get some shots of the both of you?”

She immediately protested. “Oh no. I—I’m just here for moral support.”

“You did say you wanted to play dress up,” he reminded. She glared. Of course he would choose to speak up now.

She turned her narrowed eyes on him and harshly whispered. “Not while being photographed.”

He placed his hand over hers. “Relax.”

Kaya remembered that they weren’t alone and therefore, had to keep up the act. Even if it was starting to feel less and less like acting.

“I’m used to people watching, not photographing.” He lifted a brow. Laughing, she slapped his chest and took a deep breath. She looked over at Elena. “Will I at least get to see them before you pick which ones to use? If any.”

“Of course.”

Kaya caved. “Fine.” He kissed the top of her head and mouthed a thank you. “You owe me.”

“Sure, I do,” he dismissed, slapping her on her ass as Elena grabbed her to drag her away.

“Time to make magic.”

-----

It was a bad idea, one of many that had occurred, Kaya realized.

When she joked about wanting to play dress—up, she didn’t think that it would actually happen. She didn’t think that she’d become involved in his shoot. Kaya especially didn’t expect to have as much….fun as she did.

And she hated that, too. The fact that she managed to smile and laugh more in one setting than she had in, hell, longer than she could remember. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

She really, really didn’t like the way Chris looked at her every time she walked onto set in a new look, and there were a couple of them. The way he focused on her, eyes taking in every bit of her form, all the way down from her shoes up to her hair. Like he didn’t want to look away. Like he couldn’t look away. She despised the way he held her when they were photographed together, often being the reason for her smile or laughter with his comments that he whispered into her ear, sneaking in a kiss against her temple or holding her against him.

It was all so domestic and sweet, and it made no sense.

He was starting to make no sense.

And she especially didn’t understand why she was putting off leaving the bathroom, having sat on the toilet for at least 15 minutes.

As if on cue, two loud knocks on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

“I’m coming, damnit.”

“That’s what you said last time. Come on, Kaya.” She was both surprised and annoyed that it was Chris. She expected it to be members of the glam team that he’d hired to help her prepare for the GQ function he was invited to, and of course, she was forced to accompany him. Turns out he wasn’t just chosen for the cover. He was man of the year. “We’re going to be late.”

“Maybe you should just leave me behind,” she muttered.

“Maybe I can just kick this damn door down,” he countered.

“Then you’ll have to pay for the damages.”

“Then I’ll buy the damn hotel,” he shot back testily. “I’m not going to ask you again, Kaya.”

She scowled and rolled her neck. Kaya knew he was being serious. The bastard could buy his way out of anything.

If only….

Blowing out a deep breath, she swallowed and stood, holding up her dress. It was undoubtedly beautiful, gold, a slit in the middle of her chest and on her left leg exposing more skin than she would have thought appropriate. Her curls were styled in a fancy updo, and her makeup was equally as bold as her dress, finalized with a red lip. She knew that she looked good, and that’s what scared her.

Chris had been looking at her like that all day, and she couldn’t keep handling it.

If she could even consider it handling. Managing was perhaps a better term. Poorly managing was the perfect term.

Kaya ripped open the door and plastered on a fake smile. “Happy?”

And there it was, his eyes widened and softened as he gave her a onceover. “And don’t tell me I look beautiful, cause’ I already know it.”

Kaya figured if she said it for him, she wouldn’t have to deal with the weird and uncomfortable knotting in her stomach that she experienced every time he complimented her.

And it worked, he said nothing, only helping to hold up her dress as they walked to the SUV that would escort them. In the car, she was also pleasantly surprised that he didn’t attempt to make small talk with her during the drive. She was certain, however, that it was because he took at least three different work calls during that time.

She made drafted Tik Toks in the meantime.

When they finally arrived, Kaya nearly ran out of the car right then and there.

“Is that a red carpet?” Her mouth dropped. “What the hell? You said nothing about having to walk a damn carpet that is red.”

He chuckled. Kaya realized his hand was on the exposed portion of her thigh. “Stay close to me, and I’ll take care of you. You’ll be fine.”

Kaya was used to having eyes on her, but that didn’t mean she liked it, especially when it didn’t involve money being thrown her way. “I don’t have to say anything, do I?”

He squeezed her thigh. “You’ll most likely receive compliments.”

“I can handle that,” she spoke more to herself than him. “Just long as no one asks if I prefer cats over dogs or whatever shit they ask.”

He laughed quietly and looked at her. “You ready?”

No. “Yes.”

Chris climbed out the car first so that he could help her out of the vehicle, and as soon as she stepped out, she cursed to herself. There were so many damn people. People taking photographs. People being photographed. People helping both the people the photographed and the photographers. And then there was her. She felt so out of place.

If he wasn’t already holding her hand, she would have grabbed for his.

Kaya used her left hand to hold up her dress, while making sure that she stayed close to Chris who led the way, smiling for the camera while sparing her glances every so often to assess her level of comfort.

Kaya played along, evoking a smile as she posed with him for a few photos. That’s when it started again. Like the photoshoot from a few hours ago, she found herself feeling less forced and more comfortable. Like, it was natural.

Like it was real.

Kaya was eventually allowed to stand to the side as he gave a few interviews, some in English, most in Italian. She’d meant to ask him earlier when the hell he learned to speak so many languages. This was the third she’d learned of. She had a feeling at least one or two journalists asked about her, because he would look in her direction and shoot a wink or something of the sort.

Her smile was a natural reaction.

The process was less daunting than she anticipated, not that she’d ever admit that to him. It was once they moved inside that Kaya realized they’d yet to reach the hard part. That hardest part was “socializing” with the guests, many of which were white, spicy white at best. She spotted some minorities but found that they were just as distant as the rest.

The vim of the event was welcoming, however, which confused Kaya to some extent. She simplified it down to the event was nice, the people were trash, and Chris was both an ass and a gentleman for forcing her to come.

He’d introduced her to a few people, most of which spoke poor English. That, she could acknowledge, was nice. Not the strained English, but his obvious concern for her wellbeing. He was going out of his way to make her feel as comfortable as he could.

It was also irritating because it resurfaced those damn knots.

They were seated at a table, and he was texting someone when she leaned over and tugged on his sleeve. Kaya also took a moment to appreciate how nice he looked. The man was something sinful in a suit. “I think I know him.”

He looked up, immediately locking his phone. “Who?”

She gestured with her chin. “The guy over there talking to the girl with the green dress. But don’t look at them.”

His eyes lifted to the ceiling. Right before he proceeded to look right in that direction.

She laughed despite her irritation. “What did I literally just fucking say?”

“I’ll never understand why people want to do something without actually doing it. I don’t have the time.” She shook her head. He was so impatient. “And how do you know him?”

She lifted a brow. He asked with a newfound sense of urgency. If she didn’t know any better, she would have guessed it came from a place of jealousy.

Kaya studied the stranger across the room again when her eyes widened. “I know. He’s that actor from that porn movie we watched.”

“We don’t watch porn, Kaya. We make it.”

“Stop it.” She leaned closer, hating that her smile contrasted the frustration she felt with how vulgar he was speaking in such a public setting. “And you know the movie where they…..ya know, basically the whole time, and he kept asking in that godawful delivery, are you lost, baby girl?”

Her equally terrible impression caused him to laugh quietly. “I think that is him.”

“I told you.” She spoke a little louder than she would have liked due to her excitement at being correct. “He looks better on screen.”

Chris glanced over at him once more and scoffed. “He’s scrawny.”

“Sir, not everyone is like you and built like a fucking tanker.”

“Not my problem.”

Kaya rolled her eyes and gathered her dress. “I’ll be back. I have to use the restroom.” She stood and leaned over, arms around him from behind as she whispered. “Try not to be too much of a dick while I’m gone, okay?”

He turned to look at her. “And where’s the fun in that?”

Turns out finding the bathroom was a harder task than she’d anticipated. She’d asked one of the servers while maneuvering through the crowd, but it also turned out that Kaya wasn’t the best with directions. She did find it, though.

Eventually.

Kaya was navigating her way back to Chris when she was stopped by a man in a suit along the way.

He was of average height, average build, and average attraction. She was immediately annoyed.

“Hi,” Kaya greeted with a tight smile.

“Hello,” he smiled. Add in average dental health. “You are very beautiful.”

Kaya realized he didn’t have an accent, either. American, most likely. “Uhh, thank you.” When she moved to walk past him, he blocked her. “Sir, I really should—”

“How much?”

Her eyes darted to either side. “I’m sorry?”

“Money is no issue, as I’m sure you can see, and I’d like you for a week.” He stepped closer, bringing his hand to trail it down her arm. “Longer even, perhaps.”

“Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about, and please do not touch me.” It wasn’t so much of a request as much as it was a demand. “Now, I really should—”

“You’re not American.” Kaya continued to be confused as hell when his eyes lit up with excitement. “That explains why you look so exotic.” Confusion easily morphed into rage as she finally caught on to what he was referring to. “I bet you feel di—”

“You’re disgusting,” she hissed, pulling away from him. “I am not a fucking prostitute—”

“Call it what you want, girl,” he dismissed. “I don’t judge. I can pay you well.”

“Go fuck yourself, you sick son of a bitch,” she cursed, turning away when he grabbed her arm. “Let me go.”

“You think that you’re special?” He’d taken on another tone, one that conveyed his anger at being rejected. “The fuckin’ stall I just pissed in is worth more than you, bitch.”

Kaya refused to allow him to see her cry, but she’d be lying if she tried to say that his words didn’t sting, especially his next verbal attack.

“You can slap on that expensive dress and let Hemsworth make you feel special, but I know, you know, and everyone else in this fucking place knows that you’re nothing but a cheap, illegal whore—” Panic arose when he moved his hand to the exposed skin of her thigh, squeezing tightly. His hand started to inch upward when Kaya acted on instinct. He cursed aloud while Kaya gasped as she realized that she’d silenced him with her fist dead square in the middle of his face. “You fucking bitch!”

Shock and fear took over as Kaya gathered the bottom of her dress and ran, as much as the gown and her heels would allow, that is. Certain he was going to chase her for retribution, she consistently looked back, unaware that she needed to be just as aware of what was in front as what was behind.

She shrieked and immediately went to pull herself away from the strong body she’d collided with.

“Kaya.” Refocusing her attention, she looked up and realized it was Chris. “Where the hell—” He stopped amid his statement when he took in her appearance and realized that she was crying. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Kaya looked down, speaking more to herself than him. Not that it mattered. He was judging based on what he saw instead of what she said. He’d learned by now that her words rarely matched the truth. “Let’s just go—”

“Kaya,” he repeated, softer. Chris brought his hands to her face, forcing her to meet his gaze as he asked again, slowly. “What happened?” A strike of anger flashed in his blue eyes. “Did someone touch you?”

“No,” she answered, quickly. Too quickly.

The anger escalated exponentially. “Who? Tell me.”

Kaya could have slapped herself. She wasn’t helping the situation. She was making it worse. “It doesn’t matter, I hit him, and now he’s probably going to sue you—”

“Where is he?” Chris was looking behind her, eyes flaming. He was livid. “Show me. Now.”

“No.” Speaking was becoming an increasing challenge, especially against the backdrop of overwhelming emotions. Everything she’d been feeling, preventing herself from feeling, and afraid to acknowledge was gradually bubbling to the surface. “Just—just let me go back to the hotel. I’m messing everything up for you.”

He calmed for a second, realizing what was happening. Chris was unfamiliar with this side of her. Unfamiliar with seeing her so vulnerable. “What?”

Kaya suddenly realized that her eyes were burning again. She was fighting back tears. “I’ll give you back the money for the day, it’s—it’s fine, you’re better off without me here—”

Her offer to pay him incensed Chris. This wasn’t about the money. It stopped being about the money a long time ago, even if he hadn’t realized that until today. “I don’t want the fucking money, Kaya.”

She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Don’t—don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s the truth.”

“Please,” she plead. Control over her emotions was a battle she’d all but lost at that point. Her words, she was certain, would be next.

He raised his voice. Chris sensed, saw that she was uncomfortable, but he also realized that this was what she needed. A push. “Why?”

“Because this all about the fucking money, okay?” She matched his volume, accepting that her tears were going to fall no matter how much she willed them not to. She’d lost the war. “It has to be about the money, because if it isn’t then that means you care, and—you can’t, alright?”

He studied her, wondering if she realized this conversation was difficult for him too. He brought his hand to the side of her face. “Why is it so impossible for you to accept that I fucking care about you?”

She looked up, glistening eyes and wavering voice. “Because then I have to admit that I care about you too, and I can’t do that.” She spoke to herself, as if vocalizing it would cement a decision that was already out of her hands. “I won’t do it.”

“Why?” He pressed. Chris brought his other hand to the other side of her face, cupping it and moving closer. He gave zero fucks about where they were and who could have possibly overheard. “Why are you fighting this so hard?”

She pulled herself away from him, back colliding against the wall as she blurted, “because all I do is hurt the people I care about alright?” In that moment, Kaya realized she was so far gone that the point of return was no longer an option. Her mouth trembled as she struggled to form her next sentence, listing off names with her fingers as props. “Mami, Papi, Nia. Hell, my own brother is dead because of me.” A beat. “I’ll only hurt you, and I care about you too much to do that.”

“Kaya—"

A newfound heaviness started to weigh upon her chest, another blockade to her speech. “I’m standing here in a dress I can’t afford, a building I can’t even fucking pronounce, and with a man I don’t deserve.”

His voice lowered. “Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I don’t deserve you?” Kaya looked at him, her eyes softening before she squinted, her face scrunching up in obvious pain.

He took note of this. As invested as Chris was in finally getting Kaya to open up about how she really felt, her wellbeing would always be his primary concern.

“Kaya.” He placed his hands on her waist, steadying her. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” She blinked several times, blinding lights obscuring her vision. “I—can’t—" Kaya felt the firmness of his chest, inhaled the scent of his cologne, and heard her name on his lips before everything faded to black.

-----

She awoke on her side, body clutched against a pillow, and a thin sheet covering half her body. Never one to take her time returning to her senses, she forced herself to sit up, eyes still scrunched from the sleep.

Looking down she realized she was dressed in only one of Chris’s dress shirts, her dress discarded.

Memory returned as Kaya replayed the events that transpired prior to her slumber. The photoshoot. The party. The asshole.

Chris.

“I don’t care. Tell them to send it in the mail or something.”

She recognized his voice traveling from the living room area, prompting her to swing her legs over the bed, her toes submerging into the soft carpet. She’d never been in such a fine hotel where the carpeting probably cost more than six months’ worth of rent on her one-bedroom apartment.

“Evans, I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that right now. You can handle it. I don’t care.”

Kaya contemplated remaining where she was, eavesdropping without being detected. She quickly decided against it. She’d done enough.

Her feet carried her out of the room, and she stood in the doorway where she saw he was standing against the massive window that provided a breathtaking overview of the city.

Again, she considered leaving him be, but he either had exceptional peripheral vision or caught her reflection in the window because he spun around. Kaya’s eyebrows furrowed when she realized he was still dressed in his suit, with the expectation of the jacket and dress shirt which were both discarded, leaving the white undershirt.

Uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, more concern than that, she settled onto the sofa, pulling a decorative pillow to her chest as she crossed her legs.

“I have to go,” he spoke briefly before pulling the phone from his ear and hanging up.

Kaya swallowed. He’d yet to speak, so she took the opportunity to do so. “Still don’t believe me when I said I’m a hot mess?”

“What happened tonight, Kaya?”

“Which part?” She knew that playing coy wasn’t the best route, but she was forever stubborn and would fight until she had nothing left. “Where I ruined your evening, assaulted a millionaire, told you one of my deepest secrets, or fainted in your arms? There’s a lot.”

“All of it.”

She looked away and licked her lips. Kaya felt cornered, absolutely trapped. Emotionally. She’d always assumed being physically stuck would feel far more suffocating and frightening. She was wrong.

Kaya considered her options, though far and few in between. She could deflect. She was a master at that. She could redirect blame onto him. Call him out on even making her go on the trip, for not telling her ahead of time what to expect, maybe throw in a few insults. And lastly, the most frightening of them all, she could be honest.

That was the scariest of them all.

“I lied to you.” The words spilled out before she realized it, but Kaya accepted the fact that she was tired. There was only so much she could carry, and she’d reached her limits. “My—my parents aren’t dead. They still live in the same house in Parlier that I grew up in with Denes. He’s—he was my brother.” It felt strange talking about, verbalizing what she’d quietly struggled with for so many years. And yet, there was a peace that accompanied the release. “He was such a beautiful little boy, but….different. He didn’t talk much, life skills were….hard for him, and he had these fixations on certain things. He didn’t like change.”

“Kaya, you don’t—”

“When I was eleven, and he was eight, my parents found out they were pregnant. They’d been trying for so long….they were so happy.” She roughly wiped at her face to do away with the silent tears that fell. The crying, however, was inevitable. “One day, they had a checkup appointment, and the babysitter fell through, so they asked me to watch Denes.” She nodded slowly, reverting to the same rush of emotions she felt that day. “I was so….mad, because my friend had just gotten Guitar Hero, and I was supposed to walk down to her house so we could play it.” To that day, Kaya felt a strong surge of rage whenever she ran across a throwback picture or read an article referring to that game. It was a trigger.

“My parents promised that I could go when they returned, but I just couldn’t wait.” Her nose turned up with disgust, disgust directed 100% inward. “I just had to go play that stupid fucking game.”

“Denes loved birds. They were one of his fixations. They think—they think he saw one outside our living room window or something and walked outside to see if he could catch it because, of course, I forgot to lock the front door.” She stared off into space before closing her eyes. “I had just walked into my friend’s house when I heard someone scream like I’ve never heard a scream before.” Kaya tugged the pillow closer to her chest and lowered her head. “I ran back so fast because I thought—I thought I could help him. I thought I could save him.” Her voice cracked. “—But there was so much blood, and he was so hurt—he died in the middle of the street, bleeding, terrified, and it was all my fault.”

Chris closed his eyes and shook his head. “Kaya—”

“They never found the driver,” she added quietly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “The shock of it all……it was too much for my mom, and she miscarried.” Kaya laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of humor. “I spiraled after Denes passed. Everything bad and terrible I could get myself into, I did. I—I skipped class, I partied, I drank, I tried drugs.” She scoffed. “I lost my virginity when I was thirteen to some guy whose name I still don’t know because I was so drunk.” She leaned back into the sofa, staring at the intricate pattern of the rug. “I just—at the time, I thought if I did enough, I could make my parents hate me, because it’s what I deserved. But for everything I tried, they kept giving me chance after chance.”

“So, then I attempted suicide, twice, and I couldn’t even do that right.” She groaned and wiped at her eyes again. The cuffs of the shirt were nearly soaked. “I realized that God or the universe or whomever clearly wanted me to suffer and to live with my guilt, but in the midst of trying to punish myself, I failed to realize that all I’d done was cause my parents more pain.”

“Day of my high school graduation, I woke up at the crack of dawn to pack up my bags, told my parents that I was going out with some friends, but I’d be home by 7—and I haven’t seen or spoken with them since.”

She clapped and lifted her hands. “And there you have it. You’ve now seen me naked; you’ve seen me cry, and now you know that I’m a murderer—”

“You’re not a murderer, Kaya,” he was finally able to complete his sentence, still very much in shock over what she’d disclosed. “And what happened to your brother wasn’t your fault.”

Chris watched her demeanor soften, shifting from her previous facetious tone to a more somber tone. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m saying it because it’s the truth. You were a child.”

She shrugged sadly. “So was he.”

“That still doesn’t make it your fault.”

She turned away from where he sat across from her. She hadn’t even realized he’d moved from his initial position by the window. Untangling her legs, she moved the pillow to the side and stood in front of him. “Why are you so nice to me? You should be running for the hills.”

