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mourntheantagonist · 4 years

Note

El goes over to Steve’s to get out of the cabin for a little bit and they have pizza and board games and stuff.. so Steve’s house is a little messy so Steve’s dad comes home earlier then expected he freaks bc he can’t see el here so he goes upstairs and puts her in his room and his dad is pissed at the mess so basically el overhears how much of an ass his dad is :,)

tear my heart in half why don’t you?

ok but seriously, could I have just written a short and sweet ficlet on this gorgeous headcanon? yeah. do I have self control? no.

that is why instead I present to you a 6.3k deep dive

also on ao3

****

It’s just a little thing the two of them have going for them. El hated being left alone in the empty cabin when Hopper was on duty and would often sneak out to the Wheeler’s for some company. Usually it was fine. Mike would let her in through the basement door and she’d always made sure to be back before Hop. Usually hitching a ride on the back of Mike’s bike. It was a pretty perfect system. Hopper never found out and she got to get away from the lonely woods for at least a couple hours.

Until one time they weren’t home and Mike wasn’t answering on the walkie. it was cold out and dark and she wasn’t prepared to make the long walk back to the cabin. But she did anyway. Shivering as she tried to forget that her powers still weren’t working quite right. Trying to forget the fact that she was defenseless.

That’s when Steve had pulled up beside her in the beemer. Headlights bright in her eyes, only recognizing him once the lights went out and she could see him through the windshield.

Steve was safe. One of the few people she was told she could trust, despite Mike showing his own disdain for the guy. But she was told that was only because he dated Nancy, and he didn’t like Jonathan either for that very reason. So she trusted Steve. Felt a wave of relief wash over her when he pulled up beside her from where she was walking on Randolph Way.

He rolled down his window with the crank and stuck his head outside. The quick change from hot to cold biting his nose, making it run.

“It’s past nine, El. What are you doing out here? How did you get out here?”

El shrugged her shoulders. Rubbing her hands against her arms to generate some heat to combat the cold from the Indiana night air. “Walked. Came to see Mike.” She said. The words coming out with a breath that was visualized by a misty cloud as vapor froze.

“He wasn’t home?”

She shook her head. Arms still crossed over her chest, hands now tightly gripping the flannel she stole from Hopper’s closet. A calming mechanism she’d use when she felt like she was in trouble. A way of protecting her palms from her sharp and jagged fingernails because she had a habit of biting them when she was scared, which came more often now that her powers were only functioning at a ten percent capacity.

Steve didn’t have to think for very long before telling her to get in, and that he’d take her home.

He turned the heat up to the highest setting, and pulled out a blanket he had stored underneath his seat. Handed it over to her because he could see her lips had begun to turn to a bluish color. Steve spared her the talk about how she needed to be more careful. He wasn’t her Dad or her babysitter, even though he kind of was at times. But she was just a teenager who wanted to see her boyfriend, he did the same thing when he was her age, and still does it now. He figured he could leave that conversation up to her Dad, even if he suspected it wouldn’t do much to curb said behavior.

Instead they said nothing to each other the whole drive to the cabin, aside from words of direction since he had never navigated the path in the dark before. El never talked much in most situations, so it wasn’t weird.

When he pulled up, he noticed Hopper’s Blazer was unmistakably missing from the premises, and there was no light indicating anyone lived there other than the singular bulb hanging from their front porch that looked to be only days away from burning out. He waited for El to get out of his car and head inside, but she didn’t. She just sat there in his passenger seat with the blanket pulled up high enough so it covered her nose and mouth. Still and unmoving, staring at the front door that was illuminated by the dying light source with a pained expression evident in her light brown eyes.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, with hesitation clear in the way his voice cracks with a whispered tone. The dead silence of the empty forest creating an unnerving tension that made them both feel like just the sound of a pin dropping to the floor could set something off.

She heaved a sigh, the shakiness clear. “Could you stay? Until Hop gets home?”

She didn’t have to explain it to Steve. Just looking at the Cabin gave him the same feeling that looking at his own house did. Empty and abandoned and lonely. That’s why he was out driving that night. He had no destination other than anywhere but his house. He hated the way the floorboards creaked so loud in the silence and echoed around the house. Didn’t like the way he could hear the sounds of water droplets dripping from the bathroom sink from all the way upstairs. Didn’t like the solitary feeling of it all. Not even a ghostly presence to keep him company. Just him and his thoughts. Never a good combination.

So he agreed. Turning the key and shutting off the car, flipping off the headlights and following her inside. He liked El, and it was much better than going back to his vacant home on the outskirts of Hawkins.

He’d never been inside before. The only times he’d ever come by was to drop off Dustin and the rest of the party when El was still on probation from leaving the Cabin. For those he’d never leave the comfort of his drivers seat.

El flipped on the lights and he was greeted by a sight juxtaposed from the outside’s appearance. The outside looked abandoned. Rusted and worn. Moss growing on the roof, breaks in the wooden steps leading up to the porch, unmanicured ground covered in rotting leaves from the previous Fall. The inside, however, was lively. Sure, it still looked a little run down and had the rustic feel to it, but it looked like a home. Warm and cozy, messy with different books strewn across the floor, clothes hung on the backs of chairs, vinyl records stacked haphazardly next to the turntable. The sink was full of dishes that needed to be done, a laundry basket full of clothes that needed to be folded. It was clear that someone lived here. Like really lived here. Not like his house which was always kept clean and proper. Fancy decorations cluttered the halls, carpets were vacuumed and floors were swept. Steve never got behind on doing his dishes or laundry because there was never much for him to do with it only being the product of one person. And what else was he supposed to do to occupy his time? He preferred the sound of the running water or the rattle of the laundry machine or the loud hum of the vacuum cleaner as it picked up debris over the echoes of his own thoughts. He had to keep it clean anyway because his parents always came home without warning, and always expected the house to look just as pristine as they left it. So the house always looked more like a museum filled with expensive art and less like a home with dirty dishes and crumbs on the floor that indicated proper use.

He felt a warm feeling inside the cabin. Feeling the coziness radiate through him as he sat down on the couch. Rips in the upholstery, beer stained cushions. Comfortable. Like sitting on a cloud.

El was in the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer, he assumed she was just hungry. Maybe she had been expecting to eat at Mike’s house. He always did save her some leftovers just in case. He’d done so for all three hundred fifty two days she was “missing” and continued even after she was found.

He looked through the books that were scattered all over the floor as she did her thing. Noticing books his parents used to read him when he was little. Many of them by Dr. Suess. The Lorax, Green eggs and Ham. Some “I Can Read” books that looked to be well below her level, and several books he didn’t recognize at all like “Alexander the Magical Mouse”. She must have liked that one a lot considering the spine had been creased and torn and the edges were folding in.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sudden sound of the pop of the toaster oven. Hearing the slight sizzle of whatever had been cooking.

He turned around to see Eleven carrying two plates with Eggos on them. Already coated in butter and syrup, holding one out to him.

“I made you some.” It’s the first thing she’s said since they’d walked through the door. She wasn’t shy, she just didn’t talk a lot, having only ever been allowed to speak if she had something important to say, often going hours or even days without even having anyone to say those things to. It was no wonder she didn’t want to be alone in that cabin.

He took a seat with her at their little table. Big enough for just two people, perfect for just El and Hopper, and perfect for just the two of them now. He could tell the seat he was sitting in was typically the seat Hopper sat at. The table had cigarette burns on only that side, and he knew those didn’t come from El. Her side of the table had clear indication of someone who used a lot of syrup. Dried maple drops stuck to the wood. He dug into his waffles, which looked to have been cooked to perfection. Golden brown with a nice crunch as he cut off a piece with the side of his fork. She looked up at him and smiled before shoving a large bite into her mouth. Nearly half a waffle’s worth. Syrup escaped past her lips as she closed her mouth around the fork, sticking to the outside of her cheeks.

“You got a little.” He gestured to his own cheek, tapping it twice.

She stifled a laugh with her mouth full and wiped away at it with her sleeve.

It was nice seeing her laugh. El had a smile that brightened up a whole room. The one thing about her that not many people had, you know, aside from the whole ‘having powers’ thing, was that she said what she meant, and she meant what she said. You never had to worry about her faking a smile for your benefit, or worry about her lying to you. She was honest even if that sometimes got her into trouble. So when she smiled at him and laughed, he knew she was happy. Happy he was there, and so was he.

Before she stuffed a second bite into her mouth, still chewing the remnants of the first, they could hear the roar of a familiar engine. Headlights beginning to peek through the gaps in the curtains. El didn’t seem nearly as on edge as he was that Hopper was home. Steve was in his house. Uninvited. Okay he was invited by El, but not by Hopper and that’s what mattered more, right?

Steve wasn’t necessarily scared of Hopper per se. But he definitely tried to avoid being on his bad side at all costs.

But hey, it’s not like Steve had done anything wrong. On the contrary. He kind of rescued her, not that she really needed it. She survived months during Hawkins winter out on her own in the woods. But the point was, he should thank him.

At least Hopper should recognize Steve’s beemer out front so when he opens the door to his house Steve’s presence isn’t a total surprise. Like he won’t walk in guns blazing at the intruder who’s in his house with his daughter.

Okay should he be worried?

Luckily for Steve, Hopper walks through the door with his gun securely in his holster and sans a look of rage. More so a look of confusion.

“What are you doing here kid?”

El gives him a pointed look. Almost like she’s trying to use her mind powers on him. Get him to not tell Hopper that she was out by herself after nine at night in the cold… to see her boyfriend.

But here’s the thing. Steve likes El. He really does. But he’s far more terrified of what Hopper might do to him if he lies to his face about Eleven’s whereabouts.

He gives her a look back. An apologetic one.

“She was out wandering in the cold so I brought her back home. Decided to stay until you arrived.” Steve decided to leave out the part about her going to Mike’s house. Figured that’s better left unsaid.

Hopper pursed his lips. Nodding his head with his arms crossed, clearly trying to keep himself from yelling. He’s gotten better about that lately.

El is once again gripping the cloth of the flannel she is wearing tightly. Bowing her head and squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Why did you go out El?” Hopper asks. His voice was a strained kind of calm. A calm that if you pushed slightly too far could easily go away.

“I don’t like being here alone. Not after everything.”

Oh yeah. Everything.

Everything being Starcourt. Those painful couple of days when she didn’t even know where he was while the rest of the world was falling apart in front of her. Those several hours before he finally emerged from under the Russian base below the mall. Hours without hearing from him, not even a confirmation that he was alive. And no way to confirm it for herself with her powers completely drained. All she could get was a black void. She couldn’t see anything at all.

Steve got a similar feeling. He’d experienced loneliness before. But nothing like when he was trapped in that room with those Russian guards. Beating the ever living shit out of him and no matter what he did or said, it wouldn’t stop until he was completely unconscious. The unconsciousness coming much later than he’d hoped it would. He could still sometimes feel his eye twitch with phantom pains from the damage done that night. He recognized it very distinctly from the memories of previous black eyes he’s received in the somehow two fights he’s lost. He also understands the feeling of dread that she felt when she didn’t know where Hopper was. He had that same feeling with Erica and Dustin. Not knowing whether they made it out alive. Had the same dread with Robin. Feeling her back pressed up against his as they were tied up in chairs and threatened with torture, knowing he was the one who brought her into all of this. Knowing that whatever happens to her is blood on his hands. That point where he had to make a quick decision and slam his car into the side of Billy.

Billy.

Feeling the shockwaves pass through him. His head jerk forward upon impact. Watching as the Camaro burst into flames in a blinding blaze. That moment of not knowing whether or not he survived the crash, not knowing if that was a good or bad thing, and not even having the time to even think about it before he’s piling into the back of the Wheeler’s station wagon and driving away from the mall.

So yeah, Steve got it.

Hopper’s face fell into a frown and he decided not to press the issue further.

“We’ll talk about it later. Finish up your waffles and get ready for bed. I’ll walk Steve out.” Hopper said. Wiping at his nose and taking off his hat and hanging it on the hook by the door.

El finished her waffles rather quickly. She practically inhaled the contents of her plate. Not sparing a moment of time before shoving another piece into her mouth. Messy enough making it clear that the syrup stains on the table were most definitely her doing. Steve finished up his own and promptly followed Hopper out onto the porch after putting his dirtied plate into the sink of dirty dishes.

“Thanks for bringing her home, son. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, chief.”

“You wanna smoke?” Hopper asks, pulling a pack and lighter out from his shirt pocket and pulling one out, offering it up for Steve to take.

This was definitely weird. Smoking with adults. Hopper nonetheless. Sure he was of age, but that didn’t make it any less weird.

He accepted the cigarette anyway, because it was cold and god he could really use one right about now. He let Hopper light it up for him and he took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs creating a burning sensation he grew to enjoy. It almost functioned as proof that he was a living human being. Feeling as the damage was done to his internal organs, reminder that he was alive. Not lost to the void he felt like he drifted into so often.

“So what are you doing right now? You graduated right?”

“Yup.” Steve replied. Popping the ‘p’. As if basically scraping by the G.P.A. decent enough to walk across that podium was something to celebrate. His father most certainly didn’t think so.

“College?”

And that was the reason why. He couldn’t get an acceptance letter from anywhere. Not even the schools that supposedly accepted everyone and didn’t even send out rejection letters. Steve was living breathing proof that they did.

“No. Working mornings at Family Video.” He tried to say it with at least a little pride. Like, hey, at least he wasn’t a total bum living off his parents dime. At least he was doing something with his life. Even if that something was a dead end job in a dead end town.

“It’s honest work, kid. Good for you. College ain’t for everyone. I most certainly wasn’t cut out for it.” Hopper tightly gripped his shoulder and shook him a bit. In a way that seemed fatherly while also being a way his own father never interacted with him.

And god that statement felt good to hear. That acknowledgment and validation that Steve wasn’t just wasting his life away at that job. Validation for his hard work and attempt at bettering himself. Felt good, especially coming from someone so accomplished as him. Steve could only smile, unable to come up with any worthy response to that.

“So mornings. What’s your availability like in the evenings?”

“Typically free. Sometimes I get called out to cover for the night shift, but that doesn’t happen often. Why?”

Hopper put out his cigarette in the ashtray sitting on the porch ledge.

“Well, it would be nice having someone watch El when I’m patrolling at night. I don’t like leaving her here alone, and now I know she doesn’t like it either. And I’d rather her spend that time with you than Mike.” The way he says the name like it’s a slur almost has Steve laughing.

Okay look. Steve didn’t really tell the whole truth right there. His house isn’t always empty. He’s not always free. But it’s best he didn’t divulge that information to a man with a gun in the middle of the woods.

Instead he said yes. Because he wasn’t her babysitter, but he might as well be.

And he also had no idea how to say no to Hopper. Another thing you wouldn’t want to say to a man with a gun in the middle of the woods.

That was how it started. Hopper randomly calling up his house and calling him over to the cabin. Sometimes just choosing to drop her off at his house instead because he didn’t have the time to circle back. Luckily those times he didn’t have the company of a very recognizable blue Camaro parked in his driveway. And eventually everything became routine. Figuring out the patterns of Hopper’s work schedule so he was better prepared for those surprise visits. Eventually telling Hop to just keep bringing her over to his because it was on the way to the station and safer for the rest of the kids to travel to for the occasional hangouts he begrudgingly chaperoned.

Hopper did eventually catch them red handed. Or more accurately, with his pants down. He didn’t hear the phone ring and it was instead the honk of his horn that pulled the two from their current distraction. No point in trying to hide what they were doing with an elaborate lie as soon as Hopper yelled from outside “Harrington. Hargrove. Pull your damn pants up and get out here!”

They couldn’t be that loud. Could they?

Steve didn’t even want to entertain that thought.

When they did the walk of shame out the front door, heads bowed and arms crossed over themselves, Hopper was standing there with his hands on his hips. A stance that looked almost ridiculous on him, but also struck enough fear in the two of them that it silenced their laughs.

“Sorry.” Is all Steve could say. Unable to even look him in the eyes. Focusing his attention on El who sat in the passenger seat of the Blazer. Looking entirely confused. Good. She should be.

“No. No. My fault. I should have called. Uh, you still up for watching El tonight?” Hopper’s eyes darted between the two boys. They were all very uncomfortable in this current situation, and they were all equally desperate for the conversation to come to an end.

Billy looked over at Steve, both faces matching with the same kind of confusion. Distinctly different confusion than the look that washed over El’s face.

“Uh. Yeah I can go home, he can watch her.” Billy said, already moving his feet to leave.

“You don’t have to go. Hell, it’d be nice having someone who has actually won a fight around her.”

“Hey! I’ve won a fight.” Steve interjects, earning a small chuckle out of Billy.

“I didn’t see it. Doesn’t count.” Steve scoffs at the reply. “Anyway, point is, he can stay if he wants. Just no funny business if you don’t mind.”

Billy and Steve both blush simultaneously and nod their heads a little too aggressively. “Yes sir.” Says Billy.

Hopper tips his hat at the boys who are both just standing there stunned and trying to figure out if they just had a near death experience or not. Not before long El is getting out of the car and Hopper’s pulling out of the driveway and suddenly his house feels 300% fuller.

Billy stays sometimes for her visits now, but they don’t make too much of a habit of it. Still concerned about how the nature of their relationship looks to have a young girl in their presence. It’s wrong and stupid, but most people were nowadays. Despite Hopper’s insistence on being okay with it, they couldn’t put that much trust in people.

Except for maybe El. That girl he would trust with his life. No questions asked.

It took awhile for her to actually get what was going on. Not that they were together in the first place, that part she deduced pretty quickly. It was more so the reason that they were so private about it that she didn’t get. She didn’t get why she couldn’t tell Max or the party or anyone else for that matter. They’d constantly brush it off with an “it’s complicated” because they didn’t find joy in telling this sweet and innocent girl how terrible the world could be. But to El it was perfectly simple. Billy and Steve love each other like El and Mike love each other. Easy, straightforward. When they finally explained it to her, how “stupid people don’t think two men should be able to love each other” they could see the anger clear on her face. Veins popping out on her forehead and a red tint forming beneath the skin on her face. They explained how people might go as far as to hurt them if they found out. Her face only got redder and the clench of her fists only grew tighter.

“Bad people.” She called them.

They would just nod their heads in agreement.

“Does that mean Max and Mike and everyone else are bad people? Because I can’t tell them?”

That was a hard question to answer. A question that they tried to avoid thinking about yet always seemed to be at the back of their minds. Because they might be. And that was scary to think about. Steve liked to think that Dustin wouldn’t look at him any differently, the same with Billy about Max. They thought highly enough of them that they never liked to entertain the thought that they could potentially be “bad people.” But there was always the potential that they could.

Still they answered with a no. Because even if they did end up being “bad people” they weren’t bad people. “I don’t think they are,” Steve started. “But the more people that find out, the higher the chance some really bad people might find out. It’s safer to keep the bubble small. Is that okay?”

El nodded in agreement, and the three of them quickly went back to what they were doing like they didn’t just have a really deep conversation. It was scrabble. Thought it might be a more fun way of teaching El new words instead of just shoving a book into her face. She seemed to enjoy it, and was able to come up with some surprisingly long words. A huge grin popped onto her face when she was able to spell out the word “compromise.”

“Hop taught me that one.”

Eighteen points.

Nobody expected it to be Billy who was trying to pass off made up words.

But for the most time, it was just Steve and El. No party get together’s. No Billy. Just the two of them, pizza delivery, board games and movies. And it was honestly a blast.

Steve never thought it would be so much fun to make a mess like this. Paper plates scattered across the floor along with loose puzzle pieces and an array of VHS tapes strewn in front of the TV so they were easier to look through. Usually when something was out of place, Steve felt an overwhelming need to put it back. To keep things clean, neat, and tidy. That’s how he was raised. Vases dusted, dishes cleaned, laundry folded and put away. But he was behind on laundry and the only reason his sink wasn’t full was because he’d been eating off disposables since El wandered into his every day. Which reminded him. The trash needed to be taken out yesterday.

Usually the chaos would have him losing his mind. Like the way it did when he first snuck into Billy’s bedroom and was met with dozens of beer cans everywhere the eye could see. Hamper piled high with dirty laundry, and that was just what made it into the basket. And god it reeked of smoke and teenage boy. Like the combination of a wrestling mat and a casino. He had actual car parts sitting in his closet that he’d stolen from the junkyard. His room was a junkyard. But he’d never tell him that. Just kindly suggest that perhaps he wipe down some surfaces with disinfecting wipes because there are definitely some eradicated diseases living freely underneath his bed where he could see a large collection of socks. Yeah. He knew what those were.

