#the Claire's group get back to the rest. it looks exactly how you think it would. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spookymystery67 · 1 year ago

Text

I Wish I Could Walk In Heels

AN: Took me all day to re-read and edit this chapter and I'm still not 100% happy with it, but it is what it is. I hope you all enjoy it!

TW: Death, gore, zombie dogs, Brian Irons, language, angst, mention of sexual assault, ect. Typical Resident Evil stuff.

September 29, 1998-

Chapter 8:

"Why didn't you tell that man who the cause of all this was?" Claire asked you as she and the rest followed your lead through the streets to the orphanage. You've had to kill a few zombies and zombie dogs here and there. But nothing too extreme that your group of four couldn't handle.

"Because it wouldn't have changed anything. His wife would still be dead. His daughter would have still died. What would he have done with that information?"

"He could have fought with us. Instead of-" Leon started.

"Instead of killing himself? Look Leon, Kendo had already made up his mind right when his wife died and his daughter was infected. He had his chance last night to get out of here and decided to stay. He wouldn't have changed his mind. Not because of anything I would say to him. He didn't know me." You told him firmly.

"You could've-" You interrupt him once more, not bothering to stop your fast pace to the orphanage.

"You could have let Ben and I out sooner if you believed him. If the chips were nearby, you could have saved him. If I had paid more attention and seen Irons coming, I could have gotten Ben and Katherine out of here already. I could have stopped this whole thing a week ago if I wasn't a wimp and just shot William Birkin. Hell, Annette Birkin could have ended it if she shot him. The military could have. The police could have. Umbrella could have. So many possibilities, yet this is what is happening right now." You gestured out to the city as you paused in your step. "And there isn't much control I or any of us have over the situation. Bottom line, stop focusing on what you or I could have done in the past to improve what is happening now. Focus on what you can do right now to prevent shit from getting worse for us later. Okay?" You tell him.

He thought your words over for a moment before nodding in agreement. There is no point in focusing on what could have happened.

"You sound like you needed to hear that more than I did." He commented.

"Yeah, well, it's been a long week." You sighed.

"I just got here. So did Claire." Leon stated, trying to keep conversation going.

"I can tell, you're both nowhere near as filthy as I am." You snorted. "And Ada clearly just got here too. No way in hell she has been running around in those heels all week."

"What's with you and my shoes?" Ada questioned, torn between amused and annoyed.

"I will admit, part of me is slightly jealous that you can walk in those so easily. I wouldn't be able to wear a pair of heels to save my life." You said, as you glanced at her. "And what's with the sunglasses? It's night time. Are you trying to maintain an air of mystery or something?" You teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Sure. If that's what you want to think." Ada snorted. You nodded, a slight smile on your face.

Yes. That's exactly what she was doing.

"There's the gate to the orphanage." Claire pointed out. The gate in question had cartoon animals painted on it, so you knew she was right.

You paused when you heard a series of growls behind your group. You all quickly turned to look behind you and saw a horde of zombie dogs running in your direction. Too fast and too many for you to comfortably shoot at the moment.

"Run!" Leon yelled. Your group had no arguments as you all ran toward the orphanage gate as fast you could. Ada in the lead. Which, again, heels. How?

You quickly slammed the gate shut and locked it behind you. You gasped for breath and turned to check on everyone.

"Okay?" They nodded and you nodded back. "Alright. Onwards." You said as you quickly walked up the long cobblestone path to the front door and opened it, briefly escaping the rain.

The place was full of children's stuff. You had two choices on where you could go. Up the stairs or down the hall.

"Maybe we can split up?"

Just as Leon suggested that, you heard a scream of pain. The voice sounded male. You all quickly ran down the hall toward the noise. A little girl ran into you with a gasp, before quickly hiding behind you.

"You little bitch! You'll pay for that!" Irons yelled, before pausing when he came face to face with you and your handgun pointed directly at his face.

"Hey, Chief. Long time no see." You spat, glaring darkly at the man. You notice burn marks on his face and smirk. "Nice job, Sherry."

Sherry seemed a little conflicted with the praise. On one hand, she hurt someone. On the other hand, that someone was an awful person who was going to hurt her.

"Seriously, good job." Claire reassured her as she led Sherry further behind the group. Leon and Ada each had a gun in hand just in case Irons tried anything funny.

"Thanks." Sherry whispered shyly.

"Alright, you know why I'm here, Irons. Where's Katherine?" You asked, the gun held steady in your grasp.

He stumbled for a response, eyes darting every which way for a possible exit. Your eyes narrowed.

"Don't make me ask again. Where is she?" You were getting more and more pissed off the longer he hesitated. Your worry began gnawing at your stomach, making you feel a little nauseous.

"There's a girl on the table." Sherry said.

"You little-" you cut him off with a click as you cocked your pistol.

“Shut up. Where, Sherry? In that room?" You asked as calmly as you could, pointing toward the direction she came running from.

"Y-yes. But I don't think she's okay." Sherry hesitated.

Your heart dropped. You grit your teeth and clenched your jaw. You took a deep breath in an attempt to maintain calm. "Really? Well, why don't we go see? Claire, stay with Sherry please."

She nodded. "Of course. Come on, Sherry. We'll wait in the lobby." She grabbed Sherry's hand and led her away from what is likely about to be a very violent scene.

"You two can do whatever you want. I'm taking Irons here to see the damage." You said to Ada and Leon. You grabbed Irons arm roughly and placed the gun against his head so he wouldn't try anything.

"We'll go with you. In case you need back up." Leon stated. Ada simply nodded in agreement.

Leon clearly wanted to assist you out of the kindness of his heart. You couldn't tell why Ada would help you. Those large sunglasses really do block any minuscule signs of emotion, making it extremely difficult to read her. You assumed that was probably the point.

"Alright, after you. No funny business." You told Irons as you shoved him forward, arm still held tightly in your grasp.

He reluctantly moved forward. He opened the door to the room and you shoved him forward once more when he hesitated in the doorway.

You walked in and examined the room, nearly wanting to throw up as you gasped at the sight before you, letting go of the man's arm in shock.

It was Katherine, lying flat on the table in her pretty white dress. Her skin was paler with a tint of blue to it.

You hesitantly walked forward and reached out to check her pulse, flinching slightly when you felt her slightly cool skin. Her heartbeat was gone. She hadn't been gone long.

Katherine was dead.

Irons turned to run away once he was out of your grasp, but Leon grabbed him by the arms and Ada quickly pointed her gun at him, making him freeze once more.

Tears were sliding down your face for what seemed like the millionth time today. You had been so close. So close to saving her. But you were too late.

Despite your conversation with Leon earlier, your mind couldn't help but go through the what-ifs and what you could have done differently. For starters, you could have not stopped and wasted your time with conversations. You could have not stopped at Kendo's gun shop and looked through it to see if there was anything of use left. You could have just made a run for it from the police station to the damn orphanage.

What if.

Could have.

What could have been.

You sniffled and choked back a sob, turning to glare at the man responsible with pure hatred rolling through every fiber of your being. You hated this man. You loathed him. And you wanted him gone.

Your tears had fallen down your face and you wiped them away, not wanting to look weak in front of the man. You raised your gun at him, ready to shoot his fucking face off. Ada and Leon stood back and watched the scene unfold, guns in hand in case something were to go wrong.

Irons fully laughed at you, deranged and disbelieving. "You won't shoot me, girl. You couldn't. Even if you wanted to."

You laughed bitterly. "I wouldn't be so sure about that." Your sharp eyes pierced through his. If you didn't know anything about this man, the psychotic look on his burned face would tell you exactly everything you'd need to know.

He did this.

You walked closer to Irons and held your gun steadily toward him.

"You're going to confirm everything I know. Out loud!" You told him, the venom in your voice and gun raised directly at his forehead showing him how serious you are.

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I will shoot you if you don't." You pushed the barrel of the gun on his forehead for emphasis.

He went to grab the gun in his holster, but you quickly reared back and pistol whipped him in the face, hard, knocking him back and sending him to the floor, grunting.

"Toss the gun away, or the next thing I do with this gun is kill you!" You snapped.

He seemed to understand that you weren't joking around. Still sprawled on the ground with a bruised and bloodied cheek, burn marks on his now disfigured face.

He now looked on the outside how he was on the inside, in your opinion.

Slowly, he grabbed the gun from his side and put it on the ground.

"Slide it to them." You motion with your head towards Ada and Leon, and he reluctantly slid his gun across the room toward the exit, Ada quickly picked it up.

"Stand up, and back up toward the wall." He did as you said, away from any doors or windows to run from, leaving you standing by the table with the body of your dead best friend. But you refused to look away from him.

"Now, I want you to answer everything I ask truthfully. Do you understand?" He nodded, eyes glaring into you. "Did you or did you not accept bribes from Umbrella to keep the police from investigating them?"

"I did." He confirmed.

"Did you or did you not, become in charge of the Raccoon City Orphanage to help disguise Umbrella's use of child test subjects and experimentation?" Leon gasped slightly at the question, not understanding how anyone could go as far as to hurt children in the name of science.

"I did." Irons eyes darted for an exit strategy, but stopped when Ada pointed her gun at him in your support. Leon followed her action by raising his own gun.

"LOOK AT ME!" You shouted angrily, causing everyone to jump and Irons to look at you. "Are you or are you not a rapist and a serial killer?"

"...I am."

"Did you or did you not kill your secretary this June after she uncovered your dealings with Umbrella?"

He glanced away, and you turned your gun and shot it at the wall on his left side. He jumped and shouted in surprise, raising his arms up higher.

"I did!"

"Did you snatch eight young women off the streets and murder them?"

"I did."

"Did you turn their bodies into taxidermy? Is that why the police couldn't find their bodies?"

"Yes, I did." His face showed a sliver of sick joy at the thought of it, making you and everyone else feel uneasy.

You walked a step closer, gun held steady.

"You locked Ben up and left him for dead."

"I did." He spat at the mention of the man. The man who almost gave him away. Who almost ruined everything for him.

"You sabotaged the police department and killed many officers and pedestrians in the process." Your hands began to shake slightly, rage bottling up to an all time high.

"I did." The joy of his deranged features increased.

"You killed, Katherine." Your breathing increased as you attempted to calm your shaking hands and rapidly beating heart.

"No." You paused briefly, confused. "No, I let her go." He continued. "Then I hunted her down through the halls of the station like a wild animal."

Your shaking hands increased, heartbeat pounding in your ear drums, yet you continued to hear every word from the man.

"She almost got away. Almost. She would have, if she wasn't so predictable in going toward the cell blocks. She was running to save you. You should have heard the screams. She called for you. Y/n. That's your name right? That's the name she yelled as I dragged the bitch by her hair through the station." Irons mocked.

Tears burned at your eyes and your breathing had turned to hyperventilating. The anger that burned at your chest was practically painful.

"You were supposed to protect them!" You yelled furiously. You were not only implying Katherine, but everyone else who had fallen victim to the horrible man.

"I was never going to protect them. Katherine was a goner as soon as the mayor left her in my care. She was always meant to be my trophy. He just made it easier for me to get her." His laugh was cruel, any sanity within him long gone.

If he ever had any at all.

The laughing was cut off by a bullet to the neck. He froze in shock for a moment, all eyes turned to look at the smoking gun in your hands in surprise.

You did it.

You actually did it.

His injury caught up to him and he collapsed to the floor, choking on his own blood as he took desperate gasps for air.

You pointed your gun down and glanced at the table to your right. You could have mistaken her for sleeping if her eyes weren't wide open. You slowly stepped up to her and used two fingers to close her eyelids for good.

There, now she looked like she was at peace. Simply asleep.

If only.

Your eyes turned back to the man gurgling on the floor. No, the monster. He was far worse than those things outside. The things that used to be innocent people that you feel you have failed. Maybe if you had done something sooner. But what could you have done? Everyone with power in this city, in this country, was in on it. You and Ben were doomed from the start.

You stared with distant eyes, ears still ringing from the sudden gun shot, as Irons looked around desperately for any chance of something, anything, saving him. You walked forward as he choked on the floor, crouching down to his level with a dark glare in your slightly red eyes and dried tears on your face as the ringing subsided.

"You don't deserve a quick and painless death. Even this is less than you deserve. It's a pity I can't make this last." You spat, rage still writhing in your chest. You watched as the blood ran down his hands that were desperately clutching at his throat.

"I never wanted to do this. I never wanted to murder anyone. You forced my hand, Irons. You've done too much harm in this world for too long. It's about time someone stops you."

Fueled by rage and adrenaline, you grabbed him by his graying hair and dragged him out of the room, moving Ada and Leon aside as you walked through the lobby past Claire and Sherry. Pushing the front door open to the yard, you dragged the man to the front gate where the zombie dogs were previously blocked. You pulled the gate open and pushed the choking man through.

You whistled to gather the attention of the zombie dogs that had went elsewhere. The six dogs came running and growling, immediately gathering around the former Chief.

They brutally bit and teared and ate away at Irons. He jerked and yelled through his bloodied throat. The gurgling sound was truly pathetic. You watched with distant eyes as he was ripped apart.

You didn't feel any better now that he was dead. Your friends were still gone. All those people were still dead. The only thing you may have accomplished just now was preventing Irons from hurting anyone else in the future.

You shook your head to get rid of your thoughts and quickly shut the gate. You took a deep breath to compose yourself, counted to 10, before walking back inside.

"Did you really have to kill him?" Leon questioned as you walked through the door. Him and Ada had moved to the lobby to wait for you.

You glared. "What should I have done? Let you arrest him?"

"Not kill him." Leon said. You sighed in frustration.

"Okay, we get it, you're a great guy. Never change, Leon. But something you should know about me, I don't let people who hurt the ones I care about get away unscathed. And frankly, Irons had it coming. One way or another he wasn't making it out of this city. I sure as hell wouldn't have taken him with me. Would you have?" You asked.

You maybe could have been a little nicer about it. After all, it was a valid question. Did you really have to kill him?

Murder wasn't right. But your emotions and your anger had gotten the best of you. You never thought you would become a murderer. You never understood how someone could just go through with ending another person's life like that.

You shocked yourself when you pulled that trigger. When you dragged the man who was twice your size out the door to be eaten alive. When you ended his life for good.

Maybe you were no better than Irons.

Leon looked conflicted. He knew murder was wrong. But all Irons did was hurt and murder people. Should he really be all that upset about it?

He stayed silent and you nodded. What's done is done.

"Great. Glad we solved that problem. Now, NEST?" You looked around for Sherry and Claire. "Where the hell did Sherry and Claire go? They were here a few minutes ago."

"Something spooked Sherry and she ran away. Claire went after her." Leon explained.

"Where?"

"Over here." Ada motioned to the door. "Any ideas where this leads?"

You reach into your bag for the map of NEST you found when you first went. "That would be the entrance to NEST. I guess we'll catch up to them." You turned to look back toward the room where your friend still lied.

"Do you want to say good-bye?" Leon asked. Ada stayed silent, letting you decide what you wanted to do next.

You shook your head after a moment. "No. It won't change anything. Let's just go." You started leading the way.

"It could give you closure." Leon said.

"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do here. But stop. We have a job to do. Plus, I can tell Ada is getting impatient." You stated.

"I could still give you a few minutes." Ada offered. She wasn't as cold at that moment as she had been all night. You were thankful for her and Leon's offer, but you didn't think you would be able to hold it together if you saw Katherine again. It was best to move on.

No matter how painful it was for you.

"No. Again, I appreciate it. But, no. Let's just move on." You turned your back to the room, not wanting to look any longer.

You walked down the tunnel to the elevator at the end. Once you all had gathered inside, you pressed the button and the elevator began its descent.

"So, what do you want to know, Ada? From what I've gathered, you know a lot already." You said, attempting to break the uncomfortable silence that had surrounded the small space.

"I know mostly everything that you know. I know that Annette Birkins is the one responsible for this mess. And I'm going to bring her down. What I need to know from you is where the G-virus is so I can do that." Ada explained.

The elevator stopped and you all walked out. You followed the map leading you further down the tunnels toward NEST.

"Well, I can show you Birkins lab. We might have to take a look around the facility, though. There were people taking samples of the virus to sell on the blackmarket. So I doubt there is anything left in Birkins lab." Ada nodded in agreement.

"How can they have a whole underground facility without the authorities knowing?" Leon questioned.

"Welcome to corporate America. Umbrella's controlled Raccoon City for years." Ada deadpanned.

"Yeah, Irons was Chief of police and worked with Umbrella, remember? No one was looking for a secret underground facility. Well, no one until Ben and I." You explained.

"You said you were there on the night this all started?" Ada asked.

"Yeah. Looking for intel. I had a man from the inside help me get in here."

"Get anything good?"

"Yes. Information on the viruses, and additional things, the scientists were working on down here. What Umbrella did with the kids in the orphanage. Dealings they had with authority figures. I had proof, but I lost it at some point throughout the week." You lied.

You weren't going to tell Ada you gave the drive away to a S.T.A.R.S member. Truth be told, you didn't really trust her. Or Leon for that matter. They were strangers. The only reason you were still helping them was because they held up their end of the bargain and took you to Katherine. Even though it turned out to be too late, you still appreciated them trying.

"What was yours and Ben's goal? Why go through all this trouble?" Leon asked. You felt saddened at the mention of Ben, but tried to shake it off.

"Well, for Ben, it started out as a good story. He was a private journalist. Hired me when I was looking for a job." You reminisced. "But it slowly morphed from a good story to a need to shut the bastards down. To show the citizens of Raccoon City what their officials and so called "heroes" were really up to. To show the world. We had to stop them."

"A little ambitious for a couple of private journalists." Ada commented.

"Oh, we were in way over our heads." You agreed. "But we already got so far with the information we collected. We couldn't just stop. We had to see it through. And then, well, everything happened." You sighed sadly.

"Are you getting cold feet?" Ada asked. She couldn't tell if you wanted to continue with the mission or if you wanted to back out. She wouldn't give you the option to leave. She needed your knowledge.

"No. I want to see this through. Even if it kills me. At this point, I don't think that is entirely out of the realm of possibilities."

"We'll be fine." Leon said, clearly determined to make it and for everything to be alright.

"Hmm, an optimist and a hero, Leon? Never change. From what I've seen, the world could use more people like you." You said.

You made it to a door and Leon pushed you back slightly to open it first, just in case something dangerous was on the other side.

"Definitely Williams handiwork…" A woman said, crouched over a dead body. You all quietly make your way inside.

"Identify yourself!" Leon said, holding up his gun.

Ada held her gun up. "Annette Birkin."

"She's who we're looking for? The one who created the viruses?" Leon asked. You nodded.

"Not much time… Need to dispose of it." Annette muttered.

"We're here for the G-virus!" Ada said.

"Huh, that's not gonna happen." Annette scoffed. She noticed you standing there and furrowed her brow in confusion.

"I'm warning you, doctor." Ada said.

"Oh yeah?" Annette tossed a lighter to the body, setting it on fire and ran away.

"STOP!" Ada yelled. She rushed after her around the corner and you want to follow.

Gunshots went off and Leon quickly went to cover Ada, who was in the line of fire. You stayed ducked behind the wall, out of range. Leon fell to the ground, having been shot through the shoulder. Ada tried shooting Annette, but she ran past a thick, steel metal door as it shut.

"You'll never get the G-virus!" Annette yelled as the metal door shut.

"Didn't expect that from a scientist." Ada snarked. You noticed her sunglasses had been knocked off her face.

"Honestly, I'm not surprised." You said. Leon groaned in pain on the ground, catching your attention.

"Leon…" Ada ducked to the ground, leaning over to check on his wound. You followed.

"Forget about me… Just go… Stop her before she gets away." Leon passed out right after those words. Ada looked conflicted, before she finally decided to stay and help patch up his wound.

"Can you help me patch him up?" Ada asked you.

"I don't really have much knowledge on that stuff. I have a first aid kit though." You hesitated.

"That's fine. Just hand it here and do as I say." Ada said.

You nodded and kneeled on the floor beside her and Leon, digging through your bag to grab the first aid kit you had.

"Here." You handed her the kit. She nodded her thanks and started patching Leon up.

"So, do you have to do this often?" You asked.

"Do what?" Ada asked.

"Patch yourself or someone up. You seem to know what you're doing." You said as you watched her work.

Ada shrugged. "It's basic training. Everyone in the FBI knows this."

"Right. And in the FBI, do they also teach the women to kick ass in heels and wear sunglasses in the dark?" You teased.

Ada snorted and smirked. "The heels again? No. That's just my thing. Why, you interested?"

"In what? You?" You asked stupidly.

Ada actually laughed at that. "No, in joining the FBI."

You blushed in embarrassment. "Right. Uh, no. After all this, I think I've had enough of corporate America to last a lifetime."

"Hmm, so what are you gonna do? When all of this is over?" She asked as she began wrapping Leon's wound.

"I- I don't know. Lay low? Stay out of trouble for a while. Find some place to live." You shrugged.

"Any ideas on where?"

"No. I honestly haven't thought about it much. I had a solid thing going on before the outbreak. I had my apartment. I had my friends. I had a job where I was actually doing something that felt important. And as weird as it sounds, despite all of the danger we were putting ourselves in, I was happy." You trailed off.

"And now?" Ada questioned.

"And now it's all gone. All of it. My apartment. My job…. My friends. I honestly don't know how to go on with life after this."

Ada sighed as she finished patching up Leon's shoulder. "One day at a time. That's a start." She stood up and held her hand out to help you stand. You took it.

"We'll go after Annette in a few moments. Take a breather." She said as she helped you to your feet.

"We'll just leave him here?" You asked, referring to Leon.

"Well, we can't take him when he's passed out. He'll be fine. The area is secure." Ada said. You hesitated before nodding in agreement.

She's right. He's a big boy, he'll be alright.

#ada wong #ada wong x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #claire redfield #jill valentine #leon kennedy #raccoon city #idk what else to tag #I Wish I Could Walk In Heels

32 notes · View notes

allforafro · 10 months ago

Text

in today's live report more emoticons, because somehow I could not find the right words

There are also a few sentences taken out of context, the meaning of which I no longer remember

but I hope you like it anyway

3.10

Eclipse? I wonder if that will make sense

I think you have a lot in common

You make a great partnership lol

Good question. why is it always her? give her a rest

Lock her in a cell

aww 🥰 it's nice to watch peter and nathan's interactions, the tenderness, care and love between them is good

Yes! the Petrelli brothers duo steps into action

this is terrible

why does he need these organs? probably science

his hand yuck

Mohinder, you really thought that Arthur was interested in helping you, to me it looks like he only wants to use you

whatever

I understand that daphne has concerns about what arthur might do but i think she should tell matt the truth

they came to them 😆

we will all die. don't dramatize it, probably only some people will die

I get it, sometimes Noah's need for control and protection is terrible

I wonder if they will be waiting for them in this house?

how is he going to read his mind if he doesn't know Japanese

🥲

I try to be responsible. I guess so, but telling dad everything every five minutes sounds like a lack of trust on dad's part

Xd elle

NO!!! bad sylar, killing is bad

sylar is traumatized after being almost killed by a group of heroes

monster 😳

yuck! spider web or other stuff

It's good that they talked about it

I don't know why but I feel like Arthur underestimates Nathan and treats him like a pushover or something

I wanted to ask who's side Tracy is on, but it's probably obvious that it's hers

hostile eclipse begins

what?! what he is doing?

it's disgusting but at least Mohinder looks sexy again

It took Arthur and Mohinder a long time to figure out what the eclipse was about, but it only took Peter a moment, clever

it's better to go as the map shows

this scene is funny when matt tries to use his ability

brothers' quarrel

the Haitians got tired of waiting for them so he found them himself

there is no power 😏

you should have practiced more

claire no

exactly matt even without powers you can be her hero

listen to Peter and help him

I hope they don't do anything to Nathan

why no one wants to listen to Sandra, this woman makes the most sense in this family

she has trouble walking

you have always been, idiot, the powers did not make you more, grow up at last

will he kill them? We'll find out in the next episode

3.11

you think well peter

it's not power that makes you a hero peter

and they just had sex in an abandoned house, it's kinda weird

he shot her

traces of blood

noah the hunter

well said

I guess I should take it more seriously

why is he looking through this book backwards?

Did he think it would change his point of view?

with big people who had power it usually turned out that their paranoia was justified

dang don't let yourself get burned, mo

let yourself be helped daphne

I'm not surprised, I think so too

I'm not surprised, I would also be skeptical

that's right, noah is better than you now

but has he really changed for good?

😭😭 don't break down claire, no!!!!

hunter vs. hunted, just who's who

are you trying to deal with him with psychology?

hopeless, his daughter dies and he wastes time on revenge, I understand he is angry but he should be by her side now

is he dead?

she died no 😭

the eclipse ended and they regained their powers

listen to him daphne matt is right

what will happen to peter?

yes, nathan came to his aid

I doubt you can cope against the Haitian's ability

and everything went back to what it was before 🥲

he doesn't believe it but he's a comic book salesman, what wouldn't you do for money?

jokes aside, good motivational speech

the best day of your life

ok, I had to calm down for a moment, I laughed at this exchange between Noah and Sylar in the Bennet house

it happened, the truth had to come out, the truth usually has that, you can't escape from it

bad man, save the cheerleader, hiro is brilliant

he gave the sketches to the courier, things get interesting

I understand where Nathan's idea comes from, it's actually not that bad, but how can you be sure that you will give the powers to the right person - a good one?

I doubt arthur wants to help people for good intentions

that's right mohinder, no medicine will help you fight your dark side

why don't you tell him the truth

you don't trust him?

wtf! where did you get this nonsense gabriel, people can change but it requires constant work on yourself

why did you kill her? 😭 bad sylar bad, -50 points to liking character

ok, what's next?

3.12

hiro is funny

if you don't know what's going on, it's better to stick together, otherwise without hiro you won't be able to get back to the present

wait, if I understand their conversation correctly, doesn't hiro's mother mean that she is the catalyst, wow

so they gave the catalyst to claire, right?

healer

scene when they talked together in the same time was funny

I wonder if he recognized him

good that at least the phone works

he set her on fire, at least he gave her some burial

From what we have seen so far, it seems that Arthur is willing to sacrifice everything to achieve his goal

yeah, he has a vision that you are president (flashbacks to five years gone) this is definitely your place. I don't know why but I feel bad for Nathan

random, well that's usually the way it goes in genetics

of course it has to be a super soldier project, sigh - a classic

how adorable

Claire has a good hand with kids (whispers, is that how they say it in english?)

scenes with little Claire were adorable and had me smiling the whole time

cake? seriously, you couldn't come up with anything better

war is a terrible thing

less wind, good

it was obvious that he would want to escape

don't show touching scenes because I can't cry when I'm sick

he trusted her, oh noah, even if you don't know that you are talking to your daughter, you somehow feel your connection

no, she will help him and die 🥲

at least she died knowing that hiro had reconciled with his father 😭

I've only known hiro's mom for one episode but I already love her

There's nothing wrong with wanting to save your father, peter

random thought - what if arthur isn't the dangerous threat

ok, the elevator scene 👌

where did he come from?

we have a problem

At least he's alive, although in his current state I don't know if that's that much consolation

I can not look at this

I'd also be afraid to take medicine from a mutant guy

oh shit

Maybe it's just me, but I feel like they were a bit lame in getting rid of such a powerful character as Arthur. but on the other hand, how else would they do it? well at least peter didn't kill him

strong

3.13

Petrelli brothers another clash

good thing peter hit him, this plan has many flaws, how can nathan not see it

atmosphere like in a horror

he will keep them locked up until only one of them remains

your motley crew has little chance of defeating him

this text was great claire

in a sense, yes, but not necessarily, not definitely, you are different

but he's not there

yes, hiro pigeon will help you

interesting twist

I like that Matt has grown into the responsible one in the group

I hope wishful thinking works

little hiro and big hiro are a nice duo

no, this part is the worst only for you

Sylar is such a baby 🙄

these psychological games are interesting

Doyle - shudders

oh that noah

ok, officially matt, daphne, ando are the best team of the season

red lightning?

Oh my gosh, he can kill from a distance

How will they survive this?! someone help them

the word you are looking for is jealousy. admit to yourself that you envy him

what power does he have?

well, if she runs fast enough, she will be able to go back in time, like flash - if they read comics, they would know that

so ando can supercharge others' powers

lol I thought it was him who grabbed her hand, damn this episode is great

I know I'm stating the obvious here, but Sylar, you know nothing about love

what did you expect

uff, good thing they made it before Hiro's father cut him

he apologized to her before he hit her

why do they have to fight

peter used the formula on himself to save nathan 🥹

Angela tries to manipulate the situation until the end to get out of the situation alive

Damn she knows what to say

nathan villain arc

I can't wait for the next part

#too many characters to tag #heroes review #nbc heroes

0 notes

hansolmates · 4 years ago

Text

17 going on 27

summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken. pairing; photographer!jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england w/c; 22.6k a/n; it’s that time of the year baby! the time of the year where i binge watch the good ol’ early 2000s romcoms that make absolutely no sense! a huge thank u to @eerieedits for making this beautiful banner. vivi got the whole delia’s/claire’s vibe down to a t!

if you enjoy this fic pls consider giving it a like and a share✨✨✨

March 19th, 2011

Thirty, flirty, and thriving!

You finger the dog-eared magazine, last month’s issue of a shoddy fashion magazine that featured top actress Jennifer Garner on the front cover. Her caramel brown highlights practically glow on the page, blown out and beautiful. You suppress a sigh, you long to be the radiant young woman on the cover. The headline is glittery, sparkly and just begging for attention.

Swiping a hand through the pages, your eyes are crowded with over-stimulation. Colorful models dressed up in the latest designs, Chanel and Burberry suits you can only dream of, and happy women at the prime of their lives.

Twenty-seven and in Heaven! You smile wryly at the cheesy rhyme that headlines the following pages, but nevertheless the happy model on the spread does indeed look like they’re in heaven.

Sure, you’re no shrinking violet. Heck, you don’t even consider yourself painfully average. You may not be on the traditional spectrum of popularity in high school, but you get around and have a wonderful best friend and an even better boyfriend. However given the social classes that preside, you do get those moments where you second guess your life’s position. Good thing high school has an expiration date, and you’re close to the end.

“Baby Bun, what are you doing?” the magazine is snatched from your grasp, thrown on the table without a care in the world. Jennifer Garner’s hydro-whitened smile gleams tauntingly at you, “reading that junk is gonna mess with your head.”

Your boyfriend returns from his final suit fitting, his outfit for tonight all pressed and ready to go. He pouts at you, pulling you up by the hand to lead you out of the Men’s Warehouse. Jeon Jungkook. Captain of the lacrosse team, flying by high school with a sports scholarship already in the bag. Eats up attention like plants soak up the sun. Secretly loves taking photographs of his dog and watching Netflix animes at your house.

“Aren’t you excited for prom?”

“Excited to listen to LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem on repeat?” you guaff, “as if.”

He pinches your arm lightly, “You also forget that we’re gonna tear up the floor to Nicki Minaj’s Superbass.”

You shrug listlessly, crunching the white plastic closer to your body.

Before you can suck all the air out of the garment bag, Jungkook carefully extracts it from your grasp, easily holding it between his one arm so he can thread his other hand through yours. “I am excited! It’s just that… Jimin’s not gonna be there and we’re sitting with the Yearbook committee.”

Looking down at the floor you extract your hand from his, slipping into his parent’s Honda Civic. The yearbook committee, meaning you’d be sitting at a table with head editor Jennie and her group of friends. Friends that are popular and pretty, just like Jungkook.

Jimin is currently on a flight back from Korea due to a family funeral, therefore leaving a seat empty at your prom table. It was only seat that you cared about, other than Jungkook’s. It’s no one’s fault and Jimin of course is doubly upset to miss prom, but without your best friend you’re not sure if you can survive the night.

One of the few secrets you keep from Jungkook is the fact that Jennie and you aren’t exactly friendly to each other. You don’t know why, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t run the in same friend group or you always win the debate in Civics class, but Jennie clearly expresses her dislike for you as easily as she expresses her love for Jungkook.

Which makes you incredibly insecure, but Jennie and Jungkook have been friends for longer than you and him have been together, who are you to intervene?

Jungkook slips in the driver’s seat, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

Right. You’re Jungkook’s girlfriend, and that should matter more than his friendship with Jennie.

But the smell of his freshly cleaned lacrosse jersey, his duffle bag overflowing with protein powder and unfinished assignments remind you that you have your world and he has his. A conversation about your insecurities could wait until tomorrow.

“When’s Jimin’s flight?” Jungkook asks, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping on your thigh as he pulls out.

“He’ll be back two hours into the dance,” you report, albeit glumly as you rest your head against the cool window.

“That sucks,” Jungkook replies, a bit of sadness in his tone, “he has to miss out on his prom night.”

You shrug, “Prom isn’t everything, it’s about the people you spend it with.”

“Well then,” he squeezes your thigh, “I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”

You only have a few hours to get ready until you meet Jungkook at his house for pictures, so when you get dropped off, you tell him that he doesn’t have to get out of the car to escort you into your home. But Jungkook is insistent, putting the car in park and getting out your dress for you with such delicacy that you’re positively sure there’s no wrinkles in the fabric. Taking the dress from his grasp you wish him goodbye and a promise to meet each other later.

“Wait,” Jungkook is biting his lip, unable to let go of your hand even though you’re already up the stairs. You’re looking down at him, a rarity considering his tall frame.

“What’s wrong, Kook?”

“Uh, I was just thinking,” he’s scratching the back of his head, and you soften. The little quirk he has is a sign of insecurity, being the star player Jungkook is forced to exude confidence to a fault. “Maybe, we could skip the prom thing? You said so yourself that prom is about the people you spend it with.”

Your eyes widen, clutching your dress tighter. “What? Jungkook, that’s ridiculous. Between the both of us we’ve spent a lot of money on the clothes and the tickets.”

“Right,” he forces a laugh, and you put a hand on your hip to think it out but you can’t quite place what’s going on. “Sorry Bun, I just know how the finale of our favorite anime airs tonight.”

“You’re so silly,” you chastise, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Normally he hates it, but you can’t help but melt when he leans into your touch a little more. “C’mon, I know suits are stuffy and stuff, but let’s just do this high school rite of passage thing. Afterwards we can go to McDonalds or something and watch the recording.”

“You’re right,” his face is red, “what was I thinking? Can’t miss out on a night to see my beautiful girlfriend all dressed up.”

He squeezes your hand one last time, a little too tight for comfort. With a half smile he waves, going into his car and driving off.

You don’t have time to dwell on his weirdness (and trust when you say that Jungkook is plenty weird and it astounds you how the rest of your class has no idea) so you fly up to your room to get your hair and makeup ready. Your parents greet you excitedly along the way, telling you there’s a package left for you on your vanity.

It’s a plain cardboard box, already cut and unwrapped by your parents for convenience. The address shows it came from Korea, proudly displaying the name of your best friend on the return address. Inside is a beautiful compact, made of brushed gold and pink metal. The makeup inside is a loose glitter from a brand that you don’t recognize, but since it’s a gift from Jimin, you trust his taste.

I have to be at prom somehow, Jimin’s note on the box reads, don’t overthink and have fun!

You snort, reading the sticky note over and over in Jimin’s voice. Looking over the shade, you can’t help but grimace at the cliché name. Wishing Dust. The color is a little too white and silvery for your taste, but you’ll wear it in honor of Jimin.

The dress, the hair, the makeup all come together little by little. You like the ritual of getting ready, building yourself up to the highest order and feeling closer and closer to the beautiful women in magazines. Surprisingly, your favorite part of getting ready is applying the glitter that Jimin gifted you. The puff enclosed is cloud soft, and surprisingly the color doesn’t look too ashen on your skin. The glitter sinks into your skin like a soft butter, accentuating your collarbones and cheeks as if you are glowing from within.

You smile at yourself in the mirror. A little part of you wishes you could look like this everyday. You wish you could always look and feel this confident, and act mature and graceful.

A buzzing on your desk stops your wishful thinking, and you frown at the message that lights up your phone.

Jungkook: sorry bun, but the civic finally broke down and its on its way to car heaven. Could we meet at the party hall instead? We can take pictures there, jennie mentioned yearbook hired a photographer

Disheartened, you send a quick text back saying it’s fine. Any more explanation on your feelings would reveal your disappointment. You don’t know how you’re going to tell your parents that they won’t be taking pictures with your boyfriend anytime soon. So you suck it in and take solo pictures for your parents and some group selfies. This is just one bump in the night, the rest of it should be smooth sailing.

But when your parents drop you off at the venue your eyes first land on a beat up Honda Civic. You’re pretty sure car heaven isn’t at the prom.

The rest of your entrance is a blur as you go through every corner of the venue, searching for your boyfriend. You’re clutching his matching flower in your hand, a beautiful red rose with baby’s breath circling around it, all clutched together in a black silk ribbon. You wonder what kind of flower he bought you.

But it’s nearly impossible to find him. Not at the photobooth, the appetizer buffet, or in the lobby. It’s not until you’re sweating at the brow and nearing the corner of the venue that you do find him.

Lips locked, kissing Jennie.

The plastic encasing Jungkook’s boutonniere drops, clanging to the ground.

Whispers of you circle the air, meeting your ears and confirming all your insecurities.

“Oh my god, I knew Jungkook was cheating on her!”

“Wow, how pathetic. She ran all the way to prom alone to see this?”

“I thought his girlfriend was a smart girl. How did she not know that their relationship was a bet all along?”

Jungkook and Jennie are on the balcony, looking picture perfect in matching formal attire and flowers. The sun is setting, not taking its time as it sinks deeper and deeper into the horizon. The sky darkens and the air is chilly, much like your heart.

Jungkook's eyes are wide and in shock as he watches you from the balcony, but Jennie’s are sharp and satisfied. Satisfied, as if the whole thing had been orchestrated.

While you can’t hear him because he’s so far away, you can see the ghost of your name on his lips. Your ears are ringing, numb to the laughter of the students watching and the pity that others are throwing at you. You feel dumb. You feel like throwing up. In a bout of anger your heel digs into the plastic of the boutonniere, crushing the innocent rose in its clear coffin.

You don’t make it far out the door when one of your favorite teachers snatches you in concern.

“Honey, any further and you’ll be running on the highway," Mrs. Song jokes, pulling you away from the entrance.

You feel like a newborn deer in your heels and incredibly heavy in your dress as Mrs. Song drags you over to a staff bathroom. It's far, far away from the actual party. Mrs. Song doesn't say anything, and just gives you a sad smile as she let's you go into the single stall alone.

Sitting on the toilet and not giving a care that your dress is probably getting soiled, you bury your face in your hands and finally let the tears flow. Fat, frustrated tears roll down your cheeks without a care in the world.

"Mrs. Song please, I need to get in there."

"Now Jungkook, I think you've done enough for today. Go back to the party and don't worry about it."

You can imagine Jungkook now, he hated it when people told him not to worry. It only made him more annoyed, fists probably clenched under his perfectly tailored suit and his cute teeth uncharacteristically gritted. He cared to a fault, at least you thought he did. He ruined your night, he made you feel so dumb and silly.

But the longer you stayed in the dim bathroom, you could care less. Thank goodness for Mrs. Song guarding the door. Why would he bother to follow you? It turns out all your insecurities are not in vain, and that you’ve been ignoring a gut feeling you’ve mistaken for your lack of trust. You shouldn’t have trusted Jungkook. You shouldn’t have been so tolerable of Jennie.