Chris brought his hands to her waist and pulled her in between his spread legs. “Why do you keep asking questions you already know the answers to?”

“Even after everything I’ve done?” She whispered, emotion betraying her for the umpteenth time that day. “You—you still—you still feel….like that about me?”

“You’re stubborn, impulsive, argumentative, flippant, and undoubtedly one of the most complicated women I’ve ever met.” He slowly stood up, never once breaking eye contact as he cupped her face, fingers brushing away the dampness of her flushed cheeks. “And yet, seeing you smile is the highlight of my day.”

She chuckled and nervously cleared her throat. “So, was today subpar? Like, medium light? Half-light? It all went downhill after 12pm.”

He shook his head and kissed her forehead. “You are, in fact, a hot mess.”

Her fingers grasped at his sleeves. “I really am sorry about ruining your evening.”

“You didn’t ruin my evening, Kaya.” He brought his hand to her hair, pushing back the tendrils that had fallen from her updo. “Thank you for opening to me. I know that wasn’t easy.”

“It’s a lot easier opening up my legs,” she muttered, watching as he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry—you’re right. It’s—it’s not easy, and I don’t like talking about….feelings.” Her eyes lifted as she chewed on her bottom lip. “But, I do have feelings for you.” She shut her eyes and licked her top lip. “And there’s something else I need to tell you.”

His gaze softened. “Anything.”

It was so simple, the opportunity was available, the setting was perfect. She’d already told him the hardest part, now all she had to do was tell him the rest. The problem though, was that what she’d shared hadn’t changed much. It only helped him to understand her better. It would potentially improve their relationship.

This would destroy it.

She cleared her throat again. “If you tell anyone I’m capable of crying, I will smother you in your sleep.”

He chuckled and kissed her temple. “It’s late. I’m going to shower.” He studied her. “Try not to get into any more trouble, yeah?”

She smiled softly. “I make no promises.”

He gave her side a gentle squeeze before yawning as he walked back into the bedroom. Finally alone, she fell back onto the sofa and hugged the pillow against her body. Kaya felt both disgust and frustration. If there was a perfect moment to tell him, that was it, and now it was gone.

She was running out of time

-------

TAGS: @islandvamp @toni9 @destinyg237 @tashawar @valkryienymph @letsshamelessqueen-m @missyperle @kpizzletrash @brittyevans @mani-lifes @amorestevens @periodtcevans @hello-therree @shegoesbyarose @lettytheletdown @yanniebunnie @iwrite4poc @nycoledon @fangurlingismyforte @babe-im-bi @amirra88 @cocoamoonmalfoy @goldenrosexx @liquorlaughslove @ljstraightnochaser @jurneesjourney @bestyums-ever84 @notacamelthatsmywife @champagnesugamama @cest-la69vie @yanniebunny5151 @goldenrosexx

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#chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth fanfiction #chris hemsworth fandom #chris hemsworth fanfic #chris hemsworth x black!reader #chris hemsworth x black!oc #chris hemsworth x woc!oc #series: seasons of love

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ao3bronte · 5 years ago

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🐞Little Lady Paws🐾

2 | 3 | 4 Ladybug gets into a “hairy” predicament when an akuma capture goes wrong. A collaboration between @ao3bronte and @yamina20-blog 💕

I am a hamster.

I’m a hamster?

I’M A HAMSTER?!

Gnashing her hands—no, her paws—together restlessly, Paris’ leading lady turned stout-bodied rodent tries not to panic. She’s been sitting here patiently on Adrien’s bedspread for twenty minutes and so far, he hasn’t shown up to embarrass her any further. She can’t even imagine what he’s going to say when he sees her like this, tiny and furry and naked, save for the earrings in her ears. One quick look in her reflection confirms what Master Fu has already told her; they’re still in their active form, which means that Tikki is just as trapped in this hamster body as she is.

Seconds turn into minutes and Ladybug eventually gets bored of waiting, prefering to explore the world around her to keep her mind off the inevitable. She clambers up towards his pillows but doesn’t find anything of interest hiding beneath them, which isn’t all that surprising. Just because she hides things under her own pillows doesn’t mean that other people do and Ladybug flops down onto his mattress platform instead to try and find something to amuse herself with.

Which is when she spots it.

An iPad!

Using Adrien’s mattress frame like a firepole, Ladybug slides down the legs of the platform and plops onto her furry bum with a squeak, rubbing it gingerly. This floor is hard! And her paws aren’t nearly as agile as human hands, which makes this next part even more daunting.

Whoa!

This shelving unit looked way smaller when she’d still been on the bed!

The iPad is on the second shelf and somehow, she needs to find a way to get up to it. If she uses his mobile charging cord as a lasso, maybe she can hook the tip of it around the corner of the cabinet and haul herself up like a mountaineer—

“Ladybug?”

The heroine-turned-hamster jolts to a halt, freezing in place. Her heart throbs like a jackhammer in her chest and she flattens herself to the floor instinctively, her eyes blown wide with fright. Adrien immediately looks stricken and runs over, sliding across the floor on his knees to where she’s more or less trying to melt between the whitewashed wooden floorboards.

“Ladybug? Oh my god, are you okay?” Adrien scoops her up with the gentlest of touches, cradling her like the most delicate piece of porcelain in creation, “Chat Noir told me about what happened to you and I promised to take care of you but—oh my god, Ladybug, are you breathing? Oh god, I’ve killed her. I gave her a heart attack and killed her!”

Watching his anxiety mount with every panicked exclamation, Ladybug wills her diaphragm inhale. He scared the living daylights out of her and now they’re both becoming hysterical and this is by far the worst thing that’s ever happened in the entire history of the known universe and nothing in the world could ever be this awful again except it is and it’s happening and—

“Oh thank god, you’re breathing,” Adrien sits back on his haunches with a sigh of relief, throwing his head back, “I thought I killed you!”

Ladybug manages to open and close her mouth several times before uttering a single squeak, her face positively simmering with embarrassment. Adrien doesn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in his own guilt, and promptly clambers to his feet, “I’m going to put you somewhere safe, okay? It’s dangerous, being on the floor where someone could step on you.”

Still thoroughly drowning in her own humiliation, Ladybug doesn’t even protest as he gently deposits her back onto the bed again and begins to pace, “While I was coming home from my photoshoot, I was Googling how to take care of hamsters because I’ve never had a pet before—I mean,” he stops and begins to wave his hands, “You’re not a pet, you’re Ladybug, but you’re shaped like a pet and— oh my god, this is coming out all wrong.”

Adrien takes a deep breath, “Okay. I need to just…calm down. We all need to calm down and focus so we can try and figure this out.”

Watching in a mix of awe and horror, Ladybug realises that Adrien is feeling just as overwhelmed as she is.

“I really want to help you,” he finally says, rubbing furiously at the back of his neck, “But I don’t know how so...here!” Galloping over to his side table, Adrien snatches the very device Ladybug had been trying to lasso and plops it on the bed beside her, “Use the iPad! I’ll, uh...let me just find the memo app.”

Quickly swiping across the screen, a blank page awaits. Ladybug climbs on and quickly rules out using her front paws; her back paws keep hitting the other keys and messing everything up. With a frustrated huff, Ladybug stands on her hind legs and pats her claws on the backspace button until her garbled message is cleared.

hi adrien, she hops back and forth across the sensitive glass, the pads of her tiny paws hitting each key with a satisfying thunk, im so sorry chat did this to you

“What?!” Adrien reels back, panicking once again, “No no! This is fine. This is great! It’s no problem, watching over you. No no, I’m the one who should be sorry! I almost gave you a heart attack!”

Ladybug glances up at his cherry stained cheeks before tapping the enter button and continuing onto the next line, this is my fault i never should have got hit

“But you did,” Adrien fiddles with his hands, his fingers practically twitching with the need to be useful, “And we’re going to figure this out. Chat Noir said he’s going to come by when Le Papillon makes another akuma and pick you up. He’s hoping the next one will be useful and maybe you’ll be able to turn back!”

Ladybug can’t deny that Adrien’s earnestness is infectious, i hope so

“I know so,” he assures her, blinding her with one of his one-hundred watt grin, “You can count on Chat Noir. He’d do anything for you! He’s probably out there right now, looking for an answer!”

Running the tips of her claws through the fur on her forearms, Ladybug’s lips begin to curve up at the edges as she types, i trust him to help me

“You do?”

Consumed with her tap dance along the keyboard, Ladybug completely misses the flush on his features, i do but dont tell him i said that

Adrien dips his head to the side and Ladybug’s knees quake at the sight, “How come? He would love to know that you trust him!”

he knows, Ladybug has to look away just to get a hold of herself, but if i tell him his head will get too big

Adrien begins to snicker and sits down alongside her, “I guess you’re kind of right. He probably loves getting compliments from you."

Ladybug doesn't bother typing out her answer, instead offering him an enormous nod; Chat Noir is and always has been a sucker for kind words.

Glancing towards the darkening sky, Adrien's traitorous stomach begins to rumble, "Nathalie is going to call me down for dinner soon. What should I bring back for you?"

Ladybug shrugs, honestly stumped, what do hamsters eat

“Good question,” Adrien scoots beside her and Ladybug’s heart leaps into her chest at the proximity, “Let’s Google it! Here,” Adrien gently lifts Ladybug up by the waist and sets her on his knee as he picks up the tablet with his other hand, propping it up in front of them for both of them to see. “Seeds, nuts, fruits and vegetables. That should be easy enough to smuggle back up into my bedroom.”

Ladybug turns her attention away from the tablet and gazes back up at Adrien, marvelling at just how huge he is for a moment. Everything is so much bigger when you’re a hamster — she gets that — but it doesn’t really click until you’re unwillingly forced to become one at the hands of an evil mastermind bent on terrorizing Paris.

“Uh, Ladybug? Are you okay?” Adrien’s enormous hand curls around her body and Ladybug desperately hopes he can’t feel her heart hammering through all of her silky fur, “You’re kind of zoning out on me.”

Squeaking a stammering apology, Ladybug tries and fails to gather her composure. And how can she? Adrien has his huge, warm hand wrapped around her body and she’s practically shaking with nervous energy, every synapse overwhelmed with the giddy excitement of being in love. This is both the best and worst day of her life and for what it’s worth, she’ll have to remember to bring Chat some extra pastries as a thank you once she’s back to her regular size.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I don’t want to leave you on your own if you’re not,” Adrien says and Ladybug melts at the concern in his voice. How did he come to be so unconditionally kind? And thoughtful? And so extremely good looking?

He must sense the way her tension drains from her body and he sighs in relief, gracing her again with his beautiful smile, “Alright, I’m going to leave you on the bed, okay? And you can watch or do whatever you want with my iPad. Mi casa es su casa, right?” he laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck, “Anyway, I won’t be long and when I come back, I’ll bring you something to eat and maybe we can watch a movie together? Would you like that?”

Ladybug nods, folding and refolding her little paws as she imagines the two of them watching a movie together. What would they watch? Would she sit beside him? Would he let her sit on his knee again?

“Perfect!” Adrien practically vibrates, setting Ladybug back down on his bedspread beside the iPad, “I’ll be back, Ladybug. See you soon!”

#miraculous ladybug #ladrien #ladybug #ML fanart #hamster

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lotusss-flowerbomb · 5 years ago

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Insecure

Steve x reader

Summary: Steve is upset you’ve been spending so much time away from home and becomes very jealous of your coworker.

Warnings: Smut eventually, cursing, 18+

*********

PART 1

You walked into your house to see your fiancé sitting on the couch watching TV.

“Hey, love,” you leaned down to kiss cheek and continued to the kitchen.

You heard his footsteps following behind you as you walked over to open the fridge. You looked around the nearly empty box suddenly remembering you hadn’t had time to go grocery shopping this week. You closed it and turned on your heels towards him. The look on his face stopped you in your tracks as he leaned over the island.

“This is the third time this week you’ve come home late,” his jaw clenched.

“Wait, what?” You laughed, “are you serious right now?” The unwavering look in his eyes told you that he was absolutely serious. “Steve, you know I’ve been working on this project. My team has to nail this if I’m going to get that promotion.”

“I don’t understand why you keep this job. It’s not like you have to work.”

“You quit your job and I’ll quit mine,” you challenged him. A moment passed of absolute silence before you bit out, “I didn’t think so,” and walked away.

You stomped up the stairs as he looked after you. Something more was going on, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it. Your phone buzzed on the counter and lit up with a text. He tapped his fingers and looked around for you before walking over to grab it. He’d hear you coming long before you reached the kitchen anyway. He unlocked your phone and opened the text.

Alex: Hey, just wanted to say thanks again. Looking forward to the next round even though I’m not sure if you could get any better. Lol

Steve felt his blood start to boil. Who the fuck was Alex and what the fuck was he looking forward to? Another message came through interrupting his thoughts. He saw the dots at the bottom. A reply was being typed. You must’ve been on your iPad when the notification came through.

You: Haha! Thanks, but I can’t take all of the credit. You were more than amazing! These things always work best when partners have true chemistry.

He couldn’t believe what he was reading, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the phone as another message was being typed.

Alex: Oh, and don’t forget about dinner at Morton’s tomorrow. Bring soldier boy along if you’d like. I’m sure he’s just dying to meet the person who has been stealing all of your time ;-).

You: I bet, but nah!!! Lol

Soldier boy? So this guy knew about him and the two of you made a game out of making fun of him behind his back? And your snarky reply just added fuel to his fire. Steve was fuming. He heard the soft patter of your feet coming back down the stairs. You’d changed into shorts and a t-shirt and had on your glasses. He’d think you looked so adorable if he wasn’t so angry.

“I ordered a pizza,” you said as you entered the kitchen. You noticed that Steve was practically still in the same spot you’d left him minutes ago. He was now even more upset than he was before you walked away. You walked over to the cabinet to get plates down. He was still staring at you. “What?” You quizzed.

He tossed your phone on the counter, “Who is Alex?” You looked surprised. You hadn’t even noticed he was holding the phone. You angrily snatched it up.

“Did you go through my messages?” You scoffed in disbelief.

“Who is Alex?” He asked again.

“I can’t believe you would violate my privacy!”

“You’ve been coming home later and later for the past few weeks. Always tired and claiming its work. Now you’re spending all of your time with this guy and going on dinner dates? Is this who you’ve been ‘working’ on your project with? Is the project even real or are you lying about that and using it as an excuse to whore around?”

“Wow, Steven, you’d better choose your next words very carefully. You don’t want me spending time with my coworker? You spend time with yours. As a matter of fact, there are times you’re gone for days at a time, alone, with a very attractive woman. Have I ever questioned you? NO! Because I trust you, so why can’t you trust me? Besides, Alex isn’t even a –"

He got closer and wrapped his hand around your arm yanking you into his chest. It stopped you mid sentence as your eyes sparked with shock. “You’d better not go to dinner with this guy tomorrow or I will rip his fucking head off of his shoulders,” he spoke through clenched teeth. You snatched away and slapped him hard across the face.

“Get. Out.” You demanded.

Your heart slammed into your chest so hard you could barely breathe. You walked away and ascended the stairs slamming your bedroom door behind you once you reached the destination.

Steve winced at the sound. He knew he’d messed up when he said you were whoring around, but he just had to take it a step further by grabbing you. The slap literally knocked the sense back into him. He heard the bedroom door open and seconds later something was tumbling down the stairs. It hit the wall with a hard thud and then came bouncing around the railing. It was his suitcase. Not long after his clothes came flying down with it.

“Get your shit and LEAVE!” You screamed.

“This is my house,” he retorted.

“I don’t give a FUCK!” You snatched your ring off and threw it down with everything else and slammed the door behind you again. The shining stone and rose gold band stuck out among his belongings. He scooped it and looked at it. What had he done? He had to fix this. The doorbell sounded and Steve paid for the pizza, sat it in the kitchen and headed back to the front door. He didn’t bother getting his clothes. He just stepped over the suitcase and left.

*********

You applied a coat of lipstick before heading inside of the restaurant. Steve watched you from the building across the street. He couldn’t believe you actually showed up to have dinner with this guy. You looked so perfect in the black knit dress you were wearing. The black sky high pumps he could never figure out how you could walk in looked good enough to fuck you in. He watched as you disappeared into a private room with the host.

He felt his anger begin to arise. He stayed put for a while, so he could calm down. No matter how much he wanted to gut the guy, he knew that he couldn’t. At least not with so many witnesses around. The anger quickly turned to hurt. He loved you and didn’t know what he’d done to make you cheat on him. Of course you complained about the dangers of missions and you worried about him, but he thought you understood his work and why he did it. He moved from his spot in the shadows. He’d asked you to be his wife and he was not about to let some punk just take you away. Not without a fight.

Your phone started vibrating from your purse. You reached in and looked at the called ID. A picture of you and Steve shone bright on the screen. You hit ignore. He called again. After the third call you powered it off and dropped it back in your purse.

“Everything alright?” Alex asked.

“Mmm hmm,” you hummed and picked up your glass to sip. “So anyway, as I was saying –”

The door to the room opened and in walked Steve. He was dressed in a white t-shirt that showed every muscle in his chest, jeans and a leather jacket. He looked absolutely delicious, but way under dressed to be in a place with such a strict dress code. Of course they let him, he’s Captain fucking America. You rolled your eyes.

“Steve, what are you doing here?” He looked down at your ringless left hand. You noticed his gaze and quickly moved your hand to your lap.

“I called you,” he said.

“Yeah, and as you can see, I’m in the middle of something,” your eyes darted across the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Steve,” he stuck his hand out for a shake.

“Hello, nice to finally meet you, I’m Alexandra. My friends call me Alex.” She smiled up at him.

Steve’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He looked back at you, your head was tilted to the side and your arms were folded across your chest. If his face was glass, it would be shattered into billions of pieces. He really was a jerk.

“Captain Rogers –” Alex began.

“Oh, no please, call me Steve,” he insisted.

“Okay, well, Steve, would you like to join us?” She asked.

“No, I’m sure he has something else to do. We’re working. I’ll call you later,” you said to him.

“Okay,” he nodded. He leaned down to kiss you, but you turned your head a little and he caught your cheek instead of your lips. He told you he loved you and turned to Alex to say goodbye before making his exit.

“Wanna tell me what that was about?” She lifted a brow.

“He thought you were a man.”

“What?” She laughed.

“Yeah, he assumed because your name was Alex in my contacts, that you were a man.”

“Wow, even Captain America, a man who looks like that and can do what he does, can be insecure. Who knew?” She lifted her glass again.

You finished your dinner meeting with Alex. She told you to put your ring back on and not to throw away everything the two of you have built over this. After having a little bit of a heart to heart with your friend, you made your way home. You were half expecting Steve to be at the house when you arrived, but you didn’t see his car. You were relieved. You stepped inside and headed up to your room to undress. You cleaned up for the night feeling much more relaxed and headed to bed. Flipping on the bedside lamp you saw your ring box and a single rose. He’d come in while you were in the bathroom. You went to the stairs to see if he’d gotten his clothes. They were still there. You pushed the box and the flower to the other side of the bed and climbed in. Eventually drifting off into a restless sleep.

#steve rogers #steve x reader #steve x you #Avengers #avengers smut #avengers fic #chris evans #Smut #marvel smut #marvel fanfic #captain america #Lotusss Writes

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inconcieveable · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 2 bby. Have fun reading and any feedback is greatly appreciated. :)

Chapter: 2

Words: 1.7k

Roman P.O.V.

"Okay, i'll pick you up here later. You should be fine, just remember-"

"To look for the signs, make friends and don't beat anyone up we get it." Remus reiterated. Uncle sighed.