But this was a mess he could handle. It wasn’t a hotel for rats like Billy’s room was. It was more like how he described Hopper’s cabin. Lived in. Proof that there were people having a good time and living there. Finally getting the living room to live up to its title. When he looked out across the mess of food and games and the fallen down fort they attempted to build, the word home started to feel like an apt word to describe the place. It felt like it was his and not like just some place he slept at night or the place he parked his car and had his paycheck sent to.

He’d be regretting letting it get so messy when he heard the familiar purr of a car outside. Distinctly not the roar of the Camaro or the rumble of the Blazer. No it was the purr of his father’s Buick.

He looked out once again over the mess in his living room.

He was going to be pissed.

El noticed the way his face fell when the sound had echoed outside. And then Steve noticed El.

He couldn’t see her here. She was allowed to be out in public but it was still slow going as far as who she was and how she was the chief's daughter. He didn’t want to take any risks.

“El. I’m going to need you to hide in my room. My Dad can’t see you. He won’t go in there.” Steve’s trying to stay calm so he doesn’t alarm her, but reading people’s emotions is something she’s really good at. Not sure if it’s a feature of her powers or just her, but she can always tell if you’re faking a smile and she can feel the emotions that lurk beneath the surface like an empath. So naturally she started to grow fearful as well.

“What’s going on?” She’s still sitting on the floor but appears to at least be shifting her legs to raise herself up. But it’s like everything is moving through molasses but his father’s footsteps don’t seem to be slowing at all.

“My Dad’s home. Take the back steps upstairs and lock yourself in my room. I promise I won’t be long, okay?”

She nods her head, she can see the urgency in his voice so she takes no time at all before sprinting up the stairs and finding Steve’s bedroom.

When she walks inside she realizes she’s never actually been in there before. Only knowing of its location after seeing Steve walk in and out of it from the base of the stairs. It’s not quite what she was expecting.

It was boring. Flannel wallpaper with a perfectly made bed. Shelves organized containing nothing of significance upon them. It looked like one of those bedrooms she saw in furniture catalogs. Steve wasn’t boring. He had a fun and bright personality. He screamed bright blues and bright reds, not the dull greens, grays, and browns that decorated his room.

Then there was an unexpected noise coming from down the steps. The walls were thin, she could hear everything so clearly.

“What the hell is all of this, Steven?” The voice was low and thunderous. Resonating through the entire house. It kind of reminded her of Hopper’s voice, but the underlying tone was distinctly different. There was a condescension to it that she rarely heard out of him. Almost like he was talking down to him. “You’re expected to keep this house clean, and you can’t even do that? How did I get stuck with such a stupid fuck up for a son?” The swears and insults rolled off his tongue like second nature and it made El’s blood boil.

She pressed her ear to the door to get a clearer picture, Steve talked in a very quiet voice in comparison to the fortissimo of Mr. Harrington’s.

“I was just getting ready to clean it up. I had a couple of friends over and they just left. I didn’t know you’d be home, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t let you live under my roof for you to be throwing parties Steven! You should be spending that time actually making something of yourself so I don’t have to explain to my friends what an embarrassment you’ve become.”

“I work full time Dad!”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me.” Steve had barely even gotten louder. “What? You think a career at Family Video is some kind of achievement?”

El could feel the tension in the room as it fell silent. She wanted to burst from that room and fling him through a wall. Break his arm.

Mouthbreather.

“Your mother will be home in a few hours, she stopped to see a friend. You will have this mess cleaned up before she gets home and you will help her with her luggage. Understand?”

“Understand.” Steve’s voice sounded broken. Cracking with an inconsistent tone.

“I’ll be in my office. Don’t disturb me.”

The only sounds that follow that line are the sounds of shuffling feet and a slam of a door downstairs. She’s startled when she hears the gentle knock against Steve’s bedroom door.

“You can unlock the door now.” He says.

She does so quietly. Slowly turning the lock so not to make sound that Mr. Harrington could potentially hear.

When she gets the door open she’s met with a Steve that she’s never seen before. He’s squeezing the bridge of his nose and his eyes are red and glossy. His cheeks are pink from wiping abrasively against tears that fell upon them.

“I need to get you home, okay? I can um… I can call Hop or someone to stay with you if you need. I’m sorry.”

El just doesn’t know what to say to him. Doesn’t know how to make things better without her powers.

So she just hugs him. Wraps her arms around his waist tight and lets her head rest where it meets his chest. Squeezing gently just waiting for him to return the gesture.

Which he does, albeit, hesitantly and guarded. Barely letting his own hands come in contact with her shoulders. She’s so small, and if he didn’t already know the strength she was capable of he’d be worried he could break her.

“Bad man.” She whispers.

Steve fights off the tears and squeezes her tighter.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Is all he can say.

The two of them quietly sneak out the front door. Steve knows his Dad wouldn’t care if he left so long as he did what he was asked. He’d picked up the mess and took the trash with him on the way out.

The two pile into the Beemer and Steve quickly turns on the music to distract himself from the words rattling around in his head. Letting the sounds of Metallica play over his speakers. Billy was always doing that. Shoving one of the tapes he made for Steve into the stereo when he wasn’t looking.

Look, a successful distraction!

But they barely made it a mile down the road before El was turning the knob to the left and the car quickly fell silent. She doesn’t look over at him when she says it. Just looks out the window at passing trees and street lights. Watching as power lines appear to move like ocean waves. Up and down, up and down. Fiddling with the cuffs of her shirt like she’s fearful of the words that were to come out of her mouth.

“Is your Dad like Papa?”

She wasn’t afraid of the question, but she was afraid of the answer. Steve knew who Papa was. They all did and were explicitly instructed to avoid that topic at all costs. But she was the one bringing him up.

“No he’s not like Papa.”

“But he’s a bad man.” She says matter of factly.

“Sometimes he is. Yes.”

“Is your Dad like Billy’s Dad?”

That one stung a little too sharply. Not at the premise of his father potentially being like that, but the reminder of Billy. That he was still there under that damn roof with that poor excuse of a man. And that he wouldn’t let Steve protect him no matter how hard he tried and how far he pushed.

That was another thing El knew that most people didn’t know. Another secret she was forced to keep. One she chose to keep on her own, recognizing it wouldn’t be fair to share the things she learned from entering into his mind without giving him a choice in the matter.

Steve was sometimes grateful for that. The fact that El respected Billy and showed him nothing but kindness. But so often he’d wish she’d just spill it all to Hopper. Do the thing Steve didn’t have the strength to do himself.

“No. He’s not like Billy’s Dad.”

“But that doesn’t make it okay.” She looks at him this time. Reaching over the center console to place a hand gently on top of one of his outstretched hands that tightly gripped the steering wheel.

He lets a tear fall. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”

The rest of the drive is silent. The only sounds are the purr of the engine and the tires rolling over rough asphalt.

Pulling up to the cabin with El in the passenger seat felt a lot like that first time he took her home. That same painful silence and that same hesitation as they sat in front of the cabin from the comfort of the cabin. Staring out at the porch. The lightbulb that looked almost dead last time now replaced with a brand new one that shined bright and illuminated the whole front of the house.

He was half hoping she would ask for him to stay. Not wanting to go back to that house alone with his Dad. He wanted to go to Billy. Crawl in through his window and curl up next to him in his bed. Make himself feel safe by making Billy feel safe. He’d accept crashing on Hopper’s couch if that was all he could get.

But he knew he couldn’t. Knew he had to get home despite having every reason not to.

“Steve?” She said, grabbing his attention.

“Yeah?”

She opened the car door and stepped out, looking at him intensely through the open door.

“You’re not stupid.”

That right there made him smile much more than her asking him to stay ever would.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #eleven #jim hopper #mandi writes tresh #fanfic

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anntoldst0ries · 4 years

Text

Everything else is just the weather

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count: ~5.3k (I sinned!) Summary: Ethan takes Elle out on their “first” date. Category: Fluff Warnings: None

A/N: It has literally taken me ages to finish this fic. To the point that I couldn’t look at it anymore, but here it is. I had it in mind for a really long time and now that OH is back, I feel like I’m ready to show it to the world. As always thank you for your support and I hope you like it!

This fic is part 2 of birthday present for my friend, part 1 is the fan art which you can see here. Once you read the fic, the fan art makes more sense :)

This is my submission for CFWC Silly Love Stories, Day 12: Date night.

Loud knocks resonated throughout the room.

"Come in!"

"Good morning, Mrs. Peterson.”

“Good morning, Dr Valentine. I think you are the only doctor in this hospital with some sort of manners, everyone else just waltzes in here as if it was a damn barn!”

“Hospital or no hospital, everyone has their right to privacy.”

“Thank you, child. Once again, please call me Faye."

"Alright Faye, but only if you call me Elle.” She smiled sweetly, and the whole room seemed to be suddenly lit by a thousand suns.

“How are you feeling? Are the meds making a difference?"

"They are. I am ready to be discharged today.”

"Not so fast. I am not ready to say goodbye to you yet."

“Why would you possibly like to be lumbered with an old nuisance like me for even a second longer than necessary?”

Elle just laughed and shook her head. The ‘nuisance’, as the elderly lady so lovingly put it, was exactly what she loved about her job. She loved spending time with her patients, she loved their stories and their worldly wisdom. It made her sad to see how many of them thought they didn’t matter or considered themselves and their lives boring. To her, they were anything but.

Many of Edenbrook’s staff members kept asking themselves: what is it about her? She was a great doctor, no two ways about it, and she was a genuinely nice person. But what was the source of power she had over people? If she woke up one day and decided to start a rebellion, patients would have most certainly followed her, even if it meant they’d be leaving the premises of the hospital with naked butts or trailing their IVs behind them. Doctors, nurses, administration, cleaners and security would follow shortly. She only had to say a word.

And how on Earth was she capable of turning Dr Ramsey, the grizzly bear of Edenbrook, into a benign teddy bear with as little as one look? It was beyond everyone’s apprehension.

Had they spent more time actually observing her, rather than gossiping in the corners, the answer would have unveiled in front of them within minutes.

It was very simple.

Noelle was truly curious about people. She genuinely liked them and was determined to get to know their story, for it helped her diagnose them faster and also satiated the young doctor’s hunger for knowledge.

Patients never felt like “curious cases” or “numbers” in her presence. They were… themselves - people with hopes, dreams, fears, pet peeves and odd habits. They were human.

So little and yet so much.

Those never touched by serious illnesses often failed to understand that sickness strips you of your dignity and becomes your identity. Your true self becomes covered by this weird, annoying sticker that wouldn’t come off no matter how hard you tried to remove it.

But this young woman, despite the nature of her profession, somehow managed to notice what was hiding beneath this misleading layer.

Had all these gossipers spoken to her patients, that’s exactly what they would have heard.

"What's happening today?" The older lady asked with a flick of curiosity in her wrinkle-haloed eyes.

"What do you mean, Faye?" The young doctor sounded genuinely baffled by the out-of-the-blue question.

"Well, I am no diagnostician, but I believe I am rather observant and you radiate with happiness. Something special is happening today, am I right?"

"Yeah, you are right." Elle blushed like a teenager caught in a lie. "My boyfriend is taking me on a surprise date today, but he won’t say a word about it, so I'm super excited to find out what he planned for us. He usually isn't one for romantic gestures, so the secrecy is killing me."

"Do you think he's gonna pop the big question?" Faye’s eyes lit up with excitement.

"No, we're not there...yet." Elle faked a smile, but a tone of doubt and sadness coloured her voice. They probably never will be, those things weren’t in the cards for Ethan, as he already stressed once.

But once was enough and she didn’t dare mention the subject again.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he's got some big guns in store, I would if I had a lady like you." - a male patient lying in the bed adjacent to Elle’s patient added smiling flirtatiously.

"Jerry, you were supposed to focus on getting better, not stealing my girlfriend." They all jumped when a deep baritone echoed throughout the room, hitting present company like a wrecking ball. She must have left the door ajar or Ethan could penetrate the walls soundlessly, because no one heard him coming.

Exactly how long has he been standing there for and how much did he hear?

"Dr. Ramsey, flirting makes your blood flow faster. Isn't it the very definition of life itself?” Jerry’s tone was brisk and lively.

"Well, it definitely isn't the definition of recovery after a heart attack." Ethan used his authoritative doctor’s voice but knew this wasn't a battle he was going to win. Jerry had something he didn't: a couple more decades of life experience under his belt and even the best medical school in the country couldn’t compete with this.

"Besides, Dr. Ramsey, I don't think that the beautiful Dr. Valentine here fancies old farts like me."

"That's where you are wrong, Jerry, looks like this is exactly the type I fancy." The two women laughed, however Ethan was far from amused. "Dr. Ramsey is 10 years older than me."

"10 years? What is 10 years in these times? Nothing. When I was getting married 40 years ago, it was something. But today? Look at all them playboys with girls younger than my granddaughter. 10 years is actually a very healthy difference. Men are immature and slower with growing up emotionally. So I'd say you've caught up, Dr. Ramsey, and the two of you are emotional peers now.”

“Thank you for the fascinating lesson in human psychology, Jerry. To think I’ve wasted all this time and money on medical school and no one taught me this.”

“Dr. Ramsey, it’s because schools and useful knowledge are mutually exclusive.”

Elle and Faye were on the verge of bursting out in laughter, but managed to keep their composure and used the non-verbal communication of exchanging glances instead.

Once they made sure their patients had everything they need, Ethan and Elle wished them a good day and promised to stop by in 2 days, as the following day was their day off.

The moment the door closed behind them, Ethan crossed his arms on his chest.

"I lose you from my sight for one second and this happens. 5 more minutes with Jerry and I'd be single again."

"At least no one wants to poke your eyes out for being with me."

"And someone wants to poke yours?"

"Where do I start... nurses, who had a crush on you long before I even set foot in Edenbrook? Female interns? Anyone, who has a pair of functioning eyes and ever looked at you?"

She was adorable when she was doing this, her whole body overtaken by excitement and her hands waving. When she was talking about something really important to her she wasn't just conversing with her mouth, she was doing it with her whole body.

Suddenly, his pager painfully reminded Ethan that this was neither the place nor the time to lose himself in adoration.

"I need to go, I'm completely swamped today and I have my favourite cherry-on-top board meeting. In case I don't see you for the rest of your shift - I’ll pick you up at 7."

He was gone before she was able to form a response. Was it just her or was Dr Ramsey weirdly… nervous?

* * * * * * * *

At 7pm sharp, Ethan Ramsey curled his palm in a fist and gently knocked. The door opened in an instant, as if someone knew he'd been standing there for the past few minutes.

"Ethan! I mean Dr. Ramsey...please come in!" Sienna squeaked with nervous excitement as she let him in.

"Outside of Edenbrook Ethan is just fine, Sienna. If you don't mind me calling you by your first name, of course."

"Mm..mme? No, yes, I mean... Elle is on the balcony." She tried to hide her embarrassment and motioned towards the tall windows surrounding the living room. Some time ago, he would have been oddly proud to have such an intimidating effect on people - nowadays, more than anything, he was amused. Has he really changed so much?

The answer to his question was leaning against the railing, glass of wine in her hand. Gauzy, flowery dress enveloped her frame and tanned skin.

For Ethan, it was as clear as crystal: summer had the face and scent of Noelle Valentine.

Long before she started leaving her toothbrush in his apartment and sleeping in his old JH t-shirts, Ethan noticed that whenever he laid eyes on her, his whole body started acting in a very irrational way. His doctor’s instincts prompted him to think of all types of biological causes and chemical reactions in the brain. Then, when he sort of admitted to himself it’s not just pure science, Ethan leaned towards the forbidden fruit theory - the more he couldn’t have his drug, the more he was craving it.

But the feeling never disappeared. Whenever he wouldn’t see her for a while - be that an hour, a day, or just when she went to take a shower or make a coffee - the very moment her face came into his view again, he felt his stomach somersaulting.

Every. Single. Time.

It wasn’t any different now.

"Drinking without me?"

She almost dropped the glass when his voice stopped the train of thought in her head. But then she saw his face, the way too seldom relaxed muscles and a barely-there smile.

A perfectly tailored shirt clung to his torso marvellously. If not in medicine, he surely would have made a name for himself in the fashion industry. Fortunately for her, the idea never crossed his mind.

The warm wind blew in her face, carrying the scent of expensive cologne which overwhelmed her nostrils. She didn’t know this one, so it must have been new. But she did know that smelling it for the whole evening while staring at his handsome face will be a pure torture.

Simply put, she was a goner.

"I don't know why, but I was quite nervous. Had to summon the courage somehow.”

“As you should be. After all, it's not every day that one goes on their first date."

She looked at him as if she’d just been told that a UFO landed on the roof.

“On a what?”

"Well, I was thinking a lot lately about how we never had a first date. Nothing was ever...typical with us. I promised myself I will do my best to fix things that caused you pain or deprived you of the things you deserved. Maybe I cannot fix some immediately, but this one I can, so I will."

Her eyes, overbrimming with affection struck him like thousand lightnings. Thank god a comfortable silence fell between them - had she asked him a question, it would have been clear that right now he is nothing but a simpering moron.

With this in mind, he took his hands from behind his back, holding a small bouquet of pink gerberas.

"These are my favourites." Her face instantly illuminated at the well known sight and smell. "How did you know?”

"I had some amazing helpers."

Elle instantly turned her head left and looked inside, where grinning, Sienna was showing her the thumbs up.

"Wow, now I actually wish I'd downed the whole bottle."

"I'm glad you didn't. I want to go on a date with a woman, not her lifeless body, even though the body itself is very appealing. Shall we?”

“King of compliments…”

* * * * * * * *

"You actually look like you are having a good time, Dr Ramsey.”

"Why wouldn't I? There is alcohol, sitting under the sky definitely has its charm and the company is acceptable." She playfully swatted his arm, the gesture a quick reminder of how comfortable they felt with each other, something he constantly remembered to never take for granted.

“Although I love this, I still don’t understand why you dragged me all the way outside Boston, I’m pretty sure the rooftop bars are pretty acceptable there, too. A bit more crowded though, that’s for sure.”

“Are you complaining about the fact that we have this entire place to ourselves? I know the owner and he was indebted to me.”

“Of course he was.” Looks like the whole town is indebted to Ethan freakin’ Ramsey.

“With regards to why I brought you here… you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Gosh. She couldn’t decide whether the mysterious side of Ethan Ramsey was hot as hell or annoying as hell. But she didn’t really have time to contemplate, because her companion asked her a question.

“Why did you become a doctor?” The ocean eyes pierced her to the core and she had a feeling that even if she was the best actress in the world, there was no way she’d be able to hide something from this man.

“That’s a terrible change of subject. Also, I must have told you like a million times already.”

“No, you never told me.”

When she looked at him and really, really thought about it… she suddenly realised Ethan was right. Elle told the story so many times she sort of… assumed she told Ethan, too.

“Are you sure you want to hear it today? It’s a pretty sad story, a mood killer I’d say.”

“It’s what makes you you, so yes, I want to hear all about it - the good, the bad and the indifferent.”

“I’ll tell you, but I need to ask something first. Why now? We’ve known each other for a while and you just… I just sort of assumed this isn’t the type of conversation you’d like to hold.”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head.” Ethan’s expression was gentle, not a hint of irony in his voice. “I’ve known you for a while now, but there are still so many things about you that I don’t know. At first, I didn’t want to ask, because asking these questions meant admitting that there is something more between us. What a fail would that be, after I’ve mastered the art of denial.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a bitter or a nervous laugh, it was a genuine banter between them, as the British half of her soul liked to call it. “But you made me want to dig deeper.”

Was it the heat that made her catch her breath, or did it have nothing to do with the temperature?

“Plus, this is sort of what first dates are for, right? I’m sorry for skipping right to the more complex questions. It’s not that I don’t want to know what you were afraid of as a child, I want to know all the details… but it feels like the atmosphere calls for something…bigger.”

So she told him all about her friend, how she fell ill, how she couldn’t be saved and how the experience wreaked havoc on her whole life, tears glistening in her eyes at the mere memory of the events that shaped who she was today.

Ethan listened, his whole body tense and eyes transfixed. She was giving him one of the most fragile parts of her and he had to make sure his hands were there to catch, carry and care for this treasure.