Goodness, you feel so stupid. You hope that there are other bathrooms for staff to use, because you want to coop yourself in here until the last dance. Mascara drips on your sleeves, your hands swiping at your cheeks to stop any tears from staining your dress even further.

The more you hear Jungkook and Mrs. Song argue, the more you want to disappear. You bury yourself on the floor, uncaring of how dirty the tiles are. Glitter smears across your cheeks and sticks to your hands, and you no longer feel like the thriving young adult you once felt when you walked out the door this evening.

All you can do is cry and pray you can get through the night. And the next day, and the rest of senior year. You don’t want to see Jungkook or Jennie until graduation, when they walk out of the door and permanently out of your life. You wish you could skip the rest of the semester, and fastforward to the life you’ve carved for yourself in your dreams since freshman year. You wish you could be like the woman on the magazine, who has her whole life put together. To be a woman who holds all the confidence in the world and doesn’t have to worry about stupid men.

Just like the cover. Thirty, flirty and thriving. Just like the models in the magazines. Twenty-seven and in heaven.

Just once, do you want to taste the feeling of having life on your side.

March 20st, 2021

Your first thought is that you feel disgusting.

Of course, falling asleep in a random bathroom stall will make you feel those things. Your dress clinging uncomfortably to your sweating form, lulled to the sounds of Mrs. Song’s temperamental voice and Jungkook’s arguing.

But for some reason it’s a different kind of disgusting. The feeling is rotting in your throat, as if there’s a tang stuck to the roof of your mouth. You also feel impossibly dehydrated, as if you’ve run a marathon. And for some reason you’re sore? Especially in the crotch, and you don’t remember experiencing any cramps yesterday.

Your hands come to your body, and instead of feeling tulle and taffeta your hands are greeted with a silky black negligee that hangs across your waist. Panic stings in your bones like a stroke of lightning.

Eyes snapping open, your breath catches in your throat when you take in the room. You’re on a large plush creme couch, large enough to be a bed. The organza curtains are a shade of bottle green and are opened slightly to let the morning sun in. From your view it seems like this is the top floor of the complex, overlooking the city horizon.

You feel the covers shift slightly, and you realize there’s a naked man sleeping next to you. You scream.

The man screams back with an even higher pitch, falling off the couch and clutching the sheets like a lifeline. “What?” he panics, eyes darting back and forth across the room like he’s on a reality television show. “What the fuck? Is there something on my face! Why are you screaming so early!”

The fact that he’s an adult man and you’re seventeen is even more terrifying, and you feel absolutely naked despite the fact that you’re nearly clothed. But what confuses you more is that this man looks awfully familiar.

Familiar in the sense that you’ve seen him in one too many television sitcoms to count. This man in front of you looks like Kim Seokjin, the protagonist of your favorite television show: Sky City. He has the same plump lips and pretty face, only aged up. But last time you checked on Soompi, Seokjin is supposed to be twenty years old and filming the next season in New Zealand. Arguably he could be his older brother, but he never acted and you don’t think he’d be the spitting image.

“Seokjin?” you taste the name on your tongue, “Kim Seokjin?”

Seokjin relaxes considerably, and he finds it appropriate to return to the couch, placing a tentative hand on your thigh. “Right, were you really that drunk? You got my name right, but it seems that you’ve forgotten that the only name you called me last night was sex god…”

His plush lips meet the ends of your earlobe, and you squeal at the strange sensation.

You’ve had sex with this man and you can’t even remember it? Furthermore how can a peasant like you be in contact with a celebrity? What on earth happened last night? Shouldn’t you be calling the police or panicking more? Where’s the pepper spray and sharp knives where you need them? You can’t even find it in you to find a sharp weapon at your once cherished-idol, who’s apparently unfazed and drinking in your body like he has a taste of it every night.

“What’s the date?” you push him away, looking around for any signs of where you are and how you ended up here.

“It’s the first day of spring,” Seokjin says easily, stretching out on the couch. “I wonder when the cherry blossoms will bloom. Should we have a picnic with Bogum?”

“Where’s my phone, I can’t find my phone!”

Seokjin doesn’t bat an eye as he digs through the couch, pulling something from under him. He waves it in front of your face. “That’s not my phone,” you deadpan.

“Okay I guess you were actually that drunk,” Seokjin rolls his eyes, forcing the large piece of plastic and metal on your palm. “When you went to the bathroom last night you dropped your old phone in the toilet. We picked up a new one on the way to the next bar. Good thing the new Samsung dropped last month!”

Since when are phones this large? You carry the strange weight in your hands, confused as to why Seokjin thinks this is your phone. You own a beat up 2G that barely gets any reception in the school basement. But when you turn it on, the screen recognizes your face immediately and unlocks. Wow, since when do cell phones do face recognition?

A selfie of you and Seokjin appears on the homescreen, looking totally happy.

Is that you?

No longer do you have acne lining your brows, or uneven skin texture. Your smile is high and prominent. Your visage is clean and done with minimal makeup, highlighting your beauty.

The date flickers on the top of the screen. March 20th, 2021: 7:42AM.

You scream again. Seokjin screams again for the heck of it.

“How did this happen!” you shriek, dropping your phone to step up to the window. You bask in your reflection, mildly impressed and even more so afraid of what’s in front of you. Your body has filled out like an adult, and considering it’s ten years into the future, other things have filled out as well. Experimentally, your hands go out to your chest, squeezing. Yep, those knockers were not there the last time you checked.

“Well, you came back from work completely drained from a shoot and I just finished filming my Everyday Skincare Routine video with Vogue,” Seokjin comes up to you, blanket tied around his waist like a long towel. “We met at our usual bar and do what we usually do when we’re both stressed: bang it out.”

You watch as Seokjin’s hands snake around your slick silk, hugging you from behind like it’s second nature. “Is this a dream?” you ask yourself, because it’s not unlikely that you’ve had a sex dream with Seokjin and this is the aftermath dream.

“Nope,” you yelp when Seokjin pinches your butt, hard. It stings. “This is real life, baby.”

“Are we dating?”

You feel Seokjin’s grip tense, and he shoves your innocent question away with a coarse laugh. “You know both you and me don’t do serious relationships. It’s why we work so well together, you know that.”

“Right,” you reply softly. That doesn’t sound like you at all, and it scares you considerably.

“So, I gotta go,” you panic when he lets go and starts searching around for his clothes. Your face heats up at Seokjin’s perky ass staring back at you, and your eyes dart to a random spot in the corner. “I got a green meeting with Ellen, and lord knows I don’t wanna face her wrath if I’m late.”

In seconds he’s fully clothed in a plain shirt and jeans, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Call me beep me, if you wanna reach me,” he sings, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he leaves you in the large apartment.

The door slams with a hard smack and that’s when you collapse on the couch that feels foreign and strange, breaking into tears.

The next time you wake up, it’s the next day. It’s a glaringly bright Sunday and for whatever reason you’re still in this aged-up body. Maybe time travel makes the body really tired. This isn’t a dream. You panic for the second time, walking back and forth around the loft that’s apparently yours. It seems like it’s yours, because the bills that linger on the coffee table have your name and the pictures in the one bedroom are of you and your family.

But the refrigerator in the nook is digital and has fancy ice settings, something you could never imagine owning. Your closet is filled with brand named suits, and with every designer label you pass you mentally rack up the total of just one section. It’s enough to pay for your college tuition if your first choice accepts you.

Wait. You’re apparently twenty-seven, college is long gone.

Lying in your bed feels better, surrounded by familiar pictures of your cousins and family. Your favorite snacks are tucked with care in your nightstand, and it makes you feel a tiny bit better knowing that your favorite chocolate and chips will never change.

What happened in the past ten years? Why don’t you remember anything and are you entirely sure this isn’t some strange fever dream?

Time ticks slowly as you spend the afternoon, glued to your phone. It’s a 25 Note+ and it’s filled with multiple doohickeys and settings that make you feel technologically inept. You never thought you were bad with technology, but clearly these phones have a learning curve attached to them.

You try to call your family, but according to the voicemail left they’re on a Disney cruise that you paid for. Your heart aches at the excited voice of your parents. Why are they on a vacation without you?

The next thing you aim for is finding Jimin’s contact. According to Google Maps, you’re not far from your hometown and you know that Jimin’s always wanted to move to the city so he must be nearby. To your chagrin, his name isn’t on your contact list. Strange, he’s always number two on speed dial.

Clicking on the internet browser, you go to the online Whitepages and search up Park Jimin. There may be a million ones, but maybe you could get a lead. When a picture and an address show up easily with one swipe, you scoff. The internet has no room for privacy ten years later, huh?

The most casual thing you own in your closet is a Free People dress, reaching mid-calf with flowing bell sleeves. Heck, you couldn’t even find a single pair of jeans. You don’t care however, as you swipe your keys from the counter (you gape, you own a Tesla?) and race down to the parking garage.

Jimin’s apartment is on the other side of the city. It’s strange, transitioning from high rises and shiny windows to quaint brick walls and lived-in patio spaces. You feel like it’s a race against time as you make it all the way to his room, knocking feverishly on the mahogany red door.

“What? Who is it?” it’s clear that his room is cheap, the walls thin as you hear his voice shuffle throughout the room. Why are you shaking? It’s just your best friend.

The door swings open and you and Jimin drink each other in. His baby fat has melted from his cheeks, revealing a handsome and charming jawline. His hair is no longer a natural black, but has been dyed to a sandy blond that suits his tan. His eyes, wide in surprise, are still a soft brown but not as bright as when he was seventeen.

“Jimin,” your third round of tears hits you like a truck at the sight of your best friend, and you immediately run into his arms.

But he doesn’t hug you back immediately. In fact, he doesn’t know what to do at all. Your name rolls off his lips like he’s seen a ghost.

You pull away, as if you are burned. You flinch at the way Jimin regards you. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he looks at you, crossing his arms, “I don’t know what to feel when your old best friend suddenly shows up at your doorstep after ten years.”

What?

“Why would I do that?” you whisper, bracing your hand against the doorframe to steady yourself.

“Well, after graduation you chose a college at the last minute. Decided to go to a prestigious fashion university in Europe. Shacked it up with some British guys and well, forgot about your past but I guess I can’t blame you.”

“But I couldn’t have left you,” you know you’re not even talking to Jimin, but in fact scolding yourself for being so stupid these past ten years. “I was crying for you that night at prom. All I wanted was for you to be there and hold me!”

That strikes a cord. Jimin pops his head into the hallway, looking back and forth to see if anyone is watching. He sighs when your tears turn into sobs, shaking your form. “Come in,” he mutters, ushering you inside.

Jimin’s apartment feels more like home than your apartment does. Cosy and warm with the scent of jasmine brewing on the stove. The pour of tea soothes you slightly as you relax on the worn leather couch.

Jimin hands you a mug, sitting opposite you against the rickety living room table. “Are you okay?” he asks, showing genuine concern for the first time.

“I’m,” you roll the muddy liquid in your grasp, watching the tea leaves tumble. “I just came back from the hospital, actually. Hit my head drinking last night and I’m suffering from memory loss,” you clutch your head for good measure, feigning injury.

“Memory loss?” he gapes, unable to see through your lie.

“Yeah uh,” you wince, “almost ten years of memory loss.”

Jimin isn’t a man who thinks ahead, preferring to live in the moment. You figure he’s not going to question your excuse. Your former best friend nearly drops his tea in the process, hot drops burning his hand. He hisses, placing the plain mug on the table as he goes to his shelves, pulling out your class yearbook.

“Ten years,” he shakes his head, looking like he’s just stepped into a Korean drama. “Is that even possible?”

“Must be,” you sigh, not wanting to delve into the details of how you ended up in the future, “the first thing I did when I woke up was scream my head off. Then I woke up later and the first person I called were my parents who didn’t pick up, and then I wanted to call you but,” you squeeze the cup in your hands, “I couldn’t find your contact so I searched you up.”

“Should we call the hospital or something? Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around like this.”

“Don’t worry, they said the memory loss is only temporary,” you force a smile, knocking your head lightly with the heel of your palm, “I just gotta y’know, catch up a little bit. I thought you could help.”

Jimin is patient, albeit a little nervous, watching carefully as your eyes glaze emptily over the old yearbook. You’re unfazed at the familiar faces and events that are described to you in detail, unable to recall what happened during the events that followed graduation. There’s barely any pictures of you, so it doesn’t help when he tries to explain as much as he can.

You stop him at the sports section, pointing a finger at Jungkook being carried by his fellow teammates during the lacrosse championships. “What happened to Jungkook?”

Jimin shrugged, “Blew his sports scholarship,” your eyebrows float to the top of your forehead, appalled that your former love would do such a thing, “decided to pursue his passion and went to an art school for a degree in photography.”

So much has changed in the past ten years.

“Hey, can you please stop crying?”

“I’m sorry,” you warble, wiping at your sleeve as if the fabric didn’t cost hundreds of dollars, “I must be making you so uncomfortable by barging in. I’ll get out of your life—”

“No, not that. I just don’t like seeing you cry,” Jimin sighs, squeezing your knee, “of course I was upset when you suddenly upped and left town to study in another continent. But I was still happy for you. On the internet you seemed tons happier since highschool.”

“I can say that’s no longer the case,” you mutter sadly, taking a long drag of your tea. The burn flows down your throat, digging you to reality, “I guess I just woke up and wasn’t prepared to be the person I ended up being.”

“Well, what can your former best friend do to make it better?”

Your eyes widen at Jimin’s uneasy stare, as if he’s wondering whether he said the right thing or not.

“Um,” you bite your lip, “will you go shopping with me? I realized I don’t own any sweatpants or sneakers and I would really like to wear something comfortable right now,” you look despondently on your uncomfortable dress, swinging around the sleeves that seem to snag onto everything.

“Okay,” he nods easily, “will you also buy me new sweatpants and sneakers? And dinner? I really want a New York Strip.”

“What?” you furrow your brows, “can I afford that?”

He chuckles to himself, pulling you up and wiping the tears on your face with a tissue from his pocket. You don’t even care to ask whether the tissue is clean, only focusing on the tender gesture that you’ve missed so much.

“Honey, you’re one of the co-editors of Ego. I’m sure a couple pairs of sweatpants and steak will barely make a dent in your bank account.”

You’re flabbergasted. Ego? The fashion magazine that’s on billboards and commercials? That Ego?

After a couple checks through your bank account, and a triple check with a phone call and trip to the ATM, you’re sure the money is yours. It scares you, but also comforts you knowing that you’ve always been able to make it big.

You barely bat an eye as Jimin tugs you around the city with a familiarity that has you reeling. You struggle to remember the streets you pass and the signs that indicate what part of town you’re in, all whilst Jimin basks in the fruits of your labor. You don’t give a shit, obviously. It makes you happy seeing Jimin slowly melt and grow more comfortable throughout the day.

This is the kind of life you envisioned. One where comfort isn’t discarded for luxury, where the two cultures can marry. Jimin busts a gut when he sees you angrily shove your Free People dress deep in your shopping bags in favor of a black Adidas tracksuit that makes you feel like a soccer mom. Of course, he doesn’t know why you’re so aggressive with all your luxurious items, heck you even make him drive your Tesla, but nevertheless each passing hour brightens you up considerably.

When you two arrive at a fancy steakhouse with a dress code, the manager doesn’t hesitate to chide you and suggest the Applebee’s down the street.

You retort back that you’re an editor of Ego, and in seconds you’d have this restaurant swarmed with bad reviews. You know nothing about culinary review but you’re sure the manager doesn’t know that, and no arguments are placed after that.

The evening puts you in higher spirits, and you’re almost convinced that you’re a successful twenty-something catching up with your former best friend. You’ve always been mature for your age, high school can do that to a person, and it makes it vastly easier to keep up with the new decade.

“So,” you help Jimin get his bags up into his apartment. A little part of it feels like a bribe as you carry all the name brands on your arms, but you chalk it up to being compensation for the last ten years, “who are the people you hang out with now? Anyone I know?”

“Well, Taehyung sometimes drops by if he’s free. He’s traveling the world now, he actually works with you,” Jimin provides the information smoothly, “only he works in the international business column. But surprisingly, the person I hang out the most with is—”

“Jungkook.”

Standing face-to-face with your old high school sweetheart disarms you, and you’re sorely reminded that just you’re a seventeen-year-old in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body.

Jungkook looks tired, and he rubs his eyes a bit as if to make sure he isn’t dreaming. You in the flesh, looking purposeful and confident as you hold three bags on each arm, each piece probably costing more than his rent. He’s filled out, what once was lean muscle and minor definition has turned into full muscle mass hidden beneath a large t-shirt and sweatpants that are two sizes too big. His face is still sweet-looking and baby-like, but his hair is overgrown and waving in front of his eyes without a care in the world.

“Did I mention we’re neighbors?” you can practically hear the wince in Jimin’s voice, probably regretting that he hid that chunk of information from you.

Jungkook tastes his name on your lips, and it sounds foriegn and strange coming from the both of you. “Good to see you,” he says, voice low.

You barely formulate a response, replying with an equally nervous “right back at ya” and then you two resume staring at each other. While Jungkook hasn’t seen you in the last ten years, you saw him yesterday. Yesterday, where you started the day all peachy keen and it spiraled downhill shortly after. It’s jarring, knowing that your body doesn’t fit your conscience.

“Well I uh,” Jungkook lifts his indicator to leave, a large garbage bag, “bye.”

Jungkook shuffles out of the small hallway, and you get a whiff of his scent. It’s still the same, fabric softener mixed with his own musk.

“I,” you start off slow, “maybe I should go talk to him?”

“No,” he warns. “You and Jungkook are completely different people now, he’s just gonna think you’re pitying him if you go up and talk to him out of the blue.”

“But we’ve always been different people.”

“You really think that?” Jimin shakes his head, “I know what happened at prom was rough but, I really didn’t think much of your relationship with Jungkook before that. It seemed like you were pretty compatible—”

“Up until the point he was kissing Jennie in matching flowers on the balcony like some kind of romance film?” you scoff, crossing your arms, “right. Super compatible.”

Jimin sighs, as if he’s chastising a teenager. “Prom happened ten years ago, don’t act like it happened yesterday. People change.”

You frown, because in your mind it did happen yesterday.

Sleeping last night was hell. It’s one thing to be completely zonked out of your mind and unsure if you’re in a dream or weird coma, but knowing that you’re going to be stuck here for awhile is painful. Your loft is too big for your tiny body, your mattress cold and empty with just you in it. Without your parents to call and you feeling wholly insecure about your rekindling with Jimin, the only person you can really call is… Seokjin.

And you really don’t want a repeat of your first night.

So you suck it up, spend your waking hours in your office and quickly learning your tasks for work. You don’t even know what time you’re supposed to clock in, but from a sticky note attached to your MacBook it seems that you have a creative meeting at 10AM. You allow yourself two hours of sleep before you get moving.

The one exciting thing about your morning is that your outfit choices are virtually limitless. You feel like Cher in Clueless, all your outfits color-coordinated and organized by season. You pick out a springy Chanel number, a pale pink tweed skirt suit that has you feeling equally parts cute and an independent working woman. You even make time to buy yourself a coffee, because that’s what adults do right?

Your office is gorgeous. Also located in the upper part of the city, the glass desk and high windows fit right in. You have an ideas board filled with various designs, fabrics and models to choose from. There’s a little frilly notebook straight out of the 2000s, all filled with phone numbers and special contacts all at your disposal. You even have your own cold press coffee machine complete with a mini-fridge.

“You’re never this early, nervous for the meeting?”

You squeal, nearly dropping your coffee as you take a tour around your office. You fight the urge to gape and point accusingly at the woman standing at your door.

“Jennie?”

“In the flesh,” she gives you a cool smirk, holding her arms out for a hug. It really throws you for a loop, and you’re left stricken in your spot as Jennie closes the gap and squeezes the life out of you. Her grey pinstripe pantsuit crumples against your softer fabric. “You know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Jennie and you are practically besties,” Jimin sounds a little jealous while saying that, forcing you to scroll through your Instagram page to see the countless selfies of you and your high school rival, “I mean, at least that’s what the internet says. Went to college in Europe together and everything.”

So it’s true. You awkwardly pat Jennie on the back, and she doesn’t seem to mind when she pulls away and tells you to meet upstairs. You mindlessly follow after her to the conference room, wishing a kind good morning to everyone that greets you.

Once you make it upstairs, you flinch at the loud screech of your voice. “My favorite editor!” someone in a plaid red suit runs up to you and throws an arm around your shoulders. The editor-in-chief Jung Hoseok smiles brightly at you, leading you to a seat at the head of the table right next to him. You’re cosy with the editor-in-chief? This is crazy!

“G-good morning Mr. Jung,” you stutter, trying to remain cool.

“Did something happen to you this weekend?” Hoseok jests, pinching your cheek like a long lost sister. “You always call me Hobi.”

“Oh,” you force a giggle, “you don’t even know how crazy this weekend was.”

Hoseok simply laughs and gets himself settled for the meeting.

“I’m so jealous,” Jennie sing-songs, a manicured finger trailing over the back of your chair, “only the best of the best can sit next to the big boss.”

The comment has you bristling. Are you really friends? Giving her a tight smile, she saunters to another corner of the meeting. On your section of the table is your itinerary and iPad, ready for note-taking.

“One thing that we do at Ego is consistency,” Hoseok pulls up a projection of this year’s editions, all carbon copies of the same cover. “And while that is admirable, I want to put my top editors to the test and come up with the theme for next month’s issue.”

Hoseok sends you yet another pearly white smile, and due to the sheer closeness you know that secret smile is only reserved for you. That makes you squirm in your seat, already feeling the pressure building in the pit of your stomach.

“Take two days off this week to plan. Work out the days you’ll be out of the office with HR, those days you’ll be working in the city, finding ideas and inspiration for the issue. Remember, think outside the box!” Hoseok does a little fist pump, cutting through the air like his life depends on it.

The whole lot of the group continues to stare at Hoseok, waiting for his next instructions. Then, the adults begin to panic, similar to a high school class that’s been told they have a pop quiz that’s worth half their grade. You sigh internally, you suppose high school never ends.

“C’mon,” Hoseok urges, flailing his arms around, “get out there! Make moves, make money!”

But the only moves you’ve made since 2PM are fleeting trips to the bathroom.

Obviously you don’t have any memory of your degree or experience, so instead of feeling like an editor you feel more like a teenager playing dress-up. You couldn’t even sneakily ask Jennie for help because she deadpanned: “I’m not sharing any secrets, doll.” It seems that being backhandedly mean is a theme in your relationship, so after that you rolled your eyes and locked your door. Thankfully you packed a pair of sweatpants so you can comfortably lie down on the floor while you spread out your workspace. Magazines littered the hardwood, all sultry and sexy looking models staring back at you with the same half-lidded stare and overdone makeup.

It makes you cringe, thinking back to the other day when you were jealous of these people. Now that you have this life, thriving and full of beauty, is that the only thing you want to show to your audience? How can they possibly relate to models who make triple their salary? What about the authenticity? The ingenuity?

And that’s when it hits you.

Scrambling to your computer, you search up a photographer that you know will be completely and utterly transparent.

My Time Studios: Capturing the raw moment.

You know exactly what you want for next month’s issue.

Jungkook does not expect to see you through the peephole of his apartment, fiddling with the threads of your clothes and eyes glued to the ground. He mutters a curse under his breath, jamming his fingers between the metal double lock to swing his head out. He doesn’t even bother to open up all the way, just enough to stick his face out.

“Jungkook, hi!” he still can’t believe you’re around. Jungkook winces at your tone, high and sounding like a teenager. He thought by now you’d be traveling the world, climbing to bigger and better things. Then again, the upper part of the city is certainly an upgrade. He just thought you’d want to be far, far away from him. “I b-brought you McDonalds.”

You hold up a greasy bag of fast food, and his nose immediately responds to the smell of fresh fries and a quarter pounder (with cheese, of course.) It annoys him that you still know his weakness, but he isn’t going to go that easily.

“Why are you here?” he asks a little too sharply, hands gripping the doorknob.

“I wanted to offer you a job,” you get straight to the point, as if you know your time at his doorstep is limited.

He scoffs, “You? Want to put my photos on Ego? You know my business extends to weddings and the occasional Bar Mitzvah. Why would you want me?”

You frown, crossing your arms. He looks down at your attire, a nicely fitted suit on top, but the skirt is replaced with grey sweatpants. Comical, really. “I’ve always loved your photos,” you admit to him, “you know that. And they’ve gotten so much better since then.”

The furrow between Jungkook’s brows softens a fraction, smoothed by the honesty in your voice. You’re right, you always made sure to tell Jungkook how much you loved his other talents. Namely, the photography, and sometimes his singing. He can still remember how easily you slept in his arms watching Sky City for hours, all at the melody of your favorite song. While his teachers and classmates loved to venerate his position on the team and his ability to garner attention, you encouraged him to work on the things that mattered to him the most, even in secret.

Nevertheless, that was ten years ago.

“I don’t need your charity,” he spits, “Jimin might be able to be bought by some designer clothes and an eighty dollar steak, but not me.”

The pain in your gaze is glaringly evident, and you don’t even try to hide that you’re upset as the paper bag falls against your lap. If there’s one thing Jungkook knows he’s good at, is hurting your feelings.

“You think this is charity?” you whisper, hurt delicately lacing your voice.

“Are you kidding? Last month you got Xu Minghao to photograph your spread for Ego. He’s photographed the damn Queen of England,” if you notice that he’s babbling about reading your magazine, you don’t show it in your face, “the point is, I don’t understand why you’re trying to come into my life again. I don’t want to get involved in your fancy dinner galas or anyone else from high school. So please, just go back to your picture perfect life.”

And without another qualm he slams the door in your face, effectively shutting you out. It doesn’t feel as good as he wants it to feel, clearly. He feels even shitter than before. His eyes glaze over to his rickety coffee table, cluttered with bills and credit card payments that should’ve been dealt with a long time ago.

He slugs himself over to his couch, throwing his body over the couch that’s way too short. His legs dangle in mid-air, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sunset. The bills can wait a little longer. Seeing you was too draining.

The nap turns into a full-fledged night’s sleep, and by the time he wakes up the sky is dark and it’s the start of a new day. 12:08, the screen of his iPhone confirms. Feeling even crustier and worse than before, his stomach decides to harden the blow and go straight for the gut. He’s sorely reminded of the food you offered him hours ago.

Quickly pulling on a large denim jacket, he grabs his keys and heads for the 7-Eleven down the park. Nothing like a frozen pizza to fill the gut, fast and cheap. Despite the fact that it’s dark and late, there're still some stray people in the park. A few homeless, some high school stoners who are meeting in secret, and you are typing away on your MacBook.

Wait, what?

You’re sitting on a bench in the park, typing away without a care in the world. Shoving soggy fries that he earlier refused in your mouth, you let a couple stray potatoes hang from your lips as your eyes succumb to the screen. You look positively silly, still in a pink blazer and baggy sweatpants.

He must have been staring a little too long, because soon enough you turn your head, gasping at his figure. You quickly avert your eyes, but don’t make any move to leave the park. That interests him further.

Shamelessly, he calls your name. His legs get to you in an instant, towering over your tiny figure.

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I’m waiting for Jimin,” your eyes flicker to your open laptop, “and working.”

At least one of those reasons is a lie. Last time he checked, Jimin always sleeps over at Yoongi’s house on this day. He knows it’s a lie, and you know he knows it’s a lie, but neither of you make the effort to correct it.

“And what could you possibly be working on at 12AM?”

“Finding a photographer,” you hunch over your laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have much time and none of my usual contacts are good enough. This project is… personal.”

It makes him want to ask further, he can’t lie and say he isn’t intrigued in the kind of vision you’re going for in your next issue. “But why can’t you work at home?”

“Don’t wanna go,” you reply casually, “it makes me feel lonely.”

Lonely? You feel lonely? He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at the display of nonchalance. Back in high school he always encouraged you to feel confident, but not like this. “Hey, it’s nice that you feel comfortable enough to chill in the park at 12AM, but it’s really dumb. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten mugged from all that money you’re carrying around!” he gestures to your fancy clothes and laptop, “and if you feel so lonely, call up one of your rich friends I’m sure they’ll—”

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you slam your laptop shut, darkening the two of you. “I thought you wanted me to go back to my ‘picture perfect life’, so why do you care?” you get up in his face, standing on the bench so you’re nearly eye-to-eye, “why don’t you pester those kids over there? Tell them to drink their milk and go home,” you scoff, shoving your stuff in your bag. You don’t spare him another glance as you stalk off in the other direction.

He groans, unable to untangle himself from the mess, “Where are you going?”

“To a park where you’re not in!”

Despite the exchange for sweatpants, you’re still wearing shoes not fit for walking. They’re little white pumps, not too tall but not remarkably comfy either. However, that doesn’t deter you from getting the heck out of there, seemingly walking in any possible direction to get away from Jungkook.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he chastises once his hand clasps around your hand, pulling you around.

There’s a little resistance, as you try to hide your face to no avail. Jungkook fumbles a little, not thinking you’d be crying. But tiny, shy tears are pooling around your eyes, looking flustered at your display of emotion.

“God,” you mutter to yourself, “I feel like such a kid.”

That strikes a chord in the twenty-something man. The last time he saw you in the flesh was when you were both kids. Young, unbridled, and stupid. Well, only Jungkook was the stupid one.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Jungkook offers, feeling guilty about his roughness.

You shake your head. “No, I told you I don’t want to.”

“Can I at least call you a cab? Or a friend so you won’t get lonely?”

“Jungkook, if I had that option would you think I’d be here right now?” he’s trying, he really is. But you’re equally as miffed about this whole situation and at a loss. The two of you engage in a staring contest. It only takes a few seconds for you to crumble, and he frowns when you shiver in your thin blazer.

Instantly, he rips off his jacket, pulling it over your body. It’s huge on you, swallowing your body and hopefully containing some of his residual heat.

And finally, he relents. “If you want, I’ll come over and stay until you fall asleep.”

“Okay,” your eyes widen in instant agreement, pulling something out of your pocket. “Will you drive?”

His eyes widen at the shiny, minimalistic car key. Your sudden one-eighty has him second guessing his decision. “You drive a Tesla?” he gapes, taking your key like he’s holding the Hope Diamond.

You got your license in February. One month ago, and only because the instructor felt pity on you since it was your second time retaking it. The fancy car terrifies you, and you’re sure Jungkook has much more experience driving (over ten years worth.)

You shrug, “Not very good at driving. Haven’t had much practice.”

“Um, the car drives itself?”

“It does?” you tilt your head, dazed, “wow, technology is amazing.”

He shakes his head, putting a hand on your back so you can lead the way. You must be tired, because it seems like your head isn’t entirely there anymore. He takes charge, buckles you in and takes a couple minutes to fumble with the car settings. Nevertheless the drive home is smooth (and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to not squeal in excitement when the Tesla does in fact, drive itself.)

You lead him inside your loft like a tiny zombie, throwing your shoes to one corner and throwing your jacket on the kitchen table.

“Must be hungry,” you can’t even form complete sentences, “there’s food in the fridge, Kook. Sorry if it’s not to your taste.”

Shuffling away to your room, Jungkook is left to gawk at your apartment. The baseboards of your walls are crusted in pretty pearl designs, swirling around the whole expanse. There’s a television that stretches the wall of the little living room, with a sound and video game system he’s only seen in movies. Your tables are meters and meters of granite, and he wonders how the floor of your apartment can hold all this weight.

But he supposes it’s because there’s nothing much to hold. No pictures line the walls, only vague looking art to fill up blank space. There’s no touch of warmth despite the heating system under the floor that relaxes his toes. For such a big home, he can only imagine how small you must feel in it.

Your fridge is just as empty, decorated with a couple of sad-looking salads and some protein shakes. He sighs, grabbing two chicken salads and a banana shake and bringing it to your coffee table. It’s a little two quiet for his liking, so he turns on the television real low just to make the room feel a bit fuller.

Halfway through one salad he realizes he probably should’ve made you eat as well. Even though these salads aren’t remotely filling, they’re much healthier than some soggy fries. A piece of limp lettuce hangs from Jungkook’s mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for soaking up all of your amenities without inviting you. After all, it is your house. Wiping some sauce from his lips he dusts off his pants, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to your room.

Calling your name, the only reply is the whir of the heater. He only cracks the door a tad, but he sees you slumped against the edge of the bed, bare feet hanging from the end. You barely made it, your clothes strewn across the floor, an oversized t-shirt ruched across your barely covered thighs. Without a thought he quickly scrambles to move you closer to your pillows, and then wraps your body in your plush duvet. You’re out like a light.

You’re sleeping, so Jungkook should go home. That’s what you two agreed to. He goes back to his late dinner (early breakfast?) mindlessly listening to an infomercial on rare dollar coins. He’ll leave after he eats.

He didn’t leave.

Jungkook awakes to a scream, your shrill voice echoing all the way down the hallway into your living room. It takes a second for him to register the empty white walls and the fact that he’s not in his apartment, but eventually it goes back to the point that you’re in distress. He jolts, scrambling off the couch to run to your bedroom.

“What is it?” he exhales into your doorframe, socks sliding.

Your hair is in a disarray, shirt rumpled and face scrunched in pain. You shove your phone in his face. “Since when did Iron Man die!” you cry, genuinely horrified at whatever entertainment article you’re reading.

He slumps against the wall, running a hand over his dry face. “Since Endgame, obviously. That was literally two years ago. Is that why you woke me up?”

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”

“Have you been living under a rock or something?”

“Or something,” you frown, throwing your phone across your bed, “I guess I should go get ready for work.”

Jungkook watches as you shamelessly hop off your bed, uncaring that your shirt has ridden up, revealing the full expanse of your thighs and then some. You pull out a pair of sweats from a shopping bag, nicking off the tag to put them on your legs.

“Do you have work?” you ask casually.

“Uh, no,” Jungkook coughs, crossing his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s had a solid gig. Two whole weeks have been spent doing more personal work which was fine, but at the same time his bank account could beg to differ. “I’m off today.”

“Oh, alright,” you shrug, “do you know where I can buy a good camera?”

“Why?”

“Gonna go take pictures,” you snatch your wallet and keys from your bedside, stuffing it in a fanny pack. He watches you curiously as you zip your bag shut, muttering something about how you can’t believe that fanny packs are back in style. Swinging the strap over your back, you brush past him. “You can stay if you want,” you add pointedly, before you slip into the bathroom.

Jungkook doesn’t understand as to why he’s slipping into sensory overload. The house is a shell of itself and the antithesis of a rainbow. Maybe it’s the fact that he woke up ten minutes ago or how you look completely peaceful and want to leave as soon as you wake up. Or how shocked you were that Iron Man has passed and you’ve completely missed Phase 3. Or that you’re not even thinking about breakfast or not wishing him a farewell, practically throwing him into your apartment like a second home.

He wobbles back to the couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he drapes the fuzzy blankets over his body. He flips through the channels, before finally settling on an old episode of Sky City.

When you walk out into the living room, you scrunch your face in pain when you make eye contact with Kim Seokjin’s on screen appearance. Oh, how things change. Jungkook knew how much you loved watching Sky City, indulging in the protagonist's attractiveness.

“Y’know,” Jungkook says over his shoulder, “if you leave me here, I could steal whatever I want.”

“Go ahead,” you reply flippantly, already slipping on your sneakers. “There’s nothing of value here.”

What is wrong with you?

“Wait!” Jungkook throws all his pride at the window, unable to conceal his worry for you. Half your body is out the doorway, and you’re looking at him like he’s grown a second head. His voice takes up the entirety of the room, startling you. “I need to come with you,” he finally settles on, looking serious. “You’re going to buy the wrong camera.”

“Okay,” you concede immediately, throwing the keys on the couch, “you drive.”

Jungkook must know something’s wrong with you.

You don’t know how to act around him. Your heart is hurt and your body is a decade older than it was a week ago and everything in your life and mind is a complete wreck. It still aches to look at him, despite the fact that you want him around, all the time. You wish you could know a little more about your adult life, you feel like a proverbial Bambi sitting in a car worth more than your childhood home. It’s a wobbly, shaky road to adulthood, and you’re not having it.

Jungkook sleeping over is the last thing you thought would happen last night. You didn’t even think he’d relent to coming to your house, since he was pretty hellbent on not being your photographer.

But now he’s driving your Tesla again, after you instructed him to park the car where you parked it last time. That way, you can go back to the playground you were in the night before. You have a vision for the issue and it starts there. Fiddling around with the expensive camera Jungkook picked out, you feel his gaze burning into your shoulder.

“Am I doing something wrong?” you ask archly, “I read the manual and everything. Or are you just being a perfectionist again?”

“What’s wrong with being a perfectionist?” Jungkook shoots back, putting the car in park. As soon as the car stills in the parking lot, he grabs the camera from your grasp like a petulant child. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break it. Face it, you’re terrible at technology.”

“Excuse me! I have a Samsung 25+ and a Tesla!”

“Yeah? So why did I catch you struggling to use your pay feature on your phone when we grabbed coffee?”

“It’s new,” you mutter under your breath. Everything is new to you.

With a growl you snatch back the camera, and Jungkook for once doesn’t act like a baby with a sharing complex and relents. Of course, Jungkook manages to calibrate the camera and figure out the color balance before you could. This only annoys you further, wondering why Jungkook is still sticking around after all this time.

“Alright,” you step out of the car, slinging the camera around your neck. “Thanks for driving me around, your apartment’s just down the street, right?” You dart your hand out, and Jungkook reluctantly hands over your key beeper. Maybe it’s because he seems to love the car so much, that he has a hard time giving it back. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait,” is that his word of the day? Wait wait wait.

“What is it now, Jungkook?”

He’s never seen you so full of negative emotions. You’ve been waiting for him to tire of you all day, from your clipped replies and unease ever since you two stepped out of your apartment.

“Um,” he looks embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, “are you really going to take pictures? You always took really blurry pictures in high school.”

The mention of high school has you icy, gripping the matte black digital camera to hold your feelings at bay. “Yes, I’m going to go take pictures because the photographer I wanted so rudely rejected me,” you revel in the way he shrinks, probably regretful already. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline.”

He continues to follow you, all the way to the park. You make your way to a little garden, and start to take some test photos next to the little daisies that decorate the patch of dirt. You practically feel Jungkook breathing down your neck, feeling antsy everytime you click the shutter. Ignoring him is difficult, especially when he makes little noises of discomfort when you presumably do something wrong.

“Jungkook, are you going to say something?” you seethe, not caring that the heavy camera strains your neck when it falls against your chest, “or are you just going to make me wait.”

Jungkook’s face is scrunched up, and finally he blurts, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For saying your life is picture perfect,” he sputters quickly, looking very sweaty. Jungkook always got sweaty when he did things a little too hard. Playing sports, thinking, campaigning on video games. “I—I didn’t mean it. I don’t know. I guess I was just upset at myself and I took it out on you.”

“Well why are you upset at yourself?”

“I’m upset because I—I don’t know, it’s complicated,” he plops down on the nearest bench, and while you follow him, you don’t let yourself sit next to him. If you do, you know your subconscious will want to wrap your arms around him and comfort him. That would probably be the worst possible action to perform. “I don’t really do the whole photoshoot thing. Like I said, I’m just doing some weddings and parties here and there. I shouldn’t have said those things about Jimin and how you’re only talking to us out of charity. It’s my fault for not considering how complicated your life could be too,” he looks down at the ground, shameful, “so if you still want me, I would really like to photograph for Ego. And I would also really like that camera back.”