"Just.. be careful. okay?"

"We'll be fine uncle. C'mon Roman." Remus said, nearly dragging me out of the car.

"see you later," I smiled at Uncle as I shut the car door.

We stood in awe at the building in front of us. "Who knew schools could be this big," i whispered.

"I know right. Fucking hell."

We wandered around like lost puppies as we tried to find reception. "Look." I said, pointing to a sign that said "office"

"Thank-fucking-finally," Remus sighed as we started to follow the signs.

/////

"Oh you boys must be Roman and Remus King, correct?" The receptionist asked, noticing us as she lifted her head from her computer, before she went to back to her work.

"That's us. We were told to come here and get our schedules?" I replied, noticing the "she/her" badge she had on her blouse.

"Oh! You're English!" She stated, looking up and giving us her full attention.

"Yep! We're good ol' Brits! Now can we get our schedules please?" Remus interupted, already annoyed at her.

"oh, of course! here-" She said as Remus snatched the schedules off of her. I elbowed him in the rib, somewhat harshly.

"ow! you bitc-"

"be nice" i chided. He responded by growling lightly.

"Sorry for him," I apologised to the receptionist.

"Its okay!" she smiled. "There should be a student coming soon to give you a tour.." She went on, explaining how the timetables worked, where to get lunch and how the one-way system on the stairs worked. Remus gave up listening pretty quickly and instead was looking out for the student that was going to tour us.

"hey babes" I heard as Remus nudged me. I turned to look at Remus as he nodded towards the student. click click. The sound of heeled shoes filled the room. A man wearing big, round sunglasses, a black jacket and obnoxiously sipping a Starbucks strutted into the room.

"Remy!" the receptionist exclaimed "Good to see you. Here are the new students, Roman and Remus king" She gestured towards us.

"hi!"

"sup bitch." Remus saluted. Remy giggled as I turned to Remus exasperatedly.

"I'm Roman. He/Him" I continued, sticking out my hand. He shook it.

"Remy. Also he/him." He purred, winking at me. He chuckled lightly at my eyes widening slightly at his confidence and forwardness.

"Oh, and who is this cutie?" He pondered, moving so he was in front of Remus. He took a slow sip of his Starbucks as he checked Remus out, eyes fluttering up and down.

"I'm- er- Remus. Um- he/him and all- hehe- did you know if you clenched every muscle in your back at the same time you'd break your spine? hehe" Remus spluttered quickly, not used to all the attention. Remy smiled affectionately.

"I didn't. Thanks for the knowledge Einstein. Logan's gonna like you." He said, muttering the last of the sentence.

"Remy dear, the receptionist interrupted. "May you please give our new students the tour so they can get to lunch on time?."

Remus looked to me, confused. "Lunch? Isn't it like half way through first period at the minute?." Remy chuckled again.

"Yeah, but schools here aren't as small as they are in England. It might be a while. Plus I need to take you to the Principal's office and god knows how long that'll take. So come on hon," he gestured with his head towards the door and took another slurp of his Starbucks as he placed his phone in his pocket. click click. I turned to Remus who just shrugged and started following Remy.

/////

It was around lunch, when we had finished being dragged around and severely warned by the principal of the punishments for any misbehaviour. We trudged along through the canteen, making our way outside.

"that's a good spot," Remus said, pointing to a big oak tree, where no one was sitting.

"alrighty then."

Remus plonked down as we reached the tree. "heads up" I called. Remus barely had any time to react before I flung my bag towards him. He caught it milliseconds before it would've hit his face.

Bitch." he scowled as I sat down, a few feet away from the tree. "That tour took us fucking forever," he complained.

"I knowww."

"Why the fuck did we go to the dorms if we aint gonna get one for another week or so?!"

"I suppose it was so they could get the tour done in on hit?" I reasoned.

"Yeah.. Its still fucking shite though." I smirked as Remus sighed dramatically and brought his sketchbook out of his bag. Along with a pencil and rubber.

"I thought Uncle said not to bring that. It coul-"

"I don't give a shit. Let me have this one thing. Be thankful I didn't decide to bring my iPad." Remus scowled. I pouted at him.

"Well what am I supposed to do now?"

"Practice your lines for that shitty play your doing." He offered, throwing my back towards me.

"Excuse me. It aint 'shitty'. Its fun! Plus doing community plays will help me get to a good place in the future. you know this." I defended, air-quoting the word "shitty"

"Whatever. I still don't understand how you managed to find a theatre and audition when we've only been here for like a week and a half." I flicked the ends of my hair obnoxiously.

"What can I say? I'm just amazing." Remus snorted at that and through a crumpled piece of paper at me.

"nerd." He returned to his drawing, ignoring my "offended princey noises" as he called them. I stuck my tongue out at him as I rooted through my bag to find my lines.

Remus P.O.V

Watching Princey practice was always funny. Without fail, he would always go from sitting down, to walking around, practicing the delivery of the lines, script in one hand, the other flourishing through the air, within a maximum of 5 minutes. I leant back on the tree more as I stopped drawing for a second to watch my brother. He was walking back and forth, reciting about slaying some dragon thing. "Don't worry. I will save you! Begone evil Dragon!" he shouted, jumping into a fighting stance. His free arm acting like it was holding a sword. I burst out laughing at him. Roman turned around furiously, shooting death glares at me. Unfortunately for him, this only made me laugh louder. His eyes narrowed at me before he too, started laughing.

"You're a fucking dork."

"Yeah, yeah. Just lemme practice." I rolled my eyes before focusing back on my design. No matter what I did, I couldn't get it to look right. And boy, was i determined to get it right.

/////

"Hey!" a new, chirpy voice said. I looked up to see a kid looming over me.

"can I help you?" I asked, trying to be nice.

"Yeah. I was wondering If you've seen our friend? they're around so-high, chestnut hair, blue overalls, yellow t-shirt, black jacket with a.... double headed snake? on the back." The boy explained.

"nah I don't recognise the description. Why would I have seen.. them?" he asked, noticing the pronouns used and feeling slightly proud of himself for noticing.

"It seems they're new Patton. That would probably explain why they don't recognise Janus and they don't know that we normally sit here." A different boy said. "where the fuck did he come from?!" he thought.

"Its alright Logan. Janus will find us and we can always sit somewhere else for today." the first boy, Patton? ,said.

"But vi-"

"Hold on lemme get that dipshit." I interrupted. I turned towards Roman, who was oblivious to the entire conversation as he was quite a few feet away. "OI TWAT!" I shouted. Roman jumped at the sudden noise and his foot caught on a visible tree root and he fell over, landing on his arse. I, once again, burst out laughing.

"Wha-" He cut himself off when he noticed the boys. He quickly got up and walked back towards us.

"He's much better at things like this." I explained between laughs as Roman arrived, cheeks dusted In pink from embarrassment.

"twat?" The taller one, Logan?, asked.

"Its a British thing." I said, waving my hand dismissively.

"Oh, you're British!" The smaller one, (Patton? I don't fucking know) said excitedly.

"Indeed we are." Roman said, entering the conversation.

I let Roman take over as I tuned out the conversation and focused back onto my design.

"I'd draw an extra petal there." someone said. I jumped slightly at that and turned to see someone sat next to me, snickering at my shock. I turned to see that Roman was sat opposite me, the boys from earlier were sat to my left and the person who I could only assume was 'Janus' was sat next to me. I stared into their face, searching for a sign that he was mocking me. "Janus. They/them." The person said, unfazed, confirming my suspicions. Once I felt satisfied with their intentions, I turned back towards my page where they had their hand.

"Remus. He/him." I said as I started sketching. I was trying to draw a rose, with its flowers wilting off. Kinda like the flower from Beauty And The Beast. The movie which I was forced to watch the other night by my brothers demands.

Once I was finished sketching the flower, I saw how much better it looked with Janus' addition. I turn to thank Janus, only to see them looking at me. Smiling at my own happiness towards the now finished design.

"Thanks," I said cheerfully "it looks so much better now"

"No problem," Janus simply said.

"Ah so you've decided to come back down to earth now?" Roman teased, noticing how I wasn't fixated on my page anymore.

"Fuck off." I said, sticking out my tongue. Roman giggled whilst Patton inhaled sharply. I turned to Janus, a confused look etched onto my face.

"Patton doesn't like swearing." they explained. I chuckled mentally. "Well i'm fucked" I thought, Laughing again at the irony.

"well at least he didn't fall over a tree root now," Janus said to Roman, smirking. I started laughing.

"I like this one." I said and everyone joined In with my laughter.

The bell cut the fun short though. We all, besides Logan, groaned as we started to collect our things and head towards our next lessons.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sander sides fanfiction #fanfic

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captainmeowvelwrites · 4 years ago

Text

You Times Two (Ch.10)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 3950 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… Swagdrien showed off his killer dance moves, Marimoo considered tuning along to Sonata The Hedgehog's song, and everyone but Foxy Lady, Turtle Boy and Chilluka was a jealous wee bean. Upon seeing Golden Boy's apparent discomfort at Pastrami's hands-on approach to her envy, Maribug tripped mid-dance and busted her poor ankle. And of course, after a week of no akumas, Mr Perfect Timing's back at it again. What doth the author hast in store for thee?

---

Chapter Ten

The boings of Alya and Nino playing Super Penguino only somewhat muffled the soft and mellow strums of Luka’s guitar. It was a nice melody, Adrien wouldn’t deny. He’d thought the same thing a week ago, when they’d all sat by the Seine with André’s ice cream in hand.

But back then, he hadn’t known Luka had composed it just for Marinette. That it was supposedly her song.

How could he have known?

It was soft, but not nearly sweet enough. And laidback, rather than lively. And while it was pleasant, it lacked the passion befitting of his friend.

Her passion for sewing.

Her passion for helping others.

Her passion for standing up for what she believed in.

Adrien watched as she drew out a breath from her freckle-dusted nose, as her pink lips curved into an easy smile, as her bluebell eyes fluttered shut. Her elbow brushed his own as she tipped her head against Luka’s shoulder.

He felt pressure on his hand—a reminder that he still held Kagami’s. His eyes met hers, and the question that clouded her gaze was enough to spark surprise in his own. Someone had squeezed the other’s hand, but that someone hadn’t been her—

A gasp stole his attention. “Dudes!” Nino’s left hand clutched half of Alya’s iPad, while his right jabbed toward the TV. “Check out the news!”

Adrien did just that.

And sucked in a breath at the sight he beheld.

The concerned face of Nadja Chamack filled the screen. Live footage appeared of an offensively coloured tower that soared into the sky, its abstract surface jarring against the bygone architecture of the buildings around it.

Adrien knew the area. At least five minutes away by baton.

Alya lunged at the coffee table. “Unmute!” she screamed, snatching up the remote with a crazed look in her eye. One fierce jab of her finger—

“—in Montparnasse, where a new villain is turning Paris into an abstract nightmare!”

The screen flicked to a series of clips. Fleeing Parisians. Multicoloured beams. Anything they touched – people, buildings, buses, pigeons – transformed into an eye-achingly colourful and contorted version of its former self.

“As always, authorities advise all Parisians to stay indoors until Ladybug and Chat—”

Zap!

Colour swarmed across Nadja’s body. Her lips swelled. Her nose went freakishly thin. Her left eye bulged and climbed a good three inches up her face. And although her body was off screen, Adrien had a sneaking suspicion it looked just as ill-proportioned. With a gasp, she stumbled out of frame.

A figure dropped from the sky, his body as obnoxiously bright as the tower that loomed behind him. He skulked toward the screen, a sneer scrunching the enormous, triangular nostrils on his severely misshapen face. “I am Putricasso!” The footage faltered at the hands of an unseen cameraman. “And soon, all of Paris will be as breath-taking as Picasso’s fine creations!”

With narrow eyes, Putricasso aimed an oversized paint brush at the screen.

The TV went static.

Adrien’s knee bobbed. Their first akuma in a week. Of course, it had to happen mid-group gathering. His eyes zipped around the apartment. He needed an excuse—

Marinette flew to her feet. “Actually—” A wince warped her face as she reeled back onto the sofa, hunched forward with her hand around her ankle. “I’ve – uh – changed my mind.” She stood again, this time slowly and with greater success. “I should definitely see a doctor. Just in case.”

He sprung up beside her. “I’ll take you!”

“NO!”

By the sheer desperation in her voice, one might’ve thought he was dragging her into danger right along with him.

“I mean YES!” She slapped her hands together. “Take me now!” Her eyes flew wide. “To the doctors! Take me now to the doctors. Please.” He didn’t miss her limp as she looked between Nino, Kagami and Luka, an apologetic smile at the ready. Her eyes lingered on Luka especially.

Alya was too busy frantically tapping her phone screen to pay them all any mind.

“Sorry I couldn’t stay longer, guys.” Marinette’s fingers drummed against her pink, flowery clutch. “Injury aside, it’s been fun!” She was already hobbling toward the front door.

Adrien scooped his grey messenger bag off the floor, threw it over one shoulder, and turned to Kagami. He was met by a question:

“Can I come along?”

His shoulders shot to his ears. “Err – No need, Kagami! I’ll, uh, be quick.”

Her gaze swerved to Marinette, then back to him. “Okay.”

“Hey, Marinette?” Luka’s voice drew Adrien’s focus. “Are we still on for tomorrow?” The musician smiled at her from the sofa, guitar propped in his lap.

She was halfway to the exit, but stopped to beam at him all the same. “Of course! No way am I letting my clumsiness ruin our movie date.” For the second time today, she winked at Luka.

Adrien’s smile felt forced.

Until her attention turned to him.

“Ready, Adrien?”

He nodded and, after a brief farewell to his friends, rushed to her side. “Let’s go.”

As she continued to limp toward the exit, he identified a glaring flaw in his escape plan. He needed time to take her to the doctor’s. And time was something he had none of right now.

…

Crap.

Adrien could think of several reasons as to why he couldn’t ditch her.

Reason one? It’d be a terrible thing to do.

Reason two? It’d be awfully suspicious after offering to take her in the first place.

Reason three? She really did need his help.

But damn it, so did Ladybug. And all of Paris for that matter. Maybe he could speed things up somehow—

“Hold the fort, Nino!” Alya, who Adrien was sure had been on the sofa just a second ago, flashed by them in a blur of orange and blue. “Your girl’s gotta bounce!”

“Babe?!” Nino sputtered from his seat. “You’ve – You’ve got guests!”

Alya swung the front door aside, revealing a public stairwell of wooden steps and copper railing. “Montparnasse is, like, a twenty-minute metro away. If I jet now, I might make the end of the battle!” She threw Marinette a one-handed finger gun. “Rest that foot up, girl!” And with that, she was off.

Marinette frowned at the front door, still ajar. “I swear she has no sense of self preservation.”

“With Ladybug protecting Paris, at least we know she’s in safe hands.”

She met his smile with one of her own. “You mean Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

His lips parted, a merry “thank you” at the ready, until he realised that’d be a pretty odd response from Adrien Agreste. “You’re right,” he said instead, following her through the front door. “I’ll be back soon, everyone!” (He hoped.)

While he clicked the door shut behind him, Marinette limped up to the first set of steps in their way. With her fingers around the handrail, she put her right foot forward, gauging her weight on step number one as though testing the temperature of a swimming pool.

Hold up.

Did she plan to scale these stairs on her own?

He stepped forward. “If you’d like, I can—”

“No.” Her answer was short, but not impolite. More like she was on a mission. “I’ve got this.”

“You sure?”

The front of her ballerina flat touched the first step. Seeming satisfied with the level of pain, she ventured forward.

“Yeah, I’m—”

Her ankle buckled.

He lunged after her.

One hand clutched the curve of her waist.

The other gripped her shoulder.

“—totally in need of a little assistance.”

A little giggle followed her words and he couldn’t help but smile. He levelled her onto her feet. “Say no more.” Knees bent, he eased one hand across her back, while his other reached down to loop behind her legs.

A thought made him pop back to full height.

Was it socially acceptable to carry her bridal-style?

“Err – With your permission?”

The question hung in the air. And was it a trick of the light? Or were her cheeks a little rosier than usual? Maybe he needed an ice breaker. The kind of comment she’d expect from Chat Noir. He’d carried her bridal style on more than one occasion.

“No altars, I promise.”

“I – I – Uh—”

Mistakes were made.

Her eyes darted every which way. None of those ways crossed paths with his own. And— Oh no! Her cheeks were definitely rosy now. Had he just made her more uncomfortable?

“Sure,” she squeaked, much like the sound that had inspired the nickname ‘Marimouse’ last night. “Fine. Totally fine. Like, one hundred percent A-OK.” She placed her right hand across the nape of his neck, emphasising her words.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Adrien lifted her from the stairs into his arms, and her left hand slid behind his neck to join her right. He hadn’t started out his day expecting to sweep a cute girl off her feet, but here he was. That joke rode the tip of his tongue, barely withheld, because jeez, his last attempt at ice breaking had gone just splendidly.

As he began their descent down the stairs, Marinette spoke up again. “Sorry if I’m heavy...”

He almost laughed.

That hadn’t even crossed his mind.

His thoughts drifted a day into the past, to the puns they’d cracked in her kitchen. “Must’ve been the cheesecake. I’d batter be extra careful while carrying you down these stairs!”

Eager for her reaction, his eyes flicked from the steps to her face. She didn’t disappoint.

No, she rolled her eyes.

He smirked in record time.

“I swear you’re like a walking punpedia.”

“You’re meant to egg me on, Marinette. Have I tarte you nothing?”

Banana puns. Baking puns. He was on a roll today. Punning against an artsy villain would be a piece of cake.

“Gosh, I pun with you once and suddenly, we’re pun buddies.”

Had his hands not been preoccupied, Adrien would’ve placed one to his heart. “Why, I hope you’re not planning to dessert me?” This time, she groaned, but he didn’t miss the slight upward tilt of her lips. “Because that would mousse definitely make me sad.”

With a shake of her head, she finally cracked a smile. Briefly, he wished he didn’t have to watch where he was going, so he could freely enjoy the fruits of his labours.

A few seconds ticked by, the thumps of his shoes against wood filling the silence. He reached a stair landing, strode by two doors, then continued down another set of steps.

Marinette sighed. “I feel kinda bad about leaving early.”

Adrien’s brows curled. If either of them should feel bad right now, it was him. He’d invited Kagami, after all, and here he was leaving her despite knowing she wasn’t at ease around acquaintances.

“Don’t feel bad, Marinette. Your health comes first. Any one of our friends would say the same.”

She was silent.

But one glance at her face revealed lips pursed by thought.

“Is this about leaving Luka?”

From the corner of his eye, Marinette nodded. “I just feel so lame for ditching him.”

Adrien shrugged. Well, as much as he could with her in his arms. “I’m sure he understands. I know I would if I was in his shoes.”

A quiet pause.

“You’re right.”

Adrien didn’t need to peel his eyes from the steps to know she was smiling. “So, uhh”—he cleared his throat—“did he really compose that song just for you?”

Another nod on her end.

“That’s pretty cool.” Even if it didn’t suit her as well as it could’ve. “Maybe I should compose a song for you,” he thought aloud, already sifting through piano pieces he knew for inspiration. Something bright. Strong. Resilient. Joyful! Playing it needed to make him as happy as being around her did.

“I, um… I should probably text my parents.” Her left hand dropped from his neck to pull a smart phone from the front pocket of her pants. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to take me to the doctors, so you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Well, I…” It sure made transforming easier, but he still had to ask, “If that’s not too much trouble?”

With a shake of her head, Marinette held her phone near his shoulder. “‘Course not.” It clicked as she typed. “And this way you don’t have to leave everyone.”

Little did she know.