“And that’s when I realised that if I focused on becoming the best doctor I could be, then maybe one day, I’d be that person who has an answer, who can solve a mystery and save a relationship that means the world to someone. Sometimes, people don’t realise that when a person dies, it’s not only them that’s gone. The part of someone who stays, who has to deal with the whole ‘me after you’ - that part is gone, too. So for me, in a way, this meant saving more than one life.”

For a couple of seconds he didn’t move. Then, without saying a single word and with an unreadable expression he got up and offered her a hand, which she silently accepted. He led her to the railing, where the sun was slowly sinking into the boundless waters of Quincy Bay.

His lips found the all too well known way to her forehead, placing a loving kiss on her delicate skin.

“I am so proud of you.” There was something so mesmerising in his whisper, sending a shiver down her spine.

“As a mentor or as a boyfriend?”

“Both. I want you to know that your dedication to people who rely on you is astounding and hardly present in doctors your age. Or any age, for that matter.”

“Wow, Dr Ramsey, smooth. Trying to hit on me with a recycled pick-up line used on a national TV? No wonder you didn’t have too many girlfriends.”

“No, I didn’t. But I believe everyone has a limit of luck they can get per life. And looking at you, I got a couple of lifetimes worth of luck.”

This was enough to render her speechless. She smiled and at this very moment he knew he would do anything to make her smile like this. She wrapped him around her pinky finger and suddenly his whole existence revolved around finding ways of seeing her curve these breathtaking lips as often as possible and making sure he is the reason she smiles… not crying her eyes out.

Although the other didn’t know, because none of them said it out loud, they both thought the same thing.

This feels so right.

There isn’t a hint of awkwardness in the fact that they can go from being serious or emotionally vulnerable to funny and teasing in seconds.

In one effortless movement, Ethan spun her and pressed her back against his chest. Then, he started placing a series of tender kisses along her jawline and the crook of her neck, slowly moving towards her shoulder.

Come on, just say it Ramsey. It doesn’t get any better than this.

He wrapped her palm in his and pointed them towards the sky.

“There they are - the Little Dipper and the Big Dipper.” Their intertwined fingers were jumping from one tiny flashing point to the other, as if they were playing connect the dots. “And that’s Orion’s Belt.”

“I really don’t get why at this point I’m still surprised that you’re good at everything.”

Elle was drunk on his every word, as this annoying trait of Ethan Ramsey being the know-it-all was actually one of her favourite things about him.

As for Ethan, he couldn’t help but think that life wasn’t perfect and was never going to be. But this - this moment - it was in fact perfect. Why take chances of ruining it, when so many things can go wrong?

What if she doesn't say it back?

What if she's just gonna laugh at him or tell him he had it all wrong.

What if he misinterpreted everything and she never thought about him this way?

He was terrified of being this exposed. The last person he loved so much left him without batting an eyelid and disappeared for 25 fucking years.

Maybe it was better to live in a perfect illusion than a reality in which there was even a 0.01% chance she doesn't love him back.

So they both drowned in the moment, drifted in the sea of rapture, lost in the illusion that it can all last forever.

It was her who broke the silence.

“I’m getting a bit cold, is it ok if we call it a night?”

“Right, of course.”

“Thank you for the first date, I loved it.”

Handing her his jacket (her favourite, the dark green leather one) Ethan was furious at himself.

Maybe he was broken. Maybe he will remain broken forever. Maybe that’s the way it must be.

“Do you want to spend the night at mine?” The question slipped his tongue before he was able to fully reflect on it.

“At yours? Unless you have some secret place I don’t know about, just a quick reminder - I live there too.”

“Since this was our first date, I thought it was a gentlemanly thing to ask.”

“In that case… I am afraid I have the ‘after the 3rd date’ sleepover rule, Dr Ramsey.”

* * * * * * * *

The morning came all too soon and the hot, ruthless rays of the rising sun announced that Ethan is now way past his regular wake up and get up time. He barely slept, tossing and turning, replaying every second of the evening in his head.

His hand mindlessly reached for what he hoped to be the familiar curves and softness of the body he adored so much.

But his palm hit the mattress with a loud thud. The bed was empty.

The all-too-well known feeling of hopelessness slipped into the doctor's mind with ease. What did he expect? He was acting weird the previous day. First date, what a stupid idea. She must have realised something is wrong with him and finally left.

But before he was able to fully wallow in the mud of pity, the feeling was soon replaced by an old friend Ethan haven’t heard from for a long time.

Panic.

Where was she? Is she ok? What if something happened to her and he was just sleeping like a log instead of being there to protect her. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing her… again. Something grabbed his chest in a tight grip and wouldn’t let go.

Scenes flashed before his eyes, vivid and bright. Their hands touching through the glass wall. Her hand cupping his cheek through the layer of hazmat suit.

He got out of bed at the speed of sound and started running around the apartment, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, he noticed.

The balcony door was opened wide.

Shit.

Heart in his mouth, Ethan crossed the distance between his kitchen island and the balcony door in the blink of an eye.

Elle was just serving pancakes outside. The goddamn pancakes. The only thing he couldn’t cook. The one thing she kept teasing him about and he rolled his eyes every time she did.

God, he promised himself he will never learn how to make them, if it meant she would just tease him forever.

She was smiling as widely as ever, putting the sun and everything else in the world to shame. Ethan was still a bit shaken and his uneven breathing gave him away. Elle finally noticed his presence.

“Good morning, I was just about to—“

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They both froze.

The tension in the silence that had just set in was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

But the silence didn’t last long. As one man, with eyes full of disbelief, they both murmured simultaneously:

“What did you just say?”

This time, he felt obliged to break the silence.

"I...I...I mean, I…"

Damn it, get it together, idiot.

"I didn't mean to…”

Great, Ramsey, keep digging an even deeper hole for yourself, then crawl in and stay there forever.

"You didn't mean to say it?”

"Yes. No. I mean, damn it, I am making things worse, aren't I?”

She didn’t set him straight.

"The thing is, I wanted to say it yesterday. I had it all planned, I took you for a first date and I wanted to say it for the first time yesterday.”

"Why did it have to be yesterday?”

“Give me a minute.”

She just rolled her eyes, but Ethan didn’t have a chance to notice before disappearing inside. A few moments later he re-emerged, his face and torso covered by a neatly wrapped, rectangle-shaped object.

"What's this?"

"Something you should have unpacked yesterday, but then... life happened."

Elle sat down on cold tiles, her hands trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. And just like he did months ago, he took her hand in his, only this time he cupped his own cheek with her palm and placed the most tender kiss on the inside of her hand.

It was her favourite medicine, a remedy for all things wrong.

He sat beside her and nodded at the mysterious package. With impatience growing inside of her, Elle has torn the paper up.

Inside was a dark blue, framed print - the colour of it an instant reminder of her favourite set of irises.

She studied everything with intent. A circle must have been representing the earth and the irregular dots and lines must have been the stars and constellations.

"A map of the sky? That's beautiful, Ethan."

He knew immediately that although her delight was sincere, she had absolutely no clue what she was looking at and why she was looking at it.

“It's not just any map of the sky.” Ethan explained gently, hints of pride colouring his voice. “It's a map of the Boston sky from exactly a year ago. Well, a year and a day.” He smiled faintly, now a shade of sorrow in his enchanting voice.

Silence. Was she supposed to know what that meant?

“Aren’t you full of mysteries today? Ok, you need to throw me a lifebelt here. What's so special about the sky from a year and a day ago?”

“For the world? Probably not too much. For me? Everything.”

At this stage of their relationship, she knew a lot about Ethan’s behaviours, triggers, his body language. And not just a relationship as a couple, but also everything that came before Ethan became someone she was running through life with (the life of two doctors in one of the busiest and most prestigious hospitals was certainly not a walk in the park).

But it still fascinated her how his demeanour changed whenever the subject was serious, whenever he was talking about something that truly mattered to him. It was as if he’d stripped down of all the layers and let her look into his bare soul. These rare moments of vulnerable intimacy meant more to her than any night of passion they ever shared.

Her eyes turned to him in pledge, because as much as she wanted to, Dr Valentine still couldn’t fully comprehend the scene unraveling in front of her.

“Read the description below the map.”

Dear God, did she actually hear shyness in his voice?

She skimmed through the image again, and there it was, right at the bottom. Elle was so focused on trying to decipher the meaning of the image that she didn’t notice the words below.

The words which explained everything.

I WILL NEVER FORGET THE DAY

THAT MADE ME REALISE

YOU ARE THE SKY

EVERYTHING ELSE IS JUST THE WEATHER

Her emerald eyes brimmed with hot tears as the meaning dawned upon her. Words were very unnecessary, but now that he summoned the courage to speak, there was still a lot he wanted to put into words. He gently took the frame from her hands and leaned it securely against the wall.

Taking her palms into his, he placed delicate kisses on her knuckles, his lips tracing the shape of these two tiny hands, which held all of him. Everything he had, everything he was and was going to be, he placed in those two fragile palms, with an unspoken hope that they will hold him and catch him if he falls.

“Look at me.” The words were pulsing with care and affection, even though his voice coloured them in serious and desperate shades.

“One year ago… and a day from today…” He smiled and she felt the warmth spilling inside of her. The power he had over her was beyond the limits of understanding.

Little did she know that the object of her affection was lost in the same thought.

“I was standing exactly where we stand right now. It was dark and the view wasn’t that spectacular.” He freed one of his hands, but only to make contact with her cheek to caress it slowly. In this moment, he had to touch her any way that he could. With his hands. With his eyes. With his soul.

“But I always found comfort in staring at the sky. When I was at med school, I had countless moments of doubt, I wanted to quit more times than I can count. So I used to go to a secluded place at night and stare at the sky. It made me realise how, in one respect, I am just a grain of sand in the universe and how little my problems are. Funnily enough, this thought actually brought me a sense of comfort. If I am as little as I think I am, then what is the harm in being brave and taking chances? A wise man once said… There are some things that are worth any risk.”

She giggled through the tears, the sweet sound soothing his shattered nerves.

“I was standing right here and I never felt more miserable in my life. And I couldn’t understand why, for God’s sake. I was thriving at work. I had everything figured out and planned. I was pushing you to be the best you could be and I watched you turn into someone who would one day be far greater than me. But you looked so sad, so… broken. You already know I can’t just gloss over you feeling down. The sadder you were, the more miserable I felt. One evening, I was having a glass of scotch and I remembered some tiny exchange we’ve had earlier in the day, literally a chit chat. No idea what it was about. But I remembered your smile and your laugh. Every tiniest move of your muscles, your eyes, how your hair set around your face. It made me happy. Even if it was just for 5 minutes, knowing that you are happy in that very moment filled my chest with lightness. That’s when I realised I want to be the person who makes you feel this way.”

She blinked the first time in a while, as if she was afraid to make the tiniest movement, afraid it will all disappear and turn out to be a dream. Giant teardrops rolled down her angelic face, trailing the path of joy.

“Noelle Sky Valentine, I love you. I have loved you for a long time but I was too stubborn to let myself give in. And that, as you already know, will always be one of my biggest regrets.”

“Ethan, I don’t… I’m so sorry, I just don’t know what to say.” Her voice was saturated with emotions.

“I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.“

“I love you too, Ethan Jonah Ramsey. You are by far the most complicated and stubborn person I have ever met. You are… everything I never knew I looked for in another human being.”

Once he heard her say it back, he couldn't get enough of it and a lifetime didn't feel like enough to tell her he loves her, as many times as he wished to.

“But I do have to mention this, Dr Ramsey… from the first date to a love confession in less than 24 hours? I’m sorry, I think this is moving too fast.”

“I’ll show you too fast…but I’m afraid we need to get inside, I don’t want the whole world and its wife to see how I teach you a thing or two.”

Ethan scooped her in his arms and carried her inside, despite her mock protests. He smiled and corrected himself.

He wanted for the whole world to see.

Because the whole world was right there.

In his arms.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If you’ve gotten this far, I need you to know you are absolutely amazing 💗

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fallinnflower · 4 years

Text

red velvet

bambam x reader (modern prince!bambam x fashion designer!reader, fluff)

a/n: huge shout out to @wangtuanian for helping me make this happen. why did i write it? who knows.

wc: 10,779

Bambam tends to get what he wants. Not because he’s a prince — really, in this day and age, what does that title even mean — but because he’s charming and persistent. He learned at a young age that most people have trouble saying no to him, and he’s used it to his advantage ever since.

He’s a bit of a playboy. It hits magazines sometimes but only if there’s absolutely nothing else going on. You’re more likely to find him in a fashion spread than a gossip column, but he’s had his fair share of flings; after all, in the company of models you meet some truly beautiful people. He once ran off on a wonderful weekend getaway with a photographer — they haven’t spoken in years, but the memories are aged gold.

But the past is the past. Those desires don’t matter anymore. What he wants now is you.

From the moment you entered the room, you dominated it. It’s a testament to how the people in your field respected you — everyone stepped out of the way, although you didn’t have a particularly menacing aura. In fact, as he took stock of the emotions in the room, nobody seemed afraid but rather awestruck by your presence, as if you had descended from the heavens right before them.

In your crisply pressed white suit, you may as well have. You reach Bambam and quickly extend a hand.

“Hello, Your Highness. My name is Y/N, and I’ll be your personal designer for your gala suit. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He feels a familiar smile creeping across his lips, and rather than shaking your hand he takes it and lifts your knuckles to his lips. He lifts his gaze to find you, rather than flirtatious or even flustered at his gesture, looking highly perplexed.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he purrs, and you retract your hand rather hastily. You blink a few times in rapid succession before beaming up at him.

“So,” you start, suddenly reaching back to tie your hair into a ponytail, moving towards a desk to his right. He takes the time to admire the curve of your neck, the slenderness of your hands and the deftness with which you snap the band around your hair.

“Do you have anything in mind? Colors, patterns, materials? Or am I in control?” You turn to him, eyes sparkling, with a roll of measuring tape hanging around one finger like an oversized wring and a clipboard now shoved under your arm. One of the many assistants scurries forward to take it from you, and you nod graciously, barely taking your eyes off Bambam.

He stiffens at first as your gaze roams over him, then forces himself into a more relaxed pose, sporting his most charming grin as he regards you with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Do you like being in control, Y/N?” You shrug primly, eyeing his shoulders and suddenly beginning to circle him, not unlike a curious cat. He would liken you to a shark, but your movements are too curious, too gentle to be truly predatory in nature. He watches you in baffled amusement, catching sight out of the corner of his eyes of the interns who are blushing at his blatant flirtations.

“If you don’t have a preference,” you say, stopping suddenly before him again. “Then I think a velvet blazer would be lovely. It’s very in-season, you know. Maybe red, or purple — something rich.” Your voice is reduced to less than murmurings, but even so your assistant with the clipboard rushes to write down your every thought. Bambam himself begins to crane his neck slightly, wanting to hear you—

“Stop moving,” you say sternly, and he immediately stands at attention. “I need to get your measurements. Stand like you normally do for these appointments.” He does as you ask, waiting almost breathlessly as you approach him with the measuring tape. You carefully unwind it, stepping up directly in front of him. You wrap your arms around him briefly, starting with his chest measurements, and he feels his breath catch.

“Stop flexing,” you say, rapping your knuckles gently against his abdomen. You don’t even spare him a glance, mumbling the measurements under your breath. Somehow, watching as a few strands of hair slip out of your ponytail to frame your face, lips pursed slightly in concentration and brows furrowed, Bambam can’t keep himself from smiling. Briefly, you speak over your shoulder to your assistant to give them the measurements, a gentle smile breaking across your face, and he feels an unfamiliar warmth taking over him as you turn back to take his shoulder measurements. Your movements are quick and deliberate. As you lean down to measure his legs, he notices you letting out a frustrated huff, trying to get a strand of hair out of your eyes. He reaches down and tucks the hair behind your ear for you, letting his fingers skim across your jaw as he pulls his hand back up. He’s sure to have his most charming smirk when you look up, and yet you simply beam up at him innocently, sincerely,

“Thank you.”

Confronted with the honesty in your eyes, Bambam feels the burn of a blush creeping up the back of his neck and straightens his posture once more, clearing his throat. He averts his gaze as you go back to your work, barely managing to mumble back a response.

“You’re welcome.” For the remainder of his appointment, he finds his eyes watching you curiously, tracing the shape of your movements and the generous curve of your smile. Every eye in the room seems to be on you, all ears waiting for your next words, and Bambam finds that he’s no exception. He’s not used to people ignoring his advances. Rebuffing, sure, fine— but just being completely oblivious? How is he supposed to deal with that?

How is he supposed to deal with you?

Bambam decides he needs to do his homework. There has to be something that makes you tick, a way to get under your skin and he’s going to find it. He’s determined.

He starts the easy way. Looks up your name in an internet search, starts scouring through interviews. Everything is about your work, even in those interviews you turn personal questions into something work-related. He finds that you’ve been working very hard to keep your carbon footprint small, you’re highly involved with sustainable fashion and it’s part of what’s made you rise to prominence — that and the fact that you’re reportedly good-natured to work with and for.

He finds a total of one interview where you mention anything about your love life. It’s a brief almost flyaway comment, but he catches it.

“Well, my ex would probably say I was very oblivious! He always had to be very blunt with me. I don’t think he liked that much, he was a very romantic person, but I couldn’t keep up with a lot of the things he did... I guess I’m a bit too focused on my work.”

You’d said it all with a smile and a cool laugh, moving onto the topic of your work once more as though you were unfazed, but Bambam can’t help but play the clip over and over. The dullness in your eyes when you talk about your ex makes him bristle slightly. How could anyone harbor any anger towards you? As far as he can tell, you’re nothing but a soft-hearted, hard-working individual.

He has a feeling you were the one who went unappreciated, not the other way around, but that you’re just too nice to say anything about it. Maybe you hadn’t even noticed yourself. Has anyone ever taken the time to truly engage with you on your level?

Bambam continues watching interviews, finding himself more and more irritated by the questions you receive. So often they were about the models you were working with, or possible commissions or projects you had done for a celebrity rather than your work itself. It’s obvious to him that you want to talk about your process, but you always seem to get cut short. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen you truly enjoy yourself during any sort of interview, and it makes his heart clench every time he has to watch the spark in you die out because a reporter wants something juicy.

He sits back, gazing at a paused video of you, contemplating how to get closer to you. It’s strange to him, he usually doesn’t have to try very hard to find something people like — usually, it’s him, and he can work from there. But you hadn’t reacted at all when he was with you at work, so he needs a new approach. It should be easy enough to learn a bit more about fashion, he thinks. He’s always been interested in it, though he’s never really been on the other side of the industry from his modeling. There’s a first time for everything, he thinks, pulling his laptop back into his lap. You’d mentioned velvet blazers, hadn’t you? He chuckles to himself as he types it into the search bar — at least it’s a place to start.

His next appointment with you isn’t meant to be for a week and a half, busy as both your schedules are and the fact that you tend to let all your staff keep their weekends open unless there are big events. Bambam tends to like having his weekends open too, and this week his schedule just happens to work in his favor — he’s got an entirely free Sunday, and all he wants to do is wander around town and maybe do some shopping. Call it research, he thinks, looking at the latest fashions and updating his wardrobe. And, the cats are out of the nice, locally-baked treats he likes to buy from a specific store downtown, so he has to go out anyway.

Many people would probably be shocked or find him rising early, leaving the apartment by half-past eight in the morning, but the sun is shining brightly and the weather is perfect — so he can’t help himself! Traffic is light coming down from his house, gradually entering civilization as he descends from his lonely mountainside residence. Some days, he thinks, he’s really fine being up there all by himself, just the cats and sometimes a cleaner, looking out into the trees through the tall, broad windows.

And then on days like today, when the sun is out and the sky is clear in the early morning, he gets inexplicably stir crazy. Really, the cat treats are an excuse and he knows it — he has anything and everything they could possibly need stockpiled in his palatial mansion like he’s preparing for doomsday. Or just time out of the spotlight.

He parks in a reserved space in the lot of a government building, smiling widely at the security officers as he gets out of his car. The air is warmer in the valley, and so he strips off his coat, opting simply to walk around in his sweater. He drags a hand through his bleached locks and shoves his keys in his pockets.