Unable to resist, you reach over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “I forgive you,” you reply numbly, thinking he was going to apologize for something else. You suppose he’s forgotten about that fateful prom night, just like everyone else. “It’s actually not for Ego, at least not yet. My boss is pitting us against each other, the best idea wins the cover theme.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll win,” his face eventually breaks into a grin when you remove the camera from your body. “Come to daddy, baby,” he cooes, holding the shiny new camera in his hands like a newborn.

“Gross,” you twitch, although you’re feeling all the more relieved knowing Jungkook will now be taking the visual reins. “You haven’t had a chance to look at the contract made up, but being paid five-hundred okay?”

“Five-hundred a week?”

“No, per day,” you correct, “why wouldn’t I pay you just like I pay the others?”

Jungkook’s dark brows fly to his forehead. He practically chokes on his spit at the way you put Jungkook in high regard. A blush overtakes his visage, proud and pink as he rushes to get away from you.

“You don’t even know my concept,” you called after him, chasing the midday sun.

Jungkook is already in position, fitting the lens between two buildings. The afternoon sun looks like an egg yolk, melting between the clouds. “Well then is it?” he asks, bending down on one knee to get the perfect angle.

“Well, yesterday when I thought of the idea I just wanted to be reminded of how easy being a kid was,” you don’t even know if Jungkook’s listening properly, given the rapid click click clicks of the shutter and Jungkook constantly moving around to get as many shots as possible. “I realized that not everyone can relate to the models or the clothes we advertise on Ego. Why would I want to see people I actually admire? Like, my friend’s older brother. Or Jimin, president of the drama club. Or even Jungkook, captain of the lacrosse team.”

“So, nostalgia. The 2000s are back in style, I like it,” he replies simply, tilting the camera towards you, “pose for me.”

“What? Jungkook,” you frown, holding a hand over your face. He doesn’t relent, continuing to snap you in different angles.

“Oh! That was a nice one,” he turns the camera to reveal the screen of your furrowed brows, hand over your face, “looks super grunge. Totally a throwback look.”

“Jungkook, I don’t model. I’m just the one who throws the ideas.”

“Yeah, but. Wouldn’t it be cool if the readers of Ego could see the genius behind the paper and ink?” he gestures vaguely to your outfit, “and you’re wearing Fila. So that’s like, kind of designer?”

“I don’t know,” you hug yourself, “I’ll think about it, okay? Let’s focus.”

“Fine,” Jungkook stops buzzing around you, putting the camera down and following you as you walk back to your car. You don’t think you really need anymore park photos, and Jungkook seems to telepathically agree as well.

“We need to plan some outfits and some backgrounds. I’ve already arranged a meet up tomorrow in front of our old high school with a couple of models. The school is on a grade-wide trip, so we’ll even have access to the track and field. I was also thinking disposable film? We could scan those.”

“Alright, who are your models?”

“Oh, you know. Just friends from school. I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. Taehyung flew back from Hamburg last night, so he said he’ll come. Jimin, obviously.”

“Well you only had like, two friends in highschool.”

“And you,” you clip on with a frown, “so don’t dress like a potato sack tomorrow, okay?”

“I’m not modeling.”

“Well, I’m still looking for a celebrity model to tack onto so. Don’t look like a chump.” you stick out your hand, while Jungkook pouts at your outstretched limb. If he feels sore that you called him a chump, he doesn’t comment on it when he clasps his larger hand in yours. “Partners?”

“Partners.”

“Why didn’t you tell me your celebrity model was him?”

“I specifically told you not to dress like a paper bag. Why did you continue to do so!”

“You didn’t specify that your model was Kim Seokjin!”

The current conversation is hushed, hissed between large reflective light panels and a parked car that held all your rented equipment. Currently, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jimin are huddled on the bleachers of your old stomping grounds, laughing at whatever funny video Seokjin has pulled up. They’re all dressed in variants of the same sweatsuit, a combination of Taehyung’s choosing since he’s one of the many color coordinators at Ego.

But you haven’t started yet, and you would like to get some morning shots in before it gets any warmer. Jungkook is still petulant, pretending to buy time by balancing his tripod. He’s wearing his Birkenstocks, so old they’re definitely the same pair from highschool, and yet another black sweatsuit.

“Seokjin’s like a big, fat cheeseball,” you assure Jungkook, who’s actually shaking from being in the presence of a celebrity. “No reason to be nervous.”

“That man has literally been part of our Sitcom Sundays for three years,” he gripes, “of course I’m nervous!”

“Just go to the car. If you want to change I’m sure Taehyung’s brought something that fits you.”

“Well if they see me change they’re gonna see I’m trying too hard,” Jungkook pouts, he actually pouts.

“I can’t,” you turn around, your Miss Frizzle-esque solar system dress whirling around your waist. The stars twinkle, glittering into Jungkook’s eyes. “Jungkook, do whatever you want. But we need to start in ten! No, five! I’m not paying you to try on Balenciaga and Off-Brand!”

If Jungkook is shocked by your sudden snippiness or need to get things wrapped up, he doesn’t say anything to it. For once, he’s quiet about his needs and you’re thankful for it. Once he’s gone, you have a chance to breathe. It’s all wholly overwhelming to dive right into the job. Your brain is still in 2011 unfortunately.

“Babe, everything alright?”

Seokjin appears behind you, having ditched Jimin and Taehyung after he saw you and Jungkook argue. He smooths his hands over your biceps. You’re still unsure over the exact nature of your adult-self’s relationship, but it seems that sans sex you two are relatively close with each other.

“M’fine,” you mumble tiredly, trying not to stiffen under his hold. You suppose Jimin isn’t going to be the friend you confide into this lifetime. “I’m just nervous. We’re doing all this work and it can potentially go down the drain after this week. What if my idea’s stupid and we’re wasting time? Jennie texted me that her concept is going to be killer and now I’m scared this concept is too aesthetically soft and people don’t care about nostalgia anymore and I feel like simultaneously throwing up and crying—”

“Whoa whoa, who’s replaced my confident editor and where did she go?” Seokjin decidedly goes with the notion that you’re definitely not fine. He swings his neck back and forth, peering behind the bleachers and over the football field. “My confident editor would never talk bad of herself like this! She commanded a whole crew of fifty within seconds when she did the Kim Taeyeon shoot in Milan! She never cowers under a challenge, the challenge cowers to her!” and in his gallancy you no longer try to shy away, in fact you even giggle at his silly way of comforting you. “And most importantly, she’d never compare herself to a wench like Jennie.”

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to swipe the moisture right under your waterline, making sure any traces of your crying are undetectable. “W-wait,” you sputter, “you mean, me and Jennie aren’t actually friends?”

He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Even now, you’re such a good actress.”

You let Seokjin continue to hold you as the pieces in your empty mind come together. If Jennie is truly not your friend and you two have been faking it all this time, how serious is it? And if so, are you the competitive type? You know for sure Jennie is, and will she stop at nothing to make sure she gets the spread?

This fear is combined with an equal amount of sadness. You were a little excited to have a lasting friend from college, but your mother always told you to never believe anything on the internet. You suppose those selfies of you and Jennie on your Instagram are nothing but a facade.

But at the very least Seokjin’s care for you isn’t fake, and you’re thankful that you have at least one friend in this life. If you didn’t do this time skip, would Seokjin remain your only friend? You try not to think too hard about it, “Thanks, Seokjin. I really appreciate you.”

“Will you appreciate me tonight then?” Seokjin makes a move to kiss your neck, and the moment is promptly ruined.

Shoving him away you say firmly, “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip your dick off in front of this whole crew.”

“I love it when you get feisty,” Seokjin melts, but salutes you like a drill sergeant as he runs back to the men on the bleachers.

It’s then you feel a presence looming over your shoulder. Tall, dark, and emanating. He’s changed, in favor of some fitted jeans and a plain white shirt, paired with black boots. Jungkook is behind you, glaring over your shoulder at Seokjin. So much for showing off your professionalism. Crap, how much of that did he hear?

“Jungkook, I–”

“Let’s start,” he mutters gruffly, stepping past you to get to the equipment.

You slap a hand over your face. It’s going to be a long day.

However, the hours following are probably one of the brightest hours of your life since you’ve appeared in your future-self’s body. At first Jimin was anxious at your invitation, despite being in the high school plays and being okay at public speaking, he didn’t know he’d have the potential to be a model. A couple test shots and some coaching from Taehyung, Jimin is a natural, his photogenic energy strong enough to compete toe-to-toe with Seokjin.

You also have to hand it to Taehyung, who has been running back and forth between modeling and choosing outfits for the boys. Jimin and you didn’t run in the same group as Taehyung back in high school, but time changes things and if given the opportunity, you would’ve loved to be friends with him back then.

By the time you are done for the day and you feel like all the possible shots have all ready been taken, you circle around the school. You previously went inside empty classrooms, posed in the cafeteria, even pretended to reenact your school rendition of RENT in the auditorium.

Everything is mostly packed up and put into the car by the time the sun is setting, and you just wanted to perfect this one shot.

The gymnasium looks a lot smaller than it did as a child. As a teenager, you constantly feared getting hit in the face by a stray wiffleball, or throwing up during the pacer test after the 100th lap. But now, it just looks like an old gym.

“It smells like sweaty balls in there,” Taehyung curses, adjusting the patterned button down by smoothing down his chest. He jabs a finger in the boys locker room, where Jimin comes out with another new outfit.

“I think the sandwich I left in senior year is still there,” Jimin adds, pulling the collar around his burgundy knitted sweater.

The back of the gym is decorated in balloons. Overnight you managed to build a balloon ring off of Pinterest, one of your proudest moments as you made Jungkook haul the rainbow colored arc and shove it into the trunk. Seokjin is sitting directly under the arc, decorating a letter corkboard. It’s one of those cork boards all the teachers display in class, often decorated with some witty quote or a basic “Welcome to Mr/Mrs/Miss _____’s Class!”

Jungkook is setting up the camera on a tripod, wanting to do it the old fashioned way. Aside from the freakout he had in the beginning when he realized he was photographing Kim Seokjin, he’s been quiet and strictly professional throughout the whole ordeal. It’s amazing to see this side of him, as he seamlessly transitions from shoot to shoot knowing exactly what he has in mind for each photograph. His direction is soft but impactful, and the boys have no problems following directions.

“Okay boys, everyone under the arc!”

Working like this is a rush you can’t even imagine. In high school the path you were in the process of choosing wasn’t clear cut up until this point, but now you know exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life.

Seokjin holds the finished corkboard in the middle, a proud Class of Ego in white block letters.

Jungkook only gets a few shots in before Seokjin bemoans, letting the corkboard fall in his lap.

“Guys, this picture’s gonna stink.”

Jungkook’s appalled, “Excuse me—”

“Because you two aren’t in it!” Taehyung agrees easily, “c’mon, JK. Put your camera on timer mode and let’s have all of us in it!”

A blush melts on Jungkook’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. “What? No, that’s silly Tae. I really don’t—agh!”

The three men are in a controlled frenzy, aiming to get their mission done. Seokjin rounds the camera and makes quick work of enabling a timer and a burst shot. Jimin pulls you by the waist, tugging you ungracefully to the center of the arc. Taehyung is doing a pretty good job of hauling your muscle hunk of a photographer, pressing his shoulders across yours.

And finally, Seokjin hands you the corkboard. “You should be holding it. After all, you’re the brains behind it!”

At first it feels awkward, squished between new friends and old friends. First loves and last loves. Despite his warm bicep pressing against you, Jungkook is akin to a sheet of cardboard, arm-to-arm and stiff as a board.

“Alright people, let’s move it!” Seokjin yells unnecessarily loud, the noise echoing throughout the high walls. “Last couple shots here, and we’re not re-doing it because I’m tired as hell! So look alive and pretend to like each other!”

The first click of the camera stuns all of you, akin to many terrible school photos where the flash disarms you and your face twists. But that click suddenly gets Jungkook into gear, and you feel him slide a hand over your shoulder, squeezing you toward him so you’re pressed against the side of his chest. He still smells like floral fabric softener, and that makes you smile.

And suddenly you feel like you’re seventeen again, surrounded with the people you care for the most.

“So, the tabloids are true huh?” Jimin smirks, waving a flimsy fry in your face.

“T-tabloids?” you sputter, dabbing the ketchup off your cheek. The greasy burger slips off your grip and onto your plate. Your expression says it all, it’s painfully innocent and genuinely confused as you attempt to swallow the cheese and lettuce as fast as possible.

The crew sans Seokjin is eating a very late dinner with you at the restaurant of their choice. They put it to a vote, while you desperately wanted some McDonalds everyone else voted for a more high end restaurant. After all, you’re paying.

“Ah, don’t try playing coy with us,” Taehyung jests, “the office talks.”

“Well, whatever you’ve heard isn’t true,” you huff, crossing your arms. “At least, not anymore.”

“What?” Taehyung bugs out, “I thought you loved your no strings attached relationship with Jinnie.”

“I guess I did,” you frown, deflating against the plush booth, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I liked back then.”

You resume eating your burger, trying to ignore the worried look Jimin sends you. He reaches over the table to press his thumb to the little 11s in your forehead, a product of stress. “Does your head still hurt?” he asks.

Jungkook’s chewing slows considerably. He’s been strangely quiet this evening, opting to order a handful of appetizers and gorging on every single edible thing on the table like a glutton. But at Jimin’s question he turns his head to look at you, “Why would your head still hurt?”

“She hit her head when she went out drinking with Seokjin last week,” Jimin supplies, “messed with her memory.”

“Chim,” you frown, gently shoving him off you, “I’m fine now. Pretty much caught up. Just reevaluating my life choices, okay?”

“How could Seokjin let that happen?” Jungkook asks, putting his fork down.

“He wasn’t even there,” you shake your head, trying to clear Seokjin’s name as fast as possible. After all, this lie is completely fabricated, a blanket to cover the magical properties your true nature being here has. “I’m fine, Jungkook. Don’t worry about me.”

He huffs, resuming his meal. “Wasn’t worried,” he disarms, reaching over the table to snatch a mozzarella stick.

You cover up your disgusted expression by wiping your chin with a soft blue napkin. Jungkook is really out here inhaling the whole table and being a bit of a jerk.

“Well,” Taehyung claps his hands together, regarding all of you with a closed-lipped smile stretched so wide you’re worried he’ll break. “This is nice. I can’t imagine a time where I’d be reunited with you three. It’s weird. But a good weird.”

“Ditto,” Jimin echoes, lifting his glass to clink with Taehyung’s. Throwing an arm over your shoulder he remarks, “could’ve never imagined my ‘ol best friend would’ve wanted to pursue fashion.”

“What?” you glower, pinching his thigh, “I love fashion! I spent months planning my Clueless Halloween costume and our summers cosplaying!”

“Right, Cher,” teased Jimin, “that yellow plaid suit that made you look like a bottle of mustard?”

“You little–”

Taehyung begins to laugh when you start to tickle Jimin in the sweet spots, causing Jimin to curl his leg around your ankle and pull you onto his lap for a hair pull. It’s all in fun and nothing hurts, but you’re so caught up in it you’re sure people are worried about your well-being. Even Jungkook is laughing, egging Jimin on while Taehyung weakly attempts to pull you away.

If you could rewrite the last ten years of your life, this moment would define the remake.

“Why are we here?”

“For research purposes.”

“Are you sure the actual purpose is because you don’t feel like working in the office?”

“Jungkook,” you groan, tired of his infinite amount of negativity. “This was our senior trip! Of course I want to get a couple shots in before my big presentation.”

“You’re risking my baby’s life,” Jungkook cradles the digital camera closer to his chest, swaddling it between its felt case. Ever since you purchased the camera, Jungkook has been unable to let it go. This adoption is both equal parts cute and strange, and you’re a little too scared to ask for it back.

“I promise, no big rides,” you roll your eyes, “your baby will be fine.”

The local amusement park is a fan-favorite amongst the city-goers, a reprieve from the hustle and a chance for you to spend your copious amounts of money on overpriced sugar and popcorn. The last time you went here was two weeks ago—in your mind. In Jungkook’s mind it was over ten years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember the time spent roaming the artificial floor and the infinite amount of bubbles that seem to eject from the air to add to the whimsical charm.

Jungkook isn’t even paying attention, citing it as an artist block because he’s going through sensory overload with the amount of stimuli in the crowd. Screaming teenagers wailing under him from a nearby rollercoaster, the smell of sticky caramel apples pumping through the diffuser stands, and the amount of gaudy color that decorates every single logo of the park.

He plops himself down on a nearby bench while you wait in line to get some food. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, so you figure this is the best time to get some photographs in without any passerbys. You figure Jungkook will get the hang of it once he has some food in his stomach.

“A funnel cake?” Jungkook is bewildered when you return with the confection in hand, “it’s ten A.M.”

You raise a brow, knowing how much Jungkook loves sweet foods. The funnel cake especially, he ate at least three when you went to your senior trip, one for every meal. But you’re an adult, or at least posing as one, and you shrug loftily, plucking a hot piece of fried dough from your plate. “Alright then,” you reply, “I’ll just eat the whole thing.”

Once the cake touches your tongue, you can’t help but make an exaggerated moan in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook squirming like an earthworm next to you, either from the scrumptious smell of funnel cake or the way you’re so enthusiastically eating it.

“W-wait,” Jungkook’s stomach growls at the perfect moment, “I want some. But I don’t want to get the camera dirty, pass me a napkin.”

“I can just feed it to you!” you quip innocently, immediately ripping off a piece and shoving it between Jungkook’s pink lips. You feel a little slick in the finger, saliva briefly coating your digits before you pull away. You swallow, feeling a familiar tingle in your tummy and a sickening heat low in your belly.

You fight back a sigh, wondering if your libido also did a massive growth spurt in your twenty-seven years of age.

Jungkook is placated at the touch of food, and you take turns feeding yourself and feeding him while more customers trickle in the park. Confectioners sugar dusts Jungkook’s long-sleeved tee, the white color staining the dark fabric. You reach to pat his chest, ignoring the toneness that still remains from high school.

“Alright, let’s ride,” you declare, pulling Jungkook up once you’re done eating.

“Do we have to?”

“What happened to the adrenaline junkie I once knew?”

“He realized being an adrenaline junkie doesn’t make money and he should stay on the ground.”

“Alright, Negative Nancy,” your reply has no bite to it, and suddenly you wished you invited Jimin or Seokjin before Jungkook. Jungkook may have the talent, but he certainly doesn’t have the attitude. You don’t even get why he’s still defensive, after all you thought he apologized in the beginning. It’s not like you’re the problem.

“Gimmie your hand,” your thoughts cut out when Jungkook offers his large hand in front of yours, palm up.

“Why?”

“C’mon,” he whines, settling for snatching your hand instead. His palms feel larger, rougher as they enclose your smaller hand. “Now hurry up and walk in front of me. I’m gonna take a picture.”

You already have a feeling as to what this picture is going to look like, so you scrunch your nose. “That is so cheesy.”

“It’s for the nostalgia factor, now hurry up and pretend we’re on a date.”

You roll your eyes but relent, jogging a few steps ahead so you can get into character. This pose used to be a popular one, where the sweet boyfriend would be dragged around by the girlfriend’s hand, tugging him to wherever she wanted to go. It’s super cliche but if Jungkook figures it’ll fit your theme, you’ll do it. Eventually you forget that you’re holding his hand, and point ahead to some rides you want to try out.

“Oh, Jungkook! Remember that one?” you point to a teacup ride, with guests spinning vigorously through their own seat. “Jimin got so sick he fell asleep in the car for an hour!”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, so you turn around and face him. Click. Jungkook smirks at his little trick, which makes you rip your hand from his and walk further.

“Hey, hey,” he chuckles, the first smile of the day. Food really does make him peaceful. “The shot looks good, you look good.”

“Could’ve just asked me to turn around and pose,” you huff.

“Then it would ruin the fun,” he replies, “now c’mon, let’s ride the teacups. For old time’s sake.”

Ten minutes later and the both of you are soon regretting that decision. You’re once again slumped on the bench, this time unable to keep your head up so you rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder while he leans on your head.

“Haven’t rode that since I was a teenager,” Jungkook moans, holding his stomach. “Remind me not to eat so fast before getting on that kind of ride.”

You mirror his expression, feeling green. “Is this what late-adult life feels like?”

“Yep,” Jungkook replies, unbeknownst of how shocked you are at how weak your body has become. “You wake up with back pain, pre-arthritis from all the typing you’ve done over the last decade, and a lot of stress. Definitely not the fantasy you’d imagine from your 20s.”

“You think you’d be less stressed if you kept your lacrosse scholarship?”

“Nah, I think I saved myself,” Jungkook shakes his head, “before I could be any more awful than I already was.”

You refuse that notion, sending him a bitter smile. “Well, look at me. I became awful right after high school.”

“I didn’t mean you—”

“I know,” you hold up a hand to stop him. The two of you follow a red path up the hill, leading to a simple cable car ride. It’s a slow travel ride, made to get from one side of the park to the other with a beautiful view over the lake. “But you see those tabloid articles. They must be true.”

“I—I didn’t think they were all true,” Jungkook’s lying through his teeth to make you feel better, but you don’t care. “Why do you sound unsure?”

You shrug, “Probably wasn’t sober for most of my bad decisions,” considering your friendship with Seokjin and his boisterous drinking attitude, you wouldn’t be surprised, “If they weren’t true, I believe Jimin and I would’ve stayed friends. I can’t imagine why I left my home like that. But I guess it doesn’t matter too much because I came back. And I mean, we’re here together doing work,” you gesture between the small space between each other, “I think that counts for something.”

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, contemplating. The line to the cable car isn’t long but it’s slow, considering the cable only moves a couple meters a second. The take-off area is a risen slab of concrete, and the cars are continuously moving so you have to hop on one car as soon as another guest exits.

There’s a little bit of space between it, a centimeter gap that could be nerve wracking if there’s no staff around. You think nothing of it as you fiddle on your phone, waiting for the staff member to let you and Jungkook in on the next car.

Jungkook enters first, taking great care to cradle the camera in one hand so it doesn’t sway against the car. The car swings a little as well, and Jungkook holds out a hand for you to grab.

Instead you focus on how the once bright glassy pink is sun-ravished, faded and rusting on the metal door flaps. The color is almost pearlescent, vastly different than the vivid color you saw two weeks ago. You almost want to reach out and touch it, wondering where that quality went.

“Bun, be careful!”

The tip of your heel nicks on the stepping stone, slipping like butter as you topple forward. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hauling you into the car just as the metal door locks into place. The hard plastic of the camera digs into your chest uncomfortably as you plop on top of Jungkook, between his legs as half his thighs rest against the uncomfortable seat.

“Were you not watching where you were going?” Jungkook huffs, blowing his bangs over his forehead.

Instead of an artful answer you blurt, “You, you called me Bun.”

His eyes widen at your response, and his grip loosens around your body. His eyes dart anywhere but your face, his cheeks ruddied and stained coral as he moves to remove you from his body. “It was a slip of the tongue,” he coughs, turning on his camera and getting shots of the lake.

You huff in response, sticking to your side of the carriage. “I missed it,” you murmur to the wind, although you make yourself loud enough for him to hear.

You try to bury your sour expression in your sleeves, just to hide how absolutely childish you feel. You don’t even care that Jungkook is trying to take pictures of you looking out the view, only trying to eradicate the feelings that are still down deep in your blood. Even the twenty-seven year old Jungkook is charming, albeit in a completely different way.

The grown, mature Jungkook toots to his own horn. He isn’t concerned about a team or an image, and gave it all up to pursue an art he loves. The lacrosse jerseys exchanged for bulky long sleeves, the sport for a camera, and a mask for his true image.

“Let’s go,” Jungkook takes your hand again when the ride stops, not letting go until you’re on steady ground. You figure he must think you walk like a toddler barely on her first mile.

Would Jungkook like you even as an adult? With all this money, this power and this confidence you envisioned as a seventeen-year-old, it still doesn’t feel enough for him. In fact, you feel like a sore thumb sticking out, decorated in silly rumors and expensive clothes that separate you far from your roots.

“Hey,” Jungkook touches your arm, pointing to a basketball carnival game, “remember this one?”

“Yeah,” forcing a smile, you follow him to the small crowd that starts to form around the basketball game. The baskets are a short distance from the player, but so high up that it’s hard to tell the shape of the hoop. “I tried to tell you that it was completely rigged. From an angle you can see it’s still oval-shaped.”

“And I told you it didn’t matter if the hoop was an octagon, I’d get you that prize,” he jerks a thumb to the prize booth, where a blue Piplup plush sits proudly with all the other starter Pokemon. “And I did.”

“It’s still in my room,” you reply proudly, even though Jungkook is acting almost immaturely smug. “I, I mean it’s still in my room in my parent’s house. It’s probably lonely because my parents have been on a cruise for almost two weeks.”

He raises a brow, eyes drifting to the booth. “Should I win another one to keep your bed in the city warm?”

“That sounded oddly sexual.”

“You know what I mean,” and Jungkook’s rolling up his sleeves, handing you the camera.

“Jungkook,” you whine when he pulls out a roll of bills from his pocket, as if he prepared for this moment, “Jungkook c’mon—I don’t need any stuffed animals. Ugh.”

You swear that the majority of your day is spent watching Jungkook blow cash on a low-quality stuffed animal with packaging pellets for the inside. Turns out carnival technology has also enhanced over the years, and it takes both your whining and the clerk’s whining to stop Jungkook from blowing his entire wallet to get one basket in. Eventually the staff relents and lets Jungkook take a Piplup keychain instead, glumly handing it over to you.

“I like this better,” you chirp, clipping the ring onto your car keys, “now I can bring Piplup everywhere.”

A small, barely there smile appears on Jungkook’s face.

The rest of the day melts away like that, and before you know it the sun is slipping into the horizon and you’re being dropped off at your apartment. Jungkook even insists to walk you to your door, because your prizes are heavy. (Yes, he went back for the oversized Piplup.)

It’s all too familiar, the way the walk upstairs is achingly slow, as if the moment is stretching itself down the hallway. How Jungkook looks so prideful holding the fruits of his labor, following you with a tug of your hand because the prize is too big for Jungkook to see straight.

At the same time it’s different. The way you wobble around the hallway because you’re a little tipsy from wine flights is noticeable, even cute. How easy it is to not feel nervous when you clutch at his hand. How you two look like a seasoned couple, coming home from an all-day date.

It ends at the front door, and you crack it open so you can slip your prizes through the crack.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you hold up the SD card that held all the precious memories of this week.

This is where you part ways. You’ll spend the rest of the night editing your presentation, while Jungkook promised to go to a bar with his friends. A little part of you hoped you’d be invited, but you knew that would be impractical considering you have work in the morning.

“Break a leg,” he says, leaning on the balls of his feet with his hands in his pockets, “you’ll do great. You’ve always been meant to do great things.”

The investment he lays on you is insurmountable, and you feel yourself flush with simultaneous excitement and anxiety. Unknowing how to calm your nerves, you give him a small “thank you” and put your hand on the knob to slip away.

“Wait—”

You blink, a deer in the headlights as Jungkook swoops down and kisses you.

You’ve received kisses—kisses reserved for a twenty-seven year old, before. Seokjin is an eager lover, and you felt it that fateful morning and even during your photoshoot when he tried to be sneaky and pull you away. Fleeting bites, kisses to the neck that are wet and hot.

Jungkook’s kiss does not feel like that. It feels like home. It feels like coming home after a long day of work, wrapping yourself in an old afghan and a hot cup of tea. The feeling of hot laundry, fresh front the dryer and smelling of floral softener. It tastes like ten years lost in a void, returning to your senses and lighting you up.

He holds you as if you’ll disappear right in front of him. Large hands cup your face, like a precious thing he never wants to let go. Your hands can do nothing but grapple after his, nails digging into his skin.

“Good night, Jungkook,” you send him a lovestruck smile, a puppy love face.

“Good bye, Bun,” he replies simply, jogging down the hallway.

Being twenty-seven starts to feel a little more like heaven.

Jennie used to annoy you in high school, but now she just down right scares you.

Her presentation is one straight out of a thriller, with red shadow lights and neon green splattered in the dark room. Her models are intense, her designs are beautiful but overwhelmingly chaotic, and the whole affair is rather grotesque. The headline Fashion Suicide glares at you in a morbid scarlet font.

Hoseok sends her a tight-lipped smile, and presses a button on his desk. “I need my antacids, Krystal,” Hoseok deadpans.

Nothing betrays Jennie’s wicked expression, in fact her smirk widens at Hoseok’s fear.

You on the other hand, are cool as a cucumber when you walk up to the front of the conference room. In fact, you barely have to say anything as the presentation presents itself. Jungkook took the liberty of making a video compilation for you, one that they could use in YouTube and Instagram promotions.

“This, is preserving our youth,” you declare proudly, letting the video play. The music that accompanies it is very coming-of-age, like a yearbook slideshow of all the pictures you took. Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin hold their arms around each other in matching attire, looking like friends for life. There’s even some videos of you and Jungkook at the park, playfully arguing at each other. “I’m tired of seeing people who could care less about my life, who I can’t relate to.”

“This issue is for the unsung heroes—my best friend’s older sibling, the captain of the football team, and the black sheep with a dream.”

The video cuts to Jungkook, looking ultra cool at the camera while he’s dictating Seokjin’s moves. It was taken on your phone, and you’re zooming in on Jungkook’s serious face before it breaks into a laugh, eyes crinkling and bunny teeth showing at whatever stupid thing Seokjin said.

And finally, the video fades into a mock cover. The five of you are beaming at the camera, cheek-to-cheek as you hold up the placard: Ego: Class of Youth.

Needless to say, the issue is yours.

You ignore Jennie’s icy stare as you leave the room to negotiate with the creative teams on a set schedule. However, it seems that you can’t get a bit of rest when Jennie waits for you in your office.

“Jennie, get off of my desk,” you frown, watching a coffin-tipped nail flicking against a photograph of you holding hands with Jungkook in the amusement park. It hangs on a corkboard, standing up with all the other ideas that you and Jungkook have spent the last week meticulously planning.The black enamel scratches at your smiling face. You are not having this, not after all your hard work and all the meetings that have just been planned.

Her feet dangle in the air, kicking back and forth as she sings your name. “You’re still such a child,” she sighs dramatically. “In fact, I think your cute little-wittle idea would suit something more like Highlights or Disney Monthly.”

“You’re just upset I did better than you,” you cross your arms.

Jennie’s nail slices your visage in half.

“You’re right,” Jennie turns a 180 and gives you a bright, candy-coated smile. “Your idea is so good, it doesn’t suit Ego. In fact, I’m sure the editors at Mono will pay a pretty penny.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ugh, you are such a fake.” Jennie giggles, “now, did you send this idea to Namjoon yet? Their publishing date is two weeks before ours, so I’m sure they’re getting to work on this whole Throwback Thursday spread.”

You can’t believe the words coming from Jennie’s mouth. Before all of this, just how awful of a person were you? How could you sabotage your company on the regular, just to get paid a little extra dough for a rival company? It makes you think about what could’ve possibly changed. Had leaving your friends without a care in the world made you into this lost adult, grappling at the seams for attention? In college, did Jennie coerce you into being manipulative and backstabbing, and because without Jimin and needing confidence in a friend, you reluctantly agreed?

The coffee from this morning starts to back up in your throat, but you immediately tamp it down. No, you can’t be pushed around like this. You can’t keep pushing people around. You don’t want a life like this, and if you ever return to your old life, you’ll damn make sure you’ll create a future without Jennie in the picture.

“I’m not going to send anything to Mono, and I’ve already fessed up to Hoseok,” you lift your nose in the air, voice impeccably clear for someone who’s absolutely bluffing. But Jennie’s face hits the ground, immediately buying your lie. You suppose you did become a good actress after ten years. Maybe Seokjin taught you a few pointers. “So if I were you, I’d swallow your tongue before words get around. I worked it out but don’t be surprised if a pink slip comes your way.”

Turns out that no matter what, high school never ends. There will always be backstabbers and freaks and geeks. A mean girl that you subconsciously try so hard to appease, a grade that defines your life, and drama up to the neck.

“He doesn’t like you, y’know,” Jennie whispers, but the words are loud and clear and you know exactly who she’s talking about. “Never had, and never will.”

“You’re wrong,” you hold your hands, clasping them together to keep them from trembling, “he likes me.”

So you leave the office, determined to prove yourself. That kiss last night was nothing short of magical, and it took a lot of strength for you to not drive up to Jungkook’s apartment in the morning in the hopes for another one. You pick up a pizza near his place, filling it up with your favorite toppings on one half and his favorites on his. A bottle of peach champagne is nestled between your arms. In the bathroom while waiting for your pizza, you’ve wriggled out of your tight suit and into a blue hoodie and bicycle shorts. Tonight, you’re celebrating.

You’re vibrating as you’re knocking eagerly on his front door, excited to tell him the news. You hear a rustle from the couch, and some blankets shifting about. He must’ve passed out after going to the bar, how cute.

But when the door opens, the vision in front of you is far from cute.

A woman, with cat eyes and a slim figure, tilts her head at you. She’s dressed in a large white shirt, transparent enough to show her lacy black bra and panties. Bruises decorate her neck and thighs, like red and purple gems. Her long black hair swishes, slightly frizzy at the bottom.

“Can I help you?” her voice is sultry and velvety. “Are you looking for JK?”

It’s obvious as to what transpired. Jungkook dipped after kissing you and fucked another woman. A woman who’s the complete opposite of you. Someone flirty and sexy and willing to give Jungkook what he wants. You don’t know who you should be mad at.

“Who’s at the door?” Jungkook calls from the inside, and you nearly drop your bottle at the sound of the rasp. They must’ve had a fuckfest if they’re just waking up now.

Your cheeks are burning. Your heart is aching. And the vile that bubbled up from Jennie’s tirade is now resurfacing. From the way your eyes are watering, you must look like a crybaby.

“Say, JK,” the woman closes the frame tighter around her small head, preventing you from seeing inside and for Jungkook to peer, “do you have any pathetic ex-girlfriends?”

“No,” comes the muffled reply, “come back to bed, it’s getting cold without you,” the pizza starts to burn uncomfortably against your grip, “why the random question?”

“Dunno, seems like you’ve had at least one.”

At that moment, your savior appears in grey jeans and a beige hoodie. Jimin walks up to the floor, clutching a bag of groceries. It’s not hard to put two and two together as he spots you looking incredibly small in front of the strange woman, trying so hard not to break down.

Your tears finally fall when Jimin reaches you. “Wrong room,” you mutter under your breath, quickly following your old best friend when he shoves you in his apartment.

No words need to be explained when Jimin leaves the groceries on the coffee table and he’s pulling you onto his lap. You clutch him like a koala, rubbing mascara and blush all over his clothes as you sob. He pats your back and soothes your hiccups by offering you a glass of water. The stages of your meltdowns are pretty cut and dry, even after ten years. He still encourages you to finish the whole glass. He makes sure you have something to eat. He cuts your pizza into little bite sized pieces and feeds you. He doesn’t pressure you to talk until you’re ready, although he has a hunch as to what’s going on.

And when you talk, he doesn’t expect a firm, “Take me home,” from you.

“O-okay,” Jimin agrees immediately, pulling you into a sitting position. “Uptown, right? We can call an Uber or something and order from a restaurant.”

“No,” you reply firmly, “Home-home. I want to go back to my parent’s house.”

“That’s fine too,” he squeezes your shoulder, accepting the fob you hold out to him, “it’ll take about an hour, but I think the drive will be nice.”

So you two sneak off into the sunset, clutching twin slices of pizza as you roll away into your Tesla. Jimin is right, ten minutes into the drive and you’re soothed by his smooth driving and the scent of fried cheese and dough. Your friend has been calm all this time, so you figure this is the right time for him to pop off. Again, this is also part of your breakdown routine.

“Say, does this thing do calls?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the settings on your steering wheel, “Tesla, call Jeon Jungkook.”

“Jimin,” you say weakly, although the little malicious side of you wants to goad him on. You don’t bother to fight the best friend territorialism, you just watch as his hands clutch at the steering wheel as the speakers ring.

Jungkook picks up on the second ring, “Hey!” he says brightly, and it makes your chest pang to know how oblivious he is, “how did the presentation go?”

“Fuck you, Jungkook!” you cover your free hand on your ear at Jimin’s shrill yell, louder than the speakers that carry Jungkook’s voice. “Fuck you for breaking my best friend’s heart twice!”

The silence is deafening. It’s scary, like you could slash a butter knife right through the tension.

Jimin continues, “I can understand high school because you were a real doofus, but this! You fucking lead my best friend on, only to fuck another girl right under her nose! She came all the way to your apartment from a long-ass day at work to celebrate and you ruin that day! I thought you’ve grown for the better but turns out nothing has changed since prom night. You’re still the stupid, confused little boy that doesn’t want to admit how they really feel,” you gasp at the blow, watching Jimin’s gritted teeth as he zooms down the freeway on a mission. “Good fucking riddance, Jeon!”

Jimin punches the “hang up” button. A couple seconds of heavy breathing, and he turns to you with a gentle smile.

“So, you want to listen to Taylor Swift’s new album?”

Your room is lost in time. The Hunger Games novels are stacked on your shelf, looking old and worn. A Glee poster hangs over your four-poster bed, the yellow and red faded and the corners hanging by a thread from the old tape. The sheets are a pale pink, ruffly and definitely not in style anymore. When you sit on it, it creaks uncomfortably.

You hug yourself, tucking your knees in as Jimin marvels at the room with an equal amount of awe.

“If you could, would you go back to high school?” Jimin asks, sitting at the edge of your bed.

With a lazy shrug, you smile at your collection of polaroids that are hanging above your vanity. You’re still hurt, but the pain is no longer rolling in waves. “Maybe,” you reply, “probably would’ve taken you to Europe with me.”

He chuckles, “Is that the only thing you would change?”

“If I knew what I knew now?” you tilt your head, “I don’t know.”

Jimin gets off your bed, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I’m gonna raid the kitchen and see if we can make something for dinner, yeah? Since your parents are on vacation and your fridge is probably empty, don’t judge me if there’s only Totino’s pizza rolls and nuggets in the freezer.”

When Jimin leaves your room, you quietly close the door and lock it. You lean against the cracked wooden door, falling onto the carpet and letting the tears fall. Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? Evading pain and working too hard and trying everyday to stay afloat? Is adult life always going to be this difficult?

These past two weeks have been nothing short of a rollercoaster. Major highs and major lows, and after today you thought you reached the end of the ride. However, it’s looking like the ride has no destination in mind, rolling in waves and finding a new hill or loop to catch you off-guard.

“Are you kidding—how did you know we were here?” Another corkscrew.

“You’re a turtle on the road, Jimin. Now move out of the way.”

Jungkook’s voice startles you, and you tense when you see the gold door knob jiggle. Of course as strong as Jimin is, he’s no match for Jungkook. You hear Jimin grumble to curse Jungkook out, and the sound of him stomping down the stairs.