While Marinette tucked away her phone, he scaled the last of the steps and approached a wooden door, its surface scuffed from years of use. “Could you—”

Sure enough, she was already reaching for the brass knob.

They exchanged a smile as he planted his back to the door and reversed his way into an open-air corridor. “Nice work, team.”

That got a giggle out of her.

With Marinette still in his arms, Adrien strode by rows of beige mailboxes, a letter half hanging from one of the slots. She extended a hand and pushed it the rest of the way in.

“In case it’s something important.”

“Very typical of you,” he said with a wink.

Her eyes fell to her lap, but not before she smiled.

As they approached an iron gate, he recalled her earlier advice that it was never actually locked, and coaxed it open with his back. The street was fairly quiet. A few pigeons. A couple of motoring cars. And an old lady walking her sausage dog.

He glanced back at the entrance corridor beyond the iron gate. It’d make a good transformation spot. Well, as long as Marinette didn’t see him race inside, only for Chat Noir to leave a second later.

With that in mind, Adrien rounded a nearby corner to be met by an equally quiet street. Bending his knees, he set her down on the sidewalk and placed his hands on her shoulders, ready to catch her at a moment’s notice. “You okay to stand, Marinette?”

Her answer, as it turned out, was to press her petite fingers flush against his chest.

A second later, he froze as she slapped her hands to her face. “Sorry!” She peeked up at him from through her fingers. “I – Uh – The designer in me! She felt bad for creasing your dress shirt!”

That made sense.

Adrien placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Marinette. I’m a fashion model, remember? Unannounced crease correcting comes with the territory.” He chuckled. “Besides, I prefer you doing it as opposed to some stranger.” After two light pats on her shoulder, his hand returned to his side, and his fingers drummed against his thighs. “So, err…” As much as he needed to scat, leaving her alone felt a little impolite. “I can keep you company until your parents get here?”

Marinette toyed with the hem of her cardigan. “That’s, uh, awfully nice of you, Adrien, but there’s really no need.” She tapped her fingers together as she peered up at him. “I – I mean, not that I don’t want your company. Your company’s great. You just… umm… probably wanna get back to everyone else, right?”

Well, not exactly.

He slipped a hand behind his neck. “Are you sure, Marinette?”

“Adrien.” The boldness of her tone alone made him still. “Gateau of here.”

Did…

Did she just…

The smile that swept across her lips was answer enough. Man, she was awesome!

“How can I say dough to that?” With a broad grin, he took two steps back the way they came. “Take it easy on that ankle, okay?”

“Uh – Yeah! Will do.”

“And I guess I’ll… see you Monday?”

“Yup. Monday! That’s when you’ll next be seeing me.”

“Great. See you then!”

With a two-fingered salute, he ducked around the corner and backtracked through the gate, rows of mailboxes affixed to the wall on his right.

Plagg zipped out of his messenger bag. “Finally!” By the way he snickered, he wasn’t really bothered. “Parting with your girlfriend is such sweet sorrow, hmm?”

Nope. Definitely not bothered.

“You said the same thing yesterday, Plagg.” He fiddled with the cuff of his dress shirt. “You know she’s just a friend.”

His kwami floated closer. “Don’t you mean a pun buddy?”

Adrien gave a wry smile. “Speaking of which”—he launched out his fist—“Plagg, claws out!”

In a flash of blinding green, Chat Noir stood where Adrien Agreste once had. He approached the gate, scanned the street for any onlookers, then raced out onto the sidewalk.

One tap of his baton launched him heavenward—and with a highly essential flip, he dropped to a nearby rooftop. In the distant cityscape, Montparnasse Tower stood like a sky-high circus.

“Good thing I’m wearing my clown costume.” He tapped the glowing paw on his staff, revealing its screen. “No messages from M’Lady? Well colour me shocked.”

A few taps brought up the latest akuma update. No heroes on the scene yet. He glanced at his Bugabeacon. By the looks of it, she hadn’t transformed yet. Seemed he wasn’t the only one running fashionably late.

Chat gripped his staff tighter.

This was their first battle since his reveal.

Ladybug’s first battle with Adri—

No.

Her second battle with Adrien.

And an agonising reminder of his desire to prove himself.

Sure, Chat Noir had done so for over a year, but he wasn’t just Chat Noir anymore. No, he was also Adrien Agreste, who’d failed to save her as Aspik for three months straight. Adrien Agreste, whose nightmares had been haunted by Desperada ever since. Adrien Agreste, who longed for redemption.

And today was his chance.

---

Marinette tottered into a nearby alleyway and propped her back against a weather-worn wall. Two painkillers, a dollop of anti-inflammatory cream and twenty minutes of ice-pack time, yet somehow her ankle throbbed more now than it had right after her fall.

Tikki whizzed out of her pink clutch, concern swimming in her eyes.

“Our first akuma in a week and I’ll be spending it stumbling through Paris.” Marinette pushed off the wall to test out the injury. A little weight was wince-worthy, but bearable. Anything more active was another story. “Will my transformation do anything to ease the pain?”

Her kwami shook her head. “I’m sorry, Marinette! Injuries you get while de-transformed are out of my control. You’ll just have to be extra careful.”

So it looked like she’d have to keep anything too jarring to a minimum. Well, try to. Running and jumping were kind of necessary when it came to yoyo swinging and dodging dangerous projectiles.

“I’ll have to fight through the pain.” She shifted her weight to her good ankle. “At least it’s just a sprain. Or there’s no way I’d be standing.”

Five storeys up, a blur of black leapt over the alley.

Tikki frowned. “What about Chat Noir?”

A touch of dread rematerialized, gripping her chest as it had upstairs. She’d thought – well, maybe freaked out – about that on the way down. Though observing Adrien’s own ditch attempt had been a welcome distraction. And a fascinating one at that.

“He saw me walking fine during patrol last night.” She cupped her chin. “It’ll be hard to come up with a believable excuse, but...”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Marinette nodded. “I have to.” Purpose hardened her eyes. “Tikki, spots on!”

Latex washed up her body in a glow of pale pink. Immediately, Ladybug reassessed her ankle, hoping for a miracle.

Alas, Lady Luck couldn’t solve everything.

She flicked up the screen of her yoyo. According to her Kitty Tracker, Chat Noir was already five blocks ahead of her. “He’s really hightailing it over there,” she thought aloud, and hurled her yoyo at the rim of the roof above. One tug sent her skyward.

Her toes touched down.

Her ankle caved.

Her knees slammed against the roof.

Ladybug groaned. “Focus!” The second time in a week she’d said that very thing. She’d let down her friends, her master, all of Paris. She refused to be that useless today.

Never again.

Ladybug hoisted herself to her feet and stared out at the Parisian skyline. Montparnasse Tower reached for the clouds like a multicoloured beacon. It’d already been about ten minutes since that footage had aired. She needed to get there fast.

But how could she do that with a busted ankle?

The Horse Miraculous wasn’t an option. The Miracle Box was stowed away in Master Fu’s old phonograph, atop the chest that housed Adrien’s many birthday gifts. Getting home would take almost as long as stumbling to Montparnasse.

A lightbulb went off in her head.

What if she embraced her inner Spider-Man? Swing more. Land less. Rest her ankle on the way there. Yeah, that could work. It’d be better than pushing her ankle before she’d even engaged Putricasso.

With her mind made up, she hurled her yoyo at a distant chimney. And as she spideyed her way over to Montparnasse, a month-old memory replayed in her mind.

The sinking sun set the sky ablaze, splashing the Arc de Triomphe with its golden glow. Her legs swayed off the ledge of the aged monument in time with Chat Noir’s, while cars hummed underfoot.

“Hey, LB?” He grinned at her, the tiny straw of a juice box brushing his lips. “Has it ever occurred to you that you’re like a female Spider-Man?”

“Y’know, my friends were discussing that very thing this week.”

“Ha! Mine too.” He took a hearty sip. “It makes sense, right? You’re both bug-themed. You wear lots of red. You swing around the city.”

“So if my comic counterpart’s Spider-Man, who’s yours?”

Chat puffed out his chest. “I am Batman,” he rasped, his voice an octave lower.

She snorted. “I was thinking more along the lines of Cat Woman.”

With a pout, he passed the juice box to her awaiting hand. “Why not Black Panther?”

“Who?”

“Wow, M’Lady!” He slapped a dramatic paw to his heart. “That hurts my very soul!”

Through a smile, Ladybug took a small sip of juice. “Well,” she eventually said, “I think Chat Noir’s a much cooler superhero anyway.”

The smile he flashed her could’ve powered all of Europe.

Then he opened his mouth.

“Does this mean I can’t call you Spider-Woman?”

Ladybug couldn’t help but laugh as she soared through the autumn air. She considered telling him their silly talk had come in handy. Maybe she’d even let him call her Paris’ friendly neighbourhood ladybug. He’d get a kick out of that for sure.

Up ahead, Montparnasse Tower was a fast-approaching eyesore—and a reminder that she still needed a reason for her injury. One scan of the area drew her attention to an ice rink. A very familiar ice rink. An excuse bloomed in her brain. A skating accident. One she’d suffered from first thing this morning. It wasn’t her finest cover-up, but her choices were gut-churningly limited. If ever there was a day for her luck to shine through, today was it.

With each street she swung through, the beige brickwork and timeworn buildings of Paris evolved into a mess of colourful shapes. Rooms stuck out at odd angles, far from structurally sound. Flying pigeons defied the laws of aerodynamics, their wings branching from their bodies like two featherless triangles. And Parisians panicked in the streets, their faces distorted and their bodies a jumbled state of jagged shapes. If a unicorn caught a stomach bug, she imagined the aftermath would look a lot like this.

A multicoloured beam sliced through the sky—just past Montparnasse Cemetery, where an expanse of tombstones dotted the land. More beams burst from between a distant street and with narrowed eyes, she veered toward them.

#ml fic #miraculous ladybug #you times two #adrinette #marichat #ladynoir #ladrien

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get-your-fics · 6 years ago

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Violent Delights - Chapter Five

Nonstop

Summary: Bruce Wayne is addicted to a lot of things to distract from his dark urges, but his addiction to you might only increase them.

Pairing: dark!Bruce Wayne x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, stalking, kidnapping, underage drinking, drug use, torture, abuse

CHAPTER FOUR

You spent an hour and twenty-seven minutes in the bathroom of your luxury penthouse, and when you walked out, your hair was slicked back into a skilled updo, and your makeup was applied expertly. There wasn’t a hair out of place or a nick of lipstick on your teeth. It made me furious seeing how much effort you were putting in for your date with Brant. He was so self-centered, I doubt he would even take a second glance at you.

I sat in the backseat of my town car and stared down at the grainy video of you on the iPad in my lap. I had taken the time earlier before I had left your penthouse to install bugs in almost every room in your place. The tiny video cameras had been planted carefully so you wouldn’t notice them but I would still have a good view of everything you did. Now, I could keep tabs on you twenty-four seven with you being none the wiser, and I wouldn’t even have to leave my couch.

You hugged your cream-colored, silk robe close around your figure and walked over to the bed. You let it fall off your shoulders, revealing a fuchsia bra and panties. You were wearing matching underwear for him? I barely had time to appreciate your curves before you picked up the dress laid out on your bed and stepped into it. It had an open back and a plunging neckline that flaunted the swell of your breasts. My tongue ran over the healed cut on my lip I had sustained earlier. I didn’t want him to see you like this. No one should get to see you like this except for me.

You smoothed out the skirt of your dress with your hands before disappearing into your walk-in closet. When you came out, giant, cushion-cut diamonds hung from your ears, and a heavy, diamond necklace laid flat against your collarbone. It managed to cover up some of your ample cleavage. Hopefully, Brant would be too distracted by your bling to ogle your tits all night.

You slipped your feet into your Louboutins and slung your purse over your shoulder. In my hands were a pair of headphones plugged into the iPad that picked up the signal of the listening device hidden in your purse. I had snuck one into every single designer purse of yours, so no matter which one you chose, I would still be able to hear you when you went on your date tonight.

You strode out of the front doors of your apartment building and towards the town car parked at the curb. You climbed into the backseat, and I clicked off the iPad, the screen flickering to black. I pointed at your car as it teared down the road, leaving tire tracks in its wake. “Follow that car,” I instructed my chauffeur.

He merely gave me a quick nod of his head before pulling onto the street. There was no doubt he knew I was stalking you now. I mean, he was the one who drove me to your penthouse everyday where I sat and watched for hours. But I paid him well enough so he knew to keep his mouth shut.

It was rush hour, which meant we ran into a lot of traffic. Usually, I would hate it, but with so many cars on the road swerving and honking at each other made it even easier to follow you while looking inconspicuous. We followed you for a couple of blocks before your car pulled up in front of a classy restaurant. It looked like the kind of joint that you needed to reserve a table at months in advance in order to get in. Well, unless you were me.

I watched you get out of your car and strut into the restaurant. Your town car drove away, and mine took its spot. I popped the headphones in my ears and listened as you approached the hostess. The audio quality wasn’t the best, since the tiny mic in your purse crackled with every movement, but it was manageable. “Hi, I’m meeting Brant Jones for dinner. Is he here yet?”

There was a pause before I heard a faint voice reply, “Yes, he is. Right this way.”

I looked up, and through the windows of the building, I could see you being led to a table in the corner of the restaurant. I could just make out Brant’s head of slicked, brown hair as he leaned back in his chair. He was dressed in a navy blue suit with a striped tie, and he looked every part the rich douchebag who manipulated vulnerable, naive girls for his own gain. When you approached, he stood from his chair and wrapped his arms around you. You returned the embrace and rested your head on his shoulder, your eyes falling closed in bliss.

My jaw ached from clenching it so hard, and I felt like I had venom running through my veins. You separated from each other, and I watched your lips move, but all I heard through my headphones was static. He pulled your chair out for you, and you gracefully sat down with your back to me. I ripped my headphones out of my ears. I needed to get closer. I needed to be able to see your face and hear your voice, or I was sure I was going to snap from staring at Brant all night.

I popped open the car door. “Drive around the block until I get back,” I said to my chauffeur without further explanation.

I caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “Yes, Mr. Wayne,” he responded.

I hopped out and slammed the door shut firmly behind me. I listened to the sound of tires scraping against gravel as the car pulled away behind me. I tugged on the lapels of my blazer and marched into the restaurant, past the cluster of nicely dressed people waiting to see if they could get a reservation, and straight up to the hostess. I ran a hand through my raven locks and pressed my palms flat against the table separating us. “I need,” I pointed to a table that was currently being cleared by a waiter, “that table.”

The hostess arched an over-plucked brow at me. “Do you have a reservation?”

“No.” There was no waver in my voice.

“Then I’ll have to put you down on our two hour long waitlist.” She flashed me a condescending smile. “Can I have your name, sir?”

My lips curled into a small smirk as I said, “Bruce Wayne.”

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Bruce Wayne? As in, Wayne Enterprises?”

I suppressed an eye roll. “Do you know any other Bruce Waynes?” She opened her mouth to speak, and I held up a finger, stopping her. “That was rhetorical.” I reached inside my blazer and retrieved my leather wallet. “How much is it going to cost to get that table over there?”

The hostess chewed on her bottom lip and glanced around to make sure no one was watching us. “A hundred dollars,” she said in a voice so quiet I could barely hear her.

I raised a brow. I easily would have paid a grand. I looked down and opened my wallet, pulling out a hundred dollar bill. I held it out to her, and she snatched it from my hand, stuffing it in her black button-up before anyone could see.

“Right this way, Mr. Wayne.” She turned and guided me to the table I had indicated. I took a seat and grabbed the white napkin folded into an origami bird of paradise on the table. “Your waitress will be right with you.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, not even looking at her. I absentmindedly put my napkin in my lap as I stared at you across the room. I had picked a table situated a good ways away from you so it would be hard to pick me out from the rest of the high class diners, but still close enough that I could see you and Brant and listen in on your conversation.

I was worried that I had missed something vital, but it seemed like you had only had time to order drinks and receive them. I was surprised to see that neither of you were drinking alcohol, not even Brant, and had opted for iced teas instead. “I miss you,” Brant said with a tender look in his eyes that was so unlike him.

“I know, I’ve missed you too. I’ve just been so busy recently, it’s crazy. I swear, it’s like I’ve been running from meeting to meeting to meeting nonstop. I hardly sleep anymore.” You laughed, but then you leaned on your elbows and rubbed your temples, and I could see the exhaustion in your eyes. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to bundle you in my arms and rock you until you fell asleep.

“It sounds like you need a break.” He tilted his head to the side.

“You never really get a break as a fundraising chairman. It’s a full-time job.” You gestured with your glass in your hand as you spoke. “I work around the clock. No one really understands how much effort goes into the stuff I do.”

“I do. It’s why I don’t get to see you as much,” he teased.

You took it seriously though. “I know,” you reached for his hand on the table and intertwined your fingers, “and I’ll try to make more time for you.”

“It’s not me you should worry about. Your mom misses you like crazy.” There it was, your mom again. What was the deal with her?

You scoffed. “Oh, please. All that woman wants to do is take me to the salon or to the mall. No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“Well, what’s that?” He quirked a brow as his eyes scanned over you. “A new dress?”

“Hey, I have to look the part.” You rolled your eyes. “High society needs to know they can trust me to send their money to the right places.”

“Well, you look nice.” His lips curled into a genuine smile. “Really, you do.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

I snapped my head to see a petite waitress hovering over my table. “Uh...” I pretended to glance at the drink menu. “I’ll have a glass of whatever your house chardonnay is.”

I grabbed the menu and pushed it into her chest before looking back at you. I could still feel her presence, the wheels in her mind turning as she contemplated whether or not she should card me. After a second, I heard her murmur a quick, “I’ll be back,” before she scurried off like a scared, little mouse.

I tuned back into the conversation. “You really should try to relax every once in a while, though. The stress can’t be good.” The concern in Brant’s voice was evident. “You do a lot of great things for the community, but we can’t have you breaking down. Sometimes, I think you’re a little too addicted to giving back.”

“There’s worse things to be addicted to.” You shrugged. Brant’s demeanor slightly fell. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it.”

“No, it’s okay,” he insisted.

“How is your recovery going, by the way?” You messed with the cloth napkin in your lap. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is good. I’ve been clean for about two months now.” He smiled proudly. “But don’t try and change the subject on me. You’re not off the hook yet.” He laughed. “Can you at least try to unwind a little bit every now and then? Even if it’s just to have dinner with me?”

A giggle tumbled out from between your lips. “Okay.” You nodded firmly. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” His gaze was filled with pure adoration. “I love you.”

The corners of your lips tugged upwards into a small smile. “I love you too.”

He rubbed circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, and my stare burned a hole into his head. I love you? How could you say you love him? He was worse than me! When I knew him, he snorted coke and visited strip clubs and paid for prostitutes. This was all obviously some type of act, some show he was putting on to deceive you. How could you fall for it? How could you not see through it as easily as I could?

I clenched my fists so hard that my knuckles turned white and my nails dug into my palms. I wanted to split his skull open, to see the fear fill his eyes as I raised a knife only to bury it in his gut. I wanted to skin him alive and chop off his head and put it on a spike and display it in my front lawn as a warning. A warning to all the people who thought they could take what’s mine, and I wanted you to be there to see all of it.

“Here’s your drink.” The waitress set down a glass of greenish yellow liquid, breaking me out of my trance. She stood up straight and clasped her hands in front of her. “Have you decided what you want to order?”

I rested my head against my hand. “Actually, I’ll just get the check. Thanks.” I dismissed her with a wave, and she hesitated a moment before scampering away. I was losing my wits with you. All the dark urges I’ve tried to suppress with all the clubbing and the drinking and the drugs were surfacing again because of my obsession with you. I needed to stop, needed to distance myself from you before I completely lost control. You might not know when to take a break, but I certainly did.