The pet store isn’t open for another twenty minutes, which, in Bambam’s opinion, is a perfect amount of time for getting coffee and a quick breakfast in a cafe. He window shops along the way, waiting for something, anything to catch his eye—

He’s at the crosswalk, waiting to walk over to a new cafe, when he spots something, someone, familiar. And he really thinks he must be going crazy, because why on earth would you be spending your Sunday morning staring out the window of a cafe? As Bambam crosses, you duck your head, appearing to be scribbling something down in a hurry. By the furrow in your brow, the serious set of your mouth as you work, he’s suddenly certain it’s you.

Well, now, who is he to deny what fate is offering him? He came here partly to do ‘homework’ to get to know you better, and here you are! With an admittedly giddy smile on his face, he approaches the window you sit behind and raps his knuckles against it, watching as you jump slightly in your seat. When your eyes meet his, however, your expression morphs into one of pure delight, and he thinks his heart could melt — he knows he’s done for when you gesture for him to come in, clearing your things off of the unattended side of your table.

He acquiesces. He has a feeling you could ask him to do anything and, as long as you smiled like that, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Bambam!” You greet, and he realizes he loves the way his name falls from your lips. He can’t help but smile as he walks towards your table; you stand to greet him.

“This is perfect — I just had some design ideas for you and I really want you to see them.” Hardly leaving him a second to breathe, your small hand lands on his shoulder, steering him into the vacant seat. You shove your sketchbook towards him,

“Just look through it, I’ll order for you — what kind of coffee do you like?”

“Iced Americano,” he says, chuckling. Your energy is contagious, and he can’t help but be excited as he flips through your sketchbook.

The first page you’ve turned him to is obviously about him. The figure is a bit rudimentary, but definitely resembles him, and the outfit is reminiscent of what you had mentioned at the previous meeting. He looks at the different cuts of jackets you’ve whipped up, all the various collars and lapels and even possible tails to the coat. He finds himself examining each one carefully, realizing how naive he’d been to the nuances of your trade all this time.

Once he starts flipping around, however, he realizes all the previous pages are very quick sketches with brief notes jotted all across the pages. Based on the positions of the figures, he realizes they must have been walking past this very window and simply caught your eye.

Suddenly, his drink appears before him, and he looks up to meet your gaze just as you drop into your seat.

“Honestly, this is like fate,” you say, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears. “I just got struck with inspiration for your outfit and then, suddenly, here you are!” He laughs, albeit it sounds nervous and off-kilter even to his own ears. If you notice, you don’t comment on it, simply watching as he continues to peruse the designs.

“These are amazing,” he says, finally. And they are, but they’re more than that — he just doesn’t know how to say so, how to mention anything about your artistry without sounding like a complete fool.

“Thank you.” Although he’s sure you’ve heard this before, you still bashfully duck your head as he says it. You reach out to turn the page for him, and he glances up to watch you look over the row of colors you have swatched on the page next to a crisp blazer design. He wonders if you know that you pout adorably when you’re concentrating, or if it’s just another one of your unassuming charms.

“This one,” you say, tapping just above one of the colors. Bambam looks down to where you’re indicating, finding himself confronted with a deep red with hints of purple.

“It’s actually even better to see it with you here,” you continue, though he can’t be sure you’re even talking to him. “Your skin tone looks different in person, cameras always seem to wash people out.” You point to another color, more red than the last.

“If I go with velvet, it might look a bit more like this when the light hits it. I think both work well for you.” You nod resolutely, and Bambam finds himself laughing softly as he nudges your sketchbook back towards you.

“Is this how your mind always works?” He asks playfully, and you snort in response, taking a sip of your drink.

“Seems to be,” you reply. “It’s still my passion. Some people said it would fizzle out once I started working, but it hasn’t yet.” Your gaze falls back out towards the street, and Bambam attempts to follow it, trying to see whatever it is you’re seeing in the people passing by. After a moment you turn back to him, shrugging.

“Guess I’m just lucky. I still love designing.”

“Good to know I’m not torturing you with a commission, then,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. Seeing an opening, he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Actually, I’m a bit curious about fashion myself. I’ve done some modeling, you know.” You chuckle over the rim of your cup.

“I know, Bambam.” The teasing edge to your voice only makes his smile grow.

“So, could I ask you a few questions?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Fire away.”

So he does. Although he’s sure he sounds like a complete amateur, he asks you anything he can think of about the design process. He listens attentively when you start talking about color theory, and about an hour in he gets a refill for you — turns out your tastes are a bit sweeter than his, requesting a pump of vanilla and some cream in your own americano — and returns to find you with your gaze out the window and hand flying across the sketchbook page.

“How do you do that?” He asks, watching the drawing take shape, albeit messily, despite your eyes being away from the page.

“Practice,” you reply, only turning to look at him when the person you were watching disappears fully from your sight. “Sorry, that was just— that person was wearing this amazing skirt, and I had to get my idea down.”

“Do you do this often?” He prods, and you nod, cleaning up the sketch slightly as you do.

“Whenever I have free time, really. Even in my apartment, or on trips — it seems like I’m always trying to think of new designs.” Bambam nods thoughtfully, looking out the window himself and trying to imagine just what it is that catches your attention. He’s startled by the sound of paper ripping, only to find you pushing a blank sheet of paper from your sketchbook and an extra pencil towards him.

“You try.” He blinks at you helplessly and you laugh. He decides he really likes the sound of it.

“Just look for anything that catches your eye. You don’t have to draw it if you don’t want to, you can write it down, but designing is ultimately about people, you know? So it’s good to see what people like wearing.” Your eyes are already back on the sidewalk, and Bambam finds himself gazing at your profile for a moment longer before turning away.

The two of you continue that exercise for a while, talking back and forth about what you notice, what you like and what you don’t like and why, and Bambam can’t help but think how easy it is to be around you. He thought it would be hard, that you would be more difficult, but you seem to be surprising him at every turn. It wouldn’t bother him one bit to sit here with you all day, sketching passersby — or just watch you sketch, anyways — and he probably would have if not for the ringing of his phone interrupting the two of you. The message is unimportant, but it catches both of your attention right away.

“Ah, you probably have things to do, don’t you?” You say as he sets the phone aside. Your lips curve into an apologetic smile. “I shouldn’t be taking up all your free time with work-related things — I’m sorry.

“Don’t apologize!” He replies, too quickly, countering your confused gaze with a smile. “I wasn’t out for much, there’s just this local pet supply shop nearby and my cats love the treats the owner bakes.” He allows himself to trail off, wondering why he decided to tell you something about himself that sounds so childish—

“You have cats?” Bambam immediately looks back up at the bright tone of your voice only to see you leaning across the table towards him, eyes practically sparkling. He nods, and you let out what can only be described as an excited squeal.

“I love cats!” You gush, propping your chin in your hands and looking out the window wistfully. Bambam takes on a similar posture, but his gaze is focused on you as you continue speaking, “I actually learned how to knit making sweaters for my grandma’s cats — she had a little dog, too, and we made them new ones every winter. I’m too busy for a pet, really, but I’ve always told myself that when my life calms down, I’ll get a cat of my own.”

Suddenly, your eyes snap back to Bambam’s, and he sits up straighter even though you’ve already caught him obviously staring at you. You let out a nervous laugh, tugging at a loose strand of your hair.

“Sorry,” you say, again, voice small. “Sometimes I just get carried away. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that refill.” The way you avoid his gaze, your nervous fidgeting, all of it makes him feel oddly crestfallen. Only moments before you had seemed full of life, brighter than the sun outside the window, and now suddenly you’ve retreated into yourself. He licks his lips nervously and drums his fingers against his glass.

“I don’t mind,” he says, gently. “And, I mean, you can come with me if you want. To the store. It isn’t far, and the owner has a cat…” The sparkle seems to return to your eyes as Bambam lifts his gaze to meet yours. He can’t help but mirror your grin.

“I’d love to,” you say.

Bambam helps you pack your things back into your bag before leading the way out onto the street, feeling elated just to have you walking by his side. You’re as smitten with the shopowner’s cat as he had been upon his first visit, and while you’re preoccupied petting it Bambam fields teasing remarks from the old woman as she bags up his treats behind the counter. He only wishes he could keep himself from blushing; his protestations would probably be more believable then.

“It’s getting a bit late,” you say as the two of you exit the store, and Bambam has to agree. The afternoon is upon the both of you, and although Bambam didn’t have any engagements today he does still have some paperwork to look over back home — and, of course, his cats to tend to.

“Do you need a ride home?” He asks, tilting his head. You blink in surprise, then shake your head.

“Oh, no, I’ll just catch a cab. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” He wants to push, but he can tell by the look in your eye that you won’t take the offer, so he simply makes his way over to a nearby bench instead.

“Then I’ll wait with you.” You roll your eyes but concede, placing the call for your taxi before taking a seat beside him. The two of you sit in amicable silence for a moment, Bambam allowing himself to admire you from the corner of his eye as the golden hour creeps ever nearer. Eventually, however, you break it, turning your body to face his.

“Bambam?” You ask, gently. He hums in response. “Could I see a picture of your cats?” At this, he perks up. He has plenty of pictures of them, of course — they’re his pride and joy, but usually people tend to think he gets carried away. You, however, coo over every single picture of them he has, laughing at some of the video clips he manages to show you before your cab pulls up to the curb. He opens the door for you, unable to keep the grin off his face as you duck into the car and promptly beam up through the open door at him.

“Thank you, Bambam,” you say.

“My pleasure,” he replies. “See you Wednesday?” You smile, nodding emphatically.

“See you Wednesday.” With that, he closes the door for you and waves as the driver pulls away, watching until you disappear before heading back towards his own vehicle.

He’s never wanted a weekend to end so quickly.

Bambam doesn’t think he’s ever been so excited for a Wednesday in his life, but the thought of seeing you again has him smiling even when his alarm goes off before dawn that day. The morning is jam-packed with meetings discussing his parents’s anniversary party and what he needs to do in preparation. When he finally leaves there, he stops by a local cafe to pick up some coffee to get him through the day.

However, as he’s standing in line he can’t help but remember the last time he saw you, and before he knows it he’s in front of the cashier ordering two iced americanos — one with a pump of vanilla and creamer.

And so that’s how Bambam finds himself strolling into your design studio with a drink carrier holding two iced americanos. He recognizes one of your interns from last time at the front desk, and he takes off his sunglasses, placing them in his blazer’s chest pocket.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” the intern says primly, smiling, and Bambam waves a hand dismissively.

“Just Bambam, please.”

“As you wish,” he replies, then glances up to look over Bambam’s outfit. He raises an eyebrow, and Bambam suddenly finds himself standing up straighter, feeling as though he’s being appraised.

“Wrong time of year for a linen suit,” the intern says. “But you look good enough that I don’t think our Y/N will mind.”

“Our— what—?”

“Bambam!” You call, walking into the lobby area. “Oh, is that coffee?”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening out his suit with his free hand. “I was getting myself some, and I figured you could use some too.”

“Well, thank you,” you say, smiling as he passes your drink to you. You take a sip of it while beckoning him to follow you back into the studio.

“Come on, we have a lot of work to do.” Bambam follows you loyally, and by the time he gets into your studio you’ve already set the cup on the desk and are pulling out fabric samples. He’s barely reached your side before you’re holding them out to him.

“So, I managed to get my hands on some color samples— really lucky for us, actually, because this isn’t a color they make regularly, but I convinced them. Anyways—” Suddenly, you start walking again, and Bambam hurries to follow you as you wave him over to a part of the room with better lighting.

“See, this one has more purple undertones, but the other one is more crimson. Both colors complement your palette, I already checked, so now it’s all to your preference.”

He swears he was paying attention to the velvet when you first walked him over, but at some point his gaze drifted over to you. The light is harsh where you both stand and, objectively, unflattering — and yet Bambam can’t keep himself from staring. There’s a small crease between your brows as you hold both squares of velvet up, shifting them so they catch the light. Even when he does look back at the fabric, he can’t help but think what they would look like on you and not him.

“So?” You prod, and Bambam clears his throat, rolling his shoulders back.

“Um— I mean, they’re both nice. Really nice!” You look up at him, brow furrowed and lips curved into a frown.

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?” Despite the overall gentleness of your features, Bambam finds himself feeling ashamed under your obviously disappointed gaze.

“Sorry,” he replies, looking down at his shoes. “I was a little distracted. But, really, Y/N, I think you have the better judgement out of the two of us.” When he glances back up, he finds you staring back down at the fabrics. You let out a little sigh he can’t help but find cute, shifting your weight back onto your heels a bit.

“I won’t deny that,” you murmur. “Anyways, for the pants, I’m just thinking simple. Black, straight-leg, a little slim but not skinny. For the shirt, I want to be just a little more creative. If you’re willing, of course!”

“Such as?” Bambam asks, unable to keep from grinning.

“Well, I was thinking black silk with a scarf-style collar. You know, very chic. Nothing crazy, because I want the blazer to be the key piece, but it would remove the need for a tie... what do you think?”

You look up at him inquisitively, and Bambam is almost flustered by how genuinely interested in his opinion you seem to be. He leans down a bit to be closer to eye level with you, smiling all the while.

“Once again, I trust your judgement, Miss Designer.” You let out a scoff and roll your eyes.

“You’re no help at all, you know.” With that, you turn back towards your desk, setting the fabric samples down and taking a sip of your coffee. Bambam takes a drink of his own, watching as you jot down notes on a page of your journal with your free hand. Although you’re lively in any setting, you seem to be almost glowing here, completely in your element. He opens his mouth, though he isn’t sure what he’s planning to say, when suddenly his phone begins to ring.

It’s an alarm, alerting him to his next engagement. He only has a few minutes to spare, and considering it’s nearly the lunch rush he knows he should be going. He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Alright, well, I should probably be going then—”

“Wait!” You day, and he freezes on the spot. You reach beneath your desk and then come to stand before him. Hanging from your fingers is a paper gift bag, and he raises an eyebrow, chuckling as he takes it from you.

“What’s this?”

“A gift,” you reply, grinning in a manner he can describe only as cheeky. Before he can come up with a witty retort, you gently push him towards the lobby. “Go, go— I’m not about to be the reason you’re late!”

“Alright, alright!” He relents. “See you later, Y/N.”

“Bye, Bambam.” You wave him out the door of your studio before disappearing back into your office space. He lets himself settle in the car before rummaging beneath the tissue in the bag, brows furrowing when he feels the soft texture of yarn. When he pulls the first object out, however, he can’t help but smile.

In his hands is a perfectly cat-sized sweater, with a neatly embroidered patch bearing the name King with a little crown affixed to it. Although he knows he needs to go soon, he sticks his hand back into the bag. Amidst the three other sweaters, he feels a small, rectangular piece of card stock, which he hurriedly pulls out. When he turns it over in his hand he’s greeted by the sight of your neat handwriting,

I hope you (and the cats) like these! If it isn’t too much trouble, could you send me photos of them in the sweaters?

— y/n ***-***-****

Down in the corner is a tiny doodle of a happy cat face, and he’s warmed by the cuteness of it. Suddenly, Bambam feels very motivated to get to his next meeting — or, more accurately, get done with it so he can go home.

You’re half-asleep, hunched over your sketchbook when your phone suddenly buzzes with an incoming text. In the dimly lit corner of your room where your desk is, your screen suddenly seems far too bright.

And the time far too late. Who on earth is texting you at two in the morning?

< Y/N!!! Those sweaters are so amazing!!!

< [attachment: 5 images]

< Can I post these online? No pressure, of course, I just really think people would like them and the cats look so cute!

You can’t help but laugh. Although you had no way of knowing it, Bambam had practically been vibrating with excitement until the moment he finally got home and managed to get all his cats into their sweaters. He also wouldn’t ever admit it, but he might have cried a bit when he got a photo of all of them together on his bed, looking incredibly snuggly and adorable. You take the time to go through all the images before actually replying, unable to keep yourself from smiling. The sweaters on their own were cute, fine, but actually seeing them on their intended forms made all the difference. You saved the images and navigated back to your messages, saving Bambam’s number in your phone.

Ahh, I’m glad that they all fit! I was worried. If you want to post them, that’s fine with me. I’m honored you like them so much! >

As you set your phone down, you suddenly find yourself yawning. Bambam’s text had shocked you out of your zone, and now your exhaustion was beginning to set in. You’d been up before the dawn, and if you went to bed now you might be able to get a solid five hours in before your day needed to start up in earnest. You lean back in your seat, examining your sketchbook in the lowlight. For hours, all you’d been doing was attempting to recreate Bambam’s silhouette in various different suit jacket cuts. As a consequence, now you find yourself staring at seemingly endless images of Bambam, none quite living up to the real thing. How could you hope to capture that brilliance with mere pencil on paper?

Hurriedly, you shake the thought from your head, wondering just how tired you actually are to be thinking something like that. Bambam is a client first, and that’s probably all he will ever be. You just… admire his form. Right?

At least, that’s what you try to convince yourself as you get to bed. It doesn’t help you fall asleep at all.

Bambam is a busy person. And he knows that you are, too, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to communicate with you as often as possible. Really, all he wants lately is to talk to you — especially when the boring meetings seem endless and the planning gets stressful. When he has an off moment, he finds himself trying to come up with new things to ask you about. A picture of his cats, fashion items he thinks look cool, he’s even sent you a few memes at this point. Your replies tend to be spaced out, though you’re quick to explain it — you’re working on his outfit right now, and after begging for progress shots he finally receives one.

< Consider yourself lucky, I don’t like showing people unfinished projects!

Well, he certainly feels lucky, though he’s not sure how to tell you that without sounding too forward. And given your usual reactions to his outright flirtations, he thinks subtlety might be the way to go with you.

But Bambam is a little ostentatious by nature. Where’s the fun in being subtle?

Are you at the office? >

Surprisingly, you respond quickly.

< Yes. I’m planning to spend the whole day here.

Grinning at your response, Bambam leans back on his couch, lifting his arms up over his head slightly to accommodate one of the cats as it jumps up onto his stomach. He punches in the address of your office, tracking down a nearby cafe and following the link to their website. Within a matter of minutes he’s organized for a half-dozen iced coffees to be delivered to your office, along with an assortment of baked goods from the local shop. Although it shouldn’t seem like such a big deal, he finds himself biting his lip out of a mix of nervousness and excitement as he waits to hear from you. He tries to imagine your reaction, the way your eyes will light up and the smile on your face when one of your assistants, no doubt, presents you with your coffee. He only hopes that they added a sleeve with a note on it like he asked—

The buzzing of his phone snaps him out of his imaginings, and he can’t help but beam when he reads your message,

< Bambam! You did not just order coffee for my entire office!!!

< How did you even know there were six of us here?

< And the pastries?! How much did this cost you?? I’ll pay you back!

He has to take a moment just to get over how cute you are. How is it possible for someone to be so endearing over texts? Looking at your final message, he simply shakes his head. Under normal circumstances, he’d probably try to smoothly suggest you pay him back with a date, but that doesn’t seem like something you would quite catch on to.

Lucky guess. Do you like them? >

No need to pay me back. Just consider a gift from an adoring fan~ >

< Aish, you’re too cheeky!

< I need to get back to work, but all the staff say thank you. I promise I’ll pay you back!

Without thinking much of it, Bambam snaps a photo of himself winking, keeping the sleeping Latte in frame as he does so. He sends it along with a caption before setting his phone aside and resting one hand atop his napping cat, preparing to join his pet in slumber.

You’re more than welcome. I’ll be looking forward to whatever you come up with. >

Bambam can’t help but feel disappointed that he doesn’t hear much from you between then and his next appointment, much less see you. Nonetheless, the fact that he’s getting your attention for an allotted amount of time has been enough to power him through the week. He spent at least ten extra minutes picking out an outfit he hoped all your staff would approve of — ridiculous given the fact that he’s going to be changing out of his current clothes and into your designs in a matter of minutes. Maybe he puts too much stock in the impressions he leaves on you and your staff, but he feels pretty confident in himself, so maybe his silliness is worth it.

“Good morning,” he calls out, opening the door. The same assistant is sitting at the desk as last time.

“Bambam,” he replies, smiling. “Thank you for the coffee earlier this week. Although I’m sure it wasn’t me you were trying to impress.” His grin turns sly, and Bambam clears his throat, hoping the blush he can feel creeping up his face isn’t too obvious.

“Jinyoung!” Your voice interrupts the both of you, and Jinyoung raises an eyebrow but otherwise returns back to business as usual.