“Hey, open up. Please,” Jungkook’s voice is weak and strained, and you only hug yourself tighter as the knocks continue. “Or, don’t. It seems like you can listen to me perfectly from here. I can hear your breathing.”

You don’t say a peep, preferring to let everything fizzle out. Hopefully Jungkook will give up, say a pathetic sorry and be on his merry way. You don’t know why he’s followed you all the way over here, why would he bother coming when the damage is already done.

There’s a slide of fabric across wood, and you can feel the door shake against your back as Jungkook leans on his side out in the hallway.

“Back in high school, Jennie proposed that I date you to get back at you for stealing Jennie’s sewing sample and getting the higher grade,” you close your eyes, letting the story unravel. “She wanted to build you up before breaking you down, and back then I was vulnerable and thrived on attention, so I thought nothing of it.”

You hear a breathy exhale from his side, as if it pains him to continue, “But obviously, it wasn’t true and I only realized it until I was way too deep. I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you. We were so wrapped up in this relationship I even convinced myself it was real, until Jennie said she’d crush you at prom night.

“I should’ve tried harder to convince us not to go. I should’ve told Jennie to fuck off. I should’ve come clean. I should’ve done something,” his fist bangs against your door, the vibrations of the impact thrumming in your back, “seeing you so beautiful in that dress all heartbroken because I didn’t act sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Hearing him pour his heart out is like watching your memories in his shoes. The pieces find homes and paint a picture left unfinished.

“And then when you showed up at my doorstep, I was so angry. I knew you felt it. But I wasn’t upset at you, I was upset at myself. I felt so fucking guilty. I hated how easy it was for you to let me back into your life. I hated how easy it was to fall for you all over again. I knew how much I didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you gave it to me and I was too selfish to refuse. I had so much fun, the most fun I’ve had in awhile.

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t intend for it to I just, I couldn’t help myself. And then I was so scared that I turned away and made the second biggest regret to date.

“But it proves that we’re not meant to be together. I don’t deserve you,” the last part is hushed, a nail in the coffin, “we can’t turn back the time, but if I could I would change it all. I would be by your side and make your world even better than it is right now. I’m sorry it’s too late.”

You clutch your mouth, suppressing the cries that muffle through the door. You hear Jungkook get up from your old carpet, turn the other way and head downstairs.

Your first love just closed the chapter for you. His words show how much he cared for you, but didn’t know how to express it. How immature he was, how he realized everything too late. And now, he wants to set you free. Even if it is a good thing, it still tears you to shreds.

Moving to your vanity, you pull out the chair and lean your head on the table, eyes poking through your hair. You look awful. The skin under your waterline is puffy and your eyes are red and bloodshot. Your forearms feel greasy, and you lift them up to reveal glitter painting the entirety of your skin. Your eyes dart to the open glitter, the package that Jimin gifted to you that fateful prom night. The compact is broken in half and left on the table, probably a product of your younger cousins fiddling through your old room.

Ignoring the sticky feeling, you let yourself continue to cry. You feel like you’re stuck in the bathroom of the prom venue, waiting for an opportunity to sneak out and go.

But you want nothing more than to go back to that moment. As amazing as your twenty-seven year old life is, you’re not ready for it. You don’t want a life without Jungkook, or a life having to constantly catch up and mend your relationship with Jimin. You don’t want to be the backstabbing bitch that tips off other magazines, or the two-faced woman who messes around with others for the sake of pleasure.

You long to go back. You long to live and grow. To be seventeen and have time to grow in-between.

When you lift your head from your vanity, you’re ten years younger.

You scream.

Your parents dash to your room with a kitchen knife and a confused face. With a wary smile and a teary gaze you say that it’s only a pimple. Your mother giggles and drops the knife, hugging you and helping you conceal the invisible mark. The hug is so warm and so missed that you nearly sigh in content. You’ve missed them.

It’s a little strange to think well beyond your years, your brain still reeling from the trip you’ve just had. Your hands smooth over your body, the previous curves and maturity hidden away in your skin. That’s okay, you don’t mind waiting anymore. There’s much more important things at hand.

If Jungkook isn’t going to realize his mistakes until it’s too late, you have to speed up the process.

Stealing your parent’s keys and hopping in your Accord, you drive off to Jungkook’s. Hair and makeup not done, and still in your plain shirt and jeans. An hour from now, Jungkook will text you saying his car is down and he’ll meet you at the venue.

It’s still rush hour, so he doesn’t notice when you park a few houses down. He’s sitting on his front porch, looking out the road. There’s really nothing in front of him, he’s just staring aimlessly, probably nervous about what’s about to go down tonight. You suppress a sigh, engraving the vision to memory. He looks great in his fitted black suit and tie, a little silver pocket square on the breast to match your dress.

He gets up quickly when he sees you, as if caught in the act. Staring at your plain clothes he asks, “Bun, why aren’t you dressed? Prom’s soon—”

“Jungkook, I want to break up.”

You see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. No longer do you feel insecure, the future told you that Jungkook genuinely did care for you back then. Or in this case, right now. His usual cheery expression crumples at your feet, and his hands fall at his sides. It feels a little unfair, knowing that you have experience under your belt, and Jungkook’s experiencing these feelings for the first time, unprepared.

“What?” he wilts, “why?”

“I know about Jennie’s plan,” you say instantly, unfazed. You give him a tight-lipped smile when realization hits his face. “So I know this whole relationship is orchestrated. The sewing sample fiasco is wrong, obviously. But I’m not going to get mad at you, I know she played you as much as she played me,” you clasp the straps of your purse, stopping you from fidgeting, “we graduate in a few months anyway. We don’t have to see or talk about this ever again. You should go enjoy your prom night with your other friends.”

The present-day Jungkook is still young and confused. He’s at a loss, looking like he’s on sensory overload as he absorbs all the information. You see his eyes flicker to where your Accord is parked, your prom dress hanging on one of the arm pulls. You never even pulled it out of the bag.

“Here,” you pull his corsage from your purse, placing the white rose atop the porch. If you try to put it on him, you fear you may never leave. With a determined huff, you turn around in the direction of your car.

“Where are you going?” he asks, clutching the railing of his porch, “what about prom?”

“I have other plans,” you shrug over your shoulder, “have a good night.”

You don’t look back, although you feel Jungkook’s stare burning in your head. You take great care in going into drive and punching in a new destination in your clunky GPS. This time you have to do things one at a time, once you get your Tesla ten years from now, you’re sure this process will be much easier.

Jimin’s family comes out of the airport, looking impeccable as always. Ten years younger, with puffy cherub cheeks and bright eyes. To your surprise (but also all things considered, it’s Jimin), your best friend comes out in a three-piece suit. It’s burgundy, and suits his dark hair well. He places his luggage into your car, hugs his family good-bye and waits for them to depart in their cab.

“You are all dressed up, and for what,” you chuckle, driving out of the airport.

“Well, when you sent that voicemail that you’d be waiting for me, I changed in the bathroom,” Jimin quips, already fiddling with your radio to play some poppy overplayed music, “but why aren’t you dressed? I thought we were going to be fashionably late to prom. Spill.”

“Hm, let’s talk about it in the morning. I wanna enjoy my prom night,” and you reach over to ruffle Jimin’s soft black strands, “y’know, you’d look really sexy as a blond.”

He pulls down your mirror, positioning it over his face. Pursing his plush lips, he tilts his head. “Yeah, maybe when I’m older,” he grins at his reflection, “so if we’re not going to prom, let’s go get pizza.”

So the two of you get pizza. But not before you take your prom pictures. Your parents meet you at the park with their old digital camera, ready for your impromptu photoshoot. Jimin uses an old tarp to cover the car up while you change in the car, shimmying in your sparkly silver tulle dress. Your hair is held up and away from your face, looking clean enough to be presentable as you pose for the camera. The two of you pick yellow dandelions from the grass, matching flowers as last minute dates. Your parents coo and are happy for you, knowing that even if you don’t attend the actual dance, the pictures will last forever and you’ll smile at them for years.

Eventually you tell Jimin about Jungkook and the whole fiasco (sans the ten year mental time jump.) The reaction is expected, Jimin says he wants to fuck Jungkook up. Surprisingly for him, he doesn’t have to do much to console you. In fact, you sip coolly from your smoothie and say Jungkook will probably let Jimin get a punch in even though Jungkook can bench press his tiny body in half. But you tell him you’re okay, and all you want to do is go home and binge watch.

Jimin carries the pie in his lap while you pull up your driveway. The smell of toasty cheese and fresh dough fill your car.

“I want to watch Sky City,” Jimin sing-songs, “Kim Seokjin is God’s gift!”

You crinkle your nose, “He’s alright.”

“What! You thought he was so hot like, last week.”

“Things change.”

Jimin makes it to your room first, saying he’ll take care of setting things up. He’ll probably steal all the available cushions and make a fort for himself while he puts a picnic blanket on the floor in front of your television. You can imagine him hogging all your stuffed animals, placing it on his side of the carpet while he rifles through your drawers so he can change out of his suit.

Your parents tell you to take out the trash before you have fun tonight. Careful not to get your dress dirty, you hold it away from your body as you waddle out the front door. You make it two steps into the driveway before the soggy trash bag is whisked from your hands.

“I got it,” Jungkook says quietly, and it takes little to no effort for him to haul the large bag into the waiting trash can. His shoulders are slumped under his white button-up, his suit jacket probably stuffed somewhere in the back of the car.

“Jungkook,” you reply, dumbfounded, “it’s only eight, prom isn’t even over yet.”

“I know… but then I realized you weren’t gonna get your money’s worth if you didn’t go. I asked the waitress if she could get me a doggie bag for my date and,” he holds up a stapled bag, presumably the dinner that was supposed to be served, “it’s your favorite.”

“Thank you,” you give him a small, grateful smile as you accept the bag. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

He bites his lip, stuffing his hands in his dress pockets. “A-and you told me before you left that I should go spend prom night with my friends,” he ruffles his hair, blown out of the pomade and falling into his eyes, “and then I realized that you were right. Jennie and all those people out there aren’t really my friends. They like my rep and they like my attention, but they don’t like me.”

You shake your head, “Jungkook, you’re very likable. Jennie and her group are just one bad bunch.”

“But I don’t wanna be liked by my rep. I wanna be liked for the things I love,” he steps a hesitant step towards you, and he relaxes when he sees that you don’t recoil, “I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to drop that sports scholarship. I applied to an art school, and I got in.”

Suppressing a grin with a bite of your lips, you cheer silently in your head. Things are changing. “I’m so happy for you, Jungkook. Congrats.”

“And I’m sorry for all the fucked up things I did. Jennie may have manipulated me but I definitely was a big part of it,” Jungkook pulls the words out of the sky, finally having enough time to formulate an apology, “but please don’t doubt for a second that my feelings are fake. I really like you, and I wish we got to know each other under better circumstances.”

“I wish we could’ve,” you echo sadly. “But our futures—”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you.”

You shake your head, frowning at his kicked puppy expression. “I’m considering a fashion school in Europe,” you reach for Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it. Letting him know that everything’s going to be okay. “You and Jimin can visit me during the breaks, Europe has some great spots to photograph.”

Something in Jungkook’s gaze tells you that it’s not enough for him. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you tighter, but you know that’s not good for the both of you right now. “That’d be nice,” he says vaguely, giving you a pained smile.

Jungkook rubs his thumb over your hand, relishing in the softness of your skin. “You look really pretty,” he says, looking forlornly over the dress. He can only imagine how ethereal you’d look under the fairy lights that decorated the venue, “I wish we could’ve had one dance.”

You shrug, “The night’s still young,” you gesture to the space in the driveway, and the lights that overhead the garage.

The slow Taylor Swift music that plays from his pocket is muffled, but it doesn’t deter either of you as he places his hands on your waist and you wrap his around his neck. You’re wearing your bunny house slippers and Jungkook’s neck is moist from his nervous sweats, but you know that this memory will be engraved in your brain for years to come.

It feels good to know that from now on, you don’t have to be so concerned about the future now that you’ve had a taste of it. All you want now is to take it one day at a time. At this moment the, the only thing you want to do is focus on how you’re going to hold onto Jungkook for the last time. At least for now, who knows what will happen in the future.

“I really want to kiss you, Bun,” he leans in, foreheads touching, “but I don’t deserve it.”

“You’re right,” you tease, “you don’t.”

He frowns playfully, “Ouch. But fair.”

Yet you figure you’ve made enough headway these past few weeks, and you deserve to be a little selfish. One last kiss, you think to yourself. Your fingers flatten against the pressed material of his collar, meeting in the middle to clutch Jungkook’s slim black tie. Jungkook bites his lip, looking down at you for permission. With the tiniest of nods, you get on your tippy toe toes you lean forward and you can smell the apple cider lingering on his lips—

“Ohmygod—are you broken up or not!” both of you whip your heads up to see Jimin hanging over your open window, looking absolutely bored. His arms dangle over your sill, wearing a frayed high school jumper. “Either tell him to get lost or invite him over to watch television because I’m hungry!”

You pull away from him fully, squeezing his biceps. “Want pizza?”

He shakes his head, “I think it’s a trap. Jimin’s waiting for me to come up so he can rip my head off,” he gives a tentative wave to the second floor, but Jimin just scoffs and goes back inside, “but I’ll see you Monday.”

“Okay. Good night, Kook.”

“Good night, Bun.”

Your heart pinches a little as you watch him drive away. Before, you knew what the end game was between you two. It didn’t end pretty. Now, you’re not so sure. At the very least, it isn’t ending on a sour note.

Some time later.

“Your majesty,” you give her a practiced smile, taking careful measures not to brush the lady’s shoulders too hard in the fear she’ll whittle away, “emerald is an impeccable color on you.”

The Queen of England (the McDuckin' Queen of England!) just laughs at you and waves you off. You can’t believe you’re photographing a real queen. This is like the childhood equivalent of meeting Malibu Barbie. You thank every single choice and mistake you’ve made in your entire life that has brought you up to this impeccable moment. She’s a vision, you could cry. In fact, you’ll cry later in the comfort of your hotel room. “Do you think the photographer will take long?” she asks, frowning, “I have drinks with my friends in an hour.”

You smirk, pleased to know she’s still kicking it in her golden years. “Yeah, just so long as my husband doesn’t get distracted. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“I’m not distracted,” Jungkook huffs, pulling away from his tripod. He gives up on trying to stabilize the camera, instead preferring to go freehand for this one. He gives you an incredulous look, hands on his hips, “I have two queens in my viewfinder and I only got room for one. Get out of the shot, Bun.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you step away from the lady of the hour to let Jungkook do his thing. He’s right in his element, blurting choreographed poses and telling the lighting people to move at his beck and call to get the perfect angle. You stand a distance behind him, letting him take control.

“I’m so hungry,” your whisper is low enough to blend between the jazz music, but loud enough for Jungkook’s ears to listen in, “please tell me you’re almost done.”

“Oui, oui.”

“Wrong language, Kook. Please don’t offend anyone,” and discreetly, you take one step closer in your Tory Burch flats, “did you get any candids of me and the Queen?”

“Duh, Bun,” you can’t see his face but you know he’s grinning, “Jimin will faint.”

"Oh, yes! Thank you, I love you," you gush, reaching over to discreetly pinch his butt.

He shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to give you a brief smirk, "Show me how thankful you are tonight."

So silly, you think. It's amazing how well you work together as two separate entities of a photoshoot yet share a brain cell in the presence of each other. In another world, Jungkook said if given the chance, he'd be by your side and make your world a better place.

Ten years later, it's exactly that and more.

#jungkook x reader #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst

3K notes · View notes

jumblejen · 3 years ago

Text

Sidekick

Suptober21 Day 25: Sidekick

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34726882

“Dean, why exactly do you want me to stick around?” Claire arched one eyebrow at Dean, her arms crossed tightly across her check.

“We love having you here Claire. We always want you to stick around.”

“That’s not it this time.”

“Maybe.”

“Spill, Dean. Or I’m outta here.”

“Okay fine. Sam put together this hunter training thing and he wants me to, you know, give a lecture or something. I thought it would be nice to have a friendly face in attendance.”

Claire’s eyebrows climbed higher. “You think I’m gonna be friendly?”

“It was just an idea.”

Claire furrowed her brow. “What’s your ‘lecture’ on?”

Between the air quotes and the wrinkles in her forehead, Dean was struck at how literally Claire is Cas’ child. Well, Jimmy’s. He cleared his throat, feelings thicker than air, “Uh. It’s on some basic safety measures. Weapons maintenance. That sort of thing.”

“Hunter safety? Could you be more transparent?”

“Claire, it’s not like that! I swear.”

“What is it like, Dean? God, you can’t keep treating me like a child!”

“Claire! Please don’t yell at Dean. It was my idea,” Cas interjected, “but he’s right. We didn’t mean it like that.”

“Cas, we’ve…”

“Claire, we want you there because you are an experienced hunter.”

Claire blinked at Cas and Dean, unsure whether to believe them or not. Whether to let go of her anger or not. “Won’t Sam be there? Then that’s the three of you plus Eileen. Seems like you’d have the experienced hunter category filled.”

Dean smiled, “Yeah, that’s true. But let’s face it. We’re old.”

Claire was startled into a laugh. “Hell yeah you’re old.”

“So we wanted someone younger there. To back up us old guys and maybe keep an eye on the newbies. See if you pick up any weirdness from any of them.”

“Are you worried about infiltration?”

“No. Just wanna be sure we start getting a sense of who’s who. And who’s more likely to get in over their head. Or who is drowning but doesn’t know it yet.”

“Please Claire. We want to help them be safe.”

“Yeah alright Cas. I can stick around.”

“Great. So, the meeting’s in an hour at the bunker.”

“You’re holding meetings for newbies at the bunker? Doesn’t that seem, I dunno, risky. Like maybe showing everyone the secret base is a bad idea?”

“Nah. We don’t want to announce to everyone that monsters are real. But part of where we’ve all gone wrong is keeping everything a secret. People need community.”

Claire put a hand over her heart as if wounded, “Did DEAN WINCHESTER just say that people. That people need community?”

“What? You don’t think so?”

“I didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word!”

Cas watched the exchange as though it were a tennis match. Suddenly his laughter broke through the tension.

Dean flushed red. “I may have been learning some things myself over the past year or so. About how, you know, people need people.”

Completely straight-faced Cas adds, “They’re the luckiest people in the world.”

“You asshole,” Dean shoved Cas’ shoulder while Cas smiled the biggest grin Claire had ever seen on his face.

The room wasn’t exactly crowded when they arrived, but Claire was surprised at the number of people all the same. She figured Dean meant there would be two or three people to give his safety tips to, but instead there were at least a dozen unfamiliar faces milling around nervously. Most were around her age, or at least within a few years. But at least two were in their thirties. They looked more shell-shocked than the younger people, shifting restlessly as people wandered by. Claire saw Dean and Cas giving the couple the same appraising look she was sure she wore. Dean caught her eye and nodded his chin in the couple’s direction. Claire nodded back. It made more sense for Cas and Dean to approach the couple. Claire would circulate around the rest of the group.

“Was that Dean Winchester?”

“Yeah.” Claire looked up into the brown eyes of the man who had suddenly appeared in front of her.

“That’s quite an honor.”

Claire took a beat, expression guarded. “Uh-huh.”

“No really. Not everyone gets a chance to speak with one of the Winchesters. Only serious hunters tend to meet them. I met his brother on a hunt. He suggested I come join this little get together. So why’re you here?”

“Safety’s important,” said Claire with a straight face.

The man puffed out his chest. “It sure is. You may not have a lot of experience with weapons and such, but it’s good that they give people some basics.”

Claire tried to keep the eye roll internal. She was pretty sure she succeeded. “I hope you learn a lot.”

“Well, actually, I am an experienced hunter. I only agreed to stop by because Sam Winchester asked me to.”

“Are you experienced?” asked Claire pointedly, immediately regretting her sarcastic retort as he prepared to treat it utterly sincerely.

“I’ve taken out two ghosts.” He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, puffing out his chest.

Claire felt her phone buzz. “Excuse me.”

The text notification was from Dean ‘don’t stab anyone’

Claire looked up quickly locating Dean standing by Cas and the couple, now joined by Eileen and Sam. Quickly she typed back, ‘Srsly’

Dean’s eyes met hers again after he glanced at her message. ‘do I need to come over there?’

‘no. will play nice.’ Claire could handle this oaf. Besides, Dean was way more likely to punch this guy than she was. Probably. It was a toss up on who was more likely to do the stabbing. “Sorry about that. My name’s Claire, by the way.” Claire held out her hand to shake.

“Oh. Right. You can call me ‘Ripper’. It’s my hunter name. Wouldn’t want any of the ordinary people to figure out who I am.” His hand gripped too tight for a handshake, and Claire was regretting not bailing after the text exchange.

“’Ripper’? As in ‘Jack-the’?”

“What? No. Oh, no! That would be crass.”

“Sure.”

“No. Anyway, as I was saying. I’ve already taken care of two separate hauntings. And Sam could see how important a man of my talents could be to this little…community.”

“I’m sure he could see a lot.” Claire whipped out her phone again to text Dean. ‘this douchenozzle thinks sam’s a fan’

Claire saw Dean show Sam his phone. Sam looked over in their direction, his eyebrows racing towards his hairline as he started speaking to Dean, punctuating the conversation with sharp hand movements that Claire thought might be ASL. She really needed to practice more. Claire received a text ‘sam saved his life. will fill you in later.’ followed by a laughing emoji.

Belatedly Claire realized that ‘Ripper’ had kept talking while she was zoned out on her phone. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was just asking you if you’d like to join me on a hunt some time. It can get overwhelming, but I am determined to share my expertise with the less experienced.”

Claire blinked at him. He was maybe a couple of years older than her, tops. And the smug smirk on his face was very punchable, especially with that glint in his eyes. “Yeah, let me think about that.” Quickly she typed back to Dean ‘he wants me to be his sidekick’.

Dean’s laugh carried across the room. Claire glared in his direction for all she was worth, but it didn’t do a damn thing to dent Dean’s gleeful expression. She was going to have to carefully plot her revenge.

Sam clapped his hands loudly, “welcome everybody. Let’s get started.” Everyone quieted and turned towards Sam. “As most of you know, this is my brother Dean.” Dean waved his hand awkwardly. Claire stuck her tongue out at him. “He’s gonna take us through some basic safety techniques to start.”

Dean moved to stand in front of Sam, everyone else arrayed in a loose semicircle in front of him. ‘Ripper’ moved closer to Claire in the shuffle of bodies. Claire stared daggers at Dean, a silent promise of revenge. The safety tips were generally good. Dean was a natural, pulling out the charm and layering over sincerity Claire had only seen since he and Cas started living together. She liked Dean and Cas together even if she would never tell them that. Claire continuously surveyed the group, watching to see if anyone stood out. For the most part, everyone was paying attention to Dean. ‘Ripper’ kept trying to interject his ideas, most of them bad ones every now and again.

Eventually Dean wound down. “Now, part of why we wanted you to come was so you could meet people, get to know the veterans so you know who to ask for advice. So you know me, and Sam. And Eileen right over there. My husband Cas behind me. And then in the back there, is Claire. Claire, come on up here.”

‘Ripper’ inhaled sharply.

Claire smiled sweetly in his face. “Guess I can’t be your sidekick.” She made her way to Dean.

He threw his arm around her shoulder and leaned in close. “You’re welcome.”

“You still owe me.”

“Don’t I always?” Dean smiled down at Claire, resisting the urge to kiss her on the top of the head the way he did Jack.

Claire smiled moving her eyes around the gathered people. Maybe Dean was right about community. And maybe she could follow his example.

#suptober21 #hunter safety is important #building community #that guy is always annoying #he named himself after giles' nickname (btvs)#destiel

68 notes · View notes

rwprincess · 3 years ago

Text

Midnight Sun'd Prologue (Brian Johnson x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Word Count: 10.5K (She like...20 pages long. Sorry).

Synopsis: My movie/Canon Prologue, but from Brian’s POV. That’s right, I’m Midnight Sun-ing this b*tch.

CW: Underage marijuana smoking, suicidal ideation, self-deprecating thoughts/self-doubt, low self-esteem, swearing, child abuse, parents being terrible, sexuality (since this is based on the movie, nothing is really outside the scope of the movie in terms of content).

Saturday, March 24th, 1984

Shermer High School, Shermer Illinois

Brian knew why he was here. In fact, he thanked his lucky stars that Saturday school, or detention, rather, had been his punishment. If this hadn’t been an extremely out-of-character first offense for him, he surely would have been suspended, or even expelled. His family had made their disappointment clear, especially when his mother told him to find a way to study and make amends today, even if he was asked to just sit in a room with strangers and reflect on what he did. When he arrived in the library, he was surprised to see Claire Standish already sitting there. She, of course, did not look up or make eye contact with him, but he chose to sit at the table behind her nonetheless. Before he could gather the courage to ask her what a popular, polished girl like herself could possibly be doing here, another two figures approached the doorway. Andrew Clark’s large, stocky frame loomed there for a moment before excitedly spying Claire. Again, no attempt was made to include Brian; he was practically invisible at this school, which was a big part of his underlying problems and self esteem here at Shermer High. It wasn’t so much that Brian wanted or needed popular people like Claire or Andrew to notice him. He didn’t really look up to them or desire their attention. It was just that, sometimes, it felt like everyone looked through him, as though he wasn’t even there. Adults acknowledged him, sure. He was polite and an overachiever, the perfect student. But his peers didn’t take much stock in him. He had a few loyal, true friends, but rarely did anyone outside of his particular interest groups reach out to him.

As Brian settled into a seat behind Claire, he took note of the second figure who had entered, the one who came in shortly after Andrew. It was her. Brian had to restrain himself from gawking when she entered the library, as she was one of the absolute last people he could ever picture earning a detention. Brian knew her from his English class last year; he had been stunned by her beauty the moment she entered the room that first day of high school and felt the same nervous, heart-pounding sensation he felt now, seeing her enter the library. He lamentably had zero classes with her this year, but he would see her in the hallways sometimes and that old familiar feeling would come rushing back to him, reminding him of the crush he had on her all last year. Back then, he had sat behind her, across the room and would catch himself staring at her or admiring her answers and volunteered opinions. His strong suit was in the more concrete subjects: science, math, that sort of thing. So the insightful analyses she would give always impressed him, and through them he got the sense that she was smart but also kind. This was precisely why he was shocked to see her here now, having earned the same consequence he had for bringing a weapon into school. But he couldn’t imagine her doing anything like that, anything to warrant this. He not-so-discreetly watched her as she hurried across the room and took a seat in the front row opposite to him. She, like Claire and Andrew, had not made eye contact or acknowledged him. Her seeing right through him hurt more, though.

Brian had sat down, but had not quite unpacked as he was still reeling from the revelation of Y/N being in the same detention as him, and that meant he would be in the same room as her for nine hours. He hadn’t even noticed John Bender stalk into the library, surveying the landscape that he was clearly king of. That is, until Bender stopped in front of him and snapped his fingers to get his attention and indicated for him to move out of his seat. Even if Brian weren’t the type to try to accommodate someone, a people pleaser, he would have followed John Bender’s instructions. Everyone in school knew of his reputation, and while some things were probably a lie (like throwing flaming toilet paper over Mrs. Applebaum’s house), some were definitely true, including his penchant for getting into fights. Brian had never had to fight someone before and he was pretty sure he lacked the capability to do so. Simply put: he would get his ass kicked. So he got up immediately and moved to the next seat over...right behind Y/N. He noticed that she stiffened, sat up straighter, as he slid into the seat behind her. So she had noticed his existence. But from her body language, he assumed that she didn’t particularly enjoy his presence. ‘Great. Perfect way to start this whole shitty day,’ he thought. At one point, Brian would have fancied himself an optimist, but lately that attitude was all but gone...not that his current situation helped much.

He also noticed the girl with black clothes, heavy makeup, and messy hair quickly walk along the outside of the tables and sit behind him, facing away from not only himself, but the entire group. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, ‘Should be an interesting time,’ he thought while taking stock of her, Bender, the populars, and...Y/N. It still puzzled him that she could be here. Bender made total sense. Everyone knew that he practically lived here in detention. Based on how she looked and seemed to make herself comfortable, Brian guessed that the girl behind him also was a regular here. While he didn’t exactly expect Claire or Andy to be here, he wasn’t hugely shocked by it. Claire probably skipped school or was rude to a teacher or something and Andrew was an asshole anyway. He fit into the jock stereotype pretty well, all brawn and no brains, picking on those that he saw as weaker than him. Maybe that’s why he was here.

Vice Principal Vernon walked haughtily in, looking down on each and every one of them; a lord surveying his fiefdom. Brian’s posture stiffened as he both tried to show respect and unconsciously showed his fear of the man. The last conversation with him had also involved his parents and that was abhorrent, a total disaster. The recollection of the event made him nauseous. Right after he spoke, Claire raised her hand, “Excuse me sir, I think there’s been a mistake. I know it’s detention, but, um...I don’t think I belong in here.” Internally, Brian rolled his eyes. He didn’t really know Claire (he suspected that no one really truly did), but he had always been under the impression that she was full of herself. All of the popular clique seemed to be that way, just full of arrogance. And here she was announcing how she was better than all of them in front of them. Vernon completely ignored her statement and told them it was 7:06, on the dot. Brian quickly looked down at his watch and aligned it to Vernon’s time. He was very particular about organization and precision.

As Vernon started his speech about rules, Brian tried to shift slightly over, get comfortable. But Vernon looked right into him and Brian could swear he saw into the depths of his soul as he said, “You will not move from these seats,” and pointed right at him. He froze like a deer in the headlights and quickly moved back. Brian had almost always blindly followed authority and now was definitely not the time to change that. Vernon continued and Brian only half-listened, looking around to gauge how the rest of the group was reacting, until he heard him say, “Good. So, maybe you’ll decide whether or not you care to return-” He saw this as the perfect time to redeem himself and started to stand up, raising his hand.

“Um, you know, I can answer that right now, sir. And that would be a no for me-”

“Sit down, Johnson.”

“Thank you, sir.” Brian sat back down, gulping. His embarrassment was only made worse noticing that Y/N had turned around to look at him when he started speaking. He wasn’t so invisible now, just his luck.

*~~~~*

There was little to no surprise that Bender antagonized the group. His main targets seemed to be Claire and Andrew, but he was making snide or crude remarks to everyone, and this made Brian very uneasy. He hated conflict and confrontation, which was probably why he had brought a flare gun to school rather than talk to his Shop teacher about replacing his failing grade or talk to his parents about how much he was truly struggling. He tried to take his mom’s advice about just doing work. He tried to convince the others to just write their assigned essays and not end up in a fight, but it didn’t work. He reasoned that he could at least do the right thing, but he couldn’t help but keep getting drawn into their conversations. It was almost like watching a trashy soap opera...or a staged wrestling match. “Go to hell!” Claire screamed at Bender, and Brian looked nervously to the door. Vernon surely heard that and would come storming back in, right?

But he didn’t, so Andy continued their conversation and got in a new dig at Bender, “You know, Bender, you don’t even count. If you disappeared forever it wouldn’t make any difference. You may as well not even exist anymore.” Brian gulped, thinking about his recent and frequent thoughts about how he himself ‘may as well not even exist anymore.’ He was doing...okay since the day he had had a semi-plan to take his own life, but the feelings didn’t just stop. He was still failing Shop, of all classes. He was still a disappointment and burden to his parents. He was still invisible at school, to Y/N. None of that went away when Mr. Ryan found the gun in his locker. Bender turned Andrew’s comment around and said he’d go out and join some clubs.

Now, Brian saw his opportunity to be less invisible, maybe. “I’m in a math club!” He blurted out. No dice. Bender and Claire just continued bickering, ignoring him completely. But he couldn’t help it when he stated “I’m in the Physics Club, too,” in their direction just hoping, praying that someone would acknowledge him. He hadn’t counted on that person being Y/N, though. She’d turned slightly towards him and his blue eyes flickered to hers and he froze. Having been lost in the argument between the others, he had almost forgotten that she was there. She gave him a gentle smile and a nod that made him gulp. He’d suddenly failed to remember how to breathe, how to function and his mind was only filled with a channel of ‘Oh shit. She’s looking at me.’

But then she added, “I’m in the Drama Club.” Of course, he knew that, but it was still nice for her, of all people, to be making conversation with him. He was immediately forced to snap out of it, though, when Bender addressed him.

“Excuse me a sec. What are you babbling about?” While Brian hated the look John gave him (it was much too similar to his parents’ frustrated looks when he was clearly ‘bothering’ them with something), Brian felt compelled to answer. He had wanted to be noticed, to be involved in the conversation, right?

“Well, what I’d said was, I’m in the Math Club, the Latin Club, uh, and the Physics Clu-Physics Club,” he stumbled through his words nervously. He felt regret instantly as Bender turned it around as a slight on Claire, and also managed to insult him by calling him a dork in the process. Still, he yearned for his attention and approval, so he eagerly answered John’s follow up questions. He just wanted to get along with everyone and have them accept him, and even though John was just using his input as ammunition against Claire, he liked that he was at least being included.

*~~~~*

It was a long, dragging morning. It was only around 10AM and topics of conversation seemed to already run out. Everyone was now more or less keeping to themselves. At first, Brian thought about writing his essay, as he said he planned to, but why bother? There were still many hours to fill, and how was he possibly supposed to answer the prompt of Who Am I? He truly did not know. He’d actually been pondering that a lot lately. All of his life he was praised for his smarts, but the ‘real world’ was showing him that that didn’t mean jack shit. Sure, he could understand difficult concepts and dissect complex equations, but that meant nothing if he couldn’t apply it. He thought he was taking the easy way out with Shop. It was meant to be a class he didn’t have to worry about; a stress-free A to keep his GPA up while juggling various clubs and volunteer opportunities to put on his college applications next year. But it ended up being a total nightmare. He was absolutely terrible at it, and he had never failed at anything before. Now the burn-outs and underachievers had the upper hand and were able to make their projects work and look good and he had...nothing. He failed so miserably that it tanked his self-esteem and now he was stuck in an identity crisis. It was much too early on a Saturday to confront those demons, so instead he chose to sit and daydream. And subconsciously, as with many teenage boys, his attention fell to girls. As much as he thought Claire was self-centered and spoiled, he had to admit that she was attractive. She carefully curated herself to be so. She had perfect, beautiful red hair that was never out of place, flawless makeup, perfectly fitting chic clothes...and she was staring into space licking and biting her lip, which had him completely flustered. Y/N only added to it by adjusting and stretching in her seat. Her beauty was more effortless than Claire’s, or at least seemed less...intentional. She did not have the designer clothes and her hair was more natural than trendy but alluring in her own right, and the way she was pushing her chest out was not helping. He could feel the shift and tightness in his khakis and tried to nonchalantly clear his throat, but now Y/N was turned three-quarters around and could clearly see him, so he tried to sneak his hat into his lap and acted like nothing was going on by setting his head on the desk. ‘Oh shit. Oh fuck.’ were the chorus of his thoughts as he could see her quickly turn back around and face forward. ‘I’m sure she thinks I’m a creep now. Great going, Johnson,’ he chastised himself.

Vernon was almost a welcome sight when he strode into the library at 10:20 to allow them to use the “lavatory.” Brian almost let out a sigh of relief. Almost. When they returned to the library and it was clear that Vernon wouldn’t return for a while, Bender started ripping up a book and when he threw it at Brian, the latter took that as his cue to walk away. He spotted Y/N looking through the catalogue of books and approached her. “Hey.” He nodded in her direction, trying to play it cool and seem neutral. ‘Smooth. Great opening,’ he thought. But to his surprise, she actually said ‘Hi’ back and smiled. He had no idea what to talk about and didn’t really think this through, but the black-clad girl let out a startling, “HA!” that made them both jump.

Brain looked back to the others and heard Andrew sarcastically say, “Oh, you’re breaking my heart,” to Claire.

“Sporto?” Bender asked, “Do you get along with your parents?” Brian started to look between the two of them nervously.

“Well, if I say yes I’m an idiot right?” Andrew responded. Bender leapt over the ramp’s banister and started at the other boy.

“You’re an idiot anyway. But if you say you get along with your parents, then you’re a liar too.” Not only did Brian not like being involved in confrontation, he also hated being witness to it. As Andrew followed Bender, he felt compelled to go break it up, put a stop to this.

“You want me to turn it up?” Bender asked, flipping off Andrew as Brian stepped between them, placing a hand on one of each of their shoulders. They smacked his hands away, almost in sync and he withdrew, but he knew words could be just as powerful as actions.

“I, I don’t like my parents either. I don’t know. Their idea of parental compassion is just...whacko.” Brian confessed.

“Dork? You are a parent’s wet dream, okay?” Bender replied, clapping him on his shoulder. It was a friendly enough gesture, but it actually dealt a devastating blow. Brian knew he was a disappointment to his parents. He was being open and honest with the group and was shut down immediately anyway. “...face it, you're a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. What would you be out doing if you weren’t making yourself a better citizen?” Another hit. This one made Brian sink against one of the tables. He hung his head and didn’t even notice Y/N approach him until she softly placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” She offered, gazing into his eyes. He was terrified that she would be able to read him and to see the truth, to see the sad and scared kid he truly was inside. Instead, he stiffened up and sat rigidly, clearing his throat of emotion.

“Yeah, thanks.” He also tried his best to ignore that she was touching him. If he weren’t in detention being told he was the epitome of geek by John Bender, he’d have sworn this were a dream. Bender now moved his disdain to Claire, asking if she were a virgin. Y/N shifted uncomfortably away from Brian and crossed her arms over her chest, but still stood next to him, watching the same drama unfold. Bender and Andrew soon stood in front of them, fully in a heated argument and Bender took a swing. Brian didn’t think twice and reflexively shot his arm up to shield Y/N. Sure, his crush on her might be stupid or silly, but he was not about to let her get caught in this crossfire and get hurt. He watched as Andrew wrestled Bender to the floor and Bender said, “I don’t want to get into this with you, man...cuz I’d kill you.” Andrew let him up and they seemed to separate and cool down, so Brian finally moved his arm back down, assuming the danger towards Y/N was gone but he was on-guard still, ready to move again if he needed to. “It’s real simple. I’d kill you and then your fucking parents would sue me and it would be a big mess, and I don’t care about you enough to bother.” For some reason, this hit Brian hard and he had to look away, look down to escape. But then he heard a click and his head shot up. Bender had pulled out a switchblade. His eyes went wide and he looked cautiously at Y/N who looked just as shocked. They all relaxed a little when he stabbed it into a chair instead of Andrew’s flesh, but immediately panicked again when the door audibly unlatched and opened. They scrambled to get to their seats, Bender quickly striding to the front and sitting far away from Andy so as not to implicate himself. But that meant that he had stolen Y/N’s seat. On her original route to it, she diverted and sat quickly and silently next to Brian. He swallowed hard in response.

Instead of Vernon, Carl the janitor walked in. They collectively sighed with relief and he addressed Brian. “Brian, how ya doin’?” Brian quickly averted his eyes, both embarrassed to be seen here by Carl (he stayed late in many clubs and had built up a good rapport with the man and didn’t need him thinking less of him for being in detention) and by being seen as associated with him by his peers. Carl was a great guy, really funny and nice; accommodated every need each one of his clubs had...but Brian was still a teenager and image was everything and being thought of as ‘dweeb who is friends with the janitor’ was not how he wanted to be seen.