I heard laughter drifting over from your table, and I looked down at my hands in my lap. I uncurled my fists to see eight little cuts dripping scarlet blood down my palms, staining my pale skin red.

I trudged into Wayne Manor, my head slightly spinning from the glass of chardonnay on an empty stomach. For once, Alfred didn’t immediately bombard me on my way in, and I prayed to God I wouldn’t run into him for the rest of the night. I turned into the living room, prepared to drown my sorrows in whiskey and marijuana until I felt another presence in there with me. My body tensed, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on edge.

“Hi.” Grace stepped forward shyly. “Alfred let me in. I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by.”

Goddamn that fucking butler. “No, not at all.” I walked over to the mini bar and grabbed a bottle of dark liquid. “Would you like a drink?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

Did I even have to ask? I set out two glasses and twisted the cap off the bottle. I tipped it and poured the whiskey into the crystal glasses. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” She smiled sheepishly. “You were acting really weird that night a couple weeks ago at the Towers, and I haven’t seen you since then.” “Yeah, sorry. I got kind of busy.” I put the bottle back and held out a glass to her.

“Thanks.” She took it from me and sipped the liquid. She pulled away and made a face before regaining her composure. “I understand that lifestyle can be too much sometimes. I don’t blame you for taking a break from all of that. Sometimes, I need a break myself.” She huffed.

I nodded like I understood, but I couldn’t remember an instance where she had ever declined going out on the town with us. “Right. Well, it was really sweet of you to check up on me, but I’m okay, so...” I put my hand on her shoulder to lead her out.

She grabbed my hand and spun around so she was facing me. “I have to admit, I also missed you.” She batted her eyelashes up at me.

I swallowed my repulsion. “We sure have grown close over the past couple of months, haven’t we?”

“Mmm, very close,” she purred and ran a hand down my chest. “I know you’ve been struggling a lot recently, and I probably can’t relate to what you’re going through, but I’ll always be here for you. No matter what, okay?”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. “Thanks, Grace.”

“Of course,” she whispered. Without another word, she wrapped her fingers around the lapels of my blazer and pulled my face down to meet hers. She connected our lips in a rushed kiss. My limbs froze in surprise, and my eyes widened. But after a second, I closed my eyes and kissed her back. Maybe she could help me finally get you off of my mind.

I grabbed the backs of her thighs and lifted her up. She pulled away from me as an excited giggle escaped from her lips. She folded her legs around my waist and draped her arms over my shoulders, resuming the kiss. Her heels dug into my lower back until they fell to the floor with a clatter. I carried her out of the living room and down the hall, kicking the door to my bedroom open with my foot.

I dropped her onto the bed with a bounce, and she laughed. She sat up on her elbows and spread her legs, revealing a glimpse of the lacy underwear she was wearing. I climbed on top of her and crashed my lips against hers. I pushed up the skirt of her dress over her hips and hooked my thumbs under the fabric of her panties. She slid a hand in between our bodies and palmed me through my pants.

As hard as I tried, she just wasn’t doing it for me. Nothing about Grace excited me or turned me on anymore. Without realizing it, my thoughts filled with the images of you undressing as I had watched from inside your closet unbeknownst to you. I thought about how smooth and soft your skin looked, how badly my hands ached to feel your curves. I could feel my growing erection straining against the confines of my pants.

I tugged Grace’s underwear down her tan legs and tossed them to the side. I sat back on my heels and stared down at her. “Turn around. Get on your hands and knees.”

She blinked. “Okay.” She did as I said and turned over, sticking her ass in the air.

I unzipped my pants and pushed them down along with my boxers in one fell swoop, freeing my hardening cock. I pumped my length in my hand a couple of times before lining up with her entrance. She wiggled her hips, pushing back against me impatiently. I gripped her hips before thrusting into her almost to the hilt. She was so wet, I entered her easily. I moved my hips back and impaled her again, setting a slow pace.

“Fuck, Bruce!” she moaned. “That feels so good!”

My eyes snapped open. Her voice was too high-pitched, too whiny. It was like the sound of nails on a chalkboard or a cat’s scratchy howl. Yours was the complete opposite. It was husky and sultry and smooth as silk. I leaned forward and clasped my hand over her mouth. “Shut up. Don’t talk,” I panted as I continued to pound into her.

She whimpered, but the sound was muffled by my hand. From this angle, I couldn’t see her face, making it easier to pretend you were the one I was fucking instead. I increased my speed and felt pleasure rising in my gut. My hand slipped from her mouth as I held onto her hips again, my fingers digging into her flesh as I thrusted into her.

“(Y/N),” your name spilled from my lips involuntarily. “God, (Y/N).” It was barely more than a whisper, but Grace’s head perked up. “Wha... what?” she managed through breathy moans.

My eyes flashed with fury, and I buried a hand in her tangled hair. I yanked her head back. “I said don’t talk!” I grunted.

She let out a sharp yelp. “Bruce, you’re hurting me!”

I growled and shoved her face down into the pillow. She started to cry or mewl. Which one it was, I couldn’t tell because the noise was stifled by the pillow. And I didn’t care. I was too enthralled in chasing my own pleasure and the image I had of you locked into my brain.

I remembered I still had your ruined panties in my pants pocket, and I dug them out. I brought them up to my nose and inhaled deeply. Your scent combined with my own release triggered my orgasm, and my hips snapped against Grace’s one last time before I spilled my seed into her. I grunted as a wave of ecstasy washed over me. I pulled out of her and collapsed limp onto the bed next to her, my body coated in a sheen of sweat and your panties dangling from my fingers.

I guess my break hadn’t lasted long.

CHAPTER SIX

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x you #playboy!bruce wayne #dark!bruce wayne #gotham #gotham imagine #gotham fanfic #gotham fanfiction #dark!fic

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panickedvulture · 6 years ago

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Bittersweet [002]

Bittersweet is a con-artist!Brendon Urie x barista!Reader AU, and also a “We know each other but we don’t know we know each other” AU.

Warnings: Profanity, Kleptomania, Con-Artist AU, TØP and MCR cameos

A/n: NGL I wrote this a while ago. I have the next part written (it’s to bridge a time gap so it’s not too content heavy). Part four, however...is where the real fun will begin...Enjoy :)

For once Tyler's doing work today, partially because you haven’t been able to take your eyes off your phone since you left your apartment. You walked to your station, didn’t even put your apron on for a good twenty minutes, and so far you’ve only been interrupted by Josh’s confused stares and Tyler asking how to make everything.

You’ve spent the day revisiting your high-school colleague’s Instagrams, looking for you and the guy who insisted you call “Clyde” in the background of every photo. It started with going to Jenna’s account, searching through her followers for some names guaranteed to have been there, then going ham with your detective skills.

And yet you haven’t found anything. Maybe it’s good there’s no photo evidence (as far as you know) of you and Clyde, considering you did manage to snatch a couple thousand dollars worth of jewelry which you gasp recalling considering you’re fairly certain you chucked your clothes off you the second you walked into your bedroom….you’ll have to look for those later.

You have managed to find—“Y/n, Toro alert,” Tyler interrupts your thoughts, plucking your phone from your hands and leaving you stunned and against the counter. He forces a smile before slipping your phone in his back pocket and nudging you toward your latest customer. You instinctively smile at them and go to ask for their order, but after processing who they are all you can do is choke on some laughter.

“Oh! Brendon! Uh, hi…what can I get for ya?”

He’s back again, Brendon Urie, just as formally dressed today as he was yesterday albeit a little less put together. He’s wearing a black collared shirt and black jeans. Pretty much the same thing but there’s an irritated look to his face.

He twists his lips to the side as he looks to his phone and mumbles, “Sorry.”

You take his silence to look off into space and think back to the morning you’ve had.

Your boss Ray knocks you out of your state when he slips past you, saying bye then waving to you all working before walking out the door, his things packed up in his bag and his jacket hung over his forearm.

“Heh, sorry.” Brendon puts his phone down on the counter and looks up to the menu. “Uh, the usual?”

You suck your lip in between your teeth. It takes him a moment to realize he hasn’t been as much of a regular as he thinks he has so he calrifies with, “Uh, Sickly Strawberry.” He grins and pats his fingers against the counter. “Please…”

“Ah, I see. It’s the usual now is it?”

“Heh, as far as I can see.”

Brendon watches you grab a cup, and after you hold up a medium and make sure he’s fine with the size (he is, so he nods), he watches you scribble his name on the side in blue ink. Last time it was red, and he feels a bit foolish for being so bummed by the change but he doesn’t bring it up.

“One Sickly Strawberry coming right up!” You’re as enthusiastic as you can be. Honestly, his presence helps that, and you go about making his drink while he stays at the counter.

He doesn’t move, not even when Tyler comes and stands beside you. Tyler leans, elbow against the cool (and sticky) countertop while he speaks softly and nods toward the door. “Ray’s gone you know, I’ll take care of this.” You hum, hoping he’ll elaborate, and you suppose he does when he takes advantage of your loose grip on the cup and takes it for himself. He moves it enough to remove it from your grasp but keeps it right where it’s supposed to be as the machine does its work. “That strawberry drink, right?”

You raise a brow at him and he lowers his, looking at you from behind them. “Uh…yeah?” You say, then sputter, “it’s fine, I got it.” You grab the cup but he doesn’t budge.

He instead lowers his voice and drops his chin to his chest. “Don’t worry about it Y/n. You’ve been out of it all day.” You give in, letting him take the cup and he goes to continue the job and blend the strawberries with the ice and milk.

When he has nothing to do but watch the blades do their work he reaches into his pocket and hands you your phone. He spares you a glance, then goes back to keeping them trained on the drink.

You stay beside him and take a peek at Brendon, on his phone and swaying softly in his spot. Then your phone buzzes. The sensation against your hand is enough to make you jump and elicit a look off worry from Tyler, but after giving him a shaky smile you check your notifications.

A message from Clyde.

Tyler starts tapping his foot to the beat of some song too soft and far-off, especially with the blender right by your ears. You watch him push himself to his tip-toes and stretch back, slyly trying to get a glimpse at your screen.

Normally you would question what inspired him to work so efficiently, but first of all, it’s not like you’ve ever gotten the chance to because it’s far from normal. And second of all your mind’s too damn occupied with the events of last night to really care. It was an adrenaline pumping affair infused with sexual tension and the feeling of holding more than your net-worth in one hand. And suddenly the sky’s dim today, the clouds hang over casting the world in a gloom, and that makes it the perfect environment for a packed crowd. Knowing it’s no longer Halloween or the month of October makes it slightly bearable, but a lot more boring.

Tyler chuckles, “Guess it worked out with you and Clyde.”

“Huh?” You look at your screen. Huh, you forgot that fast. Well, that single message has jumped up to seven. You quirk a brow and open your messages. You can only get a peek at the paragraphs before looking away and blinking in surprise. They have a frantic attitude attached to all of them. You squeeze your eyes shut and groan.

“No wonder you’re so occupied.”

You groan again and whine softly, stamping your foot to the ground and twisting your body to face Tyler as he tops the drink with whipped cream. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know….just that you two seem to have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah…” You sigh.

“So…” There’s a click as he pops the lid onto Brendon’s drink, still standing there and typing away at his phone. Tyler keeps his voice down and nods over at him. “Still want me to be your wingman with him?”

You scoff and Tyler presses his lips together tight, shrugging. “Of course I do!” You say and he blinks in surprise.

“Oh?”

You nod rapidly. “That,” you roll your eyes and spit, “Clyde guy wasn’t even a fling.”

“I…see?” You walk around Tyler and grab the drink. He keeps his eyes squinted and on you, trying to figure out what exactly could be going on between you two. He doesn’t want to prod and despite knowing you for such a short time he believes you when you say it’s not a fling, but doesn’t quite trust the idea of nothing going on. Nothing at all.

You slam the drink down in front of Brendon, keeping your fingers wrapped around the bottom of the cup. Brendon picks his head up, almost slipping his phone into his back pocket before noticing your whole body and eyes still turned to Tyler.

“It was not a fling.” You assure him.

“Not a fling,” he repeats, stepping closer. You nod and smile, not bothering to stop him when he takes your phone and skims over the messages. Your arm is still stretched out to Brendon as you wait for him to take the drink.

It takes a moment to occur to you that this Clyde fellow’s learned more about you in one night than Tyler has in his months (and then some) of working alongside you. You see Tyler wince and scrunch his face up in confusion, and it’s then when you remember that whole, stealing jewelry from Jenna’s house thing. Those messages aren’t just the messages of some college boy you made the mistake of hanging out with. They’re messages that potentially reveal burglary, which is nice.

Your chest puffs up and you snatch your phone from Tyler, leaving him staring down with a blank look. He runs his tongue over his lips and chuckles, “So he’s just a clingy madman isn’t he?”

“Total, absolute, madman.” You and Tyler laugh about it for a moment, including poor Brendon in an awkward moment of silence as you and Tyler smile knowingly at each other.

Brendon lets out a chuckle, getting both of your attention.

“Oh!” Tyler hisses, pushing your body aside, but your arm still stretches to give Brendon his drink. “Sorry about that.” Tyler sliders over Ray’s iPad and starts up the transaction process. He sniffles and juts his thumb over to point at you. “Body problems.”

You flash Brendon a forced smile before kicking Tyler’s foot. He jumps a bit and looks down. Before holding his hand out for Brendon, expecting a “Card?” Tyler asks, but Brendon just pulls out some cash. Tyler nods, impressed, then mutters “That’ll do,” before giving Brendon his change.

Brendon’s still yet to grab his drunk. He just chuckles, “Boy problems?” Then wraps his hand around the top of the cup but he doesn’t make any effort to take it away so you stay in your awkward, stretched out position and continue to grip the cup.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah it’s just—”

“She met herself a madman last night.”

Brendon furrows his brows at you then looks to Tyler for an explanation. You see Brendon’s eyes widen and his jaw goes slack for a second before shutting tight, and he resorts to letting his eyes bounce all over the rest of Tyler, just not his face.

“Eh, you remember Jenna Black from school, right?”

You and Brendon look to Tyler for an explanation. Brendon looks put on the spot—you guess he is--then he looks down at himself, nodding softly and mumbling.

“Sorry,” Tyler says and points at him, “but you are Brendon Urie, right?” Tyler goes to fist-bump Brendon, which Brendon participates in as he slowly starts to remember—seems to at least.

“Yeah yeah, Tyler Joseph, Edmond’s class?” He blows out a breath, “Geesh, sorry.” He cracks a smile and scratches his head. “ Just been a bit out of it lately, how you doing man?” Brendon crosses his arms tight over his chest, so you pull the drink closer to you, nudging Tyler to the left to give yourself some room.

You watch their small exchange, a smile on your face despite not being included. Before Tyler gets a chance to spill his recent life story, Brendon points to you with furrowed brows and bites into his lip. You shake your head at him and hold up a hand in some sort of defense, already knowing where he’s heading. “You wouldn’t remember me.” He looks defeated at your insistence. “Our paths just didn’t cross is all.”

Brendon groans, “God, I feel so—so weird. It’s like everything’s just coming back to me now…Sorry, I uh—”

“Seriously. You wouldn’t remember me.” You look to Tyler, hoping he’ll back you up.

Truth be told you had your fair share of interactions with Brendon. You ran into each other at a few parties, got stuck together during a few school projects too. But you often gave him the go-ahead to slack off and let you do the work. There was nothing wrong with a few deducted points for citing poor sources as long as it was your mistake and your mistake alone. And your partner often got to mooch off of your frequent success—your work was usually a much-needed boost to their grade.

Even Tyler seems to recall some of your real interactions but says, “She’s right. She spent all of her time picking on me (“I did not!”) and talking to the trees.” He smiles.

You scoff and mumble, “Think you’re talking about yourself there Ty…”

Brendon points at you. “Actually…did we have, science, together? Maybe? And uh—drama?”

You nod and Brendon’s face lights up. Tyler looks down at the counter as he taps his fingers against it from his index to his pinkie, then he repeats.

“Huh…” Brendon finally takes his drink, then you’re standing identical to Tyler with your fingers mindlessly tapping to an invisible beat. “Y/n Y/l/n?” He laughs seeing how surprised you are.

“Uh, yeah,” you manage.

Brendon hums to himself and looks between you and Tyler. “Weird. Heh…never pegged you two as friends.”

Tyler looks at you but shakes his head. “Well we—”

“Aren’t really friends.” Tyler deflates and sucks in a breath but forces a smile. You don’t really notice the way he holds his breath and strains to act natural—or maybe you do but figure it’s nothing. You continue, “If anything we hate each other.” Okay so maybe that was a bit harsh and not exactly true.

Tyler leans forward and holds a finger up. “Used to hate each other.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side. “But we’re beeeesssstttt friends now, aren’t we Y/n?” He smiles and you scoff in playful disgust, trying to push him off you. Brendon nods and smiles at your strange display of friendship.

“What was that?” Josh asks, leaning back and popping his head through the small doorway separating the two stations that make up the food and drink assembling section of the cafe. He raises his brows and presses his chin to his chest, looking at Tyler with wide eyes and a soft smile.

Tyler smiles back at Josh, the balls of his cheeks rising so high that creases start to form in his forehead. “Nothing!” He chirps, and Josh looks at you for reassurance. You know he’s joking but damn it’s actually kind of intimidating.

You smile and wave, “Just talking about how you’re Tyler’s best friend Joshy! Nothing to worry about!” Josh presses his lips together and shrugs, pleased with your response, then goes back to work.

Brendon furrows his brows. “Josh, as in Josh Dun?” You nod and Brendon huffs. He scratches the back of his head, “Geesh, the whole gang’s back together huh?”

Tyler takes his hand from your shoulder and instead cups his hands together in front of his crotch. He does a strange and over-exaggerated bow as he spits out, “Ab-so-lutely!” Well, you were never really apart of the ‘gang’ but it’s nice just thinking of all the shenanigans you three could have gotten in if you and Tyler actually got along and didn’t want to slit each other’s throats…anyways!

Tyler looks back to the machines, then looks past Brendon where a mother and her young daughter have just come in. Tyler puts his hands on your shoulders and pushes you out from behind the counter. “You know what—lots of work to do. Uh, Y/, Brendon, how about you two catch up for a bit?”

Brendon looks more willing then you, as he shrugs and takes a step away from the counter to wait for you. You still try to force out a response to reference your confusion with Tyler’s suddenness, but can’t. By the time you figure out what you could say, he’s pushed you out, untied the apron from your waist, and begun waving you goodbye.

“Wh-Tyler!” You try going back but Tyler stands in front of the counter’s only entrance. He smiles at you, then puts a hand on your shoulder and pushes you back some more.

You give in when you see the new customers approach the counter, and Brendon grins at you. He takes a deep breath and twists his middle around to look for a place to sit.

“Uh…shall we?” He asks, jutting his thumb over his shoulder. You look at Tyler and he flashes a manic smile then goes back to scribbling down the mother’s order. You nod and sway your hands forward, gesturing for Brendon to lead the way.

And he does, bringing you to that quaint and comforting little corner of the cafe with the leather seats and working outlets. You stray behind him, and wait for him to pick a seat—he picks the one against the wall—before slipping into the one across him.

He immediately pulls out his phone and looks down to it on his lap. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head softly before putting it back in its place. Then he smiles at you and cups his hands around his drink. You smile back but can’t bring yourself to look at him or look into his eyes—your relationship just isn’t there yet.

You suddenly long to be back behind the counter, but you look and see Tyler working just fine which means you can’t make the excuse that he needs you desperately as a way to get out of this situation.

“So…how have uh…how’ve you been?” He smiles softly, tilting his head to the side.