“Yes?” He calls back. Bambam shifts his weight, dragging a hand through his hair and rearranging a few strands carefully.

“Has Bambam come in yet?”

“Just now. I’ll send him back.” With that, Jinyoung jerks his chin in the direction of your studio, and Bambam nods, making his way back into your space and trying desperately to ignore Jinyoung’s teasing, knowing look.

When he gets into the room, he doesn’t see you — just the mannequin form sitting beneath the white lights. The ensemble looks better in person than it had in any of the pictures you had sent, and he takes another step towards it before calling out your name.

“Y/N?”

As he takes another step forward, you suddenly peer around the corner, a small number of colorfully-topped straight pins held between your teeth. You attempt to smile at him, but Bambam’s heart skips a beat and drops as he rushes towards you.

“Give me those,” he says, reaching up thoughtlessly to pull them from between your teeth and dropping them into his palm. “That’s so dangerous, why would you hold them like that?” It isn’t until he’s got them all safely in his palm that he realizes how close he is to you, faces close enough that your noses could nearly brush. Your wide, confused eyes peer up into his, and Bambam finds himself unable to breathe when you let out a soft giggle.

“It’s just what seamstresses do, you know,” you reply, gently reaching into his palm to take the pins out. Your fingertips brush against his skin, and if you were anyone else he’d be ashamed at the way his spine seems to tingle at the contact. You turn on your heel, walking across the studio to a small changing room and pulling the door open.

“Anyways, I realized I didn’t have any of these ready for your fitting. But now that I have them, you can go ahead and change.” It takes him a moment to get his bearings again, but once he does he moves quickly into the dressing room. Before he can close the door, you stop it with your foot, laughing.

“You might need these, Bambam,” you say, holding the recently finished clothes out on their hangers. He shakes his head lightly, laughing as well, albeit more awkwardly than you had.

“Right, yeah— thank you.”

He takes the outfit and closes the door, gently knocking his forehead against it. How could he be so stupid? What is it about you that makes him so foolish, and why today? Bambam takes a deep breath and tries to make himself be still before he lets it out in one long, slow sigh. He hangs his clothing on the extra hangers you’ve provided in the room before slipping into the new clothes.

Although he thinks he should expect it, he’s still a bit surprised by how well the clothing fits already, unaltered. He looks himself over in the mirror, smoothing down the blazer and striking a pose in the mirror. Just as he moves to strike another, you knock gently on the door.

Bambam, feeling almost giddy with how good he looks, opens it with a flourish, leaning into the doorframe with his fingers curled around the top of the door.

“Careful!” You cry, pulling at his arm and smoothing the material down the shoulders. “The seams are loose!” Bambam flounders for a moment, feeling his cheeks redden all over again. You gently lead him over to the middle of the room, where he steps up on the platform. He rolls his shoulders back, perfecting his posture as you take a few steps back and tapping your fingers against your chin. Your dark eyes rake over him, moving up and down before you start circling him. Bambam swallows thickly, feeling stripped by your intense gaze despite the fact that your eyes never stray beyond your own designs hanging off him.

After one slow orbit around him, you step up closer. It’s only when you kneel down that Bambam realizes you’ve got a pincushion in your hand, probably to spare him another heart attack at seeing you with pins in your mouth. You frown gently, and Bambam can’t help but smile a bit at the cuteness of it. As you reach for the hem of his pants, however, he stiffens up slightly, righting his posture once again. Although he can’t see it, your frown deepens, and you gently slap your hand against his calf, causing him to jump a bit. He pouts down at you only to find you smiling up at him,

“Loosen up, would you? Just stand like you usually do, so I can be sure it will fit you comfortably.” You lean back and he clears his throat, shifting slightly and shaking out his arms and shoulders slightly. He lets out a deep breath and tries to muster a laugh to lighten the mood. Your expression doesn’t change, however, falling silent and serious again as you inspect his hemline once again. Bambam feels awkward simply standing there in silence, and so he clears his throat once again.

“So,” he begins. “Did you think of how you’re going to repay me?” He watches as you sit back on your heels, jaw going slack as you look up at him. Your expression quickly morphs to one of guilt, a pout forming on your lips. Bambam furrows his brows, cocking his head to one side as he looks down at you.

“What’s wrong?”

“I meant to buy you a coffee for today…” You smooth your palms against your thighs, looking down nervously. Seeing you in such a state, Bambam can’t help but laugh, though just a little.

“Well, in that case,” he says, “I have an idea.”

“And what would that be?” You ask, leaning forward again to double check the hem. Bambam continues to gaze down at you, swallowing hard as he feels his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“You could come to my parents’s anniversary party?” Your hands still, body stiffening as you process his words.

“What?” You ask, softly. You’re hesitant as you lift your gaze to meet his, and Bambam finds himself feeling somewhat awkward with your reaction.

“I, um—well, I just thought it might be nice. If you came, you know. Everyone that’s going to be there, they’re my parents’s friends and our family, so I thought it might be nice to have you there.”

“With you?”

“Yeah,” he says, half breathless all of a sudden. He thinks it must have something to do with the earnest, almost imploring look in your eyes. “With me.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, feeling as though he could fall right into your eyes — and maybe he is, for all he knows. He’s certainly falling for you one way or another. After a prolonged moment he shifts his weight awkwardly once again, looking away.

“Only if you want to, though. Please, don’t feel pressured.”

“Okay,” you say, and his gaze snaps back to yours.

“Okay?”

“I’ll go,” you reply, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. Bambam feels starstruck by the sight of it, only shaken when you gently swat at his leg once again, silently urging him to straighten his posture. He obliges, though he can’t keep the smile off his face throughout the rest of the fitting.

As he prepares to leave your office, he turns back to you one last time, leaning against the threshold of the doorway leading into your lobby.

“I’ll text you the details,” he says. You turn away from adjusting the clothes on the mannequin, grinning playfully at him over your shoulder.

“Only if you promise to send pictures of the cats, too.” He can’t help but laugh gladly at your request, running a hand through his hair.

“You have my word.” He makes an ‘x’ over his heart with his fingertip, and you let out a short laugh as you turn back to your work. Bambam watches you for a moment longer, enamored by the smile still on your face, before he walks back through the lobby. As he goes to leave, he hears one last thing that distracts him.

“Whipped.”

Bambam snorts at the sound of Jinyoung’s voice, though as he exits the building he can’t necessarily disagree with the assistant’s statement. In fact, all he can really think is: so what if he is whipped?

The week and a half that follow are absolutely hellish. All that Bambam can hope is that it would all be worth it, and his parents’s party would be everything he wanted it to be and more. He’s been in and out of the ballroom so many times on the day-of that the staff finally banned him from entering before the celebration began, and so he resorts himself to pacing back and forth in his old bedroom, fussing with his hair and clothing. As he does so he tries to recite his speech, but a part of him knows he’s going to end up winging it a bit anyways — he always does, especially when he’s nervous and has alcohol in him.

As promised, he had given you all the details for the party. He had offered to send someone to go get you (ideally, he would have gone himself, but he couldn’t risk being late and didn’t want you to feel rushed), but you had declined. You had been busy throughout the past week and a half too, and so Bambam felt doubly anxious to see you.

Just when he thinks he can’t get any more nervous, the party begins.

Although it’s a bit embarrassing, Bambam is one of the first to snatch a glass of champagne off a passing tray, downing half of it before reverting to more elegant sips. He greets various semi-distant relatives he hasn’t seen in years, and the lack of familiar faces only makes him more nervous. His parents aren’t due to arrive for another half hour at least, when they’ll make their grand entrance as a couple.

Bambam tries to keep conversation light, mostly because he can’t keep his eyes off the door for long. A number of people compliment his outfit — something which makes him puff up with pride, mentally trying to keep tally of all the pleasant remarks to report back to you later. You deserve to be reminded just how talented you are, after all.

He’s on his second glass of champagne when he swears the entire ballroom falls silent. Even his chattiest aunts seem to go completely quiet, and on instinct he turns to the door—

He nearly drops his glass of champagne. You stand in the doorway, looking around the room, and although he knows he should wave you over he can’t seem to make himself move. You look incredible — more than incredible, really, but Bambam can’t think of the words for it, only complimentary words that all feel far too dull to encompass how spectacular he thinks you look.

The red velvet dress hugs your curves perfectly, the sleeves hanging off your shoulders, and Bambam swallows hard when he sees the same shade of red, the same as his blazer, painted on your lips. How is it possible for anyone to look that amazing?

Finally, you turn your head his way, dark eyes latching onto his across the room. A bashful but excited smile stretches across your face, and Bambam feels as though he’s floating, being pulled across space towards you rather than walking. When he’s finally standing in front of you, with your sparkling eyes gazing up into his, he can’t manage any words other than,

“Wow.” You laugh softly, looking him up and down and tucking a strand of hair back behind your ear.

“Wow, yourself. But I did do a pretty good job, didn’t I?” You ask, gesturing to him and yourself. Bambam chokes out a nervous laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You— you made that?” He asks, voice cracking slightly. As soon as he asks the question he passes a hand over his eyes, sighing in embarrassment. “What am I saying, of course you did. And you did more than good, you look incredible.” The playfulness slips from your expression, and Bambam can see your ears turning red with blush as the earnestness in his words hits you.

“Thank you,” you reply, softly. Bambam can’t help but smile at your slight bashfulness as he offers you his elbow. You slip your hand into the crook of his elbow and at this proximity, it no longer seems possible that anyone could miss the fact that your outfits are cut from the same cloth. Bambam’s heart beats wildly at the thought of you looking like his date to all his relatives and parents’s friends.

“Are you thirsty? Hungry? Have you eaten? I have a speech to give once my parents get here, but until then I can keep you company—” He babbles, leading you further into the ballroom. He finds himself searching for a waiter somewhere in the room to flag down some champagne for you, but is interrupted by you gently tugging at his arm. He looks down only to be met with your teasing expression.

“Loosen up,” you joke, but he can see the honest concern in your eyes. Bambam keeps his eyes locked on yours and takes a deep breath, trying to stabilize and center himself. The sight of your smile somehow puts him at ease.

“Alright,” he sighs. “I’m loose. I’m loose, see! Now, I think it’s time we show off your marvelous work, don’t you?” Bambam shoots you a cheeky grin, pressing his hand against the small of your back to continue leading you into the crowd. You roll your eyes but keep pace with him, reaching for a glass of champagne as a waiter passes with a tray.

“I think my work speaks for itself, don’t you?” Bambam can’t help but smile at you, nudging you playfully with his elbow.

“Confidence is very attractive on you, you know.”

“Aish,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of teasing?”

“Who said I was teasing?” He fixes you with as serious a look he can muster, though he can’t keep himself from smiling. He’s giddy just having you beside him, and his underlying nervousness makes it hard to hide his emotions. The same blush as before creeps up the column of your neck, and he finds himself smiling more broadly as you clear your throat and pull him forward.

“When’s your speech?” You ask, shoulder bumping against his as you sidesteps another guest.

“Well,” he starts, going over the itinerary in his mind and pulling you both to a brief stop. “Once my parents come in, they’ll greet everyone and then a few of us will give speeches before they have the first dance. The buffet will be laid out once they’re here, and then the cake will get cut at the end…”

“Ah, I see.” You glance around the room, but Bambam keeps his eyes on you.

“I could introduce you to some of my cousins. They’re all a bit older, but then you won’t have to sit alone while I’m occupied.”

“That might be nice,” you reply. “Are they all as cheeky as you are?” Bambam winks at you, nudging you playfully with his elbow.

“Lucky for you, I’m one of a kind.”

“Mm, lucky.” Your teasing tone strangely brings him comfort, and he rolls his eyes playfully, pulling you into his side.

“Come on.” With that, he guides you towards a small cluster of his cousins, nodding in greeting as the two of you approach.

He’s barely managed to introduce you to them all when suddenly he hears someone tapping into the microphone on stage.

“Please welcome their Royal Majesties, our King and Queen!” Bambam turns along with everyone else to applaud at their arrival, watching as his parents enter the room. The two of them are practically glowing as they walk in arm in arm, waving at their friends and family. As they approach the elevated table at the back of the room, Bambam turns back towards you, nearly forgetting about his cousins entirely.

“I’ll see you after the speeches, okay?” You smile and wave him off, barely taking your eyes off of his parents in all their splendor.

Bambam’s speech is the second to be delivered. And thank God for it, because for all his confident airs he feels very judged by the lack of people his age in the room. As his uncle speaks, Bambam goes over the words in his head and can’t help but feel that they’re juvenile in comparison to what his mother’s brother is saying.

But it’s too late to change it now. The evening’s second round of applause is his queue to stand from where he’d been seated at his uncle’s side at the elevated table. His parents look at him, expectant and proud and happy, and Bambam really hope he doesn’t fuck this up. He rolls his shoulders, loosening up once more, and smiles back at his mother and father.

“You know, growing up here, in this castle, I always felt like my life was a fairytale,” he starts, trying to keep his voice steady. “But once I got older, I realized being born into royalty wasn’t quite like what you read in the books, or see in the movies. It’s a lot more paperwork than magic.” That garners a few laughs from his relatives, half-hearted but enough to get him to finally look out at the crowd. He looks to you almost out of instinct, only to find you smiling reassuringly at him, eyes turned up into endearing crescents.

“The real magic in my life has been love.” His heart hammers against his chest, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again. “My parents — seeing their love throughout my whole life, that’s the real fairytale charm here. The fact that they’re still so happy after so many years together, it’s powerful. When things get hard, they’ve always been there for each other, and they’ve been there for me. They’ve passed their love onto me, and I hope that all of us here tonight can feel the power of that bond, that we can feel the magic that my parents have created here together.” He turns back to his parents, feeling dangerously close to crying and seeing that they appear to be much in the same boat.

“So, mom, dad — happy anniversary, and here’s to many more to come!” He reaches down to grab his champagne glass off the table, lifting it as many others in the room clink their glasses together with those around him. He sniffles as he sits down, riding the emotional high as he passes the microphone on. After composing himself somewhat, he looks back out into the crowd only to find you looking directly at him. Your expression has turned from one of reassurance to one of pride, and you shoot him a thumbs up, giggling, before turning your attention to the current speaker.

But Bambam can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. Even when he claps along at the end of the speech, his attention is only on you — you in your incredible dress with your broad, beautiful smile.

It’s then that he realizes he’s fallen harder for you than he initially thought, and that he has to tell you. Tonight, before it’s too late, before he loses his nerve and you go back to work just like always. Once he realizes it, it’s all he can think of, distracted even through his parents’s beautiful first dance. All he can think of is making his way to you, sneaking behind his relatives and catching only glimpses of his parents as they spin around the room.

You’re easy to spot, the red of your dress standing out, and Bambam slips between his cousins and gently takes hold of your elbow to get your attention. You turn, brows furrowed, but your expression melts into one of pure delight when you see him.

“Bambam,” you greet, hushed but just as excited as you had been that day in the cafe — the day you had said was fate. “Your speech was amazing, I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he whispers, barely more than a breath. He stoops down a bit to be eye level with you, hoping not to garner too much attention. “Can we talk?” You tilt your head curiously to the side.

“Sure, but shouldn’t we stay for the dance?”

“This really can’t wait.” He’s running on adrenaline, he can feel it; hears his heartbeat pounding in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out the music. You nod, so he takes your hand in his and pulls you back out through the crowd onto one of the balconies off the far side of the room. Once the two of you are outside, you turn to him, concern painted across your features. You squeeze his hand, looking over his face nervously,

“Is everything alright?” Bambam lets out a breathless laugh, nodding, feeling liberated beneath the light of the moon.

“Yeah, yeah, I just— I really needed to tell you something.” When he looks back into your eyes, he finds himself pausing, feeling as though he’s being drawn in by an unseen force. He’s interrupted in his poetic thoughts by you slapping his arm lightly, pouting up at him.

“You’re making me nervous!” You whine, and Bambam laughs again, taking hold of both of your hands now and bringing them up to his lips. He presses a soft kiss where your two hands meet in his,

“You’re cute when you're nervous, did you know that?”

“Did you bring me out here just to tease me?” You ask, though he can see the lingering anxiety in the stiffness of your shoulders.

“Maybe,” he teases, and you roll your eyes and start to pull your hands away. Bambam tightens his grip just enough to have leverage to pull you against his chest. He presses your hands above his sternum, where he’s sure you’ll be able to feel the way his heart is thundering out of control.

“Depends on if you feel the same way.”

“Same way about what?” Your voice has dropped to a whisper, and when you speak he can feel the warmth of your breath fanning against his lips.

“About me. Us.” He lets his gaze drop to your lips, lingering for a moment, and he feels your fingertips curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

“What about us?” You continue, softly, drawing ever so slightly closer to him. He feels intoxicated, drunk off of your presence, like his head is spinning and the world has fallen still instead.

“I’m falling for you,” he says, because it feels too soon for love but he knows he’s on that track. He’s certain he could fall in love with you— will fall in love with you, if you give him the chance. He waits with bated breath for your reply, only it doesn’t come.

Or, at least, not as he expects it. The kiss you press to his lips is brief, but enough, and he’s quick to pull you into his arms when you hide your face away in his shoulder.

“What a dramatic confession,” you say, half muffled by his blazer. Bambam chuckles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Did you expect anything less?”

“Of course not.” Bambam closes his eyes, relishing being so close to you. The music streams out from the ballroom, enveloping you both, and he gently begins to sway you to the rhythm. It’s only once the tune has ceased that you let out a sigh.

“You know, Jinyoung has been teasing me about this for weeks. It’s only going to get worse now.” You draw back just enough to look up at him with a playfully accusatory glare. Bambam grins cheekily, sliding his hands down the back of your smooth velvet dress till they rest at the small of your back.

“Oh, has he?”

“Yes,” you reply, shaking your head. “I suppose you’ll just have to take responsibility. It’s your fault he’s teasing me, after all.”

“And how do you expect me to do that, hm, princess?” He asks, watching the way you blush from the tips of your ears down to your throat. Nonetheless, you flash him a confident smile, pulling him back down towards you by the lapels of his blazer.

“For starters,” you murmur, lips brushing against his. “You could take me on a date.” Bambam can’t help but smile, feeling as though there are fireworks going off in his chest.

“Only if you promise to be mine.” The corners of your lips twitch up into a broader grin at his response.

“Deal.”

And a few days later, Bambam upholds his end of the deal — the first of many, many dates (though nothing he does can stop Jinyoung’s teasing).

#bambam scenarios #got7 bambam #got7 scenarios #got7 writing #got7 fanfiction #got7 texts #kpop fanfiction #kpop reactions #kpop writing #kpop scenarios #kpop texts

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cialbi · 4 years

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Summertime Happy Daze - Chapter One

Summary: Working in a small, local grocery store down by the shore has its perks; good pay, free food and seven handsome coworkers. Your first day back after two years abroad, your happy summer days have just begun.

Genre: Slice of Life, Friendship, Romance (fluff), Hurt and Comfort, (BTS AU)

Pairings: BTS ot7 x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 8651

Based on TRUE Daily Events

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The faint cry of seagulls could be heard overhead, circling the sky in hunger as you stood lucidly, staring at white twin doors that had paint peeling off with age. The familiar image was comforting in a way, like seeing an old classmate from school that you hadn’t known very well, but brought back those memories of the good old days.

And like seeing an old classmate, a part of you wanted to duck away and avoid them altogether.

You gripped the rim of your oversized sweatshirt for comfort, the brush of your tightly tied ponytail tickling the nape of your neck as it blew against the breeze. The sleek, silver name tag pinned to your clothes sailed in the sunshine. Little beads of sweat had begun to form on your forehead and the sticky summer heat thick against your skin as you drew in a breath.

You checked your watch; it was 11:00 am in the morning.

It had been awhile since you were down at the shore; the heavy scent of ocean prominent in your nose. You wrinkled it in discomfort.

The idea of spending your summer at the beach had been your parents' decision and they had leant you their beach house to use while you were working. Leaving you to your own devices, your mom and dad had chosen to take a much needed vacation to Hawaii. Instead of keeping you company they had retired you to fend for yourself.

Although you understood, you also felt bitter that they up and went without you.

“Structure. Discipline. Self reliance. Think of this as practice for the fall when you go back to school.” Your dad had said.

“We think this is what’s best for you, sweetheart.” Your mom agreed.