“Your dad work here?” Bender inquired, smirking deviously. Brian just shook his head in response and didn’t answer Carl, either. “Carl, can I ask you a question? How does one become a janitor?” Bender continued.

“You want to become a janitor?” Carl asked, knowing that Bender didn’t really want to know.

“No, I just want to know how one becomes one. Andrew here is very interested in pursuing a career in the custodial arts.” Bender glanced over at Andrew and smirked again, pleased with his implied put-down.

“Oh really? You guys think I’m some untouchable peasant, serf, peon? Maybe so. But following a broom around after shitheads like you for the last eight years, I’ve learned a couple of things.” Carl looked towards Brian and Y/N, “I look through your letters.” Brian thought he saw her stiffen and freeze, just a little bit, as if Carl were addressing her. She suddenly shifted away from Brian and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. “...I am the eyes and the ears of this institution, my friend.” Carl stopped and smiled, “By the way. That clock is twenty minutes fast.” Brian looked at it and then his watch, noting that he was right. He wasn’t sure if he should adjust his wrist piece or not; to go with the time on the wall or the time Vernon was keeping. But he couldn’t be bothered with the choice when Bender stood up and faced his table. He was afraid of what he might do or say to them, but he simply nodded towards Y/N’s seat, indicating that she could have it back.

“I’m good for now,” she said, surprising Brian. He assumed she would have moved back, a moment ago she moved away from him, but now she was looking at him out of the corner of her eye before glancing back up at John, who was raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Thanks for not dicking with my stuff though,” she said.

“Oh, shit.” Bender said “Do you think I should steal something or has the moment passed?” The tension seemed to drop and they all smiled as he went back to his seat, but he turned his attention back their way. “So, you’ve been pretty quiet, what’s your name?” Brian had a bad habit of blurting out. He liked answering questions as it was, showing his knowledge. A lot of the time, it didn’t matter if he was being asked or not. So, without thinking, he responded to Bender’s question and told him Y/N’s name. It was a reflex, but one he instantly regretted, feeling like he just shot himself in the foot. Bender gave him a look and he steeled himself for his worst, for the mockery sure to come, but instead he just looked at her and followed up with “Is that true? Is that your name?”

She didn’t acknowledge his weirdness either. She simply nodded and told John, “Yeah, (Y/N). Or, I guess you could call me (Y/N/N) if you want,” and Brian let out a quiet shaky exhale in relief. That could have been...disastrous. After a moment, while Bender was otherwise occupied, she turned to him and said, “Thank you, for earlier. I mean, blocking me when those two were getting into it.” He felt his heart race; he wasn’t sure she had even noticed that earlier, even though he wasn’t exactly subtle.

“N-no problem.” He responded, trying to restrain the smile creeping up onto his face. He wanted to play it cool, like it was no big deal, like that’s just what manly men such as himself do: put themselves in harm’s way for others.

Vernon came in to dismiss them for lunch much too early for his liking. He didn’t really have much of a chance to talk to Y/N while she was sitting next to him, and as soon as they were allowed to mill about like the caged animals they currently were, the remaining members of their detention gravitated towards Bender near the center of the library. Brian was slightly disappointed when she wandered off into the stacks as Bender looked through books and Claire continued her daydreaming. Not really sure what to do with himself, Brian folded his long legs over one of the ramp railings and sat atop it, hunched over. He looked up when Bender called out, “Hey, Peachy!” There were a few moments of silence before Y/N looked back over in their direction and Brian froze, immediately disliking Bender addressing her as such and worrying what uncouth thing he might say to her. But he just asked her what she could be in detention for, because she didn’t seem the type, which Brian wholeheartedly agreed with. He waited intently for the answer, as every interaction he had with her (or every observation, rather), she seemed so...sweet.

“Oh. Well, you know how in Biology they dissect like, frogs and shit every year?” She looked a little defeated and a blush crept up her cheeks as she continued, “I---sort of stole and freed the frogs.” Brian couldn’t help but laugh. That seemed like something you shouldn’t get detention for, anyway, but it was definitely on-par with the personality he knew her for. He felt relieved that the reason aligned with how he thought of her. She was in here for something nice, and debatably, the right thing. His heart melted a little when she told Bender that she had researched enough to let the frogs go responsibly; that she would have adopted them if they wouldn’t have made it on their own and he couldn’t help but smile in her direction. Bender, of course, moved on quickly, scanning one of the books in his stack to find new material to talk about, to bother the girls with, but Brian’s gaze was still fixated on Y/N. She was running her fingers along spines of books, seemingly in her own world. He felt like maybe it was fated that they were both here, like he was getting a second chance. He still hadn’t really conjured up the courage to talk to her yet, but they were only half-way through their day; there was still time.

“Claire? Y/N? You wanna see a picture of a guy with elephantitis of the nuts?” Bender asked, “Pretty tasty. How do you think he rides a bike? Oh Claire, would you ever consider dating a guy like this?”

“Wait,” Y/N’s eyes lit up and she looked their way again. “Elephantiasis? Like the movie The Elephant Man? Great movie! Really sad though.” Brian grinned at the way she scrunched her eyebrows together in remembering the emotion from the movie. He had seen it, too. It was really good...and touching. Maybe that could be his ice-breaker. Movies were normal things that normal teenagers talked about, right? He didn’t really notice that Bender and Claire were still conversing until it implicated him, though.

“Oh! Watch what you say. Brian here is a cherry.” Brian looked at him, startled.

“A cherry?” He asked, indignantly, cheeks flaring up with a red hue. “I am not a cherry.” He didn’t need Bender calling him out like this, embarrassing him. He didn’t need the obvious association that the nerd was a virgin. Especially in front of beautiful girls, particularly Y/N. She didn’t need to know that he was an inexperienced loser.

“When have you ever gotten laid?” Bender asked, doubtfully

“I’ve laid lots of times.”

“Name ONE.” Bender said, sarcastically, hoping to catch him in a trap.

“She lives in Canada. Met her at Niagara Falls; You wouldn’t know her.” Brian said, prepared with this answer from previous conversations about this topic. It wasn’t the first time he’d been involved in a conversation about virginity that he couldn’t be entirely honest about, nor was it the first time he had been mocked for being a virgin or doubted about the non-existent relations that he didn’t have. Even though part of his brain felt like it was glaringly obvious to the outside world and must have been stamped on his forehead that girls did not typically talk to him, nor had he even kissed a girl before, but he still lied about it anyway. He knew he didn’t precisely have an ‘image’ to protect, but he didn’t want to seem like a total lost cause or dweeby stereotype.

Bender, however, wasn’t having it. “You ever lay anyone around here?” He scoffed and Brian panicked. He had noticed that Y/N had turned back to the aisle of books and was praying she wasn’t listening, and Claire didn’t seem to be paying attention, so he tried to gesture to Bender to keep it down, to let him off the hook before either girl noticed him or this conversation. Bender immediately twisted it around and attacked him with it, though. Brian felt his heart being squeezed and felt overwhelmed, instantly, as Bender said, “Oh. You and Claire did it.”

“Oh, uh I-Let’s just drop it, okay? We’ll talk about it later,” Brian attempted to get out of it again, praying that John would have one ounce of mercy on him. However, Brian was never really very lucky.

“Well, Brian is trying to tell me that in addition to the number of girls in the Niagara Falls area, that presently you and he are riding the hobby horse.” Brian’s eyes slammed shut in embarrassment.

“You little pig,” Claire growled at him and his eyes shot back open wide. He scrambled to defend himself.

“No! I’m not! John said I was a cherry and I said I wasn’t. That’s it. That’s all I said.”

“Well then what were you motioning to Claire for?” Bender followed up, not giving Brian any wiggle room.

“You know, I don’t appreciate this very much, Brian.” Claire sounded more disappointed and hurt than anything, which made Brian feel like a slug, instantly. He didn’t mean to implicate her or to bring her down. He was just trying to hide his embarrassment from John and the girls.

“He is lying!” Brian tried one last attempt to deflect.

“Oh, you weren’t motioning to Claire?”

“You know he’s lying, right?”

“Were you, or were you not motioning to Claire?” Brian hated this. He’d been stuffed in lockers before and yearned for that over the torture Bender was inflicting now. He couldn’t save face; either he was a disgusting creep saying he had had sex with Claire when he didn’t, or he’d have to tell them the truth and feel humiliated at telling everyone he was a virgin. He grit his teeth and chose to go with the latter.

“Yeah, but it was only- it was only because I didn’t want her to know I was a virgin, okay?” They looked almost...shocked by his response, which he wasn’t expecting. He thought it would be a ‘Well, duh, you’re a virgin, Johnson! Who would want to touch you?’ But Claire and Y/N looked surprised. “Excuse me for being a virgin, I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you want me to know you were a virgin?” Claire asked honestly, like it was no big deal. If she only knew...

“Because it’s personal business. It’s my personal, private business.”

“Well, Brian, it doesn’t sound like you’re doing any business,” Bender snuck in another jab and Brian was brought down to what he knew all along, that they were just going to laugh at him.

“I think it’s okay for a guy to be a virgin.” Claire’s unexpected response gave him instant relief. She was taking his side and Bender had no more ammo. Brian perked up even more when Y/N agreed with her. It wasn’t an embarrassing secret for him now because they didn’t mind. They almost seemed to admire him for it. The thought caused his lips to twitch and he hid his smile by leaning his head against his knee.

*~~~~*

During lunch, Bender didn’t have any food, so his appetite turned to targeting the rest of the detainees again. He started in on Claire for a bit, but then came over to taunt Brian. It seemed like it could be friendly, at first, as John just examined his lunch. But as he drew out each item, his tone became more and more sarcastic. “Here’s my impression of life at Big Bri’s house.” Bender went on to mock him, painting his life like it was some episode of Leave It To Beaver where the family would all hug it out at the end. Brian’s throat became dry and he could feel eyes on both Bender and himself, trying to judge his reactions to John’s farce. He hated being such an easy target. He hadn’t done anything towards John personally, but he was still constantly in the hot seat because John could get away with it and the others would laugh and enjoy it. At least Andy fought back...even Claire did. And Bender didn’t even really bother to mess with Allison. She had an aura of ‘don’t fuck with me,’ and he didn’t even touch her as a subject, even though she was just as odd and out of place as Brian. Not to mention, he was wrong. It wasn’t all peachy-keen happy endings at Brian’s house. If it were, Brian wouldn’t be here today.

Still, it was hard not to be drawn in by John, and he watched his next dramatic retelling of his own home life in stunned horror. John’s dad called him terrible names in this act and hit him. “Is that for real?” Brian asked, brows furrowed. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe John, it was just that...well, the situation sucked and he needed to be told it wasn’t true. Like a kid hearing that a ghost story was made up and there was nothing to fear. But he knew by John’s pained expression that it was, even before he spoke.

“Wanna come over some time?” Bender asked him and he flinched away. Andrew didn’t believe him though, and questioned it so John revealed to them all his very real cigar burn scar on his arm, claiming he got it from spilling paint in the garage. The group collectively flinched and no one moved for a few moments while Bender said, “I don’t need to sit with you fuckin’ dildos anymore,” and raged through the library.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Claire admonished Andrew.

“How would I know? I mean he lies about everything anyway.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Y/N snapped at him and looked back towards Bender as though she wanted to follow him. Brian tried to will her silently not to; he didn’t really trust that Bender would control his emotions and she might get hurt. He felt relieved when she turned around, but then his heart began pounding once more as she gathered her lunch into the sack and stood up. ‘No, don’t do it, Y/N.’ He stared at her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she cautiously walked past and crept up the library stairs to where Bender was and sat next to him. Brian felt a little calmed when Bender didn’t lash out; he just rolled his eyes but stayed rooted to the spot. Meanwhile, the rest of the group at their lunch in silence.

*~~~~*

Brian felt guilty for leaving Bender behind, for allowing him to sacrifice himself for the group. Hell, they all did. Especially when Vernon started shoving him around and saying he was going to be in jail. Brian couldn’t help but wonder if he could become like John. It’s not like he was born into that life. But he had it tough at home, struggled at school, and had problems with authority (particularly when they lied). Brian could see some parallels. He, too, was unhappy at home. While his parents didn’t beat him like John’s did him, or berate him to the same degree, he couldn’t help but feel like a disappointment. And he felt like he was just slipping. Now he had broken school rules, brought a gun to school, watched as others destroyed school property, and was gaining a healthy distrust of authority by seeing how Vernon acted today. He’d even corrected him once, when counting Bender’s detentions, not that the truth seemed to matter to Vernon anyway. What if he continued down this path? What if things just kept getting worse at home? Would it really be that bad to be like Bender? Despite being a total jerkwad, he had the charisma to draw people in. He’d even had Y/N eat lunch with him! It just didn’t seem like the deal was all bad when he looked at it that way. ‘What’s next? Are you going to take up smoking?’ His brain scolded him, even though he had completely forgotten that he had drugs stashed in his pants right now...until Bender fell through the ceiling and asked for them back. He dug them uncomfortably out of his underwear and handed the bag over. Bender took off to smoke in the library and Brian realized he had a choice to make. Boy, was he tempted. ‘What’s one more rule broken today?’ He felt more emboldened when Claire stood up and followed John. Andrew tried to talk him out of it, shaking his head. Brian drummed his hands on the desk. He wasn’t sure he’d have another opportunity. Most of his friends and acquaintances didn’t do drugs...to his knowledge, anyway. He thought momentarily about his cousin Kendall, and how he started smoking pot and didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere. ‘You already don’t feel like you belong anywhere,’ His mind reminded him, and with that, the decision was made; what did he have to lose? So he slunk off to join Bender and Claire.

It was...definitely a different experience. Brian didn’t care for the way his thoughts seemed so disjointed, that he couldn’t keep one train of thought going. For someone who was known for his intelligence and felt like his brain was his one good quality, it was a little scary to have that slip away. But, there was a sort of numbness that came with the drug that made him worry less about that. He felt less worried and anxious in general, actually. His focus was being pulled in too many directions to wonder what his parents would think or if he was saying the right thing, or if this could even be a mistake. He felt relaxed and oddly open. He was even making Bender and Claire laugh, which he hadn’t expected. It was like there was a new persona underneath that was unlocked. He didn’t know what he was doing, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever. He was, however, surprised by how long the effects lasted. It was a little more than an hour later and the whole group was sitting in a circle (Y/N and Allison never seemed to have joined them in the marijuana. Not that he had noticed, anyway) and Allison was telling the group that she was a nymphomaniac, which was exciting. Particularly to someone with zero experience, to hear someone claim she’d done ‘almost everything’ was utterly fascinating. However, his head was still swimming and he seemed to have a lack of filter between his brain and his mouth. He couldn’t catch his words fast enough, which was often a problem for him sober, but now it wasn’t just supplying corrections or information, the more cruel thoughts slipped through, too.

“Obviously she’s crazy if she’s screwing her shrink,” he added to the group without even thinking. Y/N was sitting to his right and promptly hit him on the arm with the back of her hand.

“Brian!” She hissed and gave him a glare. ‘Oh shit. Did I say that out loud?’ He thought, looking at her with wide-eyed fear. The realization sobered him up pretty quickly and he was much more in control of his thoughts and words after that. Despite the weed taking away most of his worries, he still cared how she perceived him. From then on, he was more focused on the conversations in front of him and how he added to them, but it was harder to control his emotions when Andrew began telling them about why he was here today.

“You guys know what I did to get in here today? I taped Larry Lester’s buns together.” Andy said, with a hint of a smile. ‘How can he just smirk like that? He has to know it was a shitty thing to do and that he hurt Larry.’ Brian thought. He knew Larry had been attacked this week by one of the sports, but he didn’t know who. Larry didn’t even know the kid’s name, had never talked to him, but still got jumped anyway. An experience that Brian was all too familiar with.

“That was you?” Brian asked, somewhat surprised, but started to get angry.

“You know him?”

“Yeah, I know him.” He said quietly, trying not to let the anger bubble past the surface.

He had to bite his tongue when Andy made Larry into a joke, “Then you know how hairy he is right?” Bender and Claire chuckled at his joke, at him bullying one of Brian’s friends. ‘I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything different,’ Brian thought dejectedly. But he was hoping that they were all better people than...this. The realization that they weren’t better than that, coupled with Andrew expressing his feelings about his father got Brian thinking. “I...hate him. He’s like this mindless machine that I can’t even relate to anymore.” Brian felt so disconnected from his parents, too, even though the rest of the group thought they lived in a fairytale. He was their pride and joy once, but it felt like ever since he started high school, he just wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t a good enough student, he didn’t do his chores right, he wasn’t setting himself up for college correctly, he wasn’t a good role model or brother to his sister...it all just added up and weighed on him immensely. He covered his face with one of his hands to hide his emotion and expression from the group. He didn’t even react when Andrew started screaming what his father had told him, but when everything settled down, he took the chance to speak.

“That’s like me, you know, with my grades. Like, when I step outside myself. A-and I look in on myself...and-and I see me, I don’t like what I see,” it was a difficult thing to admit but after what Allison and Andrew shared, he felt like maybe this could be the space to do so, too.

“What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you like yourself?” Claire asked. He knew it was meant to be nice, encouraging even, but it just made him feel worse. This beautiful, popular, and rich girl asking someone why they weren’t happy with themselves? Like she could have any sort of clue. No wonder it baffled her; she had everything. But he could also see Y/N nodding vigorously, agreeing with Claire. He didn’t want to put her on the same plane as Claire, he felt like she would be above that. But she clearly didn’t understand the way he felt, either. That just made him feel more alone.

“It’s stupid, but,” Brian said, “because I’m failing shop. We had this assignment to make this, uh, ceramic elephant. Anyways we were supposed to-it was, it was a lamp. When you pulled the trunk, the light was supposed to go on. But my light didn’t go on. I got an F on it. I’ve never got an F in my life. When I signed up, y’know, for the course, I thought I was playing it smart. I was, uh, ‘I’ll take Shop, it’s an easy way to maintain my grade point average.’”

“Why’d you think it would be easy?” Bender chimed in, not making eye contact. Brian had been lost in his own thoughts and his story and not looking at the group either, really. He had wanted to be honest, but he was also embarrassed. Honesty would have been hard to maintain if he was looking at them and seeing their judgments in real time.

“Have you seen some of the dopes that take Shop?” Brian asked, not realizing it would strike a nerve.

“I take Shop.” Bender responded, now turning his eyes to him, “You must be a fucking idiot.”

“I’m a fucking idiot because I can’t make a lamp?” Brian snapped defensively. He should have known it would be a mistake to put himself on the line like this, to open himself up to their judgement. He knew Bender was lashing out because he was insulted, but that didn’t make his jibes hurt any less.

“No, you’re a genius because you can’t make a lamp.” Bender shot back, sarcastically.

“What do you know about Trigonometry?” Brian fought back.

“I could care less about Trigonometry.”

“Bender, there’s no engineering without trigonometry.”

“Without lamps, there’d be no light.” Bender replied grumpily, grasping at straws for a fair comparison.

“Okay, so neither one of you is any better than the other one,” Claire jumped in. Before either of them responded, Allison added her own odd addition.

“I can write with my toes!” Both Bender and Brian looked at her incredulously, but she did calm the two of them down and add levity to the moment.

“I can make spaghetti!” Brian said cheerfully after a moment. Y/N smiled at him and his heart fluttered. He returned the smile and for a moment, forgot all about his blunder. Maybe that smile had given him the courage to participate again, to be open and vulnerable. Claire and Bender began fighting again, which wasn’t a surprise, but it opened a door for Brian to ask what had been weighing on his mind since their circle began. He felt like they had all bonded. They had told each other some of their deepest secrets and biggest pains, but did that really make them friends? “I know it’s kind of a weird time, but you know, I was just wondering...what’s going to happen to us on Monday? I mean, I consider you guys my friends,” he continued, looking around the circle, “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No,” Andy reassured him. So, he wasn’t imagining it, they felt like friends, too.

“So on Monday, what happens?”

“Are we still friends, you mean? If we’re friends now?” Claire asked.

“Yeah.”

“You want the truth?” Claire couldn’t meet his eye, and Brian knew from the question she posed, he really didn’t want the truth. He knew what was coming, but he continued anyway.

“Yeah, I want the truth.”

“I don’t think so.” Claire responded and he somehow still wasn’t prepared for the blow. It still hit him hard, causing a squeezing pain in his chest and he looked away, clenching his jaw to hold the tears back that were welling in his eyes.

“With all of us,” Allison asked, “or just John?”

“With all of you,” Claire confirmed, looking away from the group.

“That’s a real nice attitude, Claire,” Andrew said gruffly.

“Oh, be honest, Andy,” Claire groaned, “If Brian came up to you in the hall on Monday, what would you do? Picture it, you’re with all the sports.” Brian glanced up at his name and looked at Andy hopefully. In his heart, he knew Claire was probably right, but he wanted to believe that Andrew was really his friend, that they all were. “You know exactly what you’d do. You’d say hi to him and then you’d laugh and cut him all up so your friends wouldn’t think you actually like him.”

“No way.” Andy denied, and that gave Brian a glimmer of hope, one he so desperately wanted to believe.

“What if I came up to you?” Allison asked.

“Same exact thing.”

“You are a bitch!” Bender yelled at Claire.

“Why?! Because I’m telling the truth? That makes me a bitch?”

“No. Cuz you know how shitty that is to do to someone and you don’t have the balls to stand up to your friends and tell them you’re gonna like who you wanna like…” Bender continued berating Claire, but Brian now started to fail to hold back the tears that had been threatening so long to fall. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone in the group and tried to quickly wipe the tear away, hoping no one was paying attention to him; that they couldn’t see how they had impacted him. But he still felt eyes on him, particularly when he wiped the next tear away. He let Claire and Bender’s argument surround him. They called each other out, that neither would associate with him or Allison, that their image was too important to protect to reach out. It was a story that Brian had lived all of his life. ‘How could I think that one day would change everything?’ He thought, pitifully.

“So I assume Allison, Y/N, and I are better people than you? Us weirdos?” Brian interjected when Claire and Bender were silently fuming from their spat. “You, would you do that to me?” He asked Allison.

“I don’t have any friends,” she replied, which made Brian smile a little, even though he rolled his eyes some.

“Okay, but if you did?” He let out a light chuckle, urging her to answer.

“No. I don’t think the kind of friends that I’d have would mind,” Allison replied and Brian nodded, then steeled himself to turn to Y/N and ask the same question. He saw her quickly swipe at her face with her sleeves and realized, suddenly, that she had been crying too. He wasn’t sure why; she had been very quiet through this whole exchange, but maybe that was because it hit home hard for her, too. He felt a painful pang in his chest, both from seeing her tears and from fearing the possibility of her answer. He had spent the day hoping that this was a second chance, that he could get to know her. This was a bold move and would tell him if there was even a chance or not; and he feared the ‘not.' She locked eyes with him and he gulped, petrified to dive in but knowing he had to.

“What about you, Y/N?” He asked, quietly. It felt like the question hung in the air for an agonizing eternity, even though she answered right away. Time worked differently when you were waiting to hear if your world was going to be shattered.

“I would be honored to be your friend,” she replied with a shaking voice. Even though it was strained, it filled him with instant relief. He believed her as he had believed Allison and nodded, biting his lip.

“I just want to tell, each of you, that I wouldn’t do that,” he turned to the group,” I wouldn’t and I will not. Because I think it’s real shitty.”

“Your friends wouldn’t mind because they look up to us.” Claire told him and he couldn’t help but laugh derisively in response. Next to him, he heard Y/N give a sort of squeak but figured that it carried the same disbelief towards Claire as his gesture did.

“You’re so conceited, Claire. You’re so conceited. You’re like, so full of yourself. Why are you like that?” Brian noticed the tears falling again and swiped them away. He didn’t want Claire to think she wounded him, that she had the upper hand. While it stung to have all of his beliefs about how the popular kids perceived him and his friends confirmed, that wasn’t what really was bothering him. It was more that it reminded him that he was invisible, he didn’t matter, which was exactly why he was here today.

“I’m not saying that to be conceited. I hate it. I hate having to go along with everything my friends say.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” Claire sighed, and Brian noticed that she was drying her own tears. He didn’t necessarily like having caused them, but it was nice to know she was still human, that she was feeling the way he was, too. “You don’t understand, You’re not friends with the same kind of people Andy and I are friends with, you know? You just don’t understand the kind of pressure that they can put on you.” That, however, lit a fire within Brian. ‘Pressure from other assholes is so important? Try your own parents, Claire.’

“I don’t understand what?” Brian began, gesturing towards himself and planting his fingers into his chest. It relieved some of the dull ache there. “You think I don’t understand pressure, Claire? Well, fuck you! Fuck you!” ‘Also, fuck ‘bravery’ or saving face,’ Brian broke down into sobs in his elbow before calling out from his hiding spot, “do you know why I’m here today? Do you?!” He sat up to look at the group, the people he considered friends, to share his pain with them. “I’m here...because Mr. Ryan found a gun in my locker.” The words turned thick as they left his mouth and took on a life of their own. His eyes darted quickly around the circle, noting Claire’s dropped jaw, Allison’s tearful eyes that couldn’t meet his own, the way Andrew looked away and Bender seemed to know how he had felt, but also how he was surprised that Brian had the balls to do such a thing, and finally...tears silently and consistently slipping down Y/N’s face.

“What’s the gun for?” Andrew asked, interrupting Brian’s thoughts.

“I tried. You pull the fuckin’--trunk and the light’s supposed to go on and it didn’t go on, you know?” ‘You’ve said too much. They all thought you were a weirdo, now they think you’re a psychotic weirdo.’ “Forget it. Just--forget it,” he said in an attempt to brush it off, as if everything could go back to normal with the bombshell he just dropped on them.

“You brought it up, man,” Andrew insisted.

“I can’t have an F. I can’t have it and I know my parents can’t. Even if I aced the rest of the semester, it would only be a B. I’m ruined.”

“Brian…” Claire started, but there was nothing she could say to make this alright. ‘You’re a failure, Brian, and now you’ve become a freakshow. Look at her pity,’ his brain taunted him and he lashed out to hit the stool on his right, not even thinking about it until Y/N jumped up in her seated position, startled. The last thing he would want to do is hurt or scare her. ‘Shit, great. Another fuck up.’

“Sorry,” he mumbled in her direction before setting his head on his knee and continuing with his story from before, “Just considering my options, you know?”

“No, killing yourself is never an option!” Claire yelled at him, which made him scoff.

“Well I didn’t do it, did I? No, I didn’t think so.” ‘She really just doesn’t get it, does she? She still can’t picture why I’d want to--’

“It was a handgun?” Allison asked

“A flare gun. It blew up in my locker.” Brian sighed, but then he heard Andrew start to laugh. “It’s not funny.” Brian asserted. Andrew tried to clear his throat to stop laughing, but he couldn’t and Brian bit his lip and smiled in realization, “Yeah, it is.” The laughter was contagious...and better than crying. “Fucking elephant was destroyed.”

“You know what I did to get in here?” Allison asked the group, and Brian almost feared her answer. “Nothing. I didn’t have anything better to do.” That completely brightened the mood and Brian fell over laughing. It seemed like he was forgiven and that no one here was judging him for the failed lamp or the gun nor would they tell anybody about it. They...they had accepted him in the end after all.

*~~~~*

“...we trust you.” Claire was trying to talk him into writing one essay to cover all of them, and she was using flattery. Lucky for her, it worked. He looked down the row to seek approval from the others and they all nodded. But he liked knowing that they thought he was the smartest and the most capable, that they trusted his words would win over Vernon in a way that they wouldn’t be punished for not doing their own essays. It was a big task and a lot to entrust to him, so he took pride in fulfilling it. Claire took the other girls with her somewhere and it was just Andrew and him sitting silently in the library, so he decided to get to work. Andrew was just lurking about, playing with his jewelry, but he wasn’t a distraction. However, Allison passing by looking completely different was. Brian looked up, shocked that this was the same person he had spent all day with. Her hair was away from her face and he could actually see her brown eyes and she was wearing...white, the opposite of all of the layers of black before. He caught her glare at him staring at her so he tried to give her a reassuring smile, that it was a good look for her. She said, “thank you,” and moved on toward Andrew. Brian turned back to his essay and finished the last couple of lines, not noticing Y/N approaching behind him. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have kissed the essay or given himself a ‘good job’ punch in the arm.

He sat up in startled revelation when she spoke, “That good, huh?” He realized she had just seen everything. He had never felt more like a dork in his life and a blush crept up into his cheeks.

“Uh...yeah, I-I guess. I mean, do you want to read it?” He asked as she started to pull back the chair next to him to sit down.

“If you want me to, but I trust you.” She took her seat and placed her arm gently on his forearm. ‘Holy shit. She is touching me! She’s looking at me. What do I even say? Do I acknowledge the touch or do I just--’ “I’m impressed that you came up with something so quickly though.” Brian felt pride bubble up within him, knowing that she noticed...no, she was impressed by him. He cocked his head and looked at her sideways, trying to figure her out. She quickly looked away and pulled her hand back, now fiddling with her sleeves. ‘Is she...nervous?’ He thought, trying to decode her reaction. “So, um…you said earlier that you were in the Math Club? Um, I mean, if you have the time, do you think you could tutor me? I’m like totally lost in Clarkson’s class.”

He blinked. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t exactly that. Not that he would say no to spending more time with her. He had wanted that second chance, after all. “Yeah, no, I could do that,” he told her and watched as she twisted away and looked behind her, grabbing paper off of Allison’s desk. She leaned back forward and reached for his pen in front of him. She was actually close enough now that he could smell her shampoo and his body threatened to turn into jello on the spot.

“Here...is...my...phone number.” She said as she wrote it out on the paper and handed it to him. “Call me so we can set something up?” She looked up at him and knocked the breath right out of his lungs.

“You--You want me to call you?” He asked with raised eyebrows, wholly surprised by the request. He’d not only not kissed a girl, but one had never given him her phone number before.

“Yeah.” She smiled at him and his heartbeat picked up even faster, if that was possible. She cleared her throat and nodded towards Andrew and Allison. “So, those two, huh? Unexpected, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He was suddenly hurtled back to Earth, to reality. “Definitely. Wait, where’s Claire?”

“She...she said she was going to go ‘check on’ Bender.”

“Wow. So them, too.” ‘Everyone is coupling up maybe we should--’ he interrupted his own thought and shot it down. All he could say was, “That’s really...weird.”

*~~~~*

After they were finally released and Brian left his essay on the desk for Vernon to collect, and hopefully reflect upon, they all walked out together. It made sense as they all had to go to the main entrance, but there was a feeling of solidarity within it that made Brian think that the members of what he dubbed The Breakfast Club would continue their friendship come Monday.

Allison and Andrew branched off together, as did Claire and John. Brian looked quickly at Y/N as she walked down the steps with him. His dad was there to pick him up, which he was thankful for. His mom would definitely notice him walking with a girl and have a million questions and a lengthy lecture lined up, but his dad would barely notice, much less think anything of it. He reached for the door handle as Y/N was about to depart, but then she called his name, “Hey Brian,” he looked up, not sure what else she could possibly have to say, especially since they had been silent while the couples had veered off. “See you Monday.” She reminded him and gave him a small smile. He gave a grin in return.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you on Monday.” He replied, beginning to get into the car, her phone number burning a hole in his pocket. For the first time in a long time, he was actually looking forward to another week school.

Tags:

@criminalwipes

#the breakfast club #breakfast club #breakfast club movie redeux #midnight sun'd prologue #you're not the only one stephanie myer #brian johnson x reader #brian x reader #brian johnson #john bender #claire standish #allison reynolds #andrew clark #80s fanfic #reader-insert

144 notes · View notes

tibbinswrites · 3 years ago

Text

Day 1 - Harvest

You reap what you sow. Dean had always been taught that. In John’s very specific way of course. He reaps, those he saves get to sow.

Watching autumn press closer this year is a strange feeling, he thinks from his vantage at the corner table in a coffee shop. The shorts and tank-tops begin to shift into jeans and sweaters. The frappuccinos become pumpkin spice (Dean isn’t complaining, not that he’d ever tell Sam) and the laziness of free summer days take on the more polished air of competent people with competent routines. He wonders, too often, if Cas ever felt like this, watching humans evolve over the eons, day by day, so slowly it’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment when everything changed.

Once his mind begins to wander that way, it’s hard to pull back from. He doesn’t mind dwelling on thoughts of Cas anymore, the sharp edge of his loss has eased into a dull ache. It still cripples him sometimes, but less, and the memories are comforting. They’re about all that he has that can even make him smile anymore. He barely notices the sadness clinging to them. All his memories are sad in some way or another.

The bell above the door tinkles and a man enters in a beige coat. It causes a stab in his gut even though the man is light-haired, and the colour and cut of the coat is completely wrong anyway. It’s a thin coat, light. It’s not yet so cold for anything heavier, indeed, the man discards the coat almost immediately after entering the cosy interior of the coffee shop, folding it over his arm. Dean looks back out the window.

Perhaps it’s the chill draft from the briefly open door, perhaps it’s the turn in weather, or perhaps Dean just hasn’t had enough coffee yet, but he can’t help a sudden overwhelming feeling of bitterness as he looks out at the world, seeing the traffic, the people hurrying to and from places, ducking into shops, laughing, chatting, embracing, waiting at the crosswalk. All of them alive because of him. All of these people get to reap the rewards of his labour, of his loss, without even knowing a damn thing about it. But Dean Winchester doesn’t get a fucking harvest. All Dean Winchester gets is to watch the happiness that exists outside of himself. Sometimes it’s enough, most times it isn’t.

He knows it’s selfish, that once, not too long ago, seeing his brother happy and thriving, in love and fulfilled in his life, would have been all he needed to be content. Maybe even as little as a year ago he could have kidded himself. But they had come too close, he and Cas, far too close to becoming something, so close that began to rely on it as an option if he ever got strong enough to take it, began to look forward to that time even. And now, months after Cas’ confession and subsequent death, it’s the almost that kills him. The realisation that Cas felt the same, and the immediate knowledge that it was too late. The whole time they could have been… not more exactly, what Cas had been couldn’t take up more space in his heart if he’d tried, but something else, something that Dean had desperately wanted. Still desperately wants.

The man in the beige coat sits down opposite him, pulls out a brown paper bag and shoved it towards him with a glare. Dean responds in kind, tugging the bag towards him and peering inside. Then he nods, satisfied.

“Tell Rowena thanks.”

“She requests that you all come by when you’re done.” His face twists. “For tea.”

“We’d be delighted.” Dean says evenly. “I’ll keep her updated on how it goes.”

Draining the dregs of his coffee he stands, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and slinging it on, carefully tucking the jar of blood-red viscous liquid into his inside pocket. Fat droplets of rain begin to hit and slide down the glass of the window, increasing their intensity even in the short walk from his seat to the door. He pushes out into it and starts as a cold droplet immediately hits his face. Heading to where he parked Baby a block over. he sends a quick text to Sam, telling him that he’s on his way and that he’d managed to pick up the sap of the dragon’s blood tree, found only on a specific island off Yemen and the last ingredient they needed for the spell.

Dean placed the jar in the box he’d packed with bubble-wrap in the footwell of the passenger seat before making his way around to the driver’s side and opening the door. He pauses before getting in though, taking a moment to lift his face to the sky, allowing the rain to fall on his skin, and sends a quick prayer to Jack that he does what he can to make sure this one thing, just this one, goes right.

There’s a sudden break in the clouds overhead and Dean finds himself in the only spot of warm sunshine for probably a few miles. Then the rain closes in again, and Dean smiles, comforted in knowing he was at least heard.

As he gets in and starts up Baby’s engine, his bitterness from before transforms into hope, and a deep gratitude that everyone around him has been willing to help in this months-long endeavour. What had started as an insane idea born of the deepest kind of grief, accidentally voiced to Sam and Eileen one drunken night, became a kind of group cultivation. Calls had gone around the rest of the family, research had been done, strings had been pulled all over the country, theories had been brainstormed and tested. Cases had been handed over to others so that they could focus, even though Claire had been chomping at the bit to go out and kill something. He couldn’t have done this without them, and he knows that they’re (at least mostly) doing this for him.

He’s getting tired of reaping after all. He just wants the chance to help something grow.

#suptober21 #post-finale #destiel #supernatural #spn fanfic #day 1 #harvest #the finale being 15x19 of course

57 notes · View notes

scapegrace74-blog · 3 years ago

Text

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise. Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote. That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”. Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May. Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability. Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized. Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns. He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath. He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought. Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker. Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up. From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?”

“No’ really. Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.” Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond. “I ignored her. Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed. Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture. Massive coronary. I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable. The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah. I dinna think I’m tae blame. I ken it. I was the only surviving son, ye see? In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations. I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da. Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it. I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer. It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra. She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile. “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file. The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months. The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards. They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms. Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny. She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping. Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp! Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks. Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on. She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room. Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach. The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust. With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store. The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp. She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork. Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response. Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly. “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like. Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses. He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window. With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask. Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday. Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge. Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.

Not Fraser, then. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather. Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile. That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages. A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie. What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood. “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets. A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean. Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess. Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie. It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp. We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie. You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either. An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier? Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach. My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?” She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland. Seemed tae suit ye, is all.” He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is. When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way. A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last. “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye. Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy. Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed. Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth. “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach. Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken? I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly. Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough. Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts. A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment. Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.” It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’. I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile. What a precious child. “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued. Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living. Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried. She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie. I’m certainly going to try.”

#my writing #outlander

78 notes · View notes

karmic-vibes · 2 years ago

Text

Two of Us

2 - Spending Someone's Hard-Earned Pay

cw: n/a

1987

The boys all headed to class, putting the bizarre morning behind them. The eight hours of school dragged on more than usual—all that any of them could think about was Claire.

She was an enigma to them. No one had ever seen her or probably heard of her. Then again, she was a Munson—they’re not exactly known for flying under the radar.

When the final bell rang, the four boys ran out to the courtyard, retrieved their bikes, and rode over to Family Video to meet up with Steve and Robin. The pair were sitting on the counter, throwing pretzels into each other’s mouths to see who could catch the most—by the looks of it, Robin was winning. Dustin approached the counter as the rest of the group dispersed to browse around the store.

“Are you kidding me! That was such a terrible throw!” Steve exclaimed.

“What are you talking about?! It was no different than the rest of my throws! I just think you’re getting worse at this.” Robin smirked as she tossed a mini pretzel into her mouth.

“Clearly we’re interrupting something important here,” Dustin said.

“Oh yes, very important work.”

“What do you want, Henderson?” Steve asked.

“We’re looking for someone.”

“Okay? How is that my problem?”

“We were hoping to use the computer to try and find them… kinda like we did with Eddie.”

“No, absolutely–”

“What’s the name?” Robin asked, still munching on pretzels.

“Claire Munson. Does that sound familiar to either of you?”

“I-I mean it’s kinda familiar. Why?” Steve stuttered, obviously trying to hide something from everyone.

“We met her today.”

“No way, she’s back in Hawkins?”

“What do you mean back in Hawkins?”

“She just fell off the face of the earth our sophomore year. I think everyone kind of just assumed she died or something—Eddie debunked that though, and just said she moved in with her mom out-of-state. Wonder why she’s back… especially after all the shit that happens here.”