You hum, trying to think up an answer. How have you been? Well, you have an apartment, you have a steady job—you have not been outed out to the police for stealing Mrs. Black’s jewelry, so you suppose you’re, “Alright. I’m alright, I guess.” You laugh at that and Brendon joins you.

“That’s good…that’s good…so what are you up to nowadays? You know, besides, working here.”

“Well, I’m afraid to say that’s all I really have going for me. Well, that and school.”

His eyes widen and he nods his head up, “Oh! Where do you go?”

“Online. You know, I was just never really a fan of social interaction at least not to the extent of a school setting…” you crack a smile and look down at your lap, “As you may have guessed from my high school days.”

Brendon leans back and takes a sip of his drink before setting it down. He looks to the ceiling and smiles, “Oh, I remember. From what I remember of you at least.”

“Well if you don’t remember much then that’s proof enough, isn’t it?”

“Heh, I guess it is…”

He looks over to Tyler but keeps his body still. His body goes stiff too as he holds his breath and clenches his jaw a bit. “So…you and…? Dea—”

“Tyler?”

Brendon forces a smile and nods rapidly “Yeah yeah, Tyler, you and Tyler!” He gulps and settles down. “So uhm…You and Tyler, what’s going on with you, and Mr. Joseph.” Brendon rolls his eyes at himself—he slipped up in a way he beats himself up about because he clearly doesn’t understand how he could have lost track so quickly, he was having a conversation with the guy less than five minutes ago, reminiscing and such. How could he have mistaken his name so easily?

You shrug his slip-up off and chalk it up to his preppiness shining through. You hate to admit something so small has made your respect dwindle a bit, but you can’t help but feel he’s only pretending to care (or trying to) as a way to make up for his tendency to be an ass in high school. He was never an ass to you, and you’re not really sure if he was ever an ass to others, but it’s the type of persona he exuded when you saw him walking through the halls looking like Sarah Orzechowski's’ trophy husband.

“What, was our banter back there not enough for you?” You look back to Tyler, still working and unable to pay attention to you.

Brendon shrugs. “No, I just—I couldn’t tell if you guys were best friends or if you hated each other’s guts and were doing that thing where you’re just acting like your best friends out of spite.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. No we uh, we’re friends? I think?” You tuck some hair behind your ear and look out through the window.

“You think?”

“Well…I never really gave him the time of day until yesterday.”

Brendon Ooohs in curiosity like a schoolboy and sits up. “What happened yesterday?”

Should you tell him? Could you tell him? It’s not like he’d give a damn, right?

“Eh. I just took him to this party.”

He slumps back down in his chair, going “Oh,” somewhat dissatisfied. Then his eyes bounce back and forth between you and Tyler, and he sits up again and lets out a more enthusiastic, “Oh!” He looks a bit worried too. “What-where, which party?”

“Just a girl from school.”

He nods, hoping you’ll continue. After all, he went to school with you.

“Jenna Black? Remember her?” Brendon smiles eerily then nods. “Well, remember that ‘Mad-Man’ Tyler was going on about earlier? Well, he was at her party last night. It’s a weird thing to bond over but it’s the only thing me and him have ever bonded over so I guess I should just enjoy it, right?”

Brendon huffs, “Yeah. Uhm, what made him a ‘mad-man’? Was he just a douche or something?” He takes a sip and hums as he finds the chill overwhelming.

You raise your brows, waiting to see when the brain freeze has blown over, and when he gives you a thumbs up you elaborate. “Well, he wasn’t really a mad-man. He wasn’t mean or gropey or anything…Well…” You suppose he could have been considered that. You see a flash of worry on Brendon’s face when you hesitate but you don’t give him time to express his worry further. “Anyways, he respected my boundaries. He was just a little weird.”

Whether or not a man proposing you become his partner-in-crime is a mad-man or exhilarating is subjective. The problem is you can’t figure out which side you’re on.

As you ponder on this and allow Brendon to try and visualize the situation you’ve presented, you pull out your phone and get a look at Clyde’s texts. He shut up a few minutes ago. You scroll all the way to the top where he graced your screen for the first time by sending a strawberry emoji. What follows is paragraphs of ranging size and the content is not what you could imagine coming out of Clyde’s mouth. Well, you only ever saw the man in top-notch skeleton makeup, you could hardly make out the shape of his lips.

You squint as you look to the messages, and seeing how you’re preoccupied Brendon takes his phone out. You don’t know how to respond to Clyde. He goes on about mistakes and contingency plans, double checking to see if you’re really up for anything.

I’m not gonna bail on you. Chill out

You send and exit your messages but he right on top of that, responding with:

Just making sure.

You look up at Brendon and flash him a smile, waving your phone around a bit. “Sorry—mad-man.” He chuckles nervously and nods then goes back to doing what he was doing, looking down at his phone with his hand pressed over his lips.

As long as its all in good fun. No smuggling a man’s fortune just to pig out, alright?

Brendon nods and you peak up at him. Then Clyde responds.

All in good fun. Legal, but fun.

You crack a smile. There’s nowhere else to go from there’s so you set your phone screen-down on the table. You take a breath. “Sorry, about that.”

Brendon purses his lips and nods, typing away but keeping his eyes on you. “You gave the man-man your phone number?” He chuckles and bites into his lip as he reads over what he writes. You stretch your neck and get the faintest peak at his screen, but the messages are unreadable anyhow. Besides, whatever paragraph he was working on he deletes with a few quick taps against the ‘delete’ key.

You roll your eyes. “It’s more like he bugged me to give it to him.”

“…And you gave in?”

Yeah, you kinda did. But still, you try to explain yourself. “Well, I mean—”

“Heh, Y/n, you don’t give your number to some guy you call a ‘mad-man.’” You get where he’s coming from and you have a feeling in no time you’ll be cursing yourself for your foolishness but what can you say? Boredom is a bitch and you’re at the epitome of it.

“I’ll keep you updated.”

After you conclude your conversation with Clyde Brendon seems to finish his and is more focused on your conversation. You don’t stay sat in the quaint corner for too long—unless thirty minutes in a coffee-shop is long but oh well.

Tyler’s getting on well behind the counter and though the crowd is a large one it builds steadily. He’s given enough time in-between drinks to relax and observe you and Brendon when he’s not bugging Josh, but you don’t find yourself returning the attention.

Your talk with Brendon is nice. It’s simple and ordinary, but nice. It’s the things you would normally catch up on, like asking if you’ve heard any news about this person or that person from your class and going back to talk crap about the teachers you dealt with and the things you saw. There’s some sweeter reminiscing too, like going back to share memories of your science teacher and that riot of a class.

Brendon finished his drink some time ago and has been going back to play with the straw, forgetting every time that there’s nothing in the cup to slosh around.

You look over to see Tyler, his side facing you as he looks past the threshold ‘officially’ separating your station and Josh’s. Then you look through the window, people walking past at hurried paces—a group of ‘kids’ in particular, one rushing forward to hold the door open for the rest.

You scoot your chair back, gripping the seat. “I uhm, I should probably go…” You stand and Brendon stands too.

“Oh yeah yeah no problem,” he says, looking down and around the floor to make sure he hasn’t dropped anything. Then he smiles at you and your hand, stretched out and hoping he’ll shake it. He chuckles a bit at the formal-nature of your goodbye, but takes your hand and shakes it as he pushes his chair in.

You can’t think of anything else to do. You’ve already said your goodbye and there’d be no point in wishing him a good rest of his day (well, you could but it seems a bit too formal), so you go to slip on by him when he reaches out and wraps his hand around your wrist.

You think nothing of it—you don’t even jump—but he recoils almost as though your skin is hot to the touch and he hisses, “Sorry! I uhm, just—”

“Oh don’t worry about it.”

He nods his head up then continues, “I wanted to know uh, what time are you working…maybe?” He slips a hand in his back pocket and runs the other through his hair. “If you’re willing to share that is—I understand if you’re not.”

“Oh it’s fine! Uh, I always work around this time but if I’m not here to make your daily drink Tyler’s not so bad at it either evidently.” You gesture for his cup, empty with some white and pink staining the plastic sides.

He clicks his tongue. “Ah, I see. And I take it that going out for coffee wouldn’t be the most ideal way to spend your time off of work?”

You suck in a breath and shake your head. “Yeah, I get enough coffee in my veins.”

“So…”

You teeter between the toes and your heels, turning your nose up and giving Brendon a look of your side. You smirk too, “I haven’t had a good meal in a while.”

Brendon leans back, nodding softly. “Mmm…good to know, good to know—well listen, totally coincidental, but I got a good place I was looking to go to for some time, but you know, it can be a bit awkward going out to eat alone.”

You chuckle, “And what day were you planning on going to this place?”

He lowers his chin to his chest and points a finger at you. “Next mon—” You scrunch your nose up, “Tues—” You gently shake your head, “Wednesday?”

You nod rapidly, gently bouncing on your feet. “Wow—weird! I’m, totally free next Wednesday, how crazy is that?”

“I know, it’s just like the universe decided to line up!”

“Total coincidence!”

“Totally!” Brendon takes a deep breath then quickly runs his tongue over his lips. You look to the corner of your eye and spot Tyler, his head down low as he makes a drink but his eyes peeking up at you from behind his brows. He’s smiling too, and you smile back before looking to Brendon who claps his hands together. “So, I will pick you up? Maybe?”

You click your tongue and put your finger to your lips to think. “Maybe you should give me your number first? You know, so I can give you my address and such.”

“Perfect!” You clap your hands together then hold your hand out and wait for him to give you his phone. He does and you add yourself to his contacts. You send yourself a quick text and fight the urge to go back and take the quickest glimpse at his other messages--you want to see who from school he’s still in contact with is all. But thinking better of yourself you don’t. You lock his phone and hand it to him.

“Well…” He takes a look around the cafe, then does a sort of bow. “I will see you tomorrow? For my casual daily cup of Sickly Strawberry that is.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You go back to your station to share your usual space with Tyler and Brendon makes his way out of the cafe. He looks around and snaps his finger into a point at Tyler as some sort of goodbye. Brendon nearly stumbles and almost runs into an incoming customer but his general gracefulness saves him. After he’s out of sight you feel Tyler’s arm brush against yours. You stand side by side against the counter, looking over the heads of the customers approaching the line.

“I’m really good at this wing-man thing,” he says with a sly smile.

You roll your eyes and playfully slap his arm with the back of your hand before walking off.

He stomps and holds his hands out to his side as he faces you. “You’re not even gonna tell me when’s the date?”

#brendon urie imagine #brendon urie imagines #brendon urie smut #brendon urie x reader #panic! at the disco imagine #au #bittersweet #fluff #imagine

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theavaevans · 6 years ago

Text

Shopping Carts

INVOLVED: Ava M. Evans and Luca Evans TIME FRAME: Wednesday, July 31, 2019 LOCATION: Target Store; Seattle, Washington SUMMARY: Ava goes back to school shopping for the kids, with Luca in tow.

Pushing the shopping cart through the store, Ava hummed softly to herself as she held the shopping lists in her hands that her children put together, and the supply list from their teachers. So far, she had a cart full of items and she wasn’t even half-way done.

Luca trotted beside his mother and he saw a simple blue cup that caught his eye, he wanted to go pick it up but he didn’t. Instead, Luca looked up at his mother, watching how focused she was and he looked away, eyes lingering on that blue cup. Resting his hand on the cart, he walked beside it as they stumbled across the backpacks and he saw a Star Wars one. “Mom!” he squealed out loud.

Ava began checking items off of the various lists, marking what she had picked up and what she hadn’t, so that she wouldn’t get confused as she slowly moved the basket down the aisle. Spotting an item that she needed for Blue’s list, she grabbed it and tossed it into the basket with a hum before checking it off. At Luca’s squeal, Ava looked to him. “Yes, Luca?” she asked, gazing down at the boy curiously.

“Mom, can I have it, please,” Luca said as he took off for the backpack, he grabbed it and yanked it down happily as he ran back over to her. “I have to have it Mom, please, please, please!” he said, bouncing up and down on his tiptoes.

Ava watched as Luca ran over and grabbed the backpack and she eyed him and it with a deep sigh. “Luca you already have a Star Wars backpack at home,” she reminded him. The boy had Star Wars everything at home.

“Mom, not this one!” Luca argued back. “Please, I need to have it mom,” he stressed still bouncing up and down. “I need it mom,” he added for good measure. “Mom, please, please mom.”

As Luca continued to loudly beg and plead her, Ava made eye contact with another woman in the aisle and she smiled curtly at the woman. “Boy…” she said through gritted teeth. “Put the backpack in the cart and come on,” she mumbled.

“YES!” Luca said, placing the backpack in the cart and he posed in a stance, one of which demonstrated that he had exceeded in something or accomplished his goal rather. “Yes,” he said again before he spotted the matching lunch boxes and he gasped loudly as he rushed to them. “MOM!” he yelled, “they have matching lunch boxes,” he said, bouncing up and down again, this time in the way of another mother trying to pick up an item herself.

When Luca exclaimed loudly, Ava pursed her lips together. “Luca, inside voice please,” she told him softly as more parents began to look at her, and when the boy ran off again, Ava pinched the bridge of her nose. “Luca!” she said finally raising her voice slightly. “Come here,” she said with a gruff tone. Taking the lunch box she threw it into the basket before she leaned down to him. “Don’t touch anything else, do you hear me?” she asked him. “You place your hand on this basket and you do not move away from it. “When I move, you move, we are velcro,” she explained to him. “If you see something else, close your eyes.”

Looking to his mother’s face, Luca stopped bouncing on his toes and moved towards her calmly and in a very unenthusiastic manner. When she placed the lunch box in the cart, he willed himself not to say yes, instead he pumped his fist up and down before she leaned down. Luca looked Ava into the eyes and he nodded his head slowly at her threat. “Yes, ma’am,” he said softly. “Yes, ma’am,” he said as he placed his hand on the cart as she asked him to.

With that out of the way, Ava looked back to her lists, moving the cart out of the aisle and into the next, grabbing more items for the children, checking things off one by one as she did. Looking down at Luca she asked. “Is your school passing out iPads again this year for students?” She needed to know before she grabbed notebooks for him. They were on his list the teacher gave, but Ava found it was a waste because the previous year, Luca took all of his notes on the iPad and eventually transferred everything to their home computer.

Luca walked alongside his mother, looking around them as she picked up items for him and his siblings. Luca looked to his mother again, finally, after she posed a question, his fingertips ran along the hem of his plaid button down shirt, doing something to occupy his mind and he shrugged his shoulders at his mother unknowing the answer.

Staring at Luca as he shrugged his shoulders, Ava sighed out. “I asked you a question Luca,” she said out-right. “Use your words.” Looking back to the notebooks, she grabbed six for Luca, just in case, and she’d simply keep the receipt if she needed to return them. She then grabbed more for the girls, pushing the cart forward a bit more when she spotted a Star Wars water bottle. With a roll of her eyes, Ava snatched it up before the boy could even say anything and she threw it into the basket, before realizing they had Star Wars notebooks as well. Huffing, Ava began to exchange them out, looking at her son with an exasperated look on her face.

“I don’t know mom,” Luca said back to her after she corrected him. “Sorry,” he breathed out near silent as he watched her. As she placed the water bottle into the basket he pumped his fist, another score for him. Then he looked to her as she too noticed the notebooks and he pumped his fist again happily. “Thank you mom,” he said to her despite her face and he asked her, “are you mad at me?” wanting to know as his hand continued to fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

Ava nodded as Luca verbally answered her. “Thank you,” she said with a small hum, biting back an amused smile as he pumped his fist over and over again. “You’re welcome sweetheart,” she said lovingly before she sighed. “I’m not mad, I am… slightly irritated and a little embarrassed because I know that you know how to act in a store, but I am not mad,” she explained to him. “You can have all the Star Wars stuff in the world, just act correctly,” she explained to him softly.

Nodding his head, “sorry” fell from Luca’s lips again before he smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he told her as he continued to hold the cart tightly. “I won’t do it again,” he promised her quietly.

Leaning down, Ava hugged Luca close, pressing a kiss to his wild hair. “I love you sweetheart,” she said gently before leaning up and grabbing the basket once more, pushing it forward as she picked up more items. “Okay, electronics,” she said as she began to walk towards the back of the store.

“I love you too mom,” Luca said to his mother as she switched directions and moved for the electronics like she stated. The entire time Luca held the cart and walked along with her without making a peep. Luca watched as they arrived and he looked to the toy section. “Toys mom,” he pointed out, his finger pointing into that direction. “Star Wars toys,” he breathed again.

As they arrived in the electronics section, Ava began to speak to an associate about the iPad pricing and features for Siena. “Just a second Luca,” she said easily as she allowed the associate to talk her through it all. She knew she was going to get the girl the 12-inch, but she wasn’t set on the WiFi and cellular data because she really didn’t want her taking it outside of the house.

Luca looked to Ava, at her words, it burned him to not walk away and go examine the toy by himself. He began to get fidgety beside her as she spoke to the woman about something he didn’t care about right now. He poked his lip out sadly as he continued to hold the cart tightly, gripping it harshly.

“So the cellular data and WiFi is how much extra a month?” Ava questioned, letting the associate explain to her more as she nodded along. “Okay,” she said, nodding. “That’s not bad,” she said thoughtfully. “And the pencil?” she asked. “Is there a way to find it through the iPad if it gets lost?” she asked curiously, because she wasn’t buying another one.

Luca looked to the woman and then to his mother, tilting his head at them both. Was it really that deep? “It’s called Find your iPhone, mom,” he stressed, “you can find your phone, pencil, air pods, iPods, MacBook, and everything else from another device or computer,” he educated her. “You don’t want her to leave the house with it, you’d just be paying extra money out for the cellular data,” he educated further. “Why pay for it not to use it,” he asked as he moved to sit on a display folding his arms over his chest, too smart for his own good.

Ava slowly turned her head to look at her son as he called himself schooling somebody and she pursed her lips. She tossed the iPad and the pencil into the basket, along with a pair of beats for Phoenix and a MacBook Pro for Blue before she snatched Luca up by his arm. “Thank you,” she said to the associate as she gripped him, pulling him towards the front of the store. Without a word, Ava got into line, still holding the boy by his arm.

Luca looked to his mother as she tugged him into the direction of the front of the store and he looked to her shocked. “Mom, the toys,” he reminded her quietly as she tugged him along. He hated when they were mad at him, but hated when things didn’t go his way more. Didn’t they know he was just a kid after all? As they entered the line he looked to the side of her face, waiting to see what she had to say to him, he really, really wanted to look at the toys before they left.

Ava looked down at Luca slowly. “Luca,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “No toys,” she told him easily. “I am frustrated and I am ready to go,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ll learn to keep that smart mouth of yours at bay,” she told him.

“I thought was helping!” Luca presented to her confused by her actions and her words, how could she betray him like this. She said she wasn’t mad and that she loved him. Shaking his head, he stood there quietly in line as she waited for them to be checked out.

“All I asked for you to do was wait Luca, that was all the help that I needed from you,” Ava told him quietly. “I understand that you wanted to go look at the toys right then and there, but I was doing something else and I needed you to be patient. That would have been helpful enough,” she explained to him as she began to place the items on the counter by child. Looking down at the boy, she sighed. “Go get one toy,” she said, holding up one finger, “and come right back.”

Luca looked to her mother and listened as she disciplined him for his behavior, he nodded his head at her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said obediently. At her words he looked back before he said, “I should not be rewarded for bad behavior,” as he watched her pile things up onto the counter for the cashier.

Ava looked at her son with a small sigh. She hated upsetting him. He was so much like his father. “Go get a toy Luca,” she said softly as she reached over, stroking his hair, that she needed to do something with. “It’s alright.”