You narrowed your eyes at the memory of their words. Yeah, what ‘was best for you’ was to hightail it out of here and retreat to the comfort of your own bedroom. You didn’t bode well in anxious situations and your first reaction had always been to run the opposite direction.

But now that you were standing outside the back of Kim’s Market, that option didn’t seem very plausible. Today was opening day, and you knew as much help as possible was needed.

Almost every summer spent down the shore you’d worked in this little, local market. Since you’d been eighteen to be exact. The pay had been good and the owner allowed his employees to snack on food for free; not to mention the heaps of down time and 5G wifi. You’d done a lot of instagraming in those days.

The last two years were the longest you’d been without paying a visit to Kim’s. Choosing to study abroad, you’d saved money by spending the summers over there instead of returning home to your country. Though every now and then you had found yourself thinking about the little market and wondered how it was doing.

Standing in front of it now felt nostalgic, but you realized that two years was a long time and that many things could have changed while you were gone. And that’s why you found yourself so nervous.

Will they even remember me? You wondered to yourself.

You reached out your hands to touch the chipping wooden door and felt the wrinkles of maturing paint beneath your fingertips.

By they you meant your former, future, coworkers that you spent months of your time with over the past years of your life. Would they be happy to see you? Had they changed at all? Because you knew that you certainly had.

You remembered their faces as clearly as you could see in front of yourself. Their laughter and smiles were an unforgettable memory ingrained in your brain and the special moments you had spent with each of them had been precious. The long hours at work, the trips to the beach to enjoy an afternoon picnic, even the gaps of silence that had dispersed like a welcomed breeze. Every second had been cherished, and the heat of the fierce, beaming sun was always a reminder of the lovely summer days you’d spent together.

Because above having been your coworkers, they had been your friends.

Get a grip. You told yourself. How long you’d been standing there, you couldn’t tell, but by the looks of nosy passerbys it must have been for a while now.

Taking one last, nerve wrecked breath, you pushed open the tall double doors that lead inside to the back office, a blanket of air conditioned cool prickled your face.

It was dimly lit. Only the small rectangular windows that poured in the early afternoon sun provided any sort of light in the small wood paneled room. It looked as if plant life had invaded. Pots of tiny trees and baskets of wild flowers decorated almost every surface. Their gardener had a knack for floral feng-shui.

Said gardener stood behind a marble counter, back slightly bent as he trimmed stocks of parsley with a pair of gardening shears. A happy melody vibrated through his lips as he hummed to himself cheerfully. His deep brown eyes glimmered as if stars swam in them.

He wore a black, deep cut v-neck shirt and airy blue jeans stained with dirt. Glowing brightly in the afternoon glare were the words Kim’s Market plastered across his chest and a little silver tag with the name Hoseok etched into its face.

He looked peaceful, eyes lidded as if he had drifted into his own, little world.

“Hi Hobi.” You piped up, his nickname shy on your tongue.

The man snapped his head of chocolate brown hair up from his ministrations and squinted at you--or maybe he just couldn’t see well without his glasses. Nearsightedness if you recall. Even so, realization seemed to dawn on him as you were greeted with his infamous sunny smile. The perfect ‘welcome back.’

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you.” Hoseok said, then shrugged. “Well, you know, as much as I can see you.”

You shrugged back with a smile. “It’s good to be seen.”

He placed the shears onto the cutting board and approached you with outstretched arms. You thought for a moment he was going to hug you, but instead he placed both hands firmly on your shoulders and held you in place.

“Let me get a good look at you!” He said, eyeing you once over. “Beautiful.”

You blushed, looking down at the ground in hopes that he wouldn’t notice. Beautiful wasn’t the exact words you would have used, feeling a little frumpy in your baggy attire.

“Thanks.”

“So.” Hoseok cocked his head to the side, your eyes meeting. “How was Japan?”

You bit your lip a little and averted your gaze once again to the tiled floor beneath your feet. You knew well that Hoseok could always tell when you were lying. “Good. I had a great time.”

His eyes followed yours, brows furrowed as he aimed a curious look at your face. The older man opened his mouth to say something but before he could utter a word he was sorely interrupted by an outburst from the deli.

“Y/N!” A chorus of voices in assorted octaves shrieked with delight.

Shocked, but happy to be off topic, you turned your head to meet the smiling faces of Jimin and Jungkook. They peered from a little open frame in the wall that doubled as a fissure between the office and the deli.

Jimin’s eyes twinkled in excitement while Jungkook grinned at you from ear to ear, and suddenly you felt your prior worries begin to dissipate. Returning their expressions of friendliness you waved at them with an arm tucked behind your back.

“Hey gu--woah!”

A little yelp escaped your lips as you felt your legs being lifted off the ground.

Arms wrapped around your waist in a tight hug, a mess of shaggy black hair had burrowed in the crook of your neck. “You’re back.” It purred, deep, husky voice muffled by your shoulder.

Knowing exactly who it was before you even saw his face, you giggled, touched.

“Hey Tae. I’m back.”

At the call of his nickname, Taehyung lifted his head and flashed you a smile so winning that you got the idea he didn’t smile like that very often.

“Hi! I missed you!”

A light chuckle from Hoseok tickled your ears as the enthusiastic Taehyung hug-dragged you around into the deli so that the rest of the boys could properly welcome you. After a lingering minute the hold on you dropped, which allowed you to take a gander at your surroundings.

The deli looked pretty much the same, albeit a bit cleaner. It was small--homely--the entire area itself took up only one third of the modestly sized market. The deli case, up front and center, was lined with meats, cheeses, salads, ground hamburger chuck and fresh cut slabs of prime beef, each holding a respective, organized place amongst one another. Three scales were scattered on the top, separated by Hoseok’s potted plants and a few steps away were the rows of slicers that cut the hunks of meat and cheese into cold-cuts.

On the left of the case, pushed snuggly against the wall, was the grinder block. That was where all the chuck for hamburgers were ground into ribbons and panned on trays to be served to customers. Parallel was the butchers block and across from that, way in the back, was the sandwich block followed by the wrapping block and the walk-in fridge.

They were all placed pretty close together and you could recall many collisions from the past as everyone had rushed to deliver their orders. Your heart warmed in remembrance.

“So, whatcha think?” Jungkook’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

He was leaning against a tall metal hand-trolly piled high with boxes of what-nots and arms folded proudly across his chest. You noticed immediately that he was bigger than you remembered. He looked like an adonis from where he stood, his blue-and-white-striped shirt clung to his muscles, almost every ridge and curve visible to the naked eye. He oozed with pride.

You thought Jungkook was inquiring about his muscular metamorphosis or the very least about the deli, but when he gestured to the trolly you frowned.

“Uh. Nice… boxes?” You raised a brow. Jimin chuckled from beside you.

“Not those--well yes those. I’m stocking this year!” He boasted, face lifting in dignity.

You felt Jimin shift. “Yeah! And don’t forget you left me all alone with the registers!” He pouted.

Jungkook’s lip quirked to the side. “You know hyung, you could have joined me if you weren’t so…” He trailed, fishing for the right word. “Weak.”

You thought Jimin would pop what with the way his face puffed, flabbergasted. “I have abs! I can lift things!” He retorted, pulling up his sweater and smacking his toned stomach for emphasis. You looked away in shame.

Someone clicked their tongue from behind the sandwich block. “You’re too short.”

It was Yoongi.

You hadn’t noticed him from his seated position on the floor, but there he was, clad in a grey sweatshirt and backwards cap, knees hugged loosely to his chest as he scrolled through his phone.

“Don’t take his side hyung!” Jimin turned to you with sad, gooey sparkles in his eyes. “You see what happens when you leave? They all bully me.”

You brought to mind how they all had teased Jimin; the poor boy made it far too easy for them. One time, Yoongi had pretended that Jimin was invisible for two days, all the while Jimin had relentlessly thrown himself in front of the older and practically begged to be acknowledged.

“Where’s Jimin? I don’t see him. I hope he’s not dead.” Yoongi had taunted, shielding his eyes as if looking for someone.

Jimin had bit his lip so hard it turned purple. “Stop it hyung! You know I’m right here.”

It wasn’t until you had locked his paycheck in your locker that Yoongi could miraculously see him again.

Before you left, you had been Jimin’s safeguard. You had taken pity on him because he always looked so lost and helpless. The others could easily fend for themselves, but Jimin--with his cute pouty lip and doleful eyes--there was something that had made you highly defensive of him; like a mother protecting her young. And he felt about you like you were his knight in shining armor.

In times like this one, you would have ruffled his hair affectionately or perhaps even went after his offender and gave them a piece of your mind. It had always thrilled him to tears when you stood up for him.

But time had passed and you didn’t know if the same tactics would still apply.

You looked up at Jimin as he hissed at his coworkers like an offended kitten, a look of attack and desperate attempts to sound big. But in the end he was still nothing more than that. A kitten. Although you’d never admit it to him, you were the tiniest bit charmed.

Well, it couldn’t hurt to try?

Tenderly, you patted his glossy head, receiving a startled jump from under your touch.

“Don’t listen to them Jiminnie.” You cooed. “Your job is just as important and neither height nor arm muscles makes you any more or any less of a wonderful, capable man.”

Both Jungkook and Yoongi scoffed.

“And you two!” You swiped a delicate finger between them. “Don’t think that because I’ve been gone for some time, that I won’t hesitate to kick both your asses if I hear you tell him otherwise.”

Jimin beamed at you with crescent moon eyes, catching your hand in his. “She’s really back.” He whispered, just loud enough for only you to hear.

The five of you exchanged looks before Yoongi snorted and the rest of you fell into a gleeful bote of laughter. No. The deli, the market, the atmosphere, it really hadn’t changed much.

But the boys themselves most certainly had.

Yoongi’s hair had gotten longer; crimped seafoam-green bangs touched the tips of his eyelashes and his once sunkissed skin had faded a few shades. His shoulders slouched a little more. He’d always been a quiet man, but something about the way he held himself seemed more aloof and less interested.

Jimin was much skinnier, almost worryingly so. His once pinchable chubby cheeks were replaced with sculpted definition to his jawline and his collarbone protruded amidst his baggy baby-pink sweater. He still had his abs, yes, but when he had previously exposed himself to the group, you had noticed the little lines of ribs poking through his honey-colored skin. Although still painfully pretty, you worried he hadn’t been eating enough.

Jungkook--muscle growth aside--seemed to have grown an entire foot in height. His pointy nose was slightly sunburned and his cappuccino hair swept to the side, streaked with highlights. His former, innocent demeanor now dripped with overconfidence and tenacity; something you instantly knew would be difficult to keep a handle on.

Even Hoseok, sunny, energetic, ever-loving Hoseok had looked uncharacteristically tired. He had tried to hide it, but the lines under his eyes gave him away.

And Taehyung. His lion's mane of wavy hair, his deep chocolate-brown eyes, his obnoxiously good looks--

You eyed the raven-haired boy who had become completely distracted, busily taping a pair of plastic gloves around his wrists and using a bendy-straw to blow them up like balloons. He cooed excitedly and shoved them in your general direction. “Look Y/N! I’m like Baymax!”

He hasn’t changed a bit.

Perhaps it was the many bodies in such a tight space, or perhaps you were just overly perceptive today but it suddenly dawned on you that two other members were missing.

You frowned. “Hey, where’s Namjoon and--”

“Yah! I see goofing off!” A shout that reminded you of a squawking mother emanated from the other side of the deli case.

Ah. There he is.

In unison, you all whirled around to see the store owner, Jin, shouldering a large silver tray of fresh pastries and looking absolutely perfect. His beautiful full lips pulled back in annoyance and his ivory skin tinted pink like blooming roses. He had an evergreen apron tied around his waist and his free hand was placed fiercely on his hip.

“Hyung, look!” Taehyung wiggled his balloon-a-fied hands at Jin. “Y/N is here!”

Jin looked over to you, his expression softening. “Hey there Y/N.” He said, circling around the deli case and placing the tray on the meat-grinder block.

“Hi Jin.” You blushed. His presence had a way of making you flustered.

He patted his floury hands on his apron before extending one towards you. You took it with a hardy handshake, his touch lingered slightly before he pulled it away.

“Are you ready to work hard?” Jin asked, straightening back up.

You eyed your coworkers skeptically. “Yes sir.”

Taehyung was using his balloon-hands to squish Jimin’s face while Jungkook stood by as witness; the three of them bursted into fits of giggles when one of the gloves popped just above Jimin’s nose. Yoongi, who was completely ignoring you guys, had returned to his previous activities, engaged in his phone once again.

Ready to work hard? By the look of it, you didn’t feel like you really had a choice, because no doubt you’d be carrying a lot of the weight.

“Good.” Jin said and took a spatula from one of the magnetic holsters. “Because it seems to me that with these four slack offs--” he gestured with it at the younger men, “--you have your work cut out for you.”

Read my mind.

You hummed in response and watched as Jin began to square off the pastries with the spatula. He looked good--well he had always looked good, but with his delicately placed locks of black hair and eyelashes that casted shadows across cheekbones, the shopkeeper looked particularly angelic as he focused on his work.

“Ooh! Hyung! Is that the crumb cake?” Taehyung’s short attention span was naturally swayed by the sight of food.

He scurried over to the two of you, a look of unadulterated hunger on his face. The rest of the boys, minus Yoongi, followed shortly after him. Taehyung reached for one, the plastic from his glove still deflated around his hand. Jin smacked it away.

“Don’t you dare touch these with your grubby little hands.” The oldest scolded. “These are for the customers. You know, the ones who actually pay for my food.”

Taehyung whimpered, disappointed. “...looks so good though…”

“They most certainly are. Delicious--” His eyes narrowed. “--and for the customers. I don’t want to catch any of you snacking on these today. Anything else, fine. But stay away from the crumb cake.”

A chorus of protest had Jin stabbing the spatula with a particularly strong force.

“I mean it.”

Jimin’s lip jutted and Taehyung leaned against the grinder block back first, angling his face to fix Jin with the perfect puppy-pout. Not that it worked. Jin’s nerves were made of steel.

“Just a little?”

“No.”

“A crumb?”

“No!”

“A lick?”

“Aish! Stop bothering me!”

“Move.” A curt voice cut through the room.

Namjoon, the last missing member of the group, appeared from the inside of the walk-in fridge, holding a large plastic bin with the words ‘cuts to be trimmed’ written on the side in black sharpie.

You all turned to look at the man as he glared intensely at you; the crowd of people in his way. Namjoon’s arms were shaking under the weight of the bin like he was barely keeping it from falling out of his grip. He was flushed, with tiny beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. You gulped as everyone automatically stepped aside and created a path for him. Even Yoongi scooched over on the ground.

Why is he...

You looked at Jimin confused, but the boy just shrugged. “Namjoon is the butcher now.”

Namjoon mumbled something you couldn’t hear as he heaved the bin towards the butcher's block and slammed it down on the counter. His back was turned to you, not having noticed your presence.

The tallest man’s willowy figure had always been lean but, like Jungkook, new muscle definition ripped up his biceps and upper pectorals. On top of that, his once golden skin was now a deep shade of almond and his brown quiff had been replaced with a silver, clean-shaven undercut.

Two years ago, it had been you, Namjoon, Yoongi and Taehyung that worked in the deli, cutting cold-cuts, making sandwiches and helping out around the market whenever time allowed. Jin had been the one in charge of the beef, only temporarily lending the reins when the store got too busy for him to handle it alone. Jin liked control. He especially liked control over their best selling meat, so you wondered how Namjoon had convinced the uptight shopkeeper to let him go full-time.

He looked poised, a little cold.

You hugged your arms sheepishly. “Hi Joon.”

The butcher slipped, eyes wide and clearly not expecting to hear your voice as he caught himself on the butchers block. Giving himself a second to catch his breath, Namjoon turned to look at you with a bewildered expression.

“Y/N...” He said, taking a step towards you.

“Hey, it’s good to see yooooh my god are you ok?”

Your hands flew to your lips in shock as Namjoon’s heel snagged on a piece of plastic--no doubt left on the floor from Taehyung’s glove--and flew to the ground in a tumble of limbs and a loud ‘crash’. You bit back a laugh. There’s that klutziness.

Wincing in pain, Namjoon stood up, his face red with peevery as he steadied himself. “Taehyung!” He growled.

Silence followed.

Taehyung looked at his only remaining balloon-hand then looked back to Namjoon. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain!?” He cheered, diving for the older with his hands outstretched.

A loud ‘pop’ echoed in his wake. The rest of you exchanged looks of surprise as Namjoon held himself, wielding a long, skinny butcher's knife that extended towards Taehyung’s defending hand. The butcher fixed his eyes on the raven-haired male--who swallowed hard as the tip of the blade barely met his palm--shooting aggressive daggers.

“No.”

More silence.

Jin clapped his hands, breaking the lull. “That’s it! Everyone back to work!”

The shopkeeper shooed you guys away with a flick of his wrist and turned back around to resume cutting the crumb cake. The few “awws” that reverberated from the younger boys' mouths were silenced by the don’t-fuck-with-me look thier boss shot at them.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Work well underway, the day seemed to slip by pretty slowly. The store was basically empty save a browsing customer here or there.

Jimin had returned to the registers while Jungkook was busy wheeling boxes around and unloading the contents to their respective places. Yoongi remained unbothered on his phone and Taehyung was doodling away with a black deli crayon on a piece of wrapping paper. The only noises that could be heard were the murmurs of Hoseok and Jin from the office and the soft thwacks of Namjoon’s cleaver as he chopped up pieces of meat and dumped them into a vacant bucket.

You sighed to yourself. It’s so quiet...

There were no chairs back in the deli. Jin’s reasoning had been that sitting around made them look lazy, and laziness would repel customers. Nevertheless, none of the boys had any trouble finding ways to look apathetic. So you were leaning against the sandwich block, hands gripped around the wooden sides to support yourself and mind wandering off in boredom.

A little restless, you looked down at Yoongi who was sitting inches from your branched out legs.

“So, Yoongi…” You tried. “How’s business been today?”

Your shift may have started in the early afternoon, but most of, if not all the boys had been here since opening at six. You were privately grateful that you didn’t have to haul ass at bumblefuck am in the morning.

Yoongi looked up at you briefly and you noticed tiny little bags under his eyes. “Slow.”

He had never been much for small talk.

Ennui set in again and you found yourself wishing that you had brought your phone to pass the time. Maybe you’d forgotten on purpose due to your social media sabbatical or maybe you’d truly just forgotten but either way staring at a screen if not just to look at something sounded pretty good. So, to compensate, you settled on looking around the store.

The late afternoon sun had soaked the deli in warm shades of oranges and pinks, the sheets of white menus that hung from the walls glared irredecentaly against the blaring light. The metal of the slicers and the walk-in glinted like precious silver and plastic containers full of lettuce, tomato and onion on the sandwich counter reflected images of your surroundings. You could hear the rolling of pebbles from outside as cars pulled in or drove away from the market and the faint smell of raw beef wafted through your nose. You crinkled it in disagreement.

It was amazing how everything felt so… normal.

Looking at Yoongi’s hunched form, you pushed yourself away from the counter and tentatively took a seat next to him. He didn’t move. A quick peek over his shoulder, you realized he was typing something on a notes app.

“Whatcha writing?”

At that, Yoongi lifted his head and shielded his phone against his chest. You felt a little bad for eavesdropping.

Your eyes met his. The look of genuine interest spread clearly on your face had Yoongi’s lips tugged back in a gentle smirk. He raised his hand to rub the back of his neck and dropped the phone from his chest to expose its contents towards your waiting gaze.

“Lyrics.” He shrugged. “Never know when inspiration will hit you.”

Yoongi had one of those voices that oozed self-control, a voice you couldn’t imagine raised. And the way his eyes glimmered with passion for his art made your heart thrum little pitter-pats against your ribs. I forgot how handsome he is.

“I didn’t know you liked to write music.” You truly hadn’t. He had always been so reserved, even back then.

Yoongi snorted. “Well, my real goals in life are to cut meat and cheese for wealthy, uptight buttfucks. But what can I say? Gotta dream big.”

You laughed. I also forgot how colorful his language could be.

You wanted to ask him more, but a call from the front of the deli had you both snapping your heads towards the order counter.

“Excuse me!” A woman with two chins and sunglasses peered from the other side of the deli case. “Some service over here!”

“Speak of the devil.” You sighed, rolling your eyes in Yoongi’s direction. “Keep writing. I got it.”