“She must’ve been back for a while.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The whole reason we noticed her was because she was wearing Eddie’s old jacket. She said she got it in a donation bin last year after the ‘earthquake’ happened. So, she must have been back for at least a year.”

“How is that possible?” Robin asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Eddie died with that jacket on…”

“What are you saying, Robin?”

“I’m saying one of two things. Either she’s from Vecna’s hive-mind and traveled here to torture us, or…”

“Or?” Dustin’s eyes widened.

“Or Eddie’s alive…”

“He’s not, though… I-I saw him die.”

“Or, maybe,” Robin’s voice quivered, “they just have the same jacket, dingus.” She smirked at the teenager and went back to tossing her snack in the air.

“Okay, but have you seen that thing? It was nasty—no way there’s one that looks exactly like it,” Steve observed.

“Does this mean I get to start spying on her?”

“Creepy, dude,” Steve said.

“You know what I mean! Can we just skip to the part where you do as I ask and look her name up in the system and see where she lives?”

“No!”

“Yeah,” Robin shrugged.

“Robin! We can’t just spy on this poor, grieving girl.”

“And why do you suddenly care so much about her?”

“None of your business.”

“Oh, but my dear dingus, it is.”

“She was my first, okay? A little sentimental.”

“Wait, Steve, how old is Claire?”

“Twenty, maybe twenty-one, why?”

“That’s how old Eddie would be, how does that make sense?”

“Because they’re twins? Not rocket science, Henderson. Why do you care?”

Dustin’s eyes widened as his jaw fell to the floor.

“Steve… how old were you guys when you slept together?”

“Uh, I don’t know… fourteen, fifteen give or take.”

“Okay, you need to look up her address right now.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that Henderson.”

“Why!”

“Because, it’s creepy!”

“Trust me, Steve, there’s something you’re gonna wanna see.”

“37 Sullivan Road.” Dustin and Steve whipped their heads around and glared at Robin. “What? Sue me for wanting to see dingus here get all flustered by an ex. Come on.” Robin closed out of the window and hopped over the counter, stealing Steve’s car keys from his pocket in the process. “The rest of you idiots coming or not?” she hollered.

Everyone ditched their bikes at the video store and piled into Steve’s rundown car, with Steve reluctantly driving to his ex-fling’s house. Robin was in the passenger’s seat, smiling at Steve the entire trip—she had gotten joy in his previous embarrassments, but she never thought she would get to experience one of this magnitude. When they pulled up to the house, everyone raised a brow and double-checked that they were in the right place.

Unlike where Eddie grew up, Claire’s house was in a well-established part of the neighborhood, surrounded by multi-story homes, green lawns, and fenced in backyards. No one thought it was possible—how could a twenty-year-old with a child afford a place in such a nice part of town? Everyone got out of the car and slowly started making their way to the front door, careful to follow the path and not interfere with the well-maintained lawn.

“She must be either renting out the basement or have a rich husband,” Steve said, still in shock.

“Well, knock on the door and find out,” Dustin said.

“I’m not just gonna knock on the door.”

“And why not?”

“What am I even supposed to say? ‘Hey, Claire, long-time-no-see! Remember when we fucked five years ago?’.”

“I think you should say exactly that,” Robin snickered.

“Just knock on the door and say hi.”

“No, I-” Robin knocked. “Robin!”

“What?” she shrugged.

A few moments later, the door cracked open, revealing the little blonde-haired girl.

3 notes · View notes

hawkland · 3 years ago

Text

(Mostly) Destiel Fic Recs #5

This is a LONG recs post because it’s been a while since I did an update and I fell hard into reading one author’s work (DeanRH). In fact I could easily do a rec post just of their fics alone, but for this round I’m just going to pick out a handful of my absolute favorites so far, the ones I’d recommend to start out with, along with more other authors’ works I’ve especially enjoyed lately.

Absolution at the Five-and-Dime by DeanRH (125k) - this is perhaps THEE DeanRH fic to start with if you want a good, long read with a little bit of everything (Roadtrips! Intriguing casefic! Americana! Tasty Dean/Cas pining! Wing!kink and unique angel lore! Kinky soul fisting and tentacles!) It’s kind of two of parallel stories in one: the first, a flashback to Dean and Sam's first year hunting on their own (as well as trying to avoid hunting, and John in general); the second on how Dean and Cas finally get together during an unusual case and when Dean is able to really let go of his past trauma and accept himself/accept love from Cas.

What I love about DeanRH’s work is that they write from the unique point of view of a drifter, so they understand living on the road, traveling place to place, and the highs and lows of that life like no others I’ve encountered in SPN before. (The author’s notes are often as much fun to read as the stories themselves). They also write a kickass angel!Cas and never lose sight of his non-human traits and background. Their writing style is unique - almost poetic in nature, and I know some readers have found it difficult to get into. But it works really well for me in their SPN fic...gives it the flavor of oral story telling as might actually happen at a drifter’s camp (with one story written exactly as such). Be warned this particular fic does play up the idea of John Winchester being mentally abusive and Dean having to turn tricks when he was younger in order to support him and Sam, so there is some dark stuff. But as someone who grew up with mentally abusive parent, reading this was extremely cathartic to me and believably written (unlike some stories that go too over the top with abusive John, or just don't understand how that kind of abuse leaves lifetime psychological scars.)

The rest of this round’s recs below the cut.

Carnevale by DeanRH (18k) - Actually the first fic by this author I read, because I just couldn’t resist a story set in my favorite place in the world, Venice, Italy. Castiel is the Angel of Venice, banished there for so long he does not even know or remember the reasons why. But Carnevale season is the one time a year he can let his wings out - figuratively and literally. And during this particular Carnevale season, he meets an intriguing masked young American tourist there with his brother and their one night stand turns into something far more powerful than either expected. This one’s hot, romantic, and achingly sad at the end as it all ties together unexpectedly with canon-verse...though with a hint for the future so it’s definitely not totally sad. I loved how DeanRH clearly understands Venice as a fellow lover of the city, the side of it most tourists never see unless they spend a long time there. This story made me cry just from wanting to be back in Venice again.

Ice cream was sweeter, food more satisfying, everything was an epicurean delight. There was just something magical about Venice, and he had lived here in the city for hundreds of years, so the shine should have worn off by now.

But it didn't, and there was always something more, something wonderful to discover around the next corner. The painted eaves of a church. The beauty of two women dancing with flowers in their teeth across the Piazza San Marco one day, overcome by the sheer joy of just being there. The way the university students still created Venetian masks, like Castiel's extravagant volto mask and Dean's humble servetta muta, with crafts that had been handed down across the generations. The morning silence that lay against the stones.

Hard Landing by DeanRH (26.9k) - A bit similar in theme to Carnevale. A pre-series Dean and Sam are sight-seeing in Spain when an angel, struck by a babel-spell, crash lands right in front of Dean. A strange yet seriously hot encounter with the angel turns into something much more complicated when the brothers return home and realize something more serious is afoot and they are both trapped in the middle of it. This is another story where things are very much not as they seem at first (as fun as that is!) It features master strategist Cas at his best, with a side helping of delightful trickery care of Gabriel and Balthazar as they deal with Lucifer, Michael...and a few others along the way.

The Sacred Band of Thebes by DeanRH (14.5k) - The last DeanRH fic I’m gonna allow myself to include in this round up, because it’s just very soft and sweet and beautiful - for a story about Dean & Cas being magically transported back in time to ancient Sparta! This is another story infused with a great knowledge of place and history, with some wonderfully delightful original characters added in that make it all the more enjoyable to read.

And now on to some other authors, I promise!

IPAMIS OL OLPRIT by emmbrancsxx0 (56k). A really wonderful fic that take a different look at what might have happened with a temporarily resurrected John Winchester during Season 14. Dean & Cas are in an established relationship here, and John here isn’t too happy about it — though mostly because he sees Cas (and Jack) as monsters, the kind of monsters he spent his lifetime hunting. This is a great fic for the emotional complexity of how John, Dean and Cas are all handled. John isn’t a cardboard evil dad, Dean is struggling between his loyalty to his father and to Cas, and Cas is increasingly bitchy/frustrated at Dean still being so desperate for his father’s approval (and all the more complex for not just being a quietly suffering perfect supporting boyfriend.) There’s some great action sequences in this too along with the emotional angst and a delicious dose of hurt!Cas if that’s your thing (as it is for me :D)

Abrenuntio by Neonbat (51k). A very dark but compelling AU take on the/a apocalypse universe. Dean, Sam and John are all alive in this post-angel war-apocalyptic world. They are part of a group of human survivors fighting against the angel army when they manage to capture “Blue” — a particularly feared angel of death. Dean is tasked with bringing Blue in for interrogation and he becomes a prisoner in their camp after John is killed. As mentioned, this is a pretty dark/sad fic (with some rather gruesome torture scenes) but I still found it quite compelling as a look at how things could have gone in some other parallel universe. And somehow the author manages to make the Dean/Cas relationship come together despite them starting out as complete enemies. This is one of those AUs that works for me because the core of the characters really shine through despite the differences in the setting.

if it all fell to pieces tomorrow by spocklee (37k) - a gorgeous post-Empty rescue fic that takes an approach I haven’t really seen explored in detail before (despite being something I’ve actually thought about as something that could’ve happened.) What if Cas has spent so long denying himself happiness, and then trapped in regrets and false-rescue scenarios created by the Empty, that he can’t trust that his rescue is real? And so he runs off to be on his own - literally stealing the Impala because he can’t handle being in Dean’s presence one moment longer - and only slowly comes to terms with the idea that it’s over now and he can be happy with/around his friends and family. This one’s both deliciously angsty and at times funny/sweet, looking at Cas’s relationships not just with Dean but with Sam, Jack, Claire, even Eileen. It does some fun stuff with other returned angels and demons who now find themselves back on Earth (and human), and...I just really enjoyed this one a lot.

Both Saved and Lost by angelfishofthelord (13.7k) Gen Cas character study, absolutely gorgeous and sad and one of those fic I couldn’t stop thinking about the day after reading it. AU where Apocaverse!Cas isn’t immediately killed by our Cas during 13x22 but instead hitches a ride back to the main ‘verse. Dean and Sam want to keep him alive for information on Michael; Cas is torn and trying to figure out just how similar—or different—they really are. Some great angel stuff here (I also highly recommend this author’s Jack & Cas “dadstiel” fics, they’re equally lovely and heartbreaking at the same time.)

flesh of the mighty by Mudprophet (2.7k) - THEE “What exactly did Dean eat in Purgatory, anyway?” fic you’ve probably already heard about. *cough* I’ve been trying to work up the courage to read this one for a while and finally gave in and OH MY CHUCK I’m so glad I did. It’s perversely disturbing and beautiful at the same time, Cas is wonderfully DERANGED and ALIEN in that way that I love it when fics managed to convey just how much angels are NOT human. Do heed the tags.

Full of Grace by ilovehowyouletmefall (11k) - Another one for the weird-as-fuck-angel!Cas lovers’ list. Heaven/canon-compliant fic where Dean knows he should feel happy and at peace but he just...isn’t, even with Cas and all of his friends and family there. He finally goes looking for Cas when he’s been absent for a time and, for the first time, gets to not just see but experience his true form. Another one that hits some kinks I knew I had and others I didn’t...until now. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

don't ask me where i've been by saltwound / @1x06 (8k) - I can never resist a good 09x06 fiction gap fic! What makes this one really stand out is how well it captures Cas’s internal voice - his struggles adapting to human senses, limitations and emotions versus what/how he experienced things as an angel. The longing and feelings between Dean & Cas here are so achingly beautiful and I just wanted to cry when Cas says he misses hearing Dean’s prayers, so Dean, he...oh, I’m not going to spoil it. *happy sigh* Just read it.

this room is wrong by DarkHeartInTheSky (12k) - Sometimes I like torturing myself with some good 15x03 divorce arc angst and this fic hit that button just so. It’s an alternative take on where Cas might have ended up after leaving the bunker and features some great Cas & Sam friendship feels, when Sam sets out to try to bring Cas home. It’s all the stuff you’d wish the writers would’ve let them talk out in canon.

Well that’s more than enough for this round! Go forth, read and give some great writers some kudos & comment love!

#fic recs #my fic recs #destiel recs #destiel #deancas recs #my destiel recs

52 notes · View notes

hufflepuffsthunderdome · 4 years ago

Text

First Snow of Winter | D.M

Draco x female!reader

Warnings: none :)

@risingtripletaurus otay so now i have to ask for a draco x reader with draco being all soft for the stereotypical winter things <3 fuck yes I loved writing this! That Remus one you requested will be up soon ;)

Summary: just cute winter Draco being adorable and in love with his girlfriend. Need I say more?

A/N: I’m sorry that the formatting is kinda strange. It could very well just be mine but I have no idea how to fix it.

A soft thud to the side of your head wakes you up with a start, the annoyed groans coming from your roommates and a soft thudding against the dormitory door breaking through the air before you’re eyes have settled to be able to see through the dark. From her bed, your roommate Claire is sitting up her usual smirk plastered on her face, motioning with her hand for the pillow she threw at you.

“Sound’s like lover boy is desperate.”

You look back at her confused, your other two roommates shooting protests her way, clearly annoyed at the disruption of their sleep and her jovial attitude towards it. The soft knocking at the door continues slightly, this time Draco’s quiet whispers sneaking through the cracks in the door, and making your face heat up against the cool night air. You’ve been seeing Draco for over a year now, much to the amazement of everyone around you, including yourselves at times. You were all smiles and helping hands, eager to please everyone around you, to your own detriment at times. And draco. Well Draco wasn’t that. To others, he was gloomy, and moody. A spoiled mummy’s boy who seemed to get everything he wanted at the blink of an eye. But not around you. Around you he was considerate, loving, passionate, even after all this time together, it was the little things he did everyday that made you heart race, that made you fall more and more in love each time you saw him.

The knocking stops, and you can hear the clear dejected sounds of Draco walking away from the door. You’re out of bed as quick as you can, too fast for your body to protest to the cold ground you’re now walking on, away from the barrier of warmth your blanket gave you. Socks, shoes, beanie, gloves, coat, scarf; in that order, all on in a matter of seconds that is honestly impressive the speed you managed, and you’re out the door, creeping down the stairs. You manage to catch Draco, just before he goes to leave the common room and sling your arms around him from behind.

“What are you doing here,” you giggle as he turns around, smattering kisses across your face that leave a soft trail of heat wherever his lips touched. He’s wearing a coat and gloves like you, but has skipped the beanie and scarf. He’s much more equiped for this kind of weather than you’ll ever be, even with your many layers you’re still close to turning to ice.

“I just wanted to see the most gorgeous girl in school,” he smirks, taking your beanie off your head to readjust it properly over your ears, “even when she’s dressed up like a damn marshmallow.”

You both laugh quietly as you embrace in the common room, enjoying the moment of warmth and the heat of the fire. You don’t often get a chance to be alone together, being in different houses, with different friend groups and different responsibilities. It seemed every chance you got to spend a single moment with your loving boyfriend one of you was being whisked away for whatever reason. Honestly if that meant you’d have to wake up in the middle of the night and sneak around just to be able to see each other, neither of you would pass up that opportunity.

“Surely this could’ve waited for tomorrow, it’s freezing and you could’ve gotten caught. I mean how’d you even manage to get up to the dorm? Let me guess, you had your ways?”

Draco lets out a laugh at your comment, you have to put your hand over his mouth so no one possibly wakes up. He takes a hold of your gloved hand loosely, and presses a kiss to the tiny amount of exposed skin at your wrist, “I actually wanted to show you something.”

You walk through the cold halls of Hogwarts wrapped up in each other. Draco has one arm around your shoulder, and the other holding your hand in what he’ll say is an attempt to keep you warm, though he definitely isn’t passing up an opportunity to have you close. He glances down at you, from his tall stature, and cant help the small smile that graces his lips as he listens to you talk. You’re talking about a book you’re reading currently, some muggle book by an author you like that he’s never heard of before, but he cant help but get wrapped up in your passion about it. He’s not good at showing his emotions, to anyone really, but when he’s with you, Draco feels those walls he’s built up slip, and he’s more than willing to let you in.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your voice teasingly says, breaking him out of his fond thoughts of you as you glance up at him. He feels his heart beat wildly in his chest at the way you look at him. He catches you looking at him like this a lot, like he’s the only thing in the whole world that matters, and each time he does he looses his ability to speak. He can’t even fathom the idea of being loved so much, but the way you talk to him, and look at him, and hold him close, he has no doubt in his mind that you love him just as much as he loves you.

“Just thinking about how much I adore you,” he says softly, stopping walking and pulling you close to him as he kisses you softly, “even when you look like a marshmallow.”

The giddy laugh you let out makes his face flush red, he adores making you laugh more than anything else, knowing he’s the only one who you let see this side of you just as he lets you see the real him makes him pull you into him even closer. “I mean given the time of year wouldn’t snowman be a better fit? It’s gonna start snowing soon after all.”

You look back up and Draco, from where you’re resting against his chest, and see that infamous smirk plastered on his face. “Come on,” he wraps his arms around you again, this time standing behind your body, “your surprise awaits you my love.”

You’re both laughing as you attempt to walk down the hallway in this akward position, your legs bumping into each other, and nearly making you fall over at times, “can I please walk normally?”

Draco’s hand slips up from around your waist to gently place them over your eyes. You wince slightly at his cold hands against your skin, and he laughs softly into your neck, the warm puff of air sending shivers up your spine, “it’ll ruin the surprise my love.”

You don’t know exactly where you are anymore as you continue to let Draco guide you, but you are aware that you are out of the corridors of the castle. You can feel the harsh wip of the air tugging at your clothes as you walk, so you’re fairly certain you’re outside somewhere. Draco’s moves are deliberate, he is guiding you exactly where he wants you and you know he’s definitely hiding something. Draco guides you down a set of stairs, promising he wont let you fall when he sees you tense up at the thought of taking the first step, and you follow his soft hands and calm voice down the flight. You have no idea where you are anymore. You thought you were possibly near the quidditch pitches at first but you know you haven’t walked that far. Draco’s hands guide you to a stop and the air instantly feels 10 times warmer. He pulls his hands away from your face and you gasp at the sight before you.

You’re stood in the back room of the greenhouse, the roof of it open and the doors leading out to the back garden completely open. The plants around you are swaying softly, coated in a small layer of white. It’s only then that you look up and realise it’s in fact snowing. Beyond the slight, glowing orange boarder that is encapsulating the greenhouse, which you’re sure is a charm of some description to make it feel like spring where you’re standing, small, soft specs of white are falling from the sky, seemingly travelling a slow motion as they descend to the ground. Despite the warmth in the greenhouse, the small specs of snow are still able to get inside, landing softly on the ground, and adding to the piles of snow already there, unmelting. There’s a large picnic blanket set up on the floor, and a basket to go with it overflowing with foods and sweets of a wide variety. You gasp and turn to smack your boyfriend in the chest lightly, “I was looking for that basket and blanket the other week.” He gives you a teasing grin back as you poke your tongue out at him; it was about three weeks ago when your friend came looking for you, asking to borrow your picnic things so her and her boyfriend could have lunch near the black lake. Tears start to well up in your eyes at the thought of your boyfriend planning this for that long, and you turn and engulf him in a hug.

“I’m glad you like it,” he gently kisses the top of your head as you stand their embracing one another.

“I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“Well,” he begins, pulling away from you to twirl a piece of your hair in between his fingers, “partly for you. Mostly for the snow.”

You’re mindlessly chatting away with Draco as you’re laid together on the blanket. You’ve eaten more than either of you thought possible, and are enjoying the warmth of the greenhouse and the beauty of the snow around you. Draco is talking about all the constellations you two can see in the stars above, his finger dragging carelessly over your collarbone, “and do you know what that one is?”

You stare up the stars he pointing to, turning your head slightly as you squint to try to make out the shape. “It looks like a kite,” you say without even thinking, and Draco starts to howl with laughter beside you.

“Way to ruin my attempt to be cute,” he chuckles, rolling over so he’s on his elbows above you, glancing down at you, “that’s Delphinus, it’s a dolphin, it means love.”

You lean up and press you lips to his, hand reaching up to gently cup his face as he leans further into the loving kiss. When you pull away he leans further into your palm, eyes still shut, “I appreciate your cuteness but there’s no way in hell that’s a dolphin.” You both start laughing at that, an uncontrollable kind of laughter, at what was barely a joke. You stand up, pulling him up with you and towards the exit of the greenhouse, “let’s go build a snowman.”

What you imagine to be a picture perfect moment, entering the snow with your lover in tow, quickly sours again as the second you leave the warmth of the charm Draco made, a series of gasped ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,” leave your mouth as you remember why you don’t do the cold. “Aww are you cold love?” Draco teasing with that charming smirk on his face. You nod back at him, wrapping yourself up in your arms to attempt to warm your body, “come here love.” You walk into his open arms, enjoying the few seconds of fleeting warmth he gives you before you feel the cold harsh breeze slipping through the back of your coat, and a handful of snow following it.

You gasp, jumping away from Draco as you shake in a poor attempt to rid your body of the cold wet substance that is trapped against your back, “Draco!”

Draco’s bent over with his hands on his knees, wheezing with laughter. Despite your annoyance you yourself have to bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling too, furrowing your brows and sticking your lip out slightly. You huff and turn your attention away from Draco, a sneaky hand movement hidden from his view making a small ball of snow magically form and hide it near your folded arms. “Aww Im sorry baby,” draco mumbles as he walks over to you, “I was just joking.”

You hide the smirk on your face as you turn into his loving embrace, wrapping your arms around him and just as he did to you, tossing a handful of snow down his shirt. He lets out the highest pitched squeal you’ve heard from him, and you’re in a fit of giggles as he too is left shaking his coat. He looks over at you with a challenging stare, and you just poke your tongue out at him through your giggles.

“Oh is that how it’s gonna be huh?” You barely have a chance to move before he’s dashing towards you, chasing you through the snow. In normal circumstances you may have had a chance, but with your heavily layered getup and the thick layer of snow covering the ground, you proved no match for Dracos long legs and he’s scooping you up from the ground. “In normal circumstances I’d be tickling you now, but this,” he says, playing with the button of your coat, “makes that damn impossible.”

“Oh what a shame,” you say, drawing out the syllables as you wiggle around in his grasp, “I’m heartbroken you can’t tickle me.”

“Ooooh,” Draco chides, “the sass is strong today I see.” You giggle lightly as he tightens his grasp on you pulling you in for a soft kiss.

A soft movement below your head, and the warm sunlight streaming in from somewhere to your left woke you from your peaceful slumber. Below you is the unmistakable feeling of Draco’s bed, Draco’s bod below you as his arms are wrapped lazily around you. You don’t remember coming up here last night, the end of your night a slight blur as conversations you were having with Draco drifted back into memory.

The hair around your forehead moves slightly as Draco softly pushes it out of your face. He threads a soft hand through it, and you lean further into his chest, feeling your cheeks warm up as he presses a soft kiss to your head.

“Good morning darling.”

You let out a grumble back, possibly a good morning back, possibly a sound of annoyance at having to wake up; you’re barely sure yourself in your half woken state.

“Did you have fun last night?”

You can hear the nerves creep into his voice, it shakes ever so slightly the way it does when he gets insecure. You wish you could take away his insecurities, but you know no matter how much you tell him you love him that voice will always be there. “Of course I did Draco, it was perfect,” you say back, sincere even in your sleepy state, willing to reassure him as much as he needs, “you’re perfect.”

Draco’s hand stops moving from where it was slightly threading through your hair, moving his hand down towards your chin in a silent question that you move your head up. You do as he wants, facing him and smiling softly at his bed head and red flushed face as you kiss him.

You snuggle back into his chest, “it’s cold, can we stay in bed today?”

“Of course darling.”

111 notes · View notes

let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

Text

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 25: Riding a Bike

Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Jamie was simultaneously in Heaven and in Hell.

The Heaven part was Claire Beauchamp’s hand laced in his, walking from the parking meter to the restaurant on the water, down port in Port Jefferson. If dinner was as long as he’d planned for, the timing would be perfect for them to be walking around just as the sun was setting so that the colors would dance on her skin, in her curls, in her eyes. She was so much more relaxed than she was on that first date, so much more comfortable in the restaurant this time, one by the name of Old Fields. She loved that they could see the water, loved the flowers and wee plants around them at their outdoor table (he knew she would), loved the string of lights crisscrossing back and forth above their heads. She was illuminated like an angel.

The Hell part was what he’d committed to doing after this.

Not that it would be Hell, not at all. Christ, the thought of giving himself to her that way, the thought of her being his first (and only, if he had anything to say about it, though he couldn’t exactly say that this early without sounding like a nutter), the thought of finally giving in to those urges he’d felt since the first time she’d pressed her body against his in that bloody office…

That too, was Heaven.

But the waiting. The anticipation.

Christ, he was nervous.

He wanted to do it right, wanted to please her, wanted her to like it. He wanted her to like it as much as he already knew he would. He didn’t want to lose his head, or lose it too soon. He’d heard his friends ribbing each other as teenagers, how they’d lost it nearly the second they were inside for their first time. Claire deserved better than that.

Then he remembered she hadn’t been pleasured as such in years, and his throat went dry. He couldn’t disappoint her. He just couldn’t. It was not an option.

“Jamie?”

“Hm?”

He was pulled from his whirling thoughts by that reminder of Heaven, her gentle voice, warm, soft fingertips on his wrist; on his pulse, he realized. He looked up into her face when he realized she was not going to say anything else, and saw her gazing softly at him, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“You’re very loud without saying a word,” she said.

Jamie chuckled nervously, feeling himself blush. “Aye, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she tightened her grip on his wrist. “That’s not why I said that.” He wet his lips, nodding. “Are you…nervous? About…later.”

Throat dry, causing pain when he swallowed, he nodded. “Feels foolish, but aye.”

“It’s not.” Her thumb rubbed calming circles over his pulse, and it felt like she was literally soothing his heartbeat back to a steady rhythm. That was her affect, her healing touch, her magic. “It’s normal. I’m…I am, too.” He watched a beautiful blush begin at her sternum and creep its way up her neck and into her face, like watching flowers bloom up and down a vine.

“But I…” she went on, breathing shakily. “I really, really want to, Jamie.”

Jamie thought he might just die.

Her voice was low and husky in a way he’d never heard, and she did not break eye contact. He nodded, his jaw agape.

“Aye,” he somehow managed to stutter. “I…I do, too.”

She brought his fingers to her lips, and he prayed she would not feel how clammy his hand was.

“Worrying about it now won’t change anything that happens later,” she whispered, causing the hairs on his hand and wrist to stand on end, tickled by her breath. “It’ll be okay.”

And though he still felt like he might vomit, or faint, or keel over, he knew she was right.

He tried to focus instead on the menu, on the bread basket in between them, on watching Claire break the bread into pieces before putting it in her mouth, not biting it. He tried to think of those hands, delicately breaking bread, holding surgical equipment, of those fingers tying stitches, stroking the brow of a frightened child on a stretcher. And then the bread was popped between her lips, and he could think of nothing but those lips, doing…well…

The waiter thankfully interrupted that next train of thought, and they each ordered. Jamie ordered the buttermilk fried chicken, which came with cornbread, coleslaw, and french fries, which he swapped for sweet potato fries. He caught a glint in Claire’s eye when he asked for the substitution, and he immediately knew she’d be having quite a few of those fries. Claire ordered butternut squash ravioli, and Jamie smiled as he handed the waiter their menus. He’d have to make that for her sometime; he wasn’t too bad at ravioli and other pasta dishes if he did say so himself.

The more rounds of drinks they got, the more relaxed they both felt, and the more Jamie could look at the lights dancing on Claire’s skin without thinking of the terror of the rest of her skin being bared to him.

Well, not entirely.

It was always there, in the back of his mind, but Claire’s melodic laugh, her pensive gaze as she stared over the water, the way she jumped when the ferry horn blared, and that damned healing touch of hers always pulled him back out of his head. She talked about patients and incidents at work, about Joe saving her sanity nearly once an hour, about Faith’s new habit of laying out every one of her barbies on the coffee table in the morning and leaving them there untouched until it was bedtime, only to repeat the process every morning, about how Faith arranged the furniture in her dollhouse. Jamie talked about his own clients, about how great Faith was doing with Jessica, and he told a particularly long anecdote about his one client with Down Syndrome, Holly.

“I dinna ken what to do about that one,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “She’s making braw progress, just great. Her fine motor is getting so much better, her strength is improving, she communicates great wi’ the horse and wi’ us. But she…Christ, how do I say it…”

“She has a crush on you,” Claire said, putting her chin in her hands and smiling.

“Aye! How d’ye know?”

“I’ve seen her at the events. She’s the sweetest thing, but she’s especially sweet to you,” Claire said, her eyes bright with mirth. “How old is she again?”

“Eleven,” Jamie said. “The problem is, she does so well wi’ me, right? But I dinna ken if it’s just because she’s, well, sweet on me. And is that ethical? For her to progress so well because she’s sweet on a grown man more’n twice her age?”

Claire laughed. “Well, it isn’t your fault. You do what you can for her and you keep it professional. She’ll outgrow it, I’m sure.”

“I’m no’ so sure,” Jamie said. “Doesna help that her mam encourages her.”

“Perhaps she has her own crush and she’s living vicariously through Holly.” Claire took a cheeky sip of wine, and Jamie barked with laughter.

“Shameless, Sassenach.”

“What? It’s quite difficult for a woman to resist someone like you. And good with kids, and animals?” She put down her wine glass. “You’re a dreamboat, darling. I’m quite aware how lucky I am. And I would be even if the other moms weren’t constantly reminding me.”

The thought made Jamie blush; all the mothers ogling at him from where he couldn’t see, telling Claire about said ogling.

Claire suddenly shook her head, mouth and eyes wide with disbelief.

“What?”

“It’s like…you don’t even know.” She rested an arm on the table, leaning her chin in her other hand.

“Dinna ken what?”

She bit her lip, perhaps stifling a laugh, or trying to stop herself from saying it. “I’ll…I’ll tell you later.”

His stomach flipped.

When dinner arrived, Claire did steal quite a few of his sweet potato fries, and he didn’t have it in him to tease her for it. She thoroughly enjoyed her own meal, and he catalogued that knowledge away, along with the knowledge of her love of sweet potato. They skipped dessert, Jamie promising her well-priced ice cream instead.

Said ice cream was obtained at a little shop tucked away at the corner of a narrow pedestrian cobblestone walkway. Claire was completely enamored with every little shop and cafe they passed, remarking how “sweet” or how “darling” everything looked, and Jamie wanted to kiss her senseless.

He ordered moose-tracks, which Claire had apparently never had, and Claire got her usual soft-serve vanilla with rainbow sprinkles on a cone. Jamie gave her a bite of his, and she nodded in approval, saying she might actually get that next time.

Next time.

The thought of an endless future of holding Claire’s hand at sunset with ice cream on her tongue was making him dizzy.

They strolled closer and closer to the water, chatting and eating. Claire insisted Jamie have a lick of her ice cream since she’d tried his, but Jamie was certain she just wanted to watch him make a mess of his face with the quickly melting mess. She got her wish, if that was her intention.

When they reached the beach, Jamie asked Claire to hand him her shoes; the wedges she was wearing were not conducive to walking in the sand. She obliged, and they walked on. They walked along the shoreline, passing groups of young people with grilles, families or couples with dogs. There was even a lone swimmer, stroking valiantly in the near still water.

Claire was looking out over the harbor, at the boats, the birds, the colors in the sky. “This really is so beautiful, Jamie.”

“I’m glad ye like it,” he said. “I used to come here by myself just to think. I come wi’ Toni to get food and people watch. It’s very fine to have you here.”

She bit into her cone, and he smiled, finally giving into the urge to kiss her cheek, even as she chewed.

They eventually found their way to a dock, and they sat on the edge, dangling their feet, Claire’s shoes sitting behind them. The sun was mere minutes from setting now, and Jamie’s heart could have burst. He’d calculated the timing just right; he’d gotten to see all of nature’s glowing colors in various states of sunset reflected on Claire’s skin, her hair, her eyes. He could swear that her eyes literally changed color depending on the color of the light around them. She was truly ethereal, so much so that his stomach settled for the first time all night.

They sat swinging their feet, Claire resting her head on Jamie’s shoulder, Jamie holding her against him. It was perfect. The scent of her was driving him mad, that sweet perfume, lemongrass, and that deep herbal essence that always permeated her, likely from her garden. Then they were kissing, madly and deeply, and someone could have docked their boat right next to them and Jamie wouldn’t have noticed.

——

When Jamie opened the back door of his car to retrieve Claire’s overnight bag for her, she noticed that he wiped his hands on his trousers before actually picking up the bag.

He was sweating.

She wanted to tell him that it was going to be alright, that it was not going to be as terrifying as he dreaded, that she’d be happy no matter how he performed.

Not that she wasn’t thinking about how he would perform.

It was perhaps a bit unfair to place such high expectations on him. He was virginal after all. But God, there was something about him that had Claire convinced that she wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. And she eagerly awaited it.

She’d wanted him, very badly, for a long, long time. Longer than she cared to admit. And she very well might finish at the first contact and then he’d have nothing to worry about.

Before Claire could reveal her horrendously mortifying train of thought, Jamie was unlocking the front door. He lived on the bottom floor of his building, and there were outdoor entrances like there were at her building.

“It’s no’ much,” he said sheepishly, turning on the lights. “Bachelor pad, after all.”

Claire looked around the living room they stepped into, her chest warming. “It’s lovely.”

There was a gray couch facing a not-too-big tellie, a coffee table in the center of a woven blue area rug that matched the tartan blanket draped over the back of the couch. There were burgundy-red throw pillows that matched the red on the tartan.

“Fraser tartan,” Claire said, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “Right?”

“Aye,” Jamie said eagerly, beaming. “Ye remembered.”

“Remembered?” Claire snorted. “I have been entirely unable to forget the sight.”

She moved on to examine photos on the wall behind the couch, and she saw him blush out of the corner of her eye. She recognized Jenny and Ian from pictures on Jamie’s phone; there were photos from their wedding with Jamie in them, photos of the children, with and without Jamie. There was a photo of three cheesy grins on eager children, two of them redheaded little boys. The one in the middle leaned heavily on his sister and brother, grinning the brightest of all. Willie.

Above them was a photo of them with their parents. Ellen was beautiful. Like a Goddess or an Amazon. Her jawline could cut ice, and her high cheekbones gave way to cat-like eyes.

“You look so much like her,” Claire said softly. She felt him come up closer behind her.

“Thank you.”

She turned to offer him a sad but loving smile, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her head on his shoulder. Her eyes wandered over Ellen and Brian’s wedding photo, both of them elegant and regal, Brian in his full Fraser regalia, Ellen in a gorgeous, very eighties gown.

“Your family is so beautiful, Jamie.” Claire gave him a squeeze. “Just looking at these I can tell how much love there is between all of you.”

Claire had always wondered what it was like to have family like that. Of course Lamb had been her family, and she loved him endlessly. She always would. But family like this, family to fill a wall with and look at similarities between…she’d never had such a thing. So she always wondered.

“I can’t wait to meet them someday.”

She said it softly, so softly that she might be able to take it back if she needed. But Jamie squeezed her back and kissed the top of her head.

“I canna wait either, mo ghraidh.”

They took off their shoes and moved into the kitchen, the counters empty and spotless save his coffee maker and a blender, quite unlike the ever-present mess in her kitchen. There were white roses in the center of the table, and Claire got the distinct feeling that he didn’t always have such a thing.

“For you, Milady.” He gallantly offered her a rose from the bunch, and she deeply inhaled its fresh scent, looking up at him through her lashes. The whisky came next, and then they were on the couch, glasses in hand, rose tucked behind Claire’s ear. They would go back and forth between talking animatedly, laughing, teasing, and then utter silence, sipping their glasses uncomfortably, sweat pooling at the base of Claire’s back. And probably under her arms. This went on for far too long before Claire decided to say something.

“So — ”

“Listen, I —”

They both snapped their mouths shut, blushing fiercely. They stumbled apologies over each other, but then Claire stopped it all.

“You first,” she insisted.

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “I was ehm…gonna…well…” He ran a hand through his hair, and Claire’s heart strained to see it was trembling. “I dinna ken what to do right about now. I mean, I ken what to do!” he corrected quickly, but he hadn’t needed to. Claire knew what he meant. “It’s just — ”

“No, I know. I know what you mean.” Claire took another sip of her drink. “I don’t…know what’s next either.”

Jamie laughed, a shaky, nervous sound. Claire wanted to take him in her arms and soothe him, kiss away all his fear. Yet she also wanted to pounce him right there, make him spill his whisky all over that beautiful carpet and drag him to the bed and leave it there until morning.

Though that didn’t seem very productive.

“I was going to say that you don’t have to worry about condoms,” Claire said, nodding curtly. “I mean, I know you don’t have anything, and I don’t. Unless you want — ”

He shook his head. “I trust ye.”

Claire nodded. “And well, I’m on the pill. So.”

He nodded thoughtfully, sipping his drink again. She saw the unasked question in his eye. She didn’t need to prove to him that she wasn’t just ready to start sleeping around at any given moment, but she wanted to.

“I took it even before I started having sex,” she explained. “Bad periods. Really bad.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” Claire waved it off. “It was convenient when I started having sex. Then Frank wanted kids right after getting married even though I was still in medical school, so I went off it. Went right back on it as soon as I could after Faith was born.”

“Frank wanted kids?”

She saw the regret as soon as he said it, flashing in his eyes like a storm.

“Exactly,” Claire said. “I don’t need to tell you of all people that Faith is my joy and blessing and…everything to me,” she said, her chest aching. “But…I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to even start trying until the age I am now. Pregnancy and infancy during med school was really hard.”

“I canna imagine.” He put a hand on her knee, squeezing. “Ye’re brave, Claire. And strong.”

She smiled weakly. “I didn’t feel like it at the time. I couldn’t even say no to him. Even though I knew why he was doing it.”

He didn’t want to ask, she could tell. He squeezed her knee harder and rubbed his thumb over her kneecap.

“He thought I’d give it up,” she said simply, shrugging. “Being a doctor. If I had children. Thought I’d resign myself to barefoot and pregnant.”

Jamie’s every feature darkened. Claire covered his hand with hers on her knee.

“I’m sorry we got into that tonight. I didn’t mean…at all…”

Unprompted and unexpectedly, Jamie’s lips met hers, harder than they had all night. He pulled away, and Claire felt breathless.

“What was that for…? I didn’t exactly set the mood…” Claire rolled her eyes in admonishment of herself.

“I admire the hell out of you, Sassenach.”

Overwhelmed with affection, Claire kissed him back.

When they pulled apart, Claire took note of the time from the digital clock on the cable box.

“I need to call Gail, get the updates, make sure Faith went down okay,” Claire said, reaching for her phone. Gail and Delia were spending the whole night at the apartment rather than Faith sleeping at their house; Claire had been worried that Faith would panic if nighttime routine was not at home.

“Do you want to…” Claire put her drink down on the coffee table as she pulled out her phone. “Meet me in the bedroom?”

She thought he might drop his drink; she almost jerked her hand forward to catch it.

“Ah — yes, aye, that’s fine,” he stammered. He set his glass down beside hers and stood up. “I’ll just…do that.”

She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. If she hadn't already had three overtly sexual encounters with this man, these interactions would convince her that she was in for a rough night.