Luca looked to his mother again, at her words, he nodded his head and rushed past an older woman behind them. “Excuse me,” he told the woman as he ran for the toy section full speed. Once he got there, he looked at all the possible selections, before he picked up an electronic Stormtrooper mask before he ran back towards his mother in line.

Ava placed more items on the counter as Luca rushed off and she explained to the woman that she had four children and she needed to keep all of their things separate as she bagged items for her. When Luca returned, Ava looked down at the item Luca picked up and she bit back a groan. “Alright,” she said, taking it and placing it on the counter.

“Yes!” Luca exclaimed as he happily danced, for only a split second, next to the basket. He stopped short holding it as his mother continued to place items on the counter top to be rung up by the girl.

Ava looked to the woman behind the counter with a small smile as she girl did as she asked, keeping everything separate from the way she placed items on the counter. “Thank you,” she said to the woman as she began to shift through her purse, looking for her wallet. Pulling it out, she looked through her various cards before she pulled out her own and Samuel’s. As she woman finished ringing it all, Mercedes looked at the total with a small huff. “I’ll split it 50/50 between two cards,” she said easily.

Luca looked to his mother and he happily stood there bouncing a little as he waited, he couldn’t wait to get home to play with his mask, or to show his dad and sisters, it was the coolest thing he owned right now. As his mother prepared to pay for the items, he moved aside still holding the cart however, just happily dancing to himself.

Ava swiped Samuel’s card first, punching in the pin number before she slid her own doing the same. Out the corner of her eye, she could see Luca and she bit back a smile. Oh, he aggravated her to no end, but he was still her baby boy and little things like this, seeing him happy, simply brought her joy. “C’mere,” she said sweetly as she tugged him close, holding him to her plush stomach as she waited for the woman to give her the receipt.

Luca looked to his mother and he nodded, moving towards her. He laid his head on her stomach wrapping his arm around her gently waiting.

Ava hugged the boy close as the woman handed her the receipt and she rubbed his back before she pulled away from him and began placing the bags into the basket. “Here,” she said to him as she pulled the mask from the bag and handed it over. After she placed all the bags into the basket, she pulled the cart out of the next person’s way. “Let’s go baby,” she said to Luca, holding her hand out for his, since they were about to walk outside as she pushed the basket with her other.

Luca looked to Mercedes a small grin on his face as he grabbed the boxed mask from her. He happily held it in his hands as she loaded the basket up and when she was done, he grabbed her hand as they moved to leave the store and head for the car. “Thanks mom,” he said again to her with a wide grin on his face.

Ava looked down at Luca and smiled back at him. “You’re welcome sweetheart,” she said softly as they made way for the car. She quickly popped the trunk and started to load the bags as she unlocked the doors for Luca to climb into the back seat. Closing the trunk, Ava pushed the basket aside before she climbed into the car herself. “Alright, we’ve got two more stops before home…”

Luca smiled and climbed into the back seat, he fastened his seatbelt knowingly before he sat the toy on his lap. Did he dare to open it now and wear it around or would he leave it for later?

#thread #thread: shopping carts #thread with: luca pierce #thread with: ava mercedes #003

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babybluelukex · 7 years ago

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I love you

Summary: I don't know if this has been done before, but maybe - Billy starts falling for the reader, and when he realizes this he becomes frustrated with himself?

Requested by: @metalgeardragon

Word count: 2070

Warnings: fighting, angst, douche bag Billy

A/N: hey y'all. I'm writing this on my iPad again since it's easier to type and a lot faster lmao. Thank you so much for requesting this! I love the idea of a very soft Billy. Don't forget, requests are still open! This will be in the readers POV and this is in a slightly different time zone, about a month before Halloween.

Lots of love -Kayla :-)

\ \ \ \

I quickly shoved on my jacket and grabbed my purse, snatching my Walkman on my way out of my room. I could hear the arguing between my parents still happening loud and clearly. At dinner, my dad had asked me about school, my grades, and 'if my lonely ass got a boyfriend yet', while making it very clear that he believes I'm uncap-able to be loved- since he blames me for my parents dying love. I stayed silent like usual just to avoid even more conflict. He usually leaves it at the comments and doesn't expect me to say anything back, but tonight was different.

He slammed his fists on the table to gain my attention, almost screaming my name. I shot my head up to look at him, wondering who the fuck pissed in his cornflakes. "What? What do you want me to say, huh? Don't you think I already have enough fucking problems," I seethed and scooted my chair back. As I stood up, my dad shot out of his chair and gripped my shoulders and shoved me into the dining room wall, our noses touching. "Don't you fucking ever, ever, use that tone with me. Do you understand?" He said calmly, which scared me shitless even more. All I did was stare at him and kept my mouth in a tight line, testing him even more. "I said do you understand!?" He shouted this time, shoving me back into the wall.

"Yes sir."

As soon has he took his hands off of my shoulders, I ran to the stairs, skipping every other step to get the fuck out of doge.

My parents were too engrossed in the fighting that they hadn't even noticed my disappearance. I shoved my headphones over my ears and began walking, to who the hell knows, and tried to calm myself down. This has been a nightly routine for my parents and I. Being an only child means having the attention focused on you, all the mistakes and accidents taken way too seriously, and being my dad's own punching bag for his anger. My mom has always sat on the sidelines, not even trying to get in between to tell my dad how out of line he was. She sat and stared, not even asking if I'm okay after the fact.

Focusing on my own thoughts instead of my surroundings, I seen a blue car in my peripheral vision. I slowly turned my head and see a guy with slightly brown curls, yelling something out of the window. "Um, hello?" I spoke out, removing my headphones from my ears. "You alright out here?" The stranger asked, coming to a complete stop once I turned to face his car. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just needed to get away for a minute," I smiled, beginning to place my headphones back onto my head. "Hey, wait. I can drive you around so you won't have to walk. Pretty girl like you shouldn't be walking out here alone." He smirked. "Oh, li,e that isn't what creepy men say to young girls," I snort. "Oh come on. I needed a minuet to get away too. Let me drive you around."

I shoved my Walkman into my purse and climbed into the car, placing my purse on the floor of the car and buckling myself in. I turned to the guy and held my hand out, smiling. "I'm Y/N, by the way." He gripped my hand back and did a slight nod with a small and tight smile. "Billy. Billy Hargrove. Nice to meet you." I recognized his name, him being a new student at Hawkins. "Oh, so you're the new kid. Nice to meet you," I laughed, facing towards the front of the car and got relaxed, not knowing how long this car ride would be.

"Yeah and gonna be taking over 'King Steve's' spot," he smirked and shifted the car into drive. "That'll depend how well you can do a keg stand. You going to Tina's Halloween party? I'll be going." I smiled and bumped my shoulder with his. "Well, since you're going, looks like I have to."

The rest of the car ride was him talking about California, his stepsister 'who isn't his stepsister'. He asked about my life, if I have siblings and what my parents were like. I told him about how wonderful my mom was, even though in certain situations, she wasn't as great. "What kind of situations?" He cocked his head and looked at me. "Well, that'll be another story for another time." I smiled and patted his right hand. "Oh? There's going to be another time?" He smirked and licked his bottom lip. I blushed and nodded, letting a small 'yeah'.

I told him the directions of my house, letting out some breath I didn't realize I was holding. Billy seemed to noticed and grabbed my bicep to look at him. "Hey, if there's something going on, you can tell me, you know." He smiled and rubbed my arm. "Okay, thanks Billy." I said and hopped out of his car and climbed my way up on the side of my house, to my bedroom window. I waved at Billy as he sped off down the street.

\ \ \ \

Ever since that night, Billy and I had become closer each day. Two days after the night in his car, he showed up at my window at 11:30 at night with bruises on his cheeks on chest, looking like a lost puppy. He spent the night that night, not wanting to go back to the monster named Neil. I told him that night about my own father, how he will hurt me emotionally, but never crossing the boundary of physically hurting me. We had a sort of, heart to heart, that night.

After that, he came back almost every night, spending the night with me and crying on my chest while I run my fingers through his hair. Billy had become someone I can confide in, put my trust in him, and be his backbone.

I had two of his jackets that I use to sleep with at night, as a way to comfort myself for the days he doesn't come over. Billy and I have never talked about how we feel, or how I feel, since Billy doesn't seem to feel how I do. In a romantic way, I want Billy. But in every single way there is, I need him. I have never needed someone as bad as I do him. He is my world at this point.

\ \ \ \

It was Tuesday, October 31, the date of Tina's party. I walked up to Billy's locker and leaned against it, flashing him my big smile. "Hey, you excited about the party tonight?" I smirked, noticing his eyes lit up with excitement. "Hell yeah. This is the night to get shitfaced and have a good time," he smiled and slung his arm over my shoulder. "Are you excited?" He asked me. "Jonathan Byers had asked me if I would go with him since Nancy flaked out and decided to ditch him for Steve. I smiled, but became worried when I seen Billy's face. He immediately removed his arm from my shoulders and took a step away, his face twisting in annoyance and betrayal. "I thought we were going together." He seethed, face becoming red. "Billy, I'm still going with you, you don't have to worry about that," I smiled in hopes of making the situation better in any way.

He shook his head and began to walk away, shooting daggers at me. "No, go with Jonathan. I don't give a fuck who you go with." He sneered at me, disappearing down the hallway. I stood there in shock, not knowing how to handle his reaction. Before I turned around to go to my last class of the day, Billy slammed his fists against a locker and screamed out a broken 'fuck!'

I slowly walked home later that day, not sure if I was in the party mood at this point. Jonathan has always been a friend of mine and Billy knew that. He knew it was nothing more than platonic, especially with Jonathan being in love with Nancy Wheeler from a far. All I could picture was the look on Billy's face, as if I had slapped him across the face once I told him about Jonathan asking me to go with him. I never meant to upset him, especially with how strong my feelings are for him.

I walked threw the front door of my house and ran up the stairs to go straight to my room, not even bothering to pick out a costume for the party. I changed into some slick black skinny jeans with a bright yellow hoodie, and some solid black Doc Martens with yellow shoelaces to match my hoodie. It was nearing seven o'clock and Jonathan had pulled out in front of my house, honking the horn twice. I ran out to his car and jumped in, heading towards Tina's house. Once we had arrived, I noticed Billy's blue Camaro already there, front and center.

Jonathan and I walked threw the door, noticing it was completely packed full of people dancing, drinking, and talking. I noticed Steve and Nancy in the middle of the dance floor, singing along to the random song playing throughout the house. I looked over at Jonathan, silently asking if he would be okay with talking to Steve and Nancy, despite the awkward situation. He nodded and gave me a small smile, placing his hand on my back as he led us through the crowd. Nancy was first to notice us and pulled me into a hug, squeezing me a little too tight. I waved at Steve with a small smile planted on my lips. “Hey, where's Billy? I thought you guys were coming together,” she spoke curiously.

As soon as those words left Nancy’s mouth, Billy walked through the back sliding doors and waltz up to us, nudging his shoulder with Jonathan's harder than needed. “Well look who we have here,” he spoke loudly, grabbing our attention. “How is it partying with the infamous Y/N? I'm surprised she is even here, considers how everything is at home.” He smirked, knowing that hurt me in a way no one but him would understand. “Billy,” I said with a look. “She was supposed to be my date, you know. It you just had to ask her, didn't you?” He seethed at Jonathan, causing him to walk backwards due to the tension,

After having enough, I grabbed Billy's arm and dragged him with me to the empty hallway. “Seriously, Billy? What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I yelled, pushing him to the wall. “Why would you bring that up in front of everyone? I have never done something that shady to you, so why do it to me? Especially after everything I have helped you with!” He shook his head and took a step towards me. “No, Y/N, you don't understand," he stuttered and reached out to grab me. “Oh really, I don't understand? Please enlighten me, Billy.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, letting his hands fall to his side. “I fucking love you okay? That's why I acted the way I did earlier. You don't see it, Y/N. I've tried to get you out of my head but it's so damn hard since you're everything I want and need. I'm a fucking asshole.” He shouted, hands gripping mine.

“I just want you to feel the same way towards me, even though I shouldn't even feel this way towards you. It won't go away and I'm fucking tired of acting like everything's okay.” I grabbed his cheeks and brought his lips to might, his hands going to my hips. Once I pulled away, I couldn't help but smile, pulling on his hair slightly. “I fickimg love you too, Billy.” I smiled, planting a kiss on his chin. “Oh. Well shit, I don't know what to do now.” He joked, pulling me to his chest. “Let's start with you asking me to be your girlfriend.” I laughed.

“Alright. Well, will you be my girlfriend?” He asked, kissing the top of my head. “Thought you would never ask,” I smile and pulled his lips back on to mine.

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cupcakemolotov · 7 years ago

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Say I Do

written for @howeverlongs. Sorry this isn’t the regency fic, its still being grumpy. Hopefully you don’t mind this little AH instead. :)

warnings: drinking, discussions of sex, post-vegas marriage style

The kitchen was a mess. Her iPad was still sitting askew from where it’d been left when Klaus’ sister had come barging in. There were papers spread across the island, and a folder that someone had sloppily written her name across the top. It was like they’d never heard of a label maker and it was an annoyance on top of irritation.

Caroline picked up the wine bottle off the counter and refilled her glass. She didn’t bother worrying about ounces and just poured until the wine was a breath away from spilling over. Across from her was the much more politely poured wine glass that didn’t even have the remains of Rebekah’s lipstick on the rim. That should have been her first warning. Caroline hadn’t learned much about Klaus’ siblings yet but they seemed to all enjoy a good drink.

The sound of keys twisting the lock were somewhat familiar now, and a sound she’d come to look forward too. She was lucky that her work could be done remotely, and her freelance editing was slowly becoming more and more reliable. But the flat was still strangely quiet when she was alone and she looked forward to Klaus’ return.

Usually.

Caroline held up one finger as Klaus stepped through the door. Without bothering to even look in his direction she hefted her glass and chugged. It was a need for air that had her putting the glass to the side. Sucking in a deep breath, she mentally apologized to the remains of the Malbec that really deserved better. The head rush cleared after a moment and Caroline wished she dared downing the rest in an attempt to get drunk.

That was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

Finally glancing over at her husband, Caroline glared at him. He’d worn a suit to his meeting that day, and it was slightly rumpled from what looked like a long day. His tie was loose around his neck and his hair looked like he’d run his fingers through it a half dozen times. She’d gotten used to the low pangs of arousal that seeing Klaus in a variety of strangely domestic poses wrought, but it hadn’t blunted the impact just yet. Klaus rumpled, holding the take out order in one hand with a concerned expression was hot.

It didn’t lesson her irritation. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

Klaus arched a brow as his eyes scanned the kitchen, face inscrutable. “I see we had company. One of my intrepid siblings?”

“Your sister,” Caroline said scathingly.

His lips pressed tightly together for a moment and he set down the food to shrug out of his suit jacket. She took a second, smaller swig of wine when he unwound his tie before approaching the counter to settled the food on the island.

“And what did Rebekah want?”

“Before or after she accused me of entrapment?” Caroline growled, nails rapping sharply against the granite. “There was a rather ridiculous claim of blackmail. What exactly does your family think you do that some could blackmail you?”

Klaus hummed and snatched her wine glass, taking his own drink while she watched him from narrowed eyes. “I couldn’t say?”

She snorted. “She didn’t believe me when I said this was your fault.”

A brow arched as he handed her the glass. “How unexpected.”

Caroline propped a hand on her hip and scowled. “Are you taking this seriously? Your family things I’m some sort of southern honey trap and they dug up our marriage certificates.”

“Of course I am,” Klaus said in a surprisingly patient tone. “Rebekah is a fair bit dramatic, but I suppose she means well. I had hoped it’d take longer for the circumstances to come out, but there isn’t much that can be done now.”

Caroline reached for the bottle of wine. She should never have allowed him to coax her into spending the stretch of time of their paperwork being processed on a different continent. Embarrassed, horrified and just imagining the look on her mother’s face, she’d agreed out of desperation to avoid the judgement she’d known was headed her way. The moment she stepped foot in Mystic Falls it would have been all over the town, and she just couldn’t deal with it after the Tyler debacle.

She’d thought she might as well take a chance to travel instead of hiding in her childhood bedroom and dying from mortification, right?

They were a week and a half into the three week process for the annulment and not for the first time did she wonder about past-Caroline’s insanity. Vegas was supposed to have been a chance for her to shake off the lingering sharp edges of her broken engagement. But Bonnie had come down with food poisoning and been unable to go, and Elena had spent so much time calling Damon. There was just only so much girlfriend-voice Caroline could take before clawing out her eardrums, so she’d finally just headed down to the casinos on her own.

The very last people she’d have ever expected to run into had been Marcel and Klaus. Marcel had been an old drinking/study buddy from college who’d dated in her circle of friends, but had never really longed for her. They’d become the kind if Facebook friends who messaged when in the same city, but they rarely had deep discussions about anything.

Klaus was a friend of Marcel’s she had known peripherally for nearly as long. Early on she’d lamented once or twice that they’d never been single at the same time, but after meeting Tyler she had brushed her tiny crush to the side. He’d eventually moved back across the pond and she’d gotten engaged.

Then the first time she’d seen him in years and they’d gotten shit faced drunk and married. Caroline honestly wished she could remember who’d even suggested it. It would have made blaming someone, him or herself, so much easier.

Marcel had been zero help. He’d apparently abandoned them to their own devices when they’d started doing more than just casually flirting. He’d barely managed to avoid laughing at them the next morning, but at least had the decency to send apologies flowers later.

Caroline had learned a fair bit about her current and temporary husband over the years, but nothing concrete. She knew he made what was apparently good money off his paintings, that he came from a large family he only seemed to tolerate on good days, and that Rebekah was his favorite. She’d know he was hot and biting smart, but she’d always been leary digging deeper least she really like what she’d found.

Now she was sharing his bed.

Caroline sighed and nudged the wineglass in his direction. It wasn’t really his fault that his siblings were occasional jerks. “How did they even find out about this?”

The paperwork on the table was definitely a copy of documentation they should have. She barely even remembered what the marriage certificate looked like. But scrawl was definitely hers if mostly drunken, and it was really annoying that Klaus’ handwriting was still so much neater than her own. It was weird seeing physical proof that she was married.

To Klaus.

She didn’t even have a ring.

“I imagine Kol helped dig it up,” Klaus said with his own sigh as he set the wine to the side. “It’s an unfortunate hobby of his.”

Caroline worried her lip. “Kol is the one who doesn’t let things go, likes to bring out embarrassing stories at family dinners?”

“That’s the one. Still, I’ll make it clear that you aren’t to be bothered. It should keep the rest of them out of your hair, although Elijah might take it upon himself to try to wrangle us to dinner. He’ll want to drone on about financials, I imagine.”

“Oh my god, is that why Rebekah was bitching about a lack of prenup?” She threw up her hands. “She had the audacity to ask me if I was pregnant.”

A slashing glance that held more self-depreciating amusement than annoyance. “I imagine next I’ll be hearing from my mother.”

Caroline blanched. “Oh no.”

Klaus laughed softly then and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I knew the risks when I invited you here.”

She covered her face with one hand. “I don’t know why I didn’t think that through. Of course your family would wonder about someone who is basically a stranger living in your flat. Your large family.”

“Blame the hangover, but if my memory serves you weren’t an easy sell. And you’re not a stranger are you?” Klaus’ gaze glittered. “You’re my wife.”

“Only for another two weeks, tops.” Caroline reminded him in exasperation. She poked him in the side. “You swore you submitted the paperwork. You can’t break a pinky promise, Klaus.”

The baffled expression on his face when she’d hooked his fingers with hers was one she’d remember clearly for years. She might have been still slightly drunk at the time, but Klaus has been surprisingly sweet about the whole thing while she’d freaked out. It’d probably why she gotten on a plane with him.