A hint of a smile ghosted his lips as you stood up and trotted over to the customer who was tapping her fingers impatiently. You put on your best pseudo grin.

“Sorry for the wait ma’am. What can I get for you?”

She frowned at you--or maybe that was her normal expression. “Yes. Thank you.” Her painted lips sneered. “I’d like a sandwich--”

“Hoagie or Kaiser?” You interrupted. The sandwich bags varied in sizes, so you needed to know which one to write her order on.

“Hoagie.” Her chins wagged as she navigated her eyes to one of the paper menus. “With--”

You scrawled down her elongated list of toppings, checking the right boxes and circling the written words printed neatly on a chosen hoagie bag. The customer paused, opening her mouth as if she wanted to order something else, then promptly closed it.

“That’s all.”

“Alright!” You said with a nod. “That’ll be up in just a couple minutes.”

The customer grumbled something you couldn’t make out but backed away from the counter and went to wait off to the side.

That was the part of the job you hadn’t missed. The entitlement, the poor treatment, the rudeness and you, as an employee, were just supposed to smile and be polite besides yourself.

Walking back to the sandwich block, you slipped past Namjoon, careful so as not to bump him and then clipped the bag on a sleek metal rack. It was your first sandwich of the year and you could feel a twinge of nervousness as your brain tried to remember what to do and what order to do it in.

Yoongi peeked his head up again to watch you quietly, making sure you were ok or if you needed any guidance.

Turkey. Swiss. Lettuce and tomato. A little salt, some hot peppers and onions. Oh and oil. Don’t forget the oil. You recited as you grabbed what you needed from the deli case, hands quivered slightly with nerves. You didn’t want to fuck this up. A part of you wanted to show the boys that you may have been gone a couple years, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t still make a killer sandwich. The whole store knew your sandwich making skills had always been the best and you had a reputation to uphold.

You went over to the slicers and paused briefly, gathering your demeanor before you switched on the blades. Gripping the butt of the cheese you breathed deeply, quiet enough as to not draw attention to yourself.

There was this irrational fear that you had; you even experienced nightmares once or twice because of it. You had always catastrophized that one of these days you’d slice your hand into a thick flap and then have to walk around with your flesh flopping like a turkey’s throat. Shuddering at the thought, you began to slice.

Thankfully, your body memory took over and suddenly you felt yourself falling back into old motions, cutting the cold-cuts with ease and one hundred percent skin-flap free.

With a slight spring to your step, you brushed past Namjoon again, again being careful not to hit him with your butt as you went about your way. You heard an appreciative ‘thunk’ of blade hitting wood.

When all the items were laid out in a neat line, you began to assemble the sandwich, making sure to place each piece of food in the correct order. First meat, then cheese, then veggies and then oil. You never put oil on the bread because the moisture would make the entire sandwich soggy. You explained this to Taehyung and Yoongi once when a customer had come in with a complaint about an ‘inedible sandwich.’ Finishing up your order with a sprinkle of lettuce and a spray of oil you topped it off with a light dusting of sea salt. Perfect.

While you took a step back to admire your handy work, more customers began to line up in front of the deli case. With a low groan, Taehyung paused his doodling to go help them. Yoongi stood up and tucked his phone away in his hoodie.

“Ahem.” Namjoon fixed you with an instructive stare and you chuckled sheepishly.

“Right. Sorry.”

You gathered up the sandwich and brought it to the wrapping block, careful not to spill anything. Quickly and neatly you rolled the paper over it before taping it closed and stuffing it in the bag.

“Here you are.” You beamed at the customer who had ordered from you, handing over your masterpiece.

She didn’t thank you, just grabbed the sandwich and waddled away.

“You’re welcome.” You muttered bitterly, the corner of your lip twitched in contempt.

Bitch.

You were used to ungrateful customers. Most people who came to the shore were wealthy beach house owners--the top one percent--and most of them didn’t appreciate hard work let alone practiced basic manners.

Giving yourself a moment, you checked your watch. It was a little after lunch time, which explained the sudden pickup in business. Usually between 12:30 and 2:00 the market became increasingly busy, then again between 4:30 and 6:00, giving everyone about an hour to catch their breath.

“Already aching to clock out, eh?”

Taehyung came up from behind you, causing you to squeak in surprise. He chuckled deeply in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

You whipped your head around, blood creeping up your cheeks. “No!”

“Cute. Well here.” He handed you two paper sandwich bags. “This’ll pass the time.”

Taehyung graced you with a little wink and a wave of his hand before walking back up to the front of the deli to take more orders.

Your shoulders slumped as a sigh departed your lips, already missing the freetime.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Another hour crawled by. Not a moment to relax as the three of you maneuvered through and around the small space, slicing cold-cut after sandwich. You were beginning to lose your bearings as the line never seemed to end.

“Coming through!”

“On your left. No. Left Taehyung.”

“Behind you hyung!”

“Knife!”

Every once in a while, Namjoon paused from his ministries to help out when the three of you had your hands full. He worked like a pro and made everything seem so effortless. You’d never felt more beholden.

Once the line cleared and the four of you had a moment to yourselves, you breathed a sigh of relief. It truly felt good to be up on your feet again, but damn, dealing with so many people in such a short amount of time really weighed on your introverted personality. Running a hand through your hair, you looked at the clock on the deli phone.

Only four hours left to go.

Phew. Ok. You can do this Y/N.

A slew of giggles erupted from the deli case and you turned your head to see a dwindling customer bent over the counter and chatting animatedly with Taehyung. By the way she twirled her hair and fluttered her lashes you could immediately tell she was flirting. And honestly, you couldn’t blame her. Customers had often flirted with the boys and every time it was a reminder of how seriously handsome each of them were. You frowned.

She was beautiful. A very tall, very blonde woman with a modelesque physique. Her skin was as fair as a jasmine petal, with perfect blue eyes and a perfect snowy neck. The spaghetti straps of her sundress threatened to slip down her tiny, pointed shoulders and you noticed her arms were crossed around her chest, emphasizing her cleavage.

Laughing at something he said, she reached out to touch Taehyung’s arm, a bold move if you ever saw one. He followed with his eyes to where her hand touched him and slowly backed away. Handing over her order, he fixed her with his boxy smile.

“Bye! Come again soon!” He chirped. Ouch.

The customer obviously didn’t want to leave, but Taehyung had already turned his back towards her, clearly ending the conversation. Her pretty, glossed lips bent down in a grimace and reluctantly she sulked off. The raven haired boy caught your stare, his eyes flying up to the sky as he shrugged. You made a gagging motion with your finger and then the two of you laughed.

Yoongi shuffled over, a tired expression creased on his face as he dipped back down to the floor, back flush against the cool metal of the walk-in. His cheeks were rosy from all the exertion and eyes heavy as he sighed. Taking one last look up front as to make sure no other customers were around, he fished for the phone in his pocket and returned to typing fervidly.

“How ya holding up?” You said to him.

“Hm.”

Man, he’s a tough one to crack.

A few moments passed in silence. You enjoyed the cool breeze of the air conditioning, eyes hooded as it satiated your skin. It felt peaceful to be among friends again.

A subtle thunk grabbed you from your stupor.

“Oof. Watch it!” Yoongi jerked forward as the door of the walk-in pushed open from behind him.

Namjoon emerged from the door with a large rack of ribs cradled on his shoulder. He looked between the two of you and quickly apologized to his friend.

“The door knob is a little loose inside, so be careful not to pull it too hard.” He said, gesturing with his chin to the fridge.

You nodded your head and Yoongi hummed in admission, though if he was really listening you couldn’t tell. Doubtful.

“Hey! Which one of you dum-dums keeps forgetting to price the sandwiches!?” Jimin called, face huffy as he poked his head out from behind aisle B.

For some reason, Jin never liked the idea of using up-to-date cash registers, opting for old-fashioned antiques that probably came from the nineteen-thirties. That excluded a barcode scanner, so poor Jimin had to punch in all the item prices by hand. God forbid a customer decided not to buy something because then the boy had to zero out the register and start all over again.

“I had to make the prices up, and you know Jin hyung hates when I do that!” Jimin stomped over in a flurry of dust and dirt from unswept floors. Speaking of things Jin hated.

Your eyes widened. Horrified, you realized it had been you. You totally forgot you had to hand write the prices of the sandwiches along with the orders.

The rest of the members started to busy themselves, avoiding Jimin’s wrath. Taehyung began opening boxes of pickle jars from underneath the counters and Namjoon got to work on prepping the bonesaw for the ribs. To your surprise, even Yoongi stood up and began to clean the counter with a metal scraper. It was like they all turned their heads and whistled evadingly.

You sighed, wiping the bridge of your nose. Honesty was the best approach.

“Sorry Jimin! It was me.” You admitted to the blonde haired boy.

He craned his neck to look at you standing in the back behind Namjoon. For a split second you worried he would tell you off.

Instead, Jimin flashed you a radiant smile. “No worries Y/N. It’s only your first day back--”

“It’s all our first day back.” Yoongi muttered lowly.

“--so it must be hard to remember everything all at once.” He finished, shooting a glare at the sea-green head on the floor.

“Thanks… I’ll try to remember to write them down next time.” You said, heat rising to your cheeks. How embarrassing.

“No problem, love.”

Taehyung scoffed, folding the emptied box in his arms. “It was a problem last year when I forgot that one time to price a ham sandwich. One time.”

Jimin pursed his luscious lips. “That’s because you’re always doing something you’re not supposed to be.”

Taehyung threw up his hands in mock frustration. “Sue me!”

“Ironic that this is coming from the person who’s supposed to be behind the register.” Yoongi said, reminding his younger that in that moment, he’s the one doing something he’s not supposed to be.

Jimin ignored the remark and sauntered over to your side. He grabbed your hand between his.

“I’ve been dying to know!” He exclaimed, brown eyes sparkling. “How was Japan?”

From within the room, all ears perked up.

Your face fell a little at the question, not wanting to answer it again. “Oh you know… it was good. A great learning experience.”

He picked up on your bypassed tone. “Oh… did something happen?”

Suddenly, flashes of broken bottles, a messy room and red lights flashed through your head. You took a step away from him.

“No. Nothing at all. Like I said, it was great.” You forced a little smile. “My Japanese is pretty good now.”

As if sensing your troubled thoughts, Jimin hummed in disapproval. His face was tinged with concern as he said “If something happened, you can tell us.” Great. An interrogation session was clearly in the making.

Abruptly, Namjoon turned from the bonesaw and shot Jimin a warning look. “Min, if you have time to chit-chat, you have time to help Jin or Hoseok.”

Jimin made a face. “But I’m talking to Y/N. We have so much to catch up on.”

The butcher's shoulders squared in irritation. Running a hand through his silver locks he stopped what he was doing completely. “Go help your hyungs or go back to the register. There’s too many of us back here and hardly any room.”

“No fair! You guys get to spend all day with her, and I have to sit up front all by myself!”

“Yeah, we’re pretty lucky.” Taehyung waggled his thick brows towards you.

Namjoon pinched his nose and shut his eyes to ease the headache he was getting. “Don’t make me call Jin over here.”

“You’re no fun! I hope you cut your fingers!” Jimin stuck out his tongue. “Seriously, you always cut your fingers. It’s beyond me why Jin hyung trusted you as our butcher” He pointed at the array of band-aids that littered Namjoon’s hands.

“At least I’m helping them out! Someone has to cut the meat around here, and I don’t see you volunteering.”

Jimin turned a little green at the thought. “I’m just saying. Lose a finger and you’ll never be able to properly hold a knife again.”

“Fuck off.”

Jimin’s lip quivered. “When did you become so mean?”

You waved your hands at your two bickering coworkers in an attempt to dissipate the negative aura, wishing someone would come to your rescue. As if on cue, Hoseok’s head appeared through the little aperture between the back office and the deli, arms full of leafy greens.

“Jimin, don’t you have a register to monitor?” He raised an eyebrow.

Jimin bowed his head in defeat, knowing he didn’t stand a chance against the gardener. You felt relief wash over you. “Yes hyung…”

With a quick glance back at you, his little body scuttled away to resume his job. A twang of guilt struck you.

Following suit, you squatted down by the sandwich counter and pulled out rolls of bread from orange crates. You placed them on top of the work surface so that you, Taehyung and Yoongi would be prepared for the next rush of orders. It was a quarter past 3:00.

You thought about Jimin’s question, feeling bad for blowing him off like that. He’d always been so kind to you--warm and welcoming--and right then you felt like a raging bitch.

I wish people would stop asking me that question.

As you were pulling out the last bunches of bread, a blur of ebony and white caught your attention.

“I’m a chef!” Taehyung announced, crouching beside you. Startled, you nearly dropped a sandwich roll.

He adorned the pickle box on his head, indeed looking like he wore a chefs hat made of cardboard. He flashed you a toothy grin.

“The fuck?” Yoongi looked up and sniggered.

Taehyung danced around the deli with the box on his head, not bothering to remove it when the next slew of customers arrived at the counter. He wiggled his hips and sprung about full of energy, causing a mixed reaction from the people up front.

A part of you knew he was trying to cheer you up.

You stifled a snort of amusement. “I wonder about the way your mind works, Tae.”

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Around 3:30, Jin appeared from the office.

“Y/N, can you help me with something?”

You were on the ground with Yoongi, reading over his shoulder as he typed away lyrics passionately on his phone. The market had gone completely quiet, so you had seized the opportunity to bond with him.

Taehyung had gone back to doodling, the cardboard box completely forgotten, and Namjoon disappeared outside about five minutes ago. Probably to smoke.

“Sure.” You said. You stood up and brushed some bread crumbs off your clothes.

“Follow me.”

Jin led you outside past Hoseok’s garden and over to a small freezer-truck parked adjacent to the back of the store. The air looked wavy and greasy as it came up from the ground. The heat hung heavy in the treetops, weighing down the leaves so that the only movement was that of automobiles, pulling out from the parking lot and roaring down the streets. Boiling and humid, it was summer at its most stifling.

Jin took out his keys--no key fob, you noticed, but plenty of keys. Your own keyring had two keys and a fob shaped like a cat. You wondered if your keyring said something about you.

He opened the door. The two of you stepped inside, the plastic flaps of the entryway hitting your face as a waft of cool air pricked the hairs on your skin. There were rows of boxes filled with produce and dairy; a storage unit used for things that weren’t yet needed on the market shelves. Jin stood next to a huddle of large boxes filled to the brim with juicy red strawberries that Hoseok had picked from his garden.

The storekeeper gestured towards them. “I need you to take these strawberries and put them on the top shelf of the walk-in so they can defrost.”

You eyed them closely, wondering why he hadn’t asked Taehyung or Yoongi. They looked pretty weighty but you thought you could handle some considerable lifting.

“Sure. No problem.” You said, bending down to pick one of them up. You were right in your assumptions. They were heavy as fuck.

Jin brushed a perfect strand of ebony hair away from his face, a grateful look graced his delicate features. “Thanks. Hobi has been nagging about it all day.”

“My pleasure.” You smiled.

If you were being completely honest, you’d do practically anything for Jin. Your little crush on your boss was a bit embarrassing, but you’d come to terms with it. Shoulding the box with gusto, you turned to leave.

“Oh, and also.” He stopped you. “I meant to ask. How was Japan?”

You gritted your teeth and swallowed thickly. You hadn’t wanted to lie to Jimin, but you really didn’t want to lie to Jin.

You flashed him a weary smile. “It was awesome.” You fibbed for the third time today.

Jin nodded his head with a knuckle to his chin, less sensitive to your hesitance than Jimin and Hoseok had been. “That’s good to hear. Make any new friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Meet anyone special?”

“No.”

Jin’s expression changed. Was that a look of relief on his face? You blinked, suspicious that your eyes had played a trick on you. You never thought Jin to be the bashful type, but in that moment he looked particularly shy.

Not pressing any further, Jin put a hand on your elbow and stretched his pretty red lips into a soft smile, eyes glittering. “We really missed you.”

Your heart fluttered at his confession, a peaceful feeling returned to your body.

“I really missed you too.” Fucking freudian slip.

The shopkeeper’s face turned pink. Suddenly wanting to look away, you turned your attention back to the boxes and stared. The box already on your shoulder began to falter since you’d been holding its weight for so long.

Jin followed your eyes and sighed. “Thank you so much. I’d have Jungkook do it, but I already have him making runs to the delivery trucks and bringing those boxes around front.” Ah. It’s delivery day. That explained why you hadn’t seen much of the youngest boy.

“It’s not a problem. I’m happy to help.”

Although it’s only filled with strawberries, the pressing weight they provided made you breathe hard as you hauled it through the double doors and back into the market. Hoseok looked up from his office chair, a spread of bundled herbs layed out in front of him.

He waved at you with a bunch of rosemary and chuckled brightly. “Need a hand?”

Not wanting to bother him, you shook your head. “Nope! I got it.”

“You sure? That looks heavy.”

“Don’t worry Hobi! I’m stronger than I look!” You tucked the box in the crook of your neck and flexed your bicep.

He eyed you skeptically but nodded nonetheless, resuming his work.

You heaved yourself back into the deli. Sweat threatened to drip down your face as you walked in on Taehyung holding a circular plastic container filled with a curious, salmon-pink substance. What was that boy up to now?

“So… what, exactly, did you put in it?” Yoongi asked. He was bending over the sandwich block watching Taehyung with sick intrigue.

“Potato salad, egg salad, tuna salad, seafood salad, chicken salad, macaroni salad… all the salads!” Taehyung cheered, then paused. “Except for coleslaw.” He shivered in disgust.

Yoongi sighed nonchalantly. “It’s just gonna taste like mayonnaise.”

The boy simply shrugged, spooning a good amount of the mixture into his mouth and looked on in consideration. You and Yoongi gagged simultaneously.

Both boys' eyes snapped to you as they finally took notice of your struggling form. Yoongi’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. Taehyung put the container down and smiled at you.

“Hey Y/N, need some help?”

You placed the strawberries on the butcher’s block to catch your breath. “Nah. Seriously, I got this. Just gimme a second.”

“I can do it if you want.” Yoongi said, folding his arms over his chest.

Determined to finish the job by yourself, you raised a hand and waved off the offer. “I can do this.”

“Alright, well, I’ll get the door.” He pushed himself off the counter and turned to open the walk-in.

You hummed in appreciation. Lifting the box again, you hauled both it and yourself through the waiting door. A cold breeze coursed beneath your flesh.

Yoongi held it open, watching you with slitted eyes as you stood on your tippy-toes and tried to place the box on the top shelf. It began to wobble in your hands. You grunted, your arms begging to give and you realized too late that you were too short. The box doubled back and suddenly, you felt yourself go with it. Your heart began to hammer in your chest, dread washed over you as you anticipated your fall.

There was a click of the door shutting closed as two hands shot out from behind you and steadied the box, which consecutively steadied you.

“Careful.” Yoongi warned.

Your eyes widened.

He was really close. His hard pectorals pressed up against you and it was then you realized how strong his body was. You could feel his quickened heart thumping, which only aided in the increase of your own pulse. He smelled like mint.

Your ears burned red despite the cold.

Yoongi helped you push the box onto the top shelf, hands enveloping yours. His fingers were long and elegant, a couple silver rings sheathed around them. You noticed lengthy veins that protruded through his skin and you gulped. Even though the box had already been shelved, he didn’t move away.

“Uh. T-thanks.” You stuttered.

“Yup.”

Finally he backed up and removed his hands. You turned around slowly and met his eyes. Yoongi’s face was equally flushed. After a moment of awkward silence, you found your voice again.

“W-we should… uh… head back out. Jin has more boxes that need to be moved.”

He rubbed his neck and averted his gaze, but nodded slowly.

Together, the two of you soundlessly turned to exit the fridge, anxious to get out of the cold. You willed your heart to slow, feeling embarrassed that you let the moment get to you.

You reached out and grabbed the handle.

Whether it was from your spaztic sensitivity or the way your hands shook, Namjoon’s previous warning had escaped you as you pulled it way too hard.

The handle snapped off and fell to the floor with a rambunctious ‘clang.’ For a long moment you just stared at each other.

“Fuck.”

You and Yoongi were undoubtedly trapped inside.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Next⤏

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southernrays · 3 years

Text

location: unknown, GA; about a forty-five minute ride outside of town date: July 10th 2020 time: late morning to early evening availability: closed solo tldr: Ray finds an old country shop and documents all of the items he finds, steals some mason jars, brings home a bag full of kitchen supplies for the Hard Times, and games/toys/books for the general population of Fairvale.