Gail gave a glowing report for Faith’s behavior and informed Claire that she and Delia were fast asleep, Delia in her sleeping bag next to Faith’s bed. Claire thanked her for the millionth time in just that one phone call, and then she hung up. She suddenly got the urge to wipe her palms on her dress. Now she was sweaty.

Christ.

She took a deep breath, in the nose, and out the mouth.

It’s just sex, Beauchamp. It’s like riding a bike.

Just sex…

It couldn’t ever be just sex with someone like Jamie. Not when she was his first, not when she felt…the way she did about him.

Christ.

She forced herself off the couch, swaying only slightly when she stood, and not from the alcohol.

She made sure she was breathing as she headed in the direction that Jamie had gone and into the room. His head popped up from his task. He was turning down the comforter, having already put the throw pillows on the floor in the corner.

“Yer bag is on the dresser,” he gestured to the dresser where there was, indeed, her overnight bag. She briefly wondered if she’d even bother sleeping in pajamas, then the image of her naked body pressed tightly against his seared her mind, and she thought she might fall over.

“Faith alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, she’s asleep, Gail said she was great. Stubborn about dinner, wanted to eat Delia’s food instead of her own, but Gail was able to get it straightened.”

Please, do keep drawling on about your five year old while Jamie Fucking Fraser turns down his bed to fuck you in.

“Good, glad to hear it.” He flashed her a grin, then straightened up. “The bathroom is an ensuite. Right through there.” He gestured, and Claire nodded in acknowledgement.

Then there they stood, six feet apart from one another, no excuses left. Jamie wiped his palms on his pants, and Claire fought the urge to do the same on her dress. It was yellow, another high-low dress with flowing cap sleeves. How she hadn’t managed to sweat through it yet was beyond her.

Jamie took a step forward, hesitantly. “I’d like to kiss ye now, Sassenach. If that’s alright.”

Claire inhaled on a gasp, then exhaled tremulously. She nodded without words, taking her own step forward.

Like riding a bike.

He closed the gap between them, cupping her face sweetly.

Like riding a bike with someone that makes your heart feel like it’s going to explode from beneath your sternum.

He dipped down and kissed her, gentle as ever. In the back of her mind, in a place that she wished would shut up, she prayed that he wouldn’t be that gentle all night.

She could feel the sweat on his palms that he’d tried so desperately to be rid of, clammy on her face, but she focused instead on the feel of his lips, on the gentle probing of his tongue, mingling with hers. Her hands had been resting absently on his chest, but she snaked them up now, wrapping them around his neck. She wanted to be closer, needed to be. Her heartbeat was erratic, and she wanted to feel his thrumming in desperate time with hers, right up against her.

His hands moved too, threading through her hair, tugging gently so he could tip her back for better access. She sighed with contentment, smiling against him and reaching her hands under his collar to scratch his neck. He groaned as she raked her nails down, tugging harder on her hair. She’d apparently unleashed something, because he redoubled his efforts, flipping them around so he could push her to the bed. They crashed down together, and before Claire could blink, Jamie was lying perpendicular to the headboard, legs dangling off the bed, and she was hovering over him, kissing him senseless.

Something that had been simmering in her all night began rising, steaming. If she was sweaty before, she was melting now. She ran her hands all over his chest, his arms; he peppered kisses all over her neck and collarbones and even the swell of her breasts. His hands alternated between running up and down her back and squeezing her arse over her dress. She needed more. Nerves were gone, and she was ready to throw a leg over him and straddle him now. Hell, if she finished fully clothed she could still be ready for more. She moaned loudly as Jamie bit her bottom lip, sinking her nails into his neck. She was about to throw her leg over him, but then he abruptly sat up, digging his own nails into her shoulders and clawing down her arms, no doubt leaving already fading streaks of red. Claire began kissing his neck, biting, nibbling, licking, then —

“What were ye gonna say?”

She barely registered that he’d even talked. She picked up her head and looked at him blearily, her chest heaving.

“What…?”

“At dinner…when ye said, ‘I’ll yell ye later’…”

“Oh.” It came flooding back, the way he’d looked when she mentioned all the mothers lusting after him, what that look did to her.

She smiled widely at him, at first genuine and sweet, and then it morphed into something wickeder. No, she would not straddle him just yet.

She slowly, torturously slowly, ran her tongue along his bottom lip, and then nipped at it with her teeth. “You don’t even know…” She trailed her fingers down his neck, stopping at the buttons of his shirt to start undoing them. “How God damn,” another button, “bloody,” another button, “beautiful you are.” She pushed the fabric of his shirt apart, four buttons open now, and kissed his sternum. “How…” another button, another kiss, “fucking…” another button, another kiss, “hot you are, Jamie.”

His shirt was entirely undone now, and she yanked it out of his pants and over his shoulders. She moaned in appreciation of his body, beautiful indeed, sculpted from fine marble. She ran her hands down his chest, his stomach, then back up.

“God, Jamie…” She was completely breathless, and he was barely even touching her. “The first time I saw these muscles, under that wet t-shirt…I was ready to bloody have you on that counter.”

He growled then, finally moving, capturing her lips with his with an aggression she didn’t know he was capable of. She whimpered in surprised appreciation, running her hands back up his perfect torso to thread her arms around his neck as his snaked around her waist.

“Christ, Sassenach,” Jamie groaned, kissing her neck fiercely. “I wanted ye…I wanted ye so badly that day I could scarcely breathe…”

She laughed, a throaty, wanton sound. “I know you did…” She ran a hand down the planes of his torso again and then walked her fingers down, down, down…until Jamie cried out, jerking into her hand. “I could feel it.” She palmed him gently over his pants, and Jamie sounded like he was choking on something. Claire chuckled darkly and continued kissing him sloppily as she rubbed him, becoming less and less gentle.

“What did you do?” she panted, nibbling his earlobe. “That day? What did you do with…this?” She gave a particularly hard squeeze, and he cried out again against her neck, latching his teeth there, and she whimpered.

“I…” She felt him swallow, hard. “I tried not to, Sassenach, I didna…” He hissed; she did not stop touching him, “want to dishonor ye.”

“Tell me, Jamie,” she breathed. “And I’ll tell you what I did.”

He let out a soft moan at that, a beautiful, endlessly endearing sound. “Oh, Christ…” His voice was gravelly in a way that made Claire’s stomach turn to liquid. “I…I took myself in my hand, and I…” Claire was unable to suppress a moan at the thought of her sweet, shy lad touching himself for her. “I imagined this. Only it’s…” He kissed her deeply, lapping at her mouth with his tongue like he was desperately hungry. “It’s better than I could ever imagine.”

And we’re just getting started, my lad.

Claire kissed him back, finally letting her hand leave him so she could grasp both of his shoulders. “I…” she panted. “God, I touched myself too, Jamie.” She pushed his shoulders down. “I couldn’t help it.” She straddled him, and he hissed at the contact, gripping her hips. God, he felt huge under her like this, and it sent a shudder through her entire body at the thought of taking him inside her.

“Then I…” She braced herself on his shoulders and began rocking her hips, just as she’d done that night. “I did this, on a…a pillow.” She laughed through the words, even as she ground down harder on him. “And I imagined this.”

His grip on her hips tightened, and his hands moved under her dress, under her underwear to grab the flesh of her arse. She groaned as he dug his fingers into that flesh, continuing to seek her pleasure with her thrusts.

Not enough. More. More.

Claire stilled her hips and removed her hands from his shoulders so she could find the edge of her dress. Jamie’s grip on her arse became impossibly tighter; his whole body seemed to freeze up and stiffen beneath her. She smirked, feeling herself flush at the thought of letting him see her. And then the dress was off and discarded, leaving her in the lacy white matching set she’d worn just for the occasion. He raked his eyes over her frantically, as if he didn’t know where to look, where to settle his gaze. His eyes were practically bugging out of his head, and he looked like he might lose consciousness. Claire flipped her hair to one side and leaned down to kiss him, gently gripping both sides of his face. She did not move her hips again, just kissed him gently, sweetly.

It’s okay. Take your time.

After a few lingering, deep kisses, Jamie finally moved his hands away from her arse and up the length of her back, bracing her against him. He flipped her onto her back and began peppering kisses on her neck, the crook of her shoulder, her jawline, all while sculpting his fingertips over the length of her collarbones. Claire kept her fingers threaded through his curls, tugging gently on occasion. He latched onto that spot, just above her collarbone where her neck began, and Claire cried out, the pooling heat within her rising to a boiling point. His hand snaked down the length of her torso, sliding over her bra, her waist, then resting on the small of her back. She felt his lips curl into a smile against her skin, and he softly kissed the spot he'd just assaulted, before trailing his tongue up the length of her neck and her jawline before finally coming home to her mouth.

She moaned greedily into his mouth, sucking hard on his tongue, combining it with hers. She moved her hands to the sides of his face, as if to pull him impossibly closer. He kissed her urgently, and she could feel the hard proof of his arousal on her thigh, but his hands remained still. Picking up on his shyness, Claire removed a hand from his face and took hold of the hand that was still stationary on the small of her back. He either didn't notice or didn't care, far too occupied with devouring her lips and tongue, tasting her teeth. She brought his hand back up the length of her torso, stopping on the left cup of her bra. She flattened his hand and firmly pressed his palm into the soft flesh.

He stopped kissing her then, and she felt him grow even harder, if that were even possible. He looked into her eyes, the bright blue almost gone, darkened with desire. His lips were hanging open in aroused shock, and the sight of them, swollen and red from her own assault made her squirm.

She gave him a wicked grin and pressed his hand harder onto her breast, groaning through her teeth, her jaw jutting forward. Despite how obvious it was that this was enjoyable for her, and him for that matter, Jamie still hesitated to squeeze on his own, floundering when her hand left his.

"Jamie..." She somehow found enough breath to pant out his name. "Touch me, Jamie, please."

Jamie gulped, and she watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, having to bite her lip to stifle the moan it elicited from her. God, everything he did made her simply melt.

He repositioned himself slightly so that he could bring a second hand, trembling like mad, to her other, neglected breast. He took them in his hands with bated breath, and the sight of him, in awe of her like this was nearly enough to make her come without any stimulation at all. He ran his thumbs back and forth over the lacy material of her bra, and she groaned at the contact to her nipples, even through the fabric.

Still, he was hesitant.

"Don't be gentle," she blurted out, unable to stop herself. "Touch me, Jamie. Please."

Something finally seemed to click; something unleashed from within him. His hands roughly squeezed her breasts, and Claire arched her back as a strangled cry ripped through her.

"Yes, Jamie..." He reached one of his hands under the cup, and she gasped at the flesh-on-flesh contact. "Yes..."

Like a man possessed, he tugged at the straps of her bra, and without even thinking twice, she slipped her arms out of the straps as he reached underneath her to unhook it. Claire couldn't help but giggle; his fingers were practically vibrating with how fiercely he trembled; it took him far longer than it should have for him to unhook the bloody thing.

When he finally succeeded, and her breasts were free, she sighed with contentment. He unceremoniously discarded it behind him and returned to his former position, fueled even further by the full sight of them now. She swore she heard him growl as he took hold of her breasts again, and Claire moaned at the sensation. He kneaded roughly, pushing them together and apart, trapping her nipples between his fingers. He dipped his head to kiss her sternum, and Claire blushed, knowing full well there was a pool of sweat gathered there. He didn't seem to mind, however, as his lips and tongue devoured her there, and then trailed kisses up the mound of her breast.

Claire gasped raggedly as his lips latched onto the nipple, kissing it over and over before firmly sucking and circling his tongue around it rapidly, all while still kneading the other breast. Claire was becoming feral: her hands were pushing into his head with a force that was surely uncomfortable for him, her heavy panting had quickly morphed into repeated, loud keening noises, and she was bucking her hips into thin air. She briefly wondered if it was possible to come just from this, with her lower extremities completely untouched. She certainly felt like it was possible.

Evidently, she'd never get to find out.

He switched his mouth to her other breast and trailed his hand, flat, down the expanse of her stomach, and Claire groaned in anticipation of the oncoming sensation. He slid his hand over her underwear and palmed her, his hand completely covering the entire surface area. Claire moaned loudly; his hand was so warm and large, the heat pressing into her almost made her come undone on its own. Noticing how enthusiastically she responded to this, Jamie kept his hand flat and large as he could on her, kneading and squeezing almost like he had done to her breasts, only gentler. She rolled her hips, keening incessantly as he carried on. After a while, he slowed his hand to a stop and kept his fingers still, then began grinding the heel of his hand into her, pressing directly into that bundle of nerves that had so been craving his touch.

She loudly cried out at the sensation, but he only let it last briefly. He had other plans. All the while, his mouth had not left her breast, kissing the skin, the nipple, licking, sucking. Now, his mouth hovered over hers as his fingers tantalizingly teased the top of her underwear. He inched them underneath, slowly, so fucking slowly.

"Please, Jamie," she cried out, not even having the mental capacity to consider how wanton she sounded.

He chuckled against her mouth, kissing her hard again. She groaned into him as his fingers teased her entrance to gather her natural lubricant, and he chuckled again, his chest rumbling.

He's laughing at how you're dripping wet already, you sex-fiend.

Not wasting any more time, he began rubbing, up and down, side to side, circling…

“Jamie…Jamie…fuck…”

Claire was completely lost.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her back completely arched, her fingers threaded in his hair again. He knew exactly when he spent too long in a certain spot, and he moved, he knew exactly when he needed to slow down, when he needed to speed up. He was watching her face intently, listening to her body, and of course to those noises.

Claire had no concept of how loud she was being now; she couldn't even hear herself anymore. The only thing she could hear was his panting in her ear, the purring in his throat, the chuckling growls in his chest. The world narrowed down to his fingers, taking up a pace with a quickness she had never felt before. Every breath she inhaled was a ragged gasp, every breath she released was a tortured moan.

Jamie latched teeth onto her nipple, and she was undone.

She came with a ferocity she hadn’t thought possible, her mouth hanging open, as screams, practically sobs, erupted from her.

His fingers slowed, gently stroking her down from her high. She was seeing stars as he kissed her lips again, and she kissed him back with a fervor she didn’t even know she could muster after the numbing orgasm he’d just given her. She kissed him until she was sure she would faint, only pulling away to ensure she didn’t drop dead for lack of air. She panted heavily, her walls still clenching inside her, her thighs still twitching. His hand left her, gently stroking up and down her ribcage. He was grinning down at her like a fool, clearly quite pleased with himself.

“Where the bloody hell did you learn how to do that?” Claire panted, her eyes hardly able to focus her vision.

He smirked at her, cocking an eyebrow. “I said I was a virgin, Sassenach.” He chuckled lightly and kissed her again. “No’ a monk.”

Claire shook her head in disbelief, completely dumbfounded. Would he ever cease to amaze her?

“Was it really all that good?”

She could tell that he was trying to play it off as a joke, attempting sarcasm, playing up his cockiness. But she could see right through it, could tell that he needed the reassurance from her verbally.

To answer him, Claire firmly took hold of both sides of his face and kissed him hard. When she pulled away she looked into his eyes, whispering: “Unbelievable.”

His grin widened again, and he kissed her back, threading his fingers through her hair. They pulled apart again and settled in to lay down, facing each other, foreheads pressed together.

“Ye’re beautiful when ye fall apart, Claire,” he whispered reverently, pushing a stray curl out of her sweaty face.

She felt her face get hot, but not from arousal this time. “Really…? I found myself resembling nothing short of a wanton slut.”

She’d meant it as a joke, and looked at him as such, smiling sheepishly. But his eyes had darkened again, and his face was almost gravely serious.

“No, Sassenach,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Watching ye in the throes of yer passion is…is beyond description, Claire. I dinna want to ever forget it.”

Claire felt tears stinging her eyes, and she felt ridiculous. Am I really about to cry because my boyfriend thinks I’m pretty when I come…?

But it wasn’t as simple as that. Not really.

The truth of his words, the depth of their meaning sank in, and Claire felt her heart being pulled to his. She was unable to stop herself from kissing him again, overcome with tenderness. The kiss gradually deepened, and it wasn’t long before Claire found herself burning, wanting again. She moved her hands down the expanse of his bare chest as he continued kissing her, stopping at his hips, where his pants began. She tugged on his belt until she got it undone, and Jamie smirked against her lips as she pulled it through the belt loops, discarding it over her shoulder.

“You…” she breathed out between kisses. “Are wearing…” She undid his fly. “Far too much clothing.”

He growled in response, deepening the kiss even as he tugged on his slacks, breaking away only to get them over his knees and heels, finally kicking them onto the floor. He laid back down beside her again, thrusting his tongue back into her mouth with an urgency that made her moan. His hardness was pressing firmly into her as they continued their exploration of each other’s mouths, and Claire found herself unable to resist rocking her hips against him. He mirrored her actions, grinding against her thigh. Claire draped her leg over his hips to increase her own friction, and slid her other thigh between both of his to increase friction for him, pressing the top of her thigh into his erection.

He let out a shuddering groan, a sound that sent heat shooting to her center. They began madly rocking together, their lips never leaving one another’s. Claire groaned and grunted as she fought to maintain a steady rhythm that stimulated her just right on him, the ever-present reminder of his arousal on her thigh driving her mad. Jamie was panting and groaning, his thrusts becoming frantic.

“Claire…” Jamie choked out, finally releasing her mouth. “I canna…I’m gonnae…”

“No.” Claire immediately stopped rocking. “Not like this.”

Every vein in his face was popping out, and he was dripping with sweat. Claire unthreaded herself from him and tugged on his briefs, and he obliged, sitting up and sliding them all the way off. Claire gasped raggedly as he was unsheathed. She’d guessed the relative size of him through clothing far earlier in their friendship than she’d have liked to admit, but to fully see it was another matter entirely.

She had to have him. Now.

She sat up, reached out and grabbed him, and he cried out. She squeezed and stroked oh-so-gently, not wanting to accidentally set him off this way, but wanting very badly to feel him in her hands first. He let his head fall backward, his mouth stuck open, his eyes looking up to the ceiling.

“Christ, Sassenach…” he hissed.

Claire chuckled softly, enjoying her turn to have power over him. “Are you ready, Jamie?

Ready for me to take your virginity?

The thought sent another jet of heat to her center, and she felt herself growing impossibly wet.

“Are you?” he asked.

She smirked and made a show of removing her underwear, exposing that arse that she knew he adored, wiggling them down torturously slowly. She could feel her own wetness trailing down her thigh without the barrier to stop it from doing so. When they were finally discarded, she rose up on her knees and took his hand in hers, bringing it between her legs. They both gasped, she from the sensation, and he from the arousal of feeling how ready she really was.

Claire held his hand there, letting him soak in the moment. She looked him directly in the eye. “What do you think?” she said breathily.

He growled again and kissed her hungrily, both of them kneeling in the center of the bed.

Yes, they were both quite ready.

They kissed and kissed and kissed, and Claire didn’t even notice that Jamie was gradually, gently, pushing her back. She sat back and untucked her legs from beneath her, spreading them, until she was laying on the pillows, Jamie braced above her. Jamie stared into her face, eyes wide, mouth agape. Claire had to stifle the urge to laugh. But God, was he beautiful.

“I…” he stammered. “I’m sorry if I…”

Claire silenced him with a kiss, gripping both sides of his face. “It’s alright.” She kissed him again, dragging her teeth along his bottom lip until it popped out. “Do what you must.”

Jamie let out a shuddering groan that had Claire arching her back, raising her hips for him. He took hold of himself, lining himself up. Claire could feel him, grazing every inch of sensitive flesh that he’d already given his attentions to, and then he was there, right against her.

Do it, Jamie. God, do it!

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she took in the question in his eyes, the bob of his Adam’s apple, still holding his face, and she nodded.

Then she did scream, or something akin to it at least. It was loud, whatever it was.

Her first thought was that she’d never been so completely filled by any other man she’d slept with. Her second thought was that that was a horrible thought to have. Her third thought was that she didn’t give a fuck.

He wasn’t moving; he was just staring at her with his hands braced on either side of her head. Claire was still catching her breath from his initial thrust, and she realized embarrassingly that she was white-knuckling the poor lad’s face. She eased her grip and brought his face down to hers, kissing him, swirling her tongue with his. She rose her hips up, thrusting against him herself, then he took the hint, beginning to move. Claire keened against his lips as he stirred inside her, and then she cried out again when he pulled back and slammed back in. Jamie made his own noise, choked and strangled. God, he was so fucking endearing, even as he hammered inside her.

He gave another thrust, and then he set a rhythm. Claire threaded an arm around his neck, pressing his head into the crook of her neck. He clearly didn’t have the brain capacity to do anything there but breathe, but that was enough. His panting, hot breath on her skin and his noises directly in her ear were a lovely sensation. With her other hand, she reached down to take purchase on his arse, smooth and firm. She held onto it as if for dear life, as if she could push him even deeper into her if she tried.

After not long at all, he began to speed up, and Claire knew he wouldn’t last much longer. She also knew she was going to die if she didn’t finish with him inside her. So she removed her hand from his arse and brought it between them, rubbing herself relentlessly. Eventually, she thought to herself, she’d bring his hand there while they fucked. For now, the lad could barely keep himself from crushing her. She didn’t blame him.

A new surge of pleasure coursed through her, an electric height only achieved by combining both pleasure points on her body, heightened further still when one was far larger than a few fingers. Claire’s moaning was unrestrained now; every thrust elicited yet another high-pitched cry. She tightened her arm around his neck, threading her fingers in his thick red curls. He began moaning against her skin with every breath, and Claire increased the pace of her fingers.

So close.

And then Jamie yelled against her, biting down on her shoulder. His body went rigid, freezing inside her. She felt the familiar warm rush of his seed filling her, and she kept rubbing herself.

“Jamie!”

A plea, a demand…it was anyone’s guess.

Whether he knew what she meant or not, he gave one final thrust, and it was enough. She screamed again, louder than she had all night, clenching tightly around him, yanking her hand away from herself out of pure overstimulation and then braced her hand on his arse again, squeezing tightly.

He remained still as she continued to grasp him tightly, pulse around him, spasm her hips erratically, shivering. He’d collapsed onto his elbows, and sweat dripped from his hair onto her forehead, disappearing into her own hair. They were both gasping for air, panting desperately against each other’s skin. Claire could taste her own sweat on her upper lip, could see and feel the sheen of sweat all over his body as well as hers. For a moment they stayed like that, panting and gasping, and then Jamie collapsed to the right, surely unable to hold himself up anymore. He slid out of her, collapsing onto his back, still breathing heavily.

Claire stared at the ceiling for a moment, feeling far too much like jell-o to be able to move, but before long, she missed his warmth above her, around her. She flopped over onto her stomach, landing bodily on his chest. The sound it made was rather horrid, and Claire snorted. Jamie had no reaction, and Claire propped her head on her hands atop his chest. She found him with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep.

“Don’t die on me now,” she said.

Jamie groaned unintelligibly, his eyes still closed.

“Well,” Claire said haughtily, folding her arms over his chest and laying her head on them. “At least you didn’t die a virgin.”

A loud slap filled the air, followed by a sharp sting, simultaneous with a loud shriek. Claire jolted, sitting up.

“You little bastard!”

Jamie was literally howling with laughter.

“I’m sorry lass!” he wheezed. “I didna realize it would be so loud!”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” she cried, swatting at his arm. Both of them had done this while they were fully clothed, teasing. But evidently, Jamie had never smacked a naked arse before. Which would make sense.

She erupted into giggles right with him, collapsing onto his chest again, where he readily wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head.

“Oh, Christ…” He was still laughing, rubbing her back.

“That’s what you get for almost falling asleep on me!” Claire said, still sputtering herself.

They calmed themselves down, still teasing and shuddering with laughter, Jamie rocking her in his arms unintentionally. They quieted, and a sense of contentment filled the air.

“Ye…ye liked it, then?”

Claire was unable to stifle another laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny…” She giggled again, then kissed his sternum. “I did. I did like it, Jamie. A lot.”

She could feel as well as hear his sigh of relief, his chest deflating, taking her with it. He kissed her head again. “So did I, Sassenach.”

She picked her head up, resting her chin on her hands again. “Was it like you thought it would be?”

Jamie grinned crookedly, and Claire was shocked by her desire to kiss every inch of that mouth, so soon after. “Better.”

She was unable to stop herself then, kissing him soundly. He kissed back with equal fervor until they were both breathless. Then he pulled away, and Claire looked at him questioningly.

“Would ye…” He gulped, blinking. “Maybe…would ye want to do it again?”

Claire cocked a brow at him, smiling wickedly and maintaining eye contact as her hand traveled further down until she found him, already hard.

“Hm,” she hummed, impressed. “Ready already.”

Before he could push her into the pillows again, she threw a leg over his hips to straddle him. She leaned down to kiss him, and he raked his nails down her back, then kneaded her arse roughly. She could feel a hot rush, and then he chuckled darkly.

“So are you.”

Proving him right, she lowered herself onto him with effortless ease, and Jamie’s face looked like he might explode in this new position. She sighed with ecstasy, biting her lip. God, he felt good.

“For the record,” Claire began before she could stop herself. “I didn’t…hate it.”

His brow furrowed, gulping, trying to maintain focus while he was inside her. “What…?”

She took one of his hands, previously kneading her breasts, and brought it down to her arse. Hard. Loud.

Jamie’s eyes blew impossibly wide, his mouth falling open. Claire almost regretted it, almost felt like a slut bringing a kink, even a mild one, into the equation on the first night. But then his eyes darkened, and he smacked the other side of her arse with his free hand, and she let out a gasp that ended with a groan. Claire bit her lip, smiling wickedly down at him.

“Fast learner.”

113 notes · View notes

jamiemackenziefraser · 4 years ago

Text

The Set Up

Summary: College students and best friends Claire and Jamie are secretly dating. While back at home for a break, they go on a getaway to a lakehouse with their friends. Shenanigans ensue when Geillis and the others become determined to set Claire up with Frank. Unable to dissuade her without giving away her secret, Claire is forced to play along... much to Jamie’s dismay.

Read on AO3

Read on Tumblr:

I couldn’t help but stare at Jamie as we all piled out of Dougal’s van. It had been a long trip to the Mackenzie lakehouse (especially interminable for me since I had been squashed between Angus and Rupert in the back), and Jamie was stretching his long limbs in the open space of the driveway. His shirt rode up as he lifted his arms, revealing a delicious strip of smooth skin at his belly and giving me a tease of his remarkable abs. His red curls gleamed in the sunlight, framing his face in a soft halo of bronze. I wanted nothing more than to jump over Rupert and throw myself into my boyfriend’s arms and kiss the living daylights out of him.

But the problem was that he wasn’t just my boyfriend. He was a secret boyfriend.

Our relationship had progressed from best friends to much more than friends after we had gone away to university together. While we were free to flaunt our love on campus, things were much more complicated back home. Jamie’s parents put enormous pressure on him not to date and to focus on his studies, and would be even more appalled to learn he was with a Sassenach. To make matters worse, Jamie’s father, Brian, had major beef with my Uncle Lamb. All of this was the perfect storm to make telling our families nearly impossible for the moment. So, we had decided to keep our relationship a secret while back at home-- even to our childhood friends (who we knew wouldn’t be able to keep their gabs shut).

After all, how hard could it be to hide things for a little while?

I broke myself out of my longing for Jamie and walked to the back of the van to retrieve my duffle. I dove fearlessly into the precariously packed trunk, filled to the brim with supplies (and booze) for the weekend. I was working to extricate my bag from under a layer of other junk when a familiar, solid body pressed behind me and reached around me to pluck my bag from the mess.

“Here, lass,” Jamie’s voice rumbled in his chest, and I could feel it against my back. I couldn’t help the tiny gasp that fell from my lips.

“Thanks,” I murmured demurely, taking the offered bag from his hand.

Before I could turn toward the cabin where the rest of our friends were crowding the door-- which Dougal was seemingly struggling to unlock-- Jamie’s arm wrapped around my waist and kept me pressed to his front.

He leaned down, and his lips brushed against the shell of my ear as he whispered, “ye look verra bonny wi’ yer wee tank top and shorts.”

I turned myself in his grip so I was facing him, suddenly thankful for the protection of the car hiding us from view.

I gave him a playful smirk, and as I freed myself from his arms, I said playfully, “thank you, friend James. But if you keep that up, everyone will end up getting an eyeful.” I gave him a wink, and then turned my back to him to walk up to the front door, knowing full well that his gaze was fixed on my ass.

“Damn door,” Dougal was cursing as I approached.

Angus was wrestling the key away from him, taking his turn to try his hand at unlocking the house.

“Dougal, I swear, if we hafta drive all the way back because ye cannae even get into yer own cabin...” Geillis was starting in on her boyfriend.

“Can I try?” I asked an unsuccessful Angus, who was cursing up a storm in Gaelic which I assumed were rather unkind sentiments aimed at the doorknob.

I had just tried and failed when Jamie reached us.

“Alright, lad, yer the last one who hasna tried this damnable thing,” Dougal grumbled.

Jamie obliged, but found no success either. I set my duffle down in dismay. It seemed a bad omen for the trip that it hadn’t even begun and we had already been defeated by a faulty lock.

At that moment, Frank walked around from the side of the house, running a hand through his short, dark hair.

“The mechanism must be jammed,” he said, his accent crisp and prim as ever, “but there’s a window unlocked in the back. Shall we check it out?”

My friends all exchanged a look, and we nodded simultaneously, at a loss for anything else to try.

We walked around the back of the cabin and looked up at the window. It was small, and well off the ground. I found myself swallowing in dismay.

Dougal-- ever the unelected (and often unwanted) leader of the group-- was quick to take charge.

“Alright, this is a two man job. Jamie, yer the tallest, so ye’re on bottom of course. Anyone fancy gettin’ hoisted through a window?”

We all looked at each other in silence, exchanging wide-eyed looks of “not me.”

Jamie was not having it though. He stepped toward the window and turned to fix his blue gaze directly on me.

“Alright, lass, ye’re the smallest. Ready to take a wee trip through the windae?”

I rolled my eyes but stepped forward obligingly. I knew exactly why Jamie had called me out, and it wasn’t because of my petite frame. The man was eager for any excuse to put his hands on me.

He tilted his head down and gave me a little smirk.

“Hold on, Sassenach.”

With that, big hands were around my waist and lifting me off my feet. I let out a little squeal of surprise as I was suddenly hoisted into the air as if I weighed nothing.

I quickly got with the program, though, and reached up for the window. I fumbled with the bottom, trying to push it upward so I could climb in.

I felt myself moving and thought for a second that I was falling, but Jamie was just settling me to sit on his shoulder. I breathed a sigh of relief and used my new secure position to leverage the window open.

“In ye go, lass,” came Jamie’s voice from below me.

His hands went from my waist down to my hips, and suddenly he was shoving me up and toward the window.

I caught the ledge and pushed myself through, all but diving into the opening.

But instead of sailing through, I landed on my stomach with an “oof” and found myself caught halfway through the window.

There were various chuckles as Jamie obligingly placed both hands on my butt and pushed. I tumbled through the window and landed on the floor with a thud that made all the breath leave my lungs. I lay on the floor stunned for a second, fighting to regain my breath.

“Ye alright, lass?” Dougal called.

I groaned and sat up. I hauled myself up and poked my head through the window.

“Just fine,” I grumbled, “I’m going to open the door.”

I crossed the room to the front door, listening to the stomping feet outside running around the cabin. I unlocked it and whipped open the door. I made a grandiose gesture with my arm to welcome them to the house, and they all applauded. Taking my role as doorman seriously, I held it open as each of my friends-- Dougal and Gellis, Angus and Rupert, Frank, and finally Jamie-- came through. Jamie, on his way in, gave me an owlish blink that passed for a wink, and I had to stifle a laugh.

I was interrupted out of my thoughts by a shout from Angus.

“Oi! Dougal. Ye call this a lakehouse? I thought yer family was rich?”

The cabin indeed was sparse… to say the least. The main room, which functioned both as a kitchen and living room, was covered in a fine layer of dust. The two couches seemed cozy though, and the kitchen was equipped, other than the fact that the sink was missing a faucet and one of the kitchen chairs had a leg broken off. The hardwood floors were mostly intact. Off to the side was a single hallway that led to the bathroom and the three bedrooms.

It would do.

Everyone began to separate-- making to explore and claim bedrooms.

It was quickly divided that Geillis and I would bunk together, Dougal and Frank, and finally, Jamie would be stuck with Rupert and Angus. I gave him a little smirk and then a sympathetic pout as he followed behind the two boys to set their stuff in the shared room.

Geillis grabbed my hand, and dragged me into ours.

As soon as we had gotten settled in, Geillis plopped herself down on the bed we’d be sharing and then rolled onto her back so she was looking up at me from her upside-down position.

“Soooo, Claire, darling…” she said in a sing-songy coo.

I rolled my eyes. “What Geillis?”

“Who are ye gonna hook up wi’ this trip?”

I started to laugh, but it turned into a choke, and I gasped for air in disbelief. I felt my cheeks flushing.

“What the hell do you mean?” I stuttered out as I willed my cheeks to calm down.

“Ye’re the only single girl on this trip wi’ loads of guys, duh,” Geillis rolled her eyes, and then rolled herself over to her stomach and propped her chin on her crossed arms in front of her.

“Listen, my beautiful prudish friend. Dougal and I have been talkin’...”

“Do you speculate on my love life often?” I asked in a poor attempt to deflect. I was starting to feel some discomfort pricking at the back of my spine. Did she somehow know about me and Jamie?

“We’ve been thinkin’,” she started again, looking at me with raised eyebrows that dared me to interrupt, “you and Frank would make a verra fine pair.”

Several emotions rushed through me at the same time. First was relief that she didn’t actually know about me and Jamie and our secret was safe. The second was disgust. The thought of Frank and I together almost made me want to laugh in her face. Finally, my brain added just a bit of panic to the mix, because I would have to tell her “no” without arousing any suspicion.

“I don’t think so…” I chuckled dubiously. I shook my head as an involuntary blush warmed my cheeks.

Geillis sat straight up, bouncing on her knees on the bed, and tugged on my arm with both hands.

“Claaaaire,” she whined.

“I’m just not into him, Geil.”

She fixed me with cold green eyes. “That lad is fiiine,” she purred, “and he looks at ye like ye’re the bloody queen herself. He’s always carried a torch for ye. Why will ye no’ give him a try?”

“I just-” I started to protest, but Geillis cut me off.

“Give me one good reason why ye dinna want tae be wi’ Frank, and I’ll leave ye alone. But… If ye keep givin’ me these weak-ass excuses, I’m settin’ ye up.”

Panic rushed through my veins. I wished I could press pause on the whole situation and go talk with Jamie. My mind was racing, trying to come up with any excuse other than the truth. But my traitorous brain couldn’t come up with a single thing.

I opened my mouth, and then closed it again, looking at my friend helplessly.

With Jamie’s pleas to keep this a secret for a little while longer ringing in my mind, I made a split-second decision.

“Fine. Set us up.”

***

Apparently Geillis version of “setting us up” was forcing me into situations where I was alone with Frank as much as possible.

“Oh bloody feckin’ hell!” Geillis exclaimed, looking in her bag, “I must have left my chapstick all the way out in the car. Claire, darling,” she turned to me where I was sitting at the kitchen table, “will ye go get it for me?”

“Sure!” I said, standing up and reaching for the offered keys.

“Oh, but it’s saaae dark out there. A wee lass like yerself shouldnae go alone. Frank, would ye be a dear and see Claire safe?”

Frank gave a smile, also standing from his spot on the couch. “Of course,” he said, flashing his most handsome smile toward me.

I was aware that some (perhaps even many) women in our town were head-over-heels for him, finding him dashing. But as he offered an arm, the only thing I felt was annoyance.

The whole group was observing this, and a few childish “ooohs” emanated from where Rupert and Angus sat by the fireplace. I rolled my eyes.

Jamie suddenly appeared from the next room, drawn by the small ruckus.

“What’s-” he started to ask what was going on.

Geillis, looking incredibly proud of her match-making work, announced, “Oh, Claire and Frank were jus’ goin’ out together tae grab somethin’ from the car for me.”

Jamie— processing the scene before him as well as Geillis’ words— suddenly tensed, and his eyes flashed. Jamie had a very good poker face, and I doubted anyone noticed but me, but I knew him well enough to know jealous anger when I saw it. His blue eyes held a look of contempt aimed at the dark-haired Englishmen who was still holding out his arm toward me.

“I’d be happy to go get it fer ye instead, Geil,” Jamie tried.

It was a valiant effort to save me, I thought. But he severely underestimated the power of Geillis’ match-making efforts.

“Nae, nae, Claire and Frank would be happy tae do it. But thanks, lad. Off ye go now, ye two.”

I gave Jamie a covert look of helpless dismay and watched as he slumped in defeat. I felt a similar reluctance as I took Frank’s offered arm and we walked together outside.

The door shut behind us, and the safety of Jamie’s presence-- and everyone else’s-- slipped away.

“So,” Frank said, “it seems Geillis has it on her mind that we’d make a good couple.”

I laughed. “Seems that way.”

A nervous bubble was forming in my stomach.

“As does everyone else…” he said. It seemed he was trying to lead me toward something.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just stayed silent, lips pressed firmly together.

Frank seemed to take that as shyness, because he stepped closer to me as we walked down the driveway, and then grew even bolder.

“I have to say, I’m inclined to agree with them,” he purred.

His words rang in my ears as panic gripped me. My throat felt dry and scratchy, and I had no idea how to answer him. Why hadn’t I fought Geillis harder on this?

Frank suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

“You’re beautiful, Claire,” he announced. He said it was such finality, it was as if he expected me to throw myself at him in gratitude for the compliment. As if him saying it somehow sealed the deal that I should feel something for him.

I mustered a “thanks,” and then quickly scurried toward the van.

I unlocked it and threw myself into the passenger's seat before Frank could say anything else to me. I rooted around in the glove compartment until I found Geillis’ chapstick, cursing both it and her under my breath. I wished that I could just run inside to Jamie, grab his hand, and drag him outside with me.

But that wasn’t in the cards for us just now. So, accepting my fate, I hopped out of the van to face Frank again.

He was waiting patiently for me next to the van. Apparently he was taking his job of protecting me from all the late-evening attackers (ha!) because he was looking around as if he was really surveying the area for dangers to protect me from.

He offered his arm, and I reluctantly took it again.

Frank was a good guy. He was my friend. I didn’t want to be terribly mean to him. Even more, I didn’t want to endure another grilling session from Geillis about why I didn’t like him. I would just have to play along for the weekend. Suck it up, Beauchamp.

Frank was blessedly quiet on our way back in, and before I knew it, we were once again inside the cabin and in the protection of the presence of others.

Little did I know that the “others” would actually provide very little protection, and would more be terrible influences and orchestrators of putting me in situations I didn’t want to be in.

I wished I could talk to Jamie and explain what the hell was going on, but there wasn’t really an opportunity in the small cabin to get him alone without raising suspicion.

For the thousandth time this trip, I wished that I could throw myself at Jamie and feel his arms wrapped around me, hugging me close. I imagined what would happen if I got up at that very moment, walked around the room, and sat down on Jamie’s lap. My mind fantasized about how Jamie would pull me close and kiss me in front of everyone, and then allow me to snuggle into him and lay my head on his shoulder as the guys told their stories.