Klaus clearly bit back a smile, but his words were somber. “So I did.”

“Good.” She nodded once and hesitated. “Why is your family freaking out about money?”

Klaus shrugged a shoulder as he reached for their dinner. “I sold a few painting recently. I am curious though. Rebekah isn’t the type to give up easily. I’m surprised she wasn’t waiting for me to harangue us both. How did you manage?”

She pursed her lips, cheeks heating. Glancing up at the ceiling she refused to look at him. “I told her I was in it for the sex.”

There was a brief pause, and she swallowed at the way his voice deepened. “Did you?”

Deciding to brazen it out even with her face burning, Caroline glanced at him. His eyes had darkened, lips slightly parted as he watched her and she stiffened to hide the shiver that raced across her skin. For ten days they’d shared his bed and lived in each other’s lives, but Caroline had vetoed sex. It was bad enough that she had to sleep next to the heat of him, the mingled scent of his preferred cologne and soap lingering on the sheets.

Caroline didn’t know how he was dealing with the tension but she’d tucked away a small, discrete purchase. Her only complaint was his flat lacked a bath. Taking a deep breath, she pushed away those thoughts until tomorrow when she could actual do something about them.

“Yup. Siblings don’t really seem to enjoy hearing about each other’s sex lives.” She waved her hand. “A few explicit details and she couldn’t scatter fast enough.”

His lips curved just high enough to carve out a dimple, and Caroline’s toes curled into the floor. “I thought you didn’t remember much of our marriage night, hmm?”

She didn’t. What she did recall was in mere flashes. His uneven breath on her skin. The sting of his teeth on the curve of her breast. Her name ragged on his tongue. It’d been drunk, sloppy sex but it’d clearly worked for her at some point.

“I may have exaggerated,” she said with a shrug. “You’re welcome.”

Instead of laughing as she’d have expected, Klaus crowded closer, his gaze unblinking. “Tell me Caroline, are you satisfied with that?”

She licked her lip, fingers curling into her palms as his gaze tracked the movement. “What are you asking?”

“You moaned my name last night.”

Her face went hot and Caroline fervently wished she’d drank more of the wine. She wasn’t even tipsy, and she wasn’t prepared for this kind of situation when sober. She made a low noise of embarrassment and he caught her elbow lightly to keep her from backing away. The heat in his gaze hadn’t lessened, and his eyes dragged along her embarrassed face with what might have been affection.

“No need for such mortification, love. I’ve struggled to keep your name off my lips more times that I’d usually care to admit when I’ve had my hand wrapped around my cock in the shower.” His fingers grazed her skin as his hand fell away, and that patch of skin burned. “It’s a bit of a relief to know I’m not suffering alone.”

The heat in her cheeks didn’t lessen at his words, and it worsened the burn low in her belly. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head slowly. “Sex complicates things.”

“Oh, I agree that this situation is plenty complicated. But wanting you isn’t.”

Caroline blinked. “What?”

His brow arched. “I am not spontaneous, Caroline, and rarely am I reckless. Obstinate, certainly. I’m sure you’ve picked up on a number of flaws these past ten days. You’re organized, methodical, and you hate surprises. Aren’t you at least a tiny bit curious why we drunkenly agreed to get married?”

The glib answer of temporary insanity wouldn’t move past her lips. Not with the way he was watching her, his words hanging between them. “It’s been ten days. Why bring this up now?”

“Because our marriage will be annulled, we both agree that is for the best. Any commitment made should be done sober and with full awareness.”

She nodded slowly.

Klaus’ hand lifted and his thumb smoothed across her chin. “But I’m loath to let you simply disappear from my life. Again.”

Caroline’s brows drew sharply together. “What do you mean again? You were always dating when we hung out.”

“So were you.”

She pursed her lips and considered that she might not have been the only one quietly harboring feelings. Shaking her head clear of thoughts that she could analyze later, she cleared her throat. “So what, you want to date?”

“To start,” Klaus agreed easily. “But right now? We both need to eat and then we can talk about the myriad of questions I know you have. We’ve both been avoiding certain topics, and I think it’s time to clear the air. Because regardless of what this becomes, you being here is hardly a bad idea.”

She swallowed and hesitantly nodded. Ten more days or so, and if things went terrible she could put an ocean between them and never look back. A large part of her was still mortified by both the marriage and his bringing up her saying his name, but the rest of her was really intrigued by the picture he’d painted of himself in his shower.

“Okay.”

“Good,” he murmured as he passed her chopsticks. Leaning a tad forward, he dragged his gaze along her lips and his voice dipped lower as he tumbled his next sentence. “And if at any point you rethink that stance of yours on no sex, Caroline, I’d be delighted to give you any number of stories to horrify my sister with.”

Klaus walked away then, and she stood silent with her thighs clenched tightly together, skin aching. Taking a centering breath as she grabbed her carton, she headed to the couch with a set expression. Depending on what he had to say, sex was probably very likely in their near or immediate feature. She’d only been firm about keeping things platonic when she thought she was the only hiding feelings.

That didn’t seem to be case.

That didn’t mean she had to make it easy on him.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline drabbles

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kotas-dump · 7 years ago

Text

The Wicked Game Part 2

Part 1

Now with MUSIC!

You were avoiding them. Nursing your heartbreak with cupcakes and junk food. It was silly. You knew he’d reject you but you stuck around anyways hoping he’d come around one of these days. Now you just wanted to be alone in your drab, new-to-you apartment. Donnie had messaged you over a dozen times. Asking what happened, if you were okay. When you were coming back.

You didn’t have enough energy to do anything let alone read the messages. Peeling the baking paper off your rejection cupcakes you take a bite, sniffling. “Fuck him. He was mean anyways right?” The words were hollow and you knew it.

Sighing you set the cupcake back down and dig through your drawer. Pulling out some white nail polish you started to paint over the blue polish on your toes.

It was then that the turtles made their dramatic entrance. Sliding into your open window and taking up the small space between your bed and the window. Screaming you fumbled with the polish, almost spilling it all over your bed.

“W-what are you doing here?” You stutter, quickly trying to hide the various things you’d had around the room. Things you’d...stole. From Leo. Nothing he missed of course but you’d stolen them all the same. A few of the incense he used while meditating, a button that had broken off his gear in a fight, and some various other odds and ends you’d found while cleaning.

“You weren’t responding to my messages.. I tracked your IP address to the-” Donnie drones on, speaking in tech but your eyes are on Leo.

He’s just as handsome as the day you met him. Imposing and intimidating in his own little way. Your stupid heart still hasn’t learned it’s lesson and it’s beating against your chest frantically. Even as he’s looking around your room, realizing just where all those little things of his had vanished to in an instant.

“Leave.” You whisper. Tearing your eyes away from him.

“Huh?” Mikey bawks. Confusion colors his face and he looks at Leo for some sort of explanation.

“GET OUT!” You scream, throwing the cupcake at Leo. The blue frosting splatters across his chest and the cake plops to the floor beneath him.

Slowly the turtles turn to Leo, wondering what the hell was going on.

“Let’s go.” Leo says. He’s the first one back out the window.

Donnie hangs back, edging closer to try and comfort you. “Hey..”

“Don’t. I’m fine. Just leave.” You snap, your voice breaking on the small word.

“Promise me you’ll message me?” He says, climbing back out the window and stopping half-way to turn and look at you.

“I promise. Just... just go.” You shoo him off and pull the covers over your head.

---

Donnie managed to talk to you into coming back a few days later. Everyone was nagging Donnie about missing your cooking, the bubbly lift to moral you gave, and your cleaning. The place was a mess. Right back to the beginning. Pushing your sleeves up you get to work on cleaning up.

Avoiding Leo like a disease you clean around him. Leaving a good 10ft radius of dust and dirt around him. A sense of accomplishment washes over you when you’re done and you wash up. “Is pizza okay with everyone?”

“Uh. YEAH. Pizza is always okay with me babe~.” Mikey gives you a dopey grin and you shove your hand in his face, pushing him away with a laugh.

A little while later you return with pizza and everyone settles around the table. Pulling their slices right from the box and eating without plates. Leo makes his way over under your watchful gaze. Reaching out he tries to take a slice but you smack his hand so hard it hits the table.

Mikey’s slice almost falls out of his mouth as his jaw drops.

“It’s not for you.” You spit. It was childish and petty but you couldn’t help it. He’d ignored you, brushed you off, and laughed off your advances for months now. He didn’t deserve any bit of the pizza you bought.

Leo’s eyes narrow and he scoffs. Reaching for it again but getting his hand smacked again. “What’s your problem with me?” He snaps, finally retracting his hand.

“My problem with you?” You roll your eyes and throw your slice back into the box and walk around the table to get right up in his face to glare up at him. Jabbing a finger into his chest you explode on him. “My problem is I love you! I have for months. You. A cold hearted asshole who laughed when I asked you out on a date. Who brushed me off when I gave you gifts, ignored me for MONTHS and broke. My. Heart. So no. You don’t get pizza. You get anything from me. Not anymore.”

Storming out you snatch your jacket from the drum set, symbols ringing as you leave.

Leo blinks, your anger a surprise to him, the information you dumped all new news. He turns to his brothers as they look down, avoiding eye-contact. “She...liked me? As in... really liked me? Wasn’t just messing around?”

Raph snorts, shaking his head.

Mikey sighs, patting Leo’s shell. “Bro. She was into you hard core. She likes you more than Donnie likes poptarts.”

Stealing another slice Raph walks off, slamming into Leo’s shoulder as he goes.

Leo’s to shocked to really yell at him right now. Instead he turns his blue-eyed gaze to Donnie. “Donnie...?”

Scrambling the purple banded turtle stands. “No no no. I’m not getting any more involved in this than I already am. She’d kill me if I told you all the things she’s said.”

That only spikes the ninja’s curiosity and Donnie tries to hold strong but Leo’s doing everything but begging. Sighing he tugs an Ipad free from his belt and holds it out to him. “I didn’t show you this.”

Walking off to his little corner of the lair Leo sits down, pulling the Ipad into his lap and pulling up the chat logs. They were filled with you and Donnie spit-balling ideas of trying to get Leo’s attenion. You updating him when you’s tried something. There was talk of security too but he scrolled past that to read more. The day you’d vanished... Donnie had sent a dozen messages, spamming you. You replied...the night they’d come to visit you.

You: I don’t want to come back. You don’t need me there. I’m just an annoyance.

Don: That’s not true. I need your help and the guys couldn’t clean up after themselves if their lives depended on it.

You: You managed before.

Don: Barely. Come on. Leo will come around.

You: Donnie... I can’t. I deluded myself thinking anyone would be into me. Me. Augh. I don’t even like me!

Don: I like you. You’re smart, funny, make a mean pancake.

You: You liking me doesn’t count. You’re like my brother. Leo... Leo doesn’t. He doesn’t even acknowledge my existence most of the time and...and i’ve actually tried to not be a shy little wall-flower this time. I’m...like trash to him. An annoyance.

Don: No you arn’t.

You: He glared at me.

Don: The Leader glare or the Raph glare.

You: Raph glare.

Don: Yikes..

You: Yeah..he...doesn’t like me. What’s the point of me still visiting now?

There were a few more messages then some pictures of the lingering mess Mikey had made of breakfast when he attempted to make pancakes.

Sighing Leo set the tablet down.

---

The next day you showed up you went straight to Donnie. A heavy bag of motion-sensors and wires slung over your back. Leo came up to you and stood beside you, waiting for a break in your conversation but you ignored him.

“I need to talk to you.” He tries, “In private.”

Scanning him with your eyes you give him a smile. “I’m busy. Maybe later? Like... oh! Never?” Your smile drops and you turn your back to him, “As I was saying if we set them up-”

“Why are you ignoring me?” Leo snaps, his temper flaring.

Rounding on him you glare daggers right up into those beautiful blue eyes. “Why should I listen to you huh? You going to laugh in my face again for liking you? Or scoff, how about when you snapped at me? Like your snapping at me now. That was nice wasn’t it? Made me tear up and cry for hours.” Sighing melodramatically you cross your arms in front of you. “What lovely conversations we have. We should have more right? Make me cry more. Is that what you want?”

Frowning Leo tries to apologize. “No. I...wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt-”

“Ah-bup-up. I don’t want to hear it. Your apology is only so you feel better. There’s nothing you can do that would make me heal faster. It’s a heart wound. I know you don’t understand, not having a heart and all... So just- Just...” A familiar tightness takes hold of your throat and the world blurs as tears burn your eyes. “Just leave me alone. Leo. You’ve done enough.” You whisper, looking away.

Turning back to the desk you wait for him to leave. Leo sighs before walking off towards the dojo. No doubt to meditate. Wiping angrily at your tears you swallow the bitterness down and try to just focus on the work. You could run wires for hours...and right now it was just what you needed. More work.

---

A few more days pass and Leo’s snapping at everyone. Each day he’s more irritated than the last and no one is sparred from his ‘guidance’ even Raph gets the brunt of the leader’s anger when they spar off.

You kind of liked watching them fight. It was a popcorn kind of event you’d watch for as long as they squared off but you’d shunned anything involving Leo. The leader glances over to you as you flip through a cook book, half bent over the counter top as you rest your head in your hand.

Raph takes the opening and Leo is knocked out of the makeshift ring and into the table, sending it crashing onto it’s side.

Spinning around you groan. “CAN YOU GUYS CUT IT OUT!?” You snap, storming over to the table. “I just cleaned this shit up-.”

“No one asked you to!” Leo snaps, standing back up and brushing off the Parmesan cheese that had been cracked open by his fall.

The lair goes silent in an instant.

Rubbing his jaw he nods. “I checked with Donnie. He can take it from here. You can leave. You don’t want to be here right? Then go. No one’s asking you to stay.”

Your breath leaves you as your heart drops to the floor. You’re speechless. Looking down you scoff, your next breath is shaky. “You’re... right. As always. I shouldn’t have even bothered coming back.”

“No....Angelcakes..” Mikey latches onto your arm, trying to make you stay but you just pry him off.

" I knew... I knew it was a mistake.” You whisper. Walking toward the exit you grab your jacket from Donnie’s chair and rush out.

All four of them watch you leave and Raph scoffs. “Idiot.”

“What’d you say?” Leo snaps, anger directed at his brother now.

“You know I’d kill for someone who accepts me as I am. Mutant and all. Yet you get it, and she’s crazy about you, but you throw it away!” Raph’s talking with his hands, motioning with them wildly. “She even came back and you fucked it up. You DUMBASS! You had a chance to have what we can only dream about!”

“Yeah I mean...we got the cool hide out, the fancy gear, the masks, but... none of us got the girl.” Mikey adds softly.

Donnie spins back around in his chair, toggling through the cameras and watching you trip every single alarm on the way out. “I don’t think she’s coming back this time guys.”

“Good. It’s safer for her to stay away from us. Or did you guys forget that?” Leo snaps. Storming off to the dojo he starts up his little routine. Trying to calm his nerves.

Sitting down he makes himself comfortable and leans forward to light the incense... The same incense you’d stolen and left out on your nightstand. Shaking the thought of you off he settles into a steady breathing rhythm. Everything’s right but he just... can’t clear his mind. It keeps straying back to you. The way your eyes just reflected back his own pain. He’d let himself snap,hurt you. Why did he even care? It was better for you to be away, far away, from them as you could. April and Casey got in enough trouble as it was but they’d signed up for it. You...you were just someone he’d saved who wanted to say thank you. Always treated him with kindness, laughed at his jokes, gave him gifts...

Slamming his fists on the polished floor he jumps to his feet and storms out of the lair.

You’d made it back home despite the sobs that wracked through your body. Collapsing face first into your bed before screaming into the plush blankets. Worming your way under them you pull the covers up and over your head and hug a pillow close to your chest.

Some time later there’s a light tapping at your window. Your tears had run dry but your eyes were still red and your cheeks flushed. Rolling over you pull the blankets down just enough to see.

There, in the broad daylight of the setting sun is Leo, crouched on your tiny balcony. You stare for a moment, not sure if your mind is playing some cruel trick on you or not.

“Let me in.” Leo says, pointing at the lock on your window.

Blinking you hop up, wrapping the blanket around you like a shield. You open the window and step back, letting him enter the small space. “What do you want? Haven’t you done enough? I already said I’d leave.I’m not coming back and i won’t give the lair away so you don’t need to be...here.”

His shoulders sag and he takes a step towards you, reaching out for you but you back away as if he’s gonna hit you. Looking away Leo rubs his hands together. “I... was upset. I was acting on my emotions and... Being a dumbass as Raph put it.”

Giving him a sad look you sit down on your bed. “I told you I don’t need your apology. It doesn’t matter how I feel. I’m just glad for the time I had. It was a nice experience... all things considered. I mean how many people can say they got to know a hero? Let alone four of them.“

His brows push together, lips set in a firm line. “Your feelings do matter... and I should have been more considerate of them. I’m sorry.” Bowing his head you scoff. Pushing his shoulders back up.

The tears are back and you pull the blanket over your head to hide them from him. “It’s not fair. You know? You’re so effortlessly perfect and i’m just-” You let out a sobbing breath. Reaching out you slide open the drawer of your night stand. Gathering up the little trinkets and dumping them into his hands. “Well..You should have them back. It was a stupid childish thing to desire after all.” A bark of a laugh leaves you and you sniffle, wiping at your eyes. “It’s strange huh? What desire will make foolish people do?” You look down, at your hands. “I used to hate cleaning.”

Leo’s gaze is soft, eyes studying your face before he sits down on the bed next to you. “I never dreamed I’d meet somebody like you. Someone who accepted me as I am.” He spoke softly, his words spoken clearly. “So I never dreamed about...loosing somebody like you.”

Glancing over to him you lock eyes. For the first time since you met him the walls he built up around him are down. He’s vulnerable, exposed, and you can see the truth in his words. “I fought it, fought you.. and I hurt you. All because I was scared to see what was right in front of me. The teasing, the flirting, the things you did for me that I never noticed. I-I didn’t want to fall in love with you so I ignored you.” He says the words in a sigh, a weight lifted from his chest.

“I know.” You whisper, pulling the blankets tight around you. “I never deserved a man like you. And you deserve someone far better than me.”

His eye grow wide. “You deserve someone better. Not me. You can never have a normal life with me. I’m-”

“Perfect how you are.” You finish. Reaching up you touch his shoulder. Running your hand up and to his cheek. “Don’t change a thing. Not for me, not for anyone. People will love you like I do. Or they’ll hate you. There’s nothing you can do about that. So just accept it and move on.”

Leo’s eyes are intense, holding your gaze even as you pull you hand away. Your heart is in your throat, your hand shaking as you pull it back into the blankets. “It’s okay Leo.” You reassure him as his jaw works, clenching. “I’ll be fine. You should... You should just g-”

He leans in, fingers brushing against your neck and tickling the back of your nape. “W-what are you doing?” You gasp, spinning to look back up at him. If he kissed you now... that’d be it. You’d be done for.

“Something I should have done weeks ago.” Closing the distance Leo presses his lips against yours. The kiss is short, sweet and unsure. He pulls away to quickly but you chase his lips with your own. Pulling his face back towards yours as your lips re-connect. You both melt into the kiss. Pulling away breathless.

There’s still tears in your eyes but when they fall you don’t wipe them away. Pressing your foreheads together you both laugh. The fighting had worn you out, both of you suffering for it. The kiss breathed a life of understanding into both of you. The fighting, the bickering, the wicked game. It was over with.

You could finally just enjoy it.

#the wicked game #part 2 #my writing #tmnt leo #tmnt leo x reader #part three coming soon!#stay tuned

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