The first thought Ray had when his motorcycle hit the open road was that he really needed a haircut. The wind blew through his growing hair, kicking it up and causing a shiver to run down his spine as he picked up speed. Ray’s eyes watered slightly as the wind whipped against his face but he didn’t dare to slow down; he felt free for the first time in a long time and he was not giving up that feeling for anything. Ray’s adrenaline thrummed as the motorcycle took him down an abandoned highway, purring underneath him when he pumped the throttle.

Ray had a general understanding the area. He cruised through a small abandoned down nearby. His eyes cut to the left and right to make sure no undead were about to chase him down or jump in front of the motorcycle. He did promise Finn that he’d bring the bike back in one piece, and Ray had to be in piece for that to happen. Ray explored the side shops as he looked for something promising to search through.

The shop looked like it could have been sued by Cracker Barrel for copyright infringement. The entire building was set up to look like a barn, complete with wood paneling that didn’t quite match and a big sign that said “GENERAL COUNTRY STORE AND PANCAKE HOUSE” painted on the top of it. Rocking chairs littered the front porch of the building and a couple of cars were left abandoned in gravel parking lot. Ray dismounted the motorcycle and pocketed the keys. He unstrapped the bags he had attached to the saddlebags, leaving them folded up for now. If he found something worth bringing home, he would be able to grab some of it and send out the real runners for the rest of it.

A small bell dinged when Ray pushed open the front door. It stuck but it was unlocked, and after the loud ring and an awful grinding noise, the door opened. Ray closed it behind him.

The smell inside made him dry heave. The back part of the store had been a restaurant at some point. Now, the smell of rotted food made Ray’s eyes water and he grabbed for the closest paper towel dispenser. He balled up the paper and shoved it up his noise to block out the smell, and consciously breathed through his mouth for a couple of deep breaths.

The inside of the country store was rummaged through but not barren. It was clear where empty shelves had been looted with necessities. There was some furniture, more rocking chairs, and fixtures for indoor and outdoor. They were all impractical for camping or the end of the world, requiring a power source, but Ray made a mental note that someone could redecorate some of the houses here if need by.

Ray checked the entire building, going section by section and in between shelves, to make sure no walkers would be jumping out at him. He started near the cash register up front, his baseball bat drawn and ready. He nearly swung at a stupid scarecrow stationed at an endcap that Ray swore moved out of the corner of his mind. He stopped mid-swing and let out a soft chuckle at his own foolishness before moving to the next aisle.

The building was clear. Ray looked out the glass window of a door that led to the back, an employee area, and saw some shambling figures. His breath caught in his throat when Ray tensed up at the sight of the undead in overalls and chef clothing. After a beat he realized that they hadn’t hear him, at least not yet, and Ray tested the door to make sure it was locked and steady before he left the area as quietly as possible.

When he made it to the home and kitchen section, Ray took out his notebook. There were cast iron skillets, utensils, mugs, baking ware, and other kitchen supplies. Some of them were silly - like the ginger bread man cake pan - but Ray made a list of what he found to report back to the runners. Some of the cooking supplies could definitely be used at the Common Grounds, but Ray had no way to transport cast iron and large pans on his motorcycle.

Ray’s eyes lit up when he found the set of canning jars. His fingers fumbled with the zipper of a duffle bag. He punched it open to its full sized and grabbed the jar sets. They were traditional mason jars, with lids and metal rings for sealing. Ray could use them at the Hard Times. If Jesse could deliver on the kettles, the jars could be labeled with what was inside and distributed to whenever they needed to go - such as the clinic and kitchen for degreasers and cleaners, and the drinkable stuff kept behind the bar - with the small chalkboard labels on the front of the jar. It was exactly what he was looking for.

Ray had some space left in the first bag and added in oven mitts, kitchen cleaners, and some other supplies that had to be in low supply at the Hard Times. There were novelty bars of soap from some military company Ray remembered seeing social media ads for before the apocalypse. He stuffed the rest of his bag full with Duke Cannon soap.

The clothing supply was written down in his notebook as well. Ray made a note of the children’s clothing sets and other kitschy outfits they had at the store. Some of it was over the top even for Ray, and he wore a Texas-sized belt buckle, boots, and a cowboy hat on a regular basis. Ray did a good job of documenting everything he could find that had potential to be useful to the town. A long list of items was catalogued as he took his time going through the stuff left behind.

The last section was one of toys, which was the least touched area of the store. In the rush to get supplies at the start of the outbreak, all of the items left behind had no practical use. People took the food, the tools, and things that would be an immediate help. No one needed toys or fifteen pound kitchen skillets to escape town. Now, though, the items could be put to go use as Fairvale rebuilt.

Ray filled up the second bag with small creature comforts, games, and other forms of entertainment that could be found. They may not be essential, but Ray knew that boredom and idle time could be worse than the undead. He grabbed a small plush barn that was cute as heck to put on the small table of his apartment and a desktop skeeball game that he could bring back for Finn. Ray made sure to grab a small keychain with a knitted crab on it, too, in case Finn wasn’t happy with the game. A deal was a deal, after all. The rest of the bag is filled with any and everything he can fit: a couple of Rubik’s cubes, decks of cards, tubes of green army men, some small magnetic drawing boards, some country-themed stuffed animals. In between the bulkier shapes, Ray added some of the books on the wall too. Some of them were obvious children’s books, to bring back for the school, and there were some camping guide books that Ray took as well, in case they had actual useful information in them. They looked pretty touristy, more novelty books than actual field guidebooks, so Ray didn’t hold his breath on that.

Two walkers were waiting for him outside near his motorcycle. Ray huffed out a sigh and carefully set down the bags. One of the undead was heavyset, an older gal before the start of the outbreak. Her name tag read “Mary Sue” and by her apron and outfit, Ray could guess that she worked at the country store. He brought his bat across her skull without hesitation, and the walker went down easily. The second walker took three hits, his skull a bit harder and undead status fresher. Ray said a small prayer for both of them, wishing their spirits peace in the afterlight and asking for forgiveness for the necessities of his own survival.

It was easy to strap the bags up to the motorcycle. Ray felt the weight difference and made sure to balance them so that he wouldn’t crash the bike trying to take a turn. The antsy feeling that had been bothering him for weeks was finally gone as he cruised through the streets. His freedom was important to Ray - and there were always going to be days he needed to escape the walls of Fairvale - but underneath that joy was the desire to get back to his job, his apartment, and he new community. The motorcycle hummed to life, and Ray rode for home, happy with what he had found for the day.

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writersrealmbts · 4 years

Text

Joining His Pack: Trials

Description: Sanctuary Series: Joining His Pack. Things have been crazy since you fell ill, and there isn’t really an end in sight.

Warnings:

Posted: 05/12/2020

Tags: Hybrid Namjoon, Wolf Hybrid Namjoon, Wolf Hybrid Reader

Angst/Fluff: 2,845 words

A/N: Only one part left after this one!

You looked around with wide eyes, wrapped in a thicker coat than would normally be necessary for this time in May. But ever since your mini-heat reaction to the suppressants—which just meant you’d have a bigger one in a few months, that’s how you always reacted—you’d been a little temperature sensitive. You walked around Namjoon’s apartment wrapped up in blankets, and wore lots of sweaters and all of his sweatshirts (he didn’t seem to mind).

But you were starting to get better, finally. And court dates had been set.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Namjoon replied, grinning.

You huffed and leaned back.

He turned down a gravel drive.

You sat up straighter, frowning slightly, until finally a house came into view.

Your house.

Your den.

Home.

You looked at him excitedly. “Is it...?”

“It’s ours, baby. We closed the day after you were discharged, but I wanted to get the windows in before I brought you.” He parked, and turned to grin at you.

You’d still been out of it when discharged, but it wasn’t anything that the doctors were concerned about. Just more side effects from the suppressants, but it had kept you mostly bedridden and groggy and not too aware of the passing of time. The pack had been visiting to keep you company while he was at work and whatnot, especially the pack pups because they helped give you more clarity throughout the day. Plus, who wouldn’t want to cuddle pups?

But this was exciting. This explained why the past couple of days you couldn’t find things that you swore you knew the locations of. This explained why he didn’t want you going to your place to get things.

“We’ve got it fixed up enough to live in, not perfect, but enough. Enough for us to be comfortable. And we moved your stuff in already. My family has been sneaking stuff out of my place all week.” He looked pretty proud of having surprised you with this.

You squealed and threw yourself across the console to kiss him. “This is the best surprise ever. I love you. I love you. I love you.” You peppered his face with kisses, ignoring his embarrassed laughter and finishing with a quick peck on his lips before you hurried out of the car to take in the sight of your house.

Even though he said they’d only done a few things, you could tell it had to be more than that. The windows looked completely replaced, the siding looked like it had a fresh coat of paint, and the porch had temporary supports. Everything looked cleaner, and the garden beds had been cleared of weeds and carefully planted.

“You happy?” He asked softly, wrapping his arms around you.

“Aren’t you?”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I’d carry you over the threshold, but—”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You already re-injured yourself while taking care of me during that mess, I’m not risking your well-being now.” You hit him lightly, then bounced. “Let’s go in!”

He laughed and took your hand, leading you up the porch and to the (brand new) front door, unlocking it and letting you enter first.

You looked around, breathing in air that smelt slightly of your pack, slightly of cleaners like pine-sol, and fresh air. Then lilac, from the bouquet of lilacs on the fireplace mantle. “Just enough to live in, huh?”

He was quiet, and when you looked back, he looked just as shocked at the sight of new flooring, and freshly painted walls. “I…they…must have worked on it more since last time.”

You grinned and wrapped your arms around his waist to just take it all in for a moment before gasping and rushing through to see the kitchen again.

The thorough cleaning made your adorable kitchen even better. They’d replaced the dingy light-fixture with a new one, which was really nice because if you remembered correctly it didn’t even make it to the counter below it.

And the master bedroom had a bed in it—that you promptly flopped on—and the room smelled like you and Namjoon, with subtle undertones of the pack (especially the littlest two of the pack pups, which you figured wasn’t too surprising since this blanket was the softest one you owned.

“Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” You exclaimed into the bedding, breathing in his scent. The way it mixed with yours. The slightly milky smell of pups.

He flopped down next to you.

“But…what are you going to do about your apartment?”

“Oh, well, Jimin’s landlord actually is a jerk and he tried to rip them off, so they’re going to move in there for now. Save up for a place they actually want for a while, and then Yoongi’s said he wants it if he can manage to get a transfer.”

You made a happy sound, and wiggled closer, resting your head on his arm. “So, are we sleeping here?”

He nodded. “If that’s okay with you?”

You nodded. “Do we have clothes here?”

“You definitely do. I’ve got some clothes here. Enough to supply me for work for the next few days.” He sighed as he relaxed. “But I can also stop by after work tomorrow and get more of our stuff.”

“You’re sure they’re okay with you missing as much work as you have?” You asked quietly, resting a hand on his chest.

“They understand, and I’ve been working from home most days where I couldn’t leave you, so I’m not exactly behind. Actually, they seemed pretty happy to let me have Tuesday off because apparently I’m ahead of everyone.” He stretched, making your head drop to the bed.

You sighed, pouting slightly at the loss of your pillow before rolling back to your feet and bouncing out to the kitchen. “Do we have food here?”

“Knowing my family? Probably.”

You opened the fridge and freezer simultaneously and grinned. “Your pack is the best.”

“They’re your pack too, baby.”

“Not yet.”

“You know I couldn’t mate you while you were sick,” He called softly.

“I know. And I do consider them my pack, but it’s still more natural to call them your pack. Oooh! Ice cream!” You grabbed the container and hugged it briefly before putting it back. “So, I was thinking.”

“Uh oh.” He came in and leaned against the counter while watching you pull out one of the dishes someone left for you two.

“Preheat the oven? 375,” You told him, reading the instructions. “Anyway, Ariel mentioned that her one friend just started her own little shop where she sells jams, preserves, candies, and ice-creams and that she was looking for someone to help for the summer. Maybe I could see if she would hire me?”

“Are you sure?”

“I mean, I’m basically fired from the clothing shop, and even if it is just for the summer, it would still be some little bit of income. Enough to help us with groceries, because lets face it, we eat a lot of meat.” You went to him and kissed him gently. “Besides, how crazy do you think I would go without something to occupy my time? I mean, we’re going to have some gardens and I really do want to work on our Christmas trees, but it’s going to take some time.”

He was smiling down at you softly, and his fingers gently brushed your cheek. “This is the most rational you’ve sounded in a while, baby. It’s nice to hear.”

You hugged him. “Sorry I’ve been such a mess.”

He chuckled. “Hey, you put up with the messes I make.” Then he kissed the top of your head. “You’re my little wolf. I would cross the world for you. I can handle a little messiness.”

You relaxed, breathing him in until the oven beeped to let you both know that it had finished preheating.

He put the dish in the oven while you set a timer and got out the strawberries and started washing them.

“But the store thing, good idea or not?”

“As long as it doesn’t become too stressful for you, baby, I think you should try for it. After we settle all of this legal stuff.” He took a strawberry and popped it into his mouth.

“I didn’t take the stems off,” You said, staring at him in surprise. “I mean, they’re edible...but probably pretty bitter.”

He nodded, turning away to pull the stem from his mouth.

You smiled at your mess of a mate. “My dorky baby.”

He chuckled, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Hungry, honey bunch?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You ready to eat?”

“Isn’t that why you’re washing the strawberries?” He countered, but he was still flustered as you pressed flirty little kisses to his neck. His hands found your waist.

“Mmhmm,” You agreed, on your toes to nibble on his ear.

“Babe…you’re still recovering.”

You nodded, humming agreement before sliding your hands over his torso and promptly turning away and running with the bowl of strawberries. “Mine!”

He sputtered, then laughed and chased after you, catching your waist and then pulling you to sit down beside him on the couch. Then he stole a berry and took a bite.

You giggled and took your own berry, looking around the room. “This is a nice couch.”

“We needed a second for this room, especially if we’re going to have family visiting. Micheal said he’d get our furniture moved this weekend. He’s got a couple of guys he needs to train, and Becca’s going to oversee it all for us. But I thought it’d be best if we weren’t around. Don’t want to wolf out on them.”

“Maybe we should go visit Yoongi and Taehyung,” You said between bites.

He smiled. “I’ll see if they’re free. We’ll have to take Eunyeong something.”

“Of course, she’s the cutest kitten and deserves all the love,” You chirped, snuggling up to him. “But maybe don’t check until after the meeting with the lawyers and the court stuff on Tuesday.”

He nodded, smile fading. “Yeah. Probably a good idea. Might want to stay home. Near the majority of the pack.”

“In which case we’re going to Emma’s and cuddling the twins.”

He nodded again, but looked distracted.

You watched him, just admiring his face while also trying to guess what he was thinking. “Are you worried about Tuesday?”

He took a deep breath and held your hand. “The last time anyone I loved was part of a court case…it was Emma. And it ended in this town giving the rights back to hybrids. Jin was the only one that went with her, he was certified as an aide-hybrid. Not because Emma really needed him, I mean, she did, but mostly because she wanted to give him as much freedom as she could. Yoongi-hyung and I were watching…but Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung couldn’t sit and listen. It was taking too long and some of it hit too close to home. They were outside, working in the garden just to avoid it.”

“I remember,” You whispered, squeezing his hand.

He squeezed it back. “That day changed our lives and…whatever the outcome on Tuesday…that will change both of our lives. Again. And I’m hoping for the better, I do trust these people. But…if we lose…I think I’ll lose more than I would have if we lost that day.”

You hummed. “You’re going to have to be on your best behavior.”

He nodded, but he didn’t seem very confident.

“But Namjoon, I think…I think you might need to stay away. Other than when you’re called upon. This is going to be…bad. It’s going to be really bad. And if either of us misbehaves we risk everything.”

He sighed, eyes closing and holding you tighter. “I know.”

“Maybe they can arrange for a separate room for you to watch in?”

“Maybe, I’ll ask Emma later.” He sounded a little relieved, and managed to relax a little as you snuggled in, scenting him a little.

You sighed softly, enjoying this moment, just in case.

His fingers lightly caressed your hair.

You frowned. “The fireplace mantle is crooked.”

He started laughing. “House still needs some improvements, baby.”

“But how is the mantle crooked!”

————

“They can’t prove it!”

“Neither can we,” The lawyer said calmly. “We can deny any false evidence they bring forward and hope our true does as well. We can only hope that the judge is as upstanding as they say and that the jury can see past the falsehoods created by the opposition.”

Emma huffed and sat down again, crossing her arms and thinking.

Jin calmly rubbed her back. “Y/n, is there any sort of concrete evidence you can provide?”

“Bank statements and pay stubs, which would show that I didn’t have any money other than what I was paid when I opened the account, and that she wasn’t originally on my account. The rental agreement with the Sanctuary. That’s about it,” You answered quietly.

Namjoon looked up. “All of these are trumped up charges. Theft? Assault? Public indecency? Disturbing the peace? Prostitution?!” He stood and went to the window, obviously angry.

“These papers will help disprove many of those charges. However, the one I’m most concerned with is the assault charge. We’re countering their charges with our own charge of defamation and wrongful arrest, but the case for the assault is fairly solid.”

“How so?” Emma asked, sounding tired.

“They have medical records from injuries incurred by here—or so they’re claiming. And they have a video of her attacking someone.”

You frowned.

“What?” Namjoon growled.

“Y/n, I need you to tell me right now, have you ever stabbed anyone in the leg?” The lawyer asked.

“No, I threatened to, but only because he was was being an asshole. I never did it and I left to make sure it would never happen.”

“And this video of you punching a security guard at the Sanctuary.”

Namjoon growled. “He understood. They’re twisting the situation.”

“Which security guard was it?” Emma asked.

“Yugyeom,” You answered. “And I gave him cookies to make up for it.”

Jin nodded and pulled out his phone.

Emma rolled her eyes. “He probably deserved it. But we can get him here and have him testify. I’m sure JB and Mark will sign off on that.”

“Is he still under their guardianship?” Namjoon asked.

Emma nodded. “All of them are, technically. But since they’re close it’s not an issue. It just means that they’ve got a safety net. Same as you all, we freed you but we also adopted you as our children.”

Micheal nodded. “They’re more like brothers so they didn’t want to go that route.”

Jin was talking lowly and you were grateful you couldn’t hear the conversation. You were stressed enough.

Emma quietly took your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Alright, he’s on his way.”

The lawyer nodded. “I’ll go notify them that I have another witness.” He gathered his things and walked off, signaling Micheal to walk with him.

Namjoon was taking slow, deep breaths. “I hate this.”

You closed your eyes.

“I know,” Emma said softly, lightly smoothing your hair. “I know you’re both frustrated. I am too. But we’re going to take care of this, even if it takes us more time than we originally thought.”

Jin was watching Namjoon. “Sit down, Namjoon,” He ordered, a slight edge to his voice.

Namjoon did as told, only hesitating for a second before complying with the pack leader’s order.

“You’re making me anxious just watching you,” Jin explained, sounding relieved now that Namjoon was sitting. “Emma, why don’t you stay back here with Namjoon and I’ll go back out.”

She nodded. “I’m going to call and check on the kids.”

He pecked her on the lips, then met your gaze. “It’s about time to head back.”

You nodded, getting up with extreme reluctance and nuzzling Namjoon’s head before following Jin out.

Jin waited until you both were out of earshot before pausing, turning to you. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. You have every right to be more frustrated and upset than any of us.”

You sighed, looking at the ground. “I just want to go home. We thought this would all be settled on Tuesday. Last Tuesday.”

He reached over and adjusted your scarf—bathed in the scent of your mate to help keep you calm—then rested his hands on your shoulders. “I know it’s asking a lot, but please try to bear with us for another hour. Okay?”

You nodded, feeling safe at the very least with your pack leader looking out for you.

“But if they try to take you anywhere, you get over that barrier and behind me. They can’t legally take you anywhere, okay?”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

“Hey, court’s in session,” Micheal called.

You followed them back to the court, awaiting your fate.

——

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Masterlist. Series Masterpost.

#kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #rm #hybrid!au #hybrid!namjoon #wolf!namjoon #wolf hybrid!namjoon #werewolf #wolf!reader #hybrid!bts #bts #bts fic #bts fanfic #sanctuary series #joininghispack fic #the sanctuary series

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