But that wasn’t the way things were just yet.

The group had just had dinner and was settling down in front of the fireplace on the couches. Anticipating all the alcohol we were about to drink, we’d whipped up a bucketload of spaghetti on the rickety stove and wolfed it down. Then, the drinks were broken out, and the festivities moved to the living room.

I was sitting next to Geillis nursing a beer and wondering to myself why anyone ever drank the foul stuff. I cursed myself for letting Rupert and Angus be in charge of the booze selection.

All of a sudden, Geillis, in her typical dramatic fashion, shot to her feet.

“Oh Frank,” she called across the room to the dark-haired man who was leaning against the wall, “come take my spot. Next to Claire.”

Geillis shot me a smirk over her shoulder, and I had to restrain myself to keep from rolling my eyes. I turned instead to watch Frank heading toward us, and in the process, caught sight of Jamie sitting across the room, his nose buried in his beer and eyes lowered. But I noticed the clench in his jaw, and my heart ached in sympathy.

I was brought from my musings when Frank plopped down on the couch next to me, the impact causing a slight tremor in the cushions that sent me sliding toward the middle-- closer to Frank, damn it.

Frank turned toward me and was just about to open his mouth when I was saved from a private conversation by Rupert.

“Claire,” he bellowed, “who dae ye think would win in a fight— Dougal or a black bear?”

“Oh definitely Dougal. He’s got enough rage to take down something 3 times his size.”

All the boys let out guffaws, smacking Dougal’s shoulder in congratulations at the praise.

As the conversation went on, I found my head had a pleasant buzz, and I remembered why beer wasn’t so bad. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying it too. The room had a warmth in it-- a bright, cozy atmosphere that made everyone a little more boisterous.

Frank, for his part, was especially melted by the cozy feel. He had been moving closer and closer to me as the conversations progressed so his thigh now touched mine and his side was barely pressed against me. Just as Angus was telling a dirty joke, Frank took the opportunity to raise his arm and drape it over my shoulder.

I started to stiffen, but forced myself to calm down. This was innocent, I could handle this.

But someone else couldn’t quite handle it.

I saw the exact moment when Jamie looked up to catch sight of us. A shadow fell across his features and they instantly hardened into a stony expression. But his eyes-- God his eyes-- they flashed an intense blue as they narrowed, and I could see every bit of tension in his muscles. He was coiled so tightly I thought he must surely either burst or fly across the room. But he was using every ounce of self control he possessed not to rush over, pull Frank from me, and beat him to a pulp.

For not the first time that night, I felt a little bad for Frank. The poor sop thought he had a real shot with a single woman. He had no idea the truth. Guilt made my stomach churn. I wasn’t exactly leading him on-- I made no mention that I returned his affections nor signaled that I enjoyed his touch in any way— but Frank had persisted.

So, Frank’s arm rested around my shoulders, and Jamie sulked across the room, his eyes never leaving us once.

Nearly an hour later, we were all well and truly sloshed. For me, that meant wanting desperately to jump Jamie’s bones. It must have been the same for Geillis and Dougal, because they disappeared into the back bedroom Dougal and Frank would be sharing. For Frank, he grew more bold, and had himself pressed fully against me. He kept trying to spark up conversation with me, but everything about him seemed to dull, and I mostly ignored him. Poor drunk Jamie was so fixated on me and Frank that he hardly said a word. He just glowered from his spot in the shadows across the room. Finally, for Angus and Rupert, their drunkenness was simply an intensification of their usual uninhibited personalities.

So, naturally, some fireworks were broken out.

“Do ye ken wha’ would happen if we sent it up the chimney?!” Angus bellowed.

“Woaahh,” I staggered to my feet-- blissfully removing myself from Frank’s arm-- and stumbled over to where Angus and Rupert were already knelt by a big box of fireworks that they produced from God-knows-where.

“I ha’ a lighter!” Rupert announced proudly as he produced said lighter from his pocket.

“You are going to burn the whole house down!” I exclaimed. I snatched the lighter from his fingers and walked into the kitchen to set it on the table.

When I returned, Jamie was staring at me unabashedly, and his beautiful blue eyes were pleading with me not to return to Frank’s side.

His wish was granted as Angus pulled out a couple sparklers with a wide grin and an opened-mouth laugh of glee. Before I could react, he was sprinting for the kitchen and grabbing the lighter. Rupert was on his heels, and the two boys smashed into each other as they reached the table. Angus snagged the lighter, and they both ran around to the other side of the island, sparklers in hand.

I found I didn’t have the willpower to stop them and could only pray that they didn’t burn the cabin down as they lit the sparklers. I watched in both fascination and dread as the little fireworks shot into sparks of light. Angus and Rupert waved them around triumphantly in the kitchen, faced awed.

I instinctively turned back toward the living room with the desire to see Jamie’s reaction, but to my surprise, I found him stalking into the kitchen, his usually soft blue eyes hard with anger and authority.

“Outside. Now,” he bellowed at the two fools. His voice held all the authority of a drill sergeant, and even more menacing was his posture. His back was ramrod straight, and his arm lifted to point straight at the door.

Jamie’s order sent Angus and Rupert scurrying for the door. I watched with a bit of disbelief as the very drunken men (boys, really) fell over themselves to shove their way outside, the sparklers still popping in their hands. Frank rose, too, muttering something about making sure they didn’t kill themselves.

The moment the door closed behind the three of them, hands were wrapping around my waist and pulling me into the protection of an alcove near the back door, and a hard body pressed me against the wall.

Before I had any time to process my sudden change of location, Jamie’s lips were attacking mine. He kissed with all the desperation and ferocity of a man who was starving. His arms tightening around my waist and pulling me flush against his body, he held me close and ravished my mouth. I felt him pouring out all the possessive energy that I knew had been building the entire night. I returned his kiss with equal desperation, my drunken brain responding on instinct, and I wrapped my arms around him.

“Ye’re mine,” he all but growled against my lips.

I managed a breathy, “yours,” just before his fingers wrapped themselves into my hair and tugged me into another deep kiss.

Finally, he pulled back, and we were both panting for breath, chests heaving in the slightest. I took a moment to study his face. His lips were puffy and his face lit with a fine dusting of red high on his cheekbones. But as my gaze swept further upward, I saw that his eyes blazed with possessive jealousy. That hard look made me sober instantly.

“Jamie, I’m sorry, they--” I started.

He seemed to deflate a bit, the muscles of his shoulders relaxing for the first time nearly this whole evening. He reached out a hand and softly cupped my cheek, and then let his fingers explore backward so they were carding through my curls. I melted into his soft touch.

“I dinna fash, I ken it’s no’ yer fault,” he said, instantly assuaging my fears.

I drew closer to him like a moon drawn into orbit. Pressing myself to him, I let my head thump against his shoulder in exasperation.

“Geillis has it in her head that Frank and I would make a great couple. I couldn’t tell her no without exposing us…”

“I ken, they’ve all been shovin’ the two of ye together all night,'' he growled, “and I could see ye pleadin’ wi’ me to rescue ye. God, Claire, I wish to God I couldha rushed over and torn his arm from his body jes’ for touchin’ ye.”

I tried to cut Jamie off, but he wasn’t done.

“Christ, Sassenach. I could kill him for this.”

Before I could start a reply— I had no idea what I might have said: defended Frank or tried to reassure Jamie— a warm mouth was capturing mine again. With a little whisper of a gasp, Jamie detached from my lips and started trailing his mouth down my jaw and to my neck.

He began to suck on the skin there, and my hands flew up to bury my fingers in his curls in response. I held him against me as he nipped and sucked and worried his teeth into the sensitive skin.

“He means nothing to me, Jamie--” my words were punctuated by a gasp, “I just have to play along-- for a little— until I can tell Geillis it didn’t work out.” His talented lips traveling up and down my neck made it nearly impossible for me to get the words out.

Jamie rose up, his eyes glimmering with the now familiar deep shade of blue that indicated jealousy, and towered above me.

“Aye. Play along. Jes’ dinna forget that ye’re mine.”

I shook my head and fixed him with earnest eyes.

“Never,” I breathed.

He gave me a smile that made my stomach flutter and my fears about his reaction dissolve completely.

Reaching down to tug me closer again, he joined our lips once more, and I finally had the opportunity to simply revel in his nearness, as I had been dreaming of doing this entire day.

Just as I lifted my hands to tangle in his curls and pull him closer, the sound of the door opening sent us flying apart.

Since I was trapped against the wall, after Jamie jumped backward, he quickly turned away from me and grabbed at something on the kitchen table in an attempt at nonchalance. I surveyed the alcove I was in and discovered a scrub brush hanging on a hook on the wall. Holding it up, I emerged to see the three men standing in the living room, paying zero attention to the kitchen. I abandoned my hastily-discovered, but now unnecessary, excuse by the sink and headed back toward them.

“So, did you boys have a nice time safely enjoying your fireworks?” I inquired.

“Aye!” Rupert bellowed, and I let out a laugh-- mostly releasing nervous energy at how close Jamie and I had gotten to being discovered.

As I walked back over, I noticed Frank’s dark eyes watching me intently. I could tell he had words on the tip of his tongue.

I must have returned his gaze for a second too long because suddenly the words were coming.

“It’s awfully pleasant out there. You can see so many stars. Care to join me, Claire?”

It took every ounce of self control for me not to turn behind me and shoot a helpless look at Jamie. But I could feel his eyes on me by the prickle in my spine. His weren’t the only pair fixed on me, though, as Frank was staring at me, waiting for me to respond to his invitation.

“Frank, that’s very kind, but I really am tired and think maybe I should--”

“It’s only 10 pm, ye granny!” Angus interjected, “ye cannae go tae bed this early!”

I stifled a groan of frustration. This weekend was making me understand the definition of “stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

I forced myself to give a smile to Frank. “Oh, alright then. But not for too long. I wouldn’t want to fall asleep on the porch.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’d carry you inside--”

Frank’s flirtation was cut off by a loud bang from the kitchen. All heads swiveled in that direction to find Jamie standing at the sink (his expression nothing short of smug).

“Oh, sorry, dropped a pot,” he said, voice sounding not at all apologetic.

He gave me a tiny reassuring nod which soothed the knot in my stomach and gave me the courage to turn back to Frank.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Somehow, I felt that I was walking to my own execution.

* Fortunately— and I truly thanked God profusely— Frank was not so drunk that he tried to kiss me. We just sat side-by-side on the edge of the porch and looked out at the sky. There was enough distance between us to help me feel comfortable (although I caught him trying to scooch closer a few times). Mostly, Frank rambled on about the constellations, naming them and giving some random fact about their discovery or uniqueness. I had been lying earlier when I had said I was tired, but after listening to Frank drone on (I pitied the girl who would someday actually go on a real date with him), I really began to actually want to doze.

My head jerked once as I nodded off and then caught myself, and when I looked up, I found Frank staring at me in the moonlight.

“Maybe you should go to bed…” Frank politely gave me the out, and I couldn’t have been more grateful.

“I think I should,” I agreed, and before he could say another word, I stood up and brushed my hands down my pants.

I bid him a hasty, “Goodnight, Frank,” and then fled inside.

In the living room, Rupert and Angus were passed out on the couches— Rupert with one leg thrown over the top of the arm, and Angus fully upside down, with his head off the edge— and both snoring profusely. Jamie was sitting in a chair by the hearth, giving a glum look to the neck of his half-drunk beer bottle. When I entered, his gaze shot up toward me. I knew Frank would be on my heels, so I couldn’t linger to comfort him. I just gave him a calming smile, blew him a discreet kiss, and then said, “Goodnight, Jamie,” just as the door opened again.

“Goodnight, Sassenach,” came his reply as I fled toward the door of my room.

Geillis was still with Dougal (I pitied Frank if he was careless enough to head into his and Dougal’s shared room) so I splayed myself out on the bed and luxuriated in the feeling of being horizontal. It had been a long day, and I was more than ready to fall into the embrace of unconsciousness. I managed to get myself up to brush my teeth, take ibuprofen, and drink some water before I fell back into bed.

As I started to drift off, thoughts of Jamie circled mercilessly in my head. I sighed, rolled over to my other side, and fluffed the pillow under my cheek. I hated this whole situation. Still, the way he had kissed me-- God, maybe jealousy was kind of hot. That brought a smile to my face, and as I closed my eyes again, I relived Jamie slamming me into the wall and kissing me over and over in my head.

*** The next morning brought a broken stove. Thankfully, Dougal was able to produce a camping stove from somewhere in the basement, and we all gathered on the porch to watch as he made pancakes. Geillis managed to shove Frank at me and get him to sit next to me on the porch swing, but other than his thwarted attempt at taking my hand, the morning was rather uneventful.

That day, we were planning to head to Loch A’an for a day of swimming. It would be a bit of hiking to the lake, and a cold swim once we got there, but Dougal and Jamie knew of a secluded beach that promised some fun without too many tourists.

Standing above my suitcase to get ready, I sighed to myself as I pulled out my swimming suit. The little black bikini had been chosen for Jamie’s discreet enjoyment. (I had secretly imagined how his eyes would bug out and how he’d have to hold his tongue when I first undressed at the lakeshore.) But now, with Frank’s attentions, I regretted bringing such a risque choice.

I changed quickly, and just as I was about to put on my shirt, Geillis entered the room.

When I had managed to fit my head through the collar and tug it down, I noticed Geillis looking at me with a smirk.

“What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Ye have a hickey, Claire.”

I let out a gasp, and slapped a hand over the sore spot on my neck. I walked over to the mirror and looked to find I indeed had a hickey just at the edge of my collar.

Damn it, Jamie!

“Things go well wi’ Frank last night, then?” Geillis prodded.

“Uhh--” I stuttered helplessly.

I couldn't very well deny it, because there were no other options as to who would have given it to me.

“I--” I started again.

Geillis was looking at me with those big “spill the gossip” green eyes.

“I have to go!” I burst out.

I frantically snagged my bag and fled the room, then ran outside to join the safety of others.

On the drive, Dougal’s van bumping viciously on the gravel roads, the boys burst out into Gaelic song. Frank and I-- momentarily united by our Sassenach nature-- could only laugh along at their rowdy renditions. I smiled to myself when Jamie’s voice rose above the rest. He was adorably off key but he more than made up for it with his enthusiasm and unabashed volume.

It was a thankfully short drive, and the songs switched to English halfway through which allowed me to participate. Before I knew it, Dougal was pulling into the lot. We all piled out with nearly the same eagerness as we had after the 4 hour drive to get to the cabin.

As soon as we were out, I hastily slathered sunscreen over my poor pasty skin. Jamie always told me that I had ‘verra fine skin, like pearl,’ but I was cursing it since no one else had stopped to put any on themselves and were just about to leave me behind. Jamie, bless his heart, lingered back while the others started up the trail.

I finished as quickly as I could and ran to catch up. As I reached Jamie, he gently grasped my elbow and pulled me close to him (with a careful eye ahead to be sure no one was looking back).

“I wish I could help ye wi’ that sunscreen, a nighean,” he said in a low voice right next to my ear. A shiver went down my spine in response, but I didn’t trust my lips with words.

We quickened our pace to catch up with the others, and soon we had made it to the back of the group.

I took in the surroundings with awe. The cliffs, green with the summer, loomed around us. Their tips were jagged and rocky, and I felt myself itching to climb to the top of one to take in the view. It was a perfect summer day. Blessedly, it wasn’t raining, and the sun glimmered off of the water in the distance. It had been unseasonably warm that summer, almost unnaturally so, which was the only reason we were daring to swim in the usually chilly lake.

I was so entranced by the scenery that about halfway into our hike, my foot slipped off a rock on the edge of the path. My ankle rolled, and I let out a yelp as I started to skid down the slight embankment.

Quick as a flash, Jamie had grabbed my arm and hauled me up. I fell against him, still completely off balance, and found myself pressed to his chest for a second before I gained awareness and pulled back.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” Jamie asked. I noticed his eyes were shining with worry.

The rest of the group had halted and turned back, and Geillis was making her way toward me from the front of the group.

“I’m fine, I think. I rolled my ankle a little though.”

I tested my weight on it and winced as a small jolt of pain traveled up my leg.

“Do ye need me tae take ye back?” Jamie asked in a low voice.

“I’m alright, it’s just a little tender. I can keep going. Maybe just can you--”

“Frank!” Geillis’ sing-songy call interrupted my question, “why dinna ye help Claire? Her puir ankle is painin’ her, I’m sure she could use an arm tae hold onto.”

Frank split apart from the group and materialized at my side.

“Allow me,” He said as he managed to shoulder his way between me and Jamie.

I stood mutely, and he walked around to my bad side and started to lift my right arm over his shoulder.

“Oh, that’s really not necessary, I can walk,” I chuckled nervously as his hand snaked its way around my waist.

“Perhaps just until the soreness wears off,” Frank said dismissively.

He took a step forward, and pressed to him as I was, I went with him. I accepted my fate with the burning of embarrassment flaring in my cheeks.

Truth be told, it was helpful to relieve the pressure on my ankle. Frank actually made a decent crutch, and we quickly found our rhythm. Worse than the pain in my ankle would have been, though, was the sight of Jamie walking next to me but just out of reach. His shoulders were slumped, and he was trying desperately not to look at us.

God, I wished it was his arms around me.

I clenched my teeth and allowed Frank to help me forward. The ground soon turned into an incline, and I looked up from my feet to see that we were nearing the secluded beach of the lake. It was a rocky shoreline, with big boulders sticking up out of the water all over the place, but it still looked very inviting. A child-like glee rushed through me at the thought of playing around the boulders and in the water.

Soon, we were all on the beach, and Frank was letting me go to set down his things. The boys ripped off their shirts, and Angus and Rupert went flying into the water with loud whoops of glee. I set down my bag and then straightened to find two pairs of eyes on me-- Frank and Jamie.

Jamie had already stripped off his shirt, and I took a fleeting glance up and down his body to appreciate him. Frank stood further from the water, by the bushes, but I could tell he was just as eager as my boyfriend to watch me strip down to my swimming suit.

A wave of frustration swept over me, and I felt very bold as I met Frank’s gaze and gave him a chastising stare in return. Realizing he had been discovered watching, Frank averted his eyes, and made to take off his own shirt.

Might as well get this over with, Beauchamp.

I stripped off my shirt and shimmied down my shorts all in one quick motion, and then threw the clothes into my bag.

Jamie’s reaction was comically similar to what I had imagined.

His eyes did indeed go wide, as his gaze very markedly raked up and down my body. A grin started to form on his lips, but then he suddenly remembered our location, and horror flashed in his eyes as he looked toward Frank and the others. I thought Jamie had half a mind to run over and throw his shirt over me to cover me up (the thought of which made me laugh), but he was left frozen and rooted in place.

I began walking toward the water, hoping perhaps I could get there before Frank finished rummaging through his bag. But no such luck. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him catch sight of me, but I had no desire to take in his reaction.

Damn it, I am not on display for you to ogle!

I waded quickly into the water, gasping at its chilly temperature and then hastily sinking down in the shallows to hide myself from any unwanted view.

Soon, all of my frustration over male objectification was swept from my mind as Geillis appeared and tried to dunk my head under water.

We swam and clambered on rocks and boulders for what felt like hours. I floated in the water and allowed the sun to warm me, occasionally turning over to dive under and enjoy the feeling of being submerged in the cold water.

After a while, I grew tired, and I swam my way over to a cluster of particularly large rocks. I pulled myself up onto one and stretched out on its warm surface. Peaking around to make sure that Frank hadn’t snuck up on me without my notice (I had been carefully avoiding him ever since getting in the water), I noticed that the rocks blocked me from view of the entire group, and I allowed myself to relax. The surface of the rock was smooth, as if made for lounging, and I soaked up as much of its warmth as I could.

I nearly screamed as a hand closed around my ankle and jerked me out of my peaceful daze.

I clamped my mouth shut as I caught sight of a grinning Jamie, his curls wet and dripping around his face, his upper body resting casually on my rock.

“Sorry tae startle ye, mo ghraidh. It’s jes’ that ye looked sae bonny and peaceful, I couldna help myself.”

The hand moved from my ankle to caress up the outside of my calf and squeeze. Even just a subtle touch like that had me sitting up and reaching for him.

“Get up here, bloody Scot,” I whispered.

We both took a quick glance around to ensure no one else had wandered into our secluded spot, and then the next moment, Jamie was hauling himself up next to me and gathering me into his arms.

The kiss was nothing like the one the night before. Jamie took his time, lips soft and giving as he patiently pressed them to mine. His hand reached up to cup my neck (God his hand was so big) and his thumb massaged it gently. The kiss was a slow burn, but the fire nonetheless scorching for it. I felt him smile against me as I smoothed my hands greedily over the bare skin of his back.

“I’ve missed ye,” he murmured against my lips.

“We’ve been together all day,” I teased, knowing completely what he meant. I had been feeling the same way. Being so close to him yet forbidden to touch him or even pay attention to him was maddening.

“Aye, but ye and Frank have been together all day, too,” Jamie’s voice absolutely dripped with jealousy, and his burr came out strong with Frank’s name, turning it into a derisive “Frrrrrank.”

“I don’t want to talk about him, I just want to enjoy being with you,” I pleaded as I fused our lips together again.

I hated that every moment had to be stolen in secret. Even now, I would have given anything to spend time simply laughing and joking with him, wrestling him in the water. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and I was pretty darn grateful for his kisses.

But Jamie must have somehow read my thoughts, because he was pulling back and taking my hand. His eyes held a gleam of mischief.

“Will ye swim a bit wi’ me, Sassenach?” he asked.

When I nodded, he splashed into the water, and then dragged my hand down so I followed him.

I had adjusted to being on the warmth of the rock, so the moment my body submerged under the freezing water, it was a shock to my system. I cursed under my breath and began to shiver.

Jamie laughed at me, his eyes crinkling delightfully at the corners.

“Cold, lass?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“Of course I’m cold,” I chattered, “aren’t you?”

“Nae. Ye ken Scots dinna get cold, Sassenach. Come ‘ere and let me warm ye up.”

Jamie’s hands found my hips, and he pulled me through the water until I was pressed flush against his bare chest. I smiled and wrapped my arms around my neck and my legs around his waist.

He floated around for a while with me clinging to him like a koala bear, keeping his arms tightly around my shivering form as he waded further backward.

“I kent ye were naturally cold, but ye really are freezin’, puir wee thing. Ye’re shaking’ so hard ye’re makin’ my teeth rattle,” Jamie commented.

I nodded pathetically against his chest.

“Would be quite a shame if I were tae--”

All of a sudden, Jamie was dipping me backward into the water, making to throw me from him and submerge me.

But I clung to him with all my might and let out a whisper-screech, and he was forced to straighten back up, laughing. I scrambled further up his body, climbing him like a tree in an effort to stay out of the water.

“Alright, if ye’ll no’ leave me, I’ll jes hafta go wi’ ye.”

With an evil grin, Jamie bent his knees, and we both plunged under.

I pushed on his chest, breaking free of his arms and swimming backwards away from him.

“Traitor,” I hissed, “you’re supposed to be my personal heater.”

“And yer supposed tae be my girlfriend, no’ my baby koala,” he shot back.

“I’ll show you baby koala,” I laughed as I lunged toward him.

I grabbed the top of his head and made it shove it downward under the water, but I had underestimated Jamie’s strength, and he simply didn’t budge as I attempted to pull his face down.

I froze, looking at Jamie and the mischievous gleam that had returned to his eyes. I had just enough time to mutter a “crap,” before he was on me.

I had to suppress a squeal as, instead of grabbing for my head as I had expected, Jamie dove under, grabbed my ankle, and tugged me sharply downward. I gasped in air just before my mouth went under the surface. I kicked wildly in the murky water around me, hoping to catch Jamie in the rib as payback, but my feet made no satisfying connections.

My head popped back out of the water, and I saw Jamie bobbing a meter away.

He started swimming, and I pursued him all the way to where the lake grew slightly shallower and we could both touch the bottom.

Once I reached him, I shoved at him playfully, and he indulgently pretended that I was actually propelling him backward.

“Alright-- alright,” he said between laughs as I continued to push at his chest, “truce.”

I paused and eyed him warily.

“Seal it with a kiss?”

“Always,” he said as he leaned in eagerly with lips puckered invitingly.

Just before he reached me, I cupped my hands and sent a spray of water right up into his face.

Jamie sputtered at the splash, and then looked up at me, mouth agape in betrayal.

“Ye’ll pay fer that, little lassie,” he growled.

He was just about to lunge toward me when a shout of “Claire? Jamie?” came from a short distance away. We both froze and looked at each other.

“Over here!” Jamie yelled.

“Och, thank Christ. We thought ye may have drowned,” came Rupert’s answering call.

“Nae. Jes’ got distracted swimmin’ after a fish and found Claire. Come on, lass.”

I leaned in to give Jamie one last gratuitous, self indulgent kiss, and then we swam back to the group.

We had a picnic on the beach, all inhaling our sandwiches and crisps as if we hadn’t eaten in days. Then, we spent the rest of the afternoon lounging around and taking in the beautiful sight. After we had enough of lazing about, we decided to call it a day and head back. As we finished packing up, Frank appeared at my side and offered to help me on the walk back. I insisted that my ankle was much improved and declined politely, and I watched as his face fell in disappointment. From behind him, I noticed Jamie’s light up.

I walked back (by myself, thank you very much) at a brisk pace, eager to remain at the front of the group and away from Frank.

Geillis kept looking at me and gesturing toward Frank, but I just ignored her.

I was pretty worn out from a long day of playing in the water. I was drooping in fatigue in that way one does after their strength has been sapped by the cold. When we all squished together into the van, I found myself sitting next to Jamie in the back. As Dougal began the long drive back, the rumble of the van underneath me began to lull me to sleep.

I craned my head back to rest it on the seatback and frowned, knowing there would certainly be a crick in my neck by the end of the drive.

As I began to drift off, I felt a big, familiar hand gently tilt my head and guide it onto his shoulder. I smiled sleepily and nuzzled my face into Jamie’s shirt.

Best part of the trip so far.

***

Dinner was leftover spaghetti and salads because we had been too cheap to buy anything else. I still wolfed it down, and didn’t even mind the taste of the accompanying beer. We played a drinking game after dinner— Angus insisting that beer and tequila were a dessert. It was something with cards, but I was so confused by the rules and so bad at it that I was drunk within only a few rounds and had no hope of ever actually learning the game. Frank was drunk too, and he was fully pressed against my side, an arm slung casually around my waist.

I stiffened, trying to send the message that it was an unwelcome touch, but either he didn’t notice or didn’t care, because his arm remained.

Geillis shot me a million-watt smile, and said, “they’re so cute together, are they no’, Dougal?”

Dougal only made a Scottish noise in his throat before picking up his beer.

I couldn’t bear to look toward Jamie to see either his rage or his despair.

I ducked out of the game politely, saying that I was well beyond my drink limit, and then tore myself from Frank’s grip and scurried off to the bathroom.

I shuddered to myself as I looked in the mirror.

One more day, Beauchamp. Tomorrow you go home. You can do this.

I ran my fingers through my wild curls and then stepped out of the bathroom.

I was just passing the final door in the hallway and about to reenter the living room when a hand shot out and tugged me by the wrist into the dark room. I stumbled straight into Jamie’s solid chest.

“Sorry, I didna mean to scare ye, but seein’ him touchin’ ye like that drives me mad.”

His arms looped possessively around my waist, and I melted against him.

“It drives me mad, too,” I said as I was fitted perfectly into Jamie’s embrace.

He drew back and hooked a finger under my chin to tilt my face upward. He leaned down and attached his mouth to mine, kissing me like he never wanted to do anything else. His lips pressed insistently, withdrawing for a moment only to dive back in again with renewed fervor. Our kisses made soft snicking sounds in the dark room as he pressed and released.

“Jamie--” I forced out between kisses, “I-- they’re going to-- mhmmm-- notice we’re gone.”

He pulled back reluctantly, and my lips tingled with the absence of his touch.

“I suppose ye’re right. Go on then,” he said sadly with a tilt of the head.

He placed a solid (but surprising soundless) smack on my bum as I leaned in for one last quick kiss and then left the room.

The rest of the night’s entertainment went by in a flash. Frank was all over me. It was like a game of cat and mouse-- I’d evade him for a moment only to be cornered the next. I finally ended up on the floor next to Geillis, desperately linking my arm to hers in the vain hope that it might discourage Frank.

We were all seated on the floor in a circle and looking expectantly at each other in the hopes that someone might suggest something else.

A suggestion did come, but not a welcome one.

“How about we play spin the bottle?” Geillis giggled with raised brows.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Thankfully, Rupert piped up.

“Tha’s no faiiir,” he whined, “the only lasses here are ye and Claire. I dinna want tae end up kissin’ this numpty,” he jerked a beefy thumb in the direction of Angus, who was staring drunkenly down at his hand as if it was the most bizarre thing he’d ever seen.

“He has a point, Geil,” Jamie declared in support, “I dinna think we have quite the numbers tonight. It’s late, perhaps we should go tae bed.”

Geillis nodded in acquiescence.

All at the same time, we staggered to our feet, using any available object for support.

“Before we part ways, I hafta suggest a wee room trade,” Geillis said suddenly.

Everyone froze at that. We were all tired and beyond desperate for a soft bed. I noticed everyone’s eyes widening in dismay. Rupert looked ready to stomp his feet like a toddler having a tantrum.

Geillis shot him a look. “Dinna get yer panties in a twist, I didna mean you. I would like to spend the night wi’ Dougal, so how about I go tae his room and Frank goes tae Claire’s room so they can have a wee bit o’ alone time?”

Horror flooded my veins and I suddenly went still as a statue. My brain provided a very unhelpful mantra of no, no, no but produced no coherent response, or better yet, rejection to offer Geillis.

My eyes flicked helplessly to Jamie, and I found him seething with rage. His hands were clenched at his sides in tight fists of barely controlled anger.

“Alright by me,” Frank piped up from beside me.

All of a sudden, all of Jamie’s jealous fury exploded.

“That’s it!” He bellowed, and launched himself across the room.

He shoved Frank away from me so hard that the poor man went staggering backward until he plopped down on the couch. Jamie whirled to face me and grabbed me forcefully around the waist and jerked me against him.

“Claire is my girlfriend, alright? We’re dating! My heart and soul belongs to her, and I canna bear tae see this go on fer another second. She’s mine.”

The room was absolutely silent and dead still as everyone stared at me and Jamie. His declaration hung in the room for the longest moment, and the tension was so thick I thought I would have been able to feel it if I waved my hand through the air. Jamie still had me pressed against him tightly, and was looking around with narrowed eyes as if daring anyone to try to take me from him.

Finally, the silence was broken by the sound of Geillis beginning to laugh.

“Took ye long enough.”

Now it was mine and Jamie’s turn to be steamrolled by shock.

“What do you mean, ‘took you long enough’?” I asked slowly, finding my tongue to be thick and heavy in my mouth.

“I’ve been tryin’ tae get him tae do that all weekend!” she exclaimed. She had the audacity to sound exasperated.

I just stared at my friend blankly. She rolled her eyes.

“That’s what the whole “Frank thing” was about. I needed a way to force ye to fess up.”

I was still so taken aback that I couldn’t seem to find my voice. But Jamie did.

“Ye kent? About us?” He asked incredulously.

“Aye, of course I did! Ye two arena exactly discreet. Ye cannae keep yer hands tae yourselves, fer Christ’s sake! Any moment when ye think no one’s lookin’, ye’re all over each other. Plus, ye always disappear at the same time. And ye didna think we’d catch on?”

Angus chose that moment to speak up. “For the record, I didna ken a thing.”

“Shut yer mouth, ye big oaf,” Geillis hissed, “this isna about you.”

She crossed her arms and looked at us accusingly. Her sharp, squinted eyes demanded answers.

I sighed. Jamie shifted a little next to me and resettled his arm around my waist-- more comfortable and supportive and less possessive now that it had been made clear that I was off the market.

“Claire and I have been seeing each other ever since we went off to University of Edinburgh,” Jamie began to explain.

Dougal clapped his hands in triumph and elbowed Geillis. “I told ye it’d been that long.”

Jamie leveled him with a look. “Do ye wanna hear the story or no’?”

Everyone fell silent, and I picked up the narrative.

“I’m sorry we didn’t say anything sooner. You know Jamie’s parents wouldn’t approve, and neither would my Uncle, so we decided to keep things a secret while at home until we could break the news to them.”

Everyone nodded understandingly. Relief made all the tension flow from my muscles, and I leaned heavily against Jamie. Our friends just stood there staring at us for a long moment, as if sizing us up as a couple. I felt like a mannequin on display, and held Jamie a little more tightly.

“Were you terribly surprised to figure out we were together?” I found myself asking to break the silence

“Och, no, the lad’s been head over heels for ye since ye were bairns,” Dougal said with a dismissive wave.

I looked up at Jamie with a smile. “What? Is that true?”

The dusting of red making its way up his neck to his cheeks was all the answer I needed.

“Aye. I kent I was gonna marry ye the first time I laid eyes on ye the first day of primary school. It jes’ took a little while fer adult us tae catch up.”

My own cheeks burned at his words and I went up on tip-toes to place a sweet, chaste kiss on Jamie’s lips.

Hollers came from Angus and Rupert, ever the childish ones, and I pressed my smile onto Jamie’s.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. Frank hadn’t said a peep the entire time Jamie and I were explaining ourselves. With a furrowed brow, I turned behind me to where Jamie had pushed Frank onto the couch.

As I did, I was greeted by the sight of him completely passed out and slumbering peacefully on the couch.

“I guess he’ll get filled in sooner or later,” Jamie chuckled.

We turned back to the others. I felt a lightness in my chest at the transparency and was relieved that I had the freedom to spend time with Jamie as much as I pleased again.

“Well, I guess we really will have tae change rooms now,” Geillis announced, “I’ll sleep wi’ Dougal, Jamie’ll go wi’ Claire, and Frank--- weel, I guess Frank’ll sleep out here tonight.”

Jamie’s hand slipped up under my shirt to rest on my bare skin. I felt him tap his fingers against my side in eager anticipation of being together again. I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

“Sounds like a plan, goodnight everyone,” I said.

I had barely finished bidding everyone goodnight when Jamie began dragging me down the hall toward my room.

Good night indeed.

***

The next morning, after a leisurely breakfast, we took our time packing and cleaning up. Someone must have brought Frank up to speed, because now it was his turn to mope. Jamie, on the other hand, was all smiles. He clung to me like a starfish all morning, finding any excuse to touch me. He was more than happy to flaunt our relationship in front of Frank now that he had the opportunity. As I did the dishes (and Jamie was supposed to be sweeping), he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and began to trail kisses down the side of my neck. I turned and playfully smacked a sud-covered hand on his cheek, leaving him half a soap beard. A small wrestling match occurred as Jamie tried to reach around me to grab some soap for his revenge, but it was soon broken up by a “dinna go wild now, ye two” from Dougal.

Later, as I started toward the car, ready to load my bag, Jamie caught up to me and snagged it from my hand.

“May I take this for ye, milady?” he asked cordially, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“I am capable of carryin’ a little duffle.”

“I ken that fine, my strong wee lass. Only I love ye verra much and wish to serve ye.”

“Well, if you put it like that…”

I handed him the duffle and smacked him on the bum as he started toward the door. He let out a whoop of surprise and jumped. Nothing was more satisfying.

Watching the whole exchange in the corner was Frank, his dark eyes hard with jealousy.

As Jamie disappeared outside with my bag, I felt compelled to approach the Englishman.

“Listen, I’m sorry if you felt I led you on. I really tried not to give you any signs I was interested, Geillis just kept shoving us together. I hope there’s no hard feelings that I’m with Jamie.”

I extended a hand to him and gave him my best apologetic smile. He looked from my hand up to my face, then back to my hand. Ignoring the proffered appendage, he shouldered past me and muttered “slut” under his breath. Then, he had disappeared from the room.

I stood rooted to the spot. Completely floored by his attitude, I couldn’t seem to bring myself to move.

Jamie returned to find me in that position, staring off at the hallway down which Frank had disappeared.

“Sassenach? What’s wrong?” He asked.

He moved closer and slid an arm around me as if sensing I needed support.

“Frank just showed me his true colors I guess,” I quietly said, still taken aback.

Jamie was instantly moving into my line of vision. “He didna try tae touch ye again, did he? I swear I’ll--”

I cut him off before he could go listing threats. “I tried to apologize to him and say no hard feelings...” I said quietly. I fixed my gaze on Jamie and furrowed my brows, “and he called me a slut.”

Jamie stiffened. I could see the rage flicker over his face before he composed it. He looked me in the eye for a moment, gauging whether I was okay. Finding me satisfactorily composed, he straightened up.

“I’ll kill him,” he said decidedly.

He began to stride with single minded purpose toward the bedrooms, his fists clenched at his sides, but I snapped out of my daze and caught his wrist to pull him back.

“It doesn’t matter, Jamie,” I said, “really, it doesn't. I couldn’t care less what Frank thinks. He was all over me all weekend without permission. I’m with you, darling. Let’s just forget about him. He can sulk all he wants on the way back, and then we never have to see him again.”

I tugged on Jamie's arm pleadingly and prayed that he’d see reason and abandon his task of pummeling Frank into oblivion in defense of my honor. After a long moment, he gave me a stiff nod. I relaxed, and Jamie followed suit, the angry set of his shoulders softening.

“No man should speak tae ye that way, but if ye ask me tae leave it be, I will,” he said softly.

He stooped down to kiss me lightly on the forehead.

When he pulled back, I caught his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Come on, let’s finish loading up. Maybe this time I’ll take your bag for you.”

If Jamie had been clingy before, he was insufferable the entire ride back. We ended up on the bench seat in the middle together, and he didn’t stop touching me the entire ride home. I knew he checked the rearview mirror to gauge Frank’s reaction behind us, but the man doggedly stared out the window, completely silent the entire time, refusing to look at us. The ride was much quieter as a whole-- everyone was tuckered out from the last few days. I separated myself from Jamie so that I could shift to the side, and then I laid my head down on his lap.

Ever so gently, his fingers began carding through my hair. He started up a delightful rhythm-- a press of fingertips into my scalp, a swirl, and then a gentle pull as he tugged carefully through my curls. Every once in a while, he would change it up, and take his whole hand to brush the lot of it away from my face. His touch was so tender and relaxing that I began to drift off.

I had nearly fallen asleep when I felt lips pressing to my temple.

“I love ye, Sassenach,” he whispered.

I tilted my head so I could smile sleepily up at him. “I love you, too.”

His hands cupped my cheeks, both thumbs stroking over them, and I opened my eyes wider.

He was looking down at me with a complicated look on his face-- a mix of love, affection, and something far more serious.

“What is it?” I asked, placing a hand over his where it cradled my face.

He gave me a smile. “Let’s tell my parents and your uncle when we get back, aye?”

I broke into a beam and nodded against his lap.

“Yes. Let’s tell them. I’ve had enough of this keeping secrets business to last a lifetime.”

***

THE END. But not really! Here’s the sequel The Deal

#there you have it folks #my first attempt in the romcom genre!#maybe it ended up being a bit more like a rom-dram but I still had fun #I'd love to hear your thoughts!!!#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #outlander fluff #Outlander #claire x jamie #Claire/Jamie #romcom

105 notes · View notes