#set up the date for monday... and i just noticed an email i tried to send didnt go through and had to re send it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sturchling · 3 years

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Hey, I was wondering if you could do a story of marinette moving to Gotham.

And going to gotham academy and having her own boutique. Damienette pairing. Cat noir salt. You dont have to if u dont want too.

Sorry for the long wait, work has been keeping me super busy lately. I hope you like this and it was worth the wait! I had a hard time trying to work in the Chat Noir salt, so its more like Adrien salt. Let me know what you think!

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Marinette was tired of Lila and her lies. She was tired of Adrien’s refusal to help defend her from the liar. And she was tired of everyone believing the liar over Marinette. Most of the school now believed that Marinette was a horrible bully that had been attacking Lila since she arrived. Marinette had been removed as class rep and was constantly given detention by Mr. Damocles. Marinette’s parents have been very supportive, and now realized that Lila was just a malicious liar. But even with their support, it had become to much for Marinette and she knew it was time to leave Paris.

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Her parents were hesitant when she brought up the idea. Marinette had found a study abroad program where she could attend Gotham academy, hosted by Bruce Wayne himself. She discussed it with her parents, really hoping to convince them. They were obviously concerned for a number of reasons. The main one being the crime rate in Gotham. They knew that Marinette needed to get away from Paris, that things had gotten bad in the city for her. But they didn’t want to send her to a dangerous city where she could be hurt or killed. But after speaking with Marinette for several hours, they started to realize how excited Marinette was for the opportunity. While they were still worried, they knew this was the right place for Marinette. And they were comforted that if she was accepted, she would be hosted by and staying with Bruce Wayne. His manor is one of the safest places in the city. So, they agreed with Marinette that she could apply the program.

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So Marinette applied to the study abroad program. She didn’t tell anyone at the school, not like anyone in the class was speaking to her anyway. She waited anxiously for news from the program, hoping to hear that she had been accepted. The longer she didn’t hear anything, the more anxious she became. She was sure that she had been rejected and they just hadn’t told her. Marinette had just got back from a particularly bad day at school, when she noticed she had a new email. An email from the study abroad program. She raced to open the email, and started cheering when she read the line We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Gotham Academy Study Abroad Program. Marinette raced downstairs and told her parents the news. The email said that she would be expected in Gotham by the end of the month. It went on to explain details of the program. That night the Dupain-Cheng family celebrated, and began preparing for Marinette’s departure.

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The last month of Marinette’s time in Paris seemed to drag on and on. Everyday she had to listen to Lila’s lie all day long and the whole class fawn over here. She had to endure Lila accusing her of bullying almost daily and almost daily detentions. But finally, it was her final day at the Dupont. She was almost giddy as she walked to Mr. Damocles’ office with her parents. When she entered the office and Mr. Damocles saw her, he just sighed. “What did you do now Miss Dupain-Cheng?” Then he saw her parents in the office and straightened up. “I didn’t do anything Mr. Damocles. I never did anything Lila accused me of, but I know you will never believe me on that. We are just here to get my academic records and inform you that I will no longer be attending this school after today.” Mr. Damocles was flustered by the sudden declaration. “What do you mean you won’t be attending anymore? Where are you going?” Mr. Dupain stepped forward, barely containing his contempt for this man who had been helping to make his daughter miserable. “Marinette will be studying abroad in America for the next year at least. Now, give us the academic records.” Mr. Damocles stuttered for a while, wondering how such a bully got accepted to such an amazing program. But soon, the Dupain-Chengs got the records from him and were on their way.

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Marinette went down to the locker room with her parents and started emptying her locker. Class hadn’t started yet so, everyone was still in the locker room. They were confused when Marinette started emptying her locker. Adrien, who was about the only person that still talked to Marinette from time to time, approached the young designer. “Marinette? What are you doing?” Marinette didn’t look at any of them, continuing to empty her locker as she responded. “I am emptying my locker. Starting Monday, I will no longer be here for school. I am transferring to Gotham Academy.” The class stood in shock, they never expected Marinette to leave. Sure they were happy that Lila would be able to come to school in peace, but it would be weird without Marinette here. They just stood in shocked silence, as Marinette finished with her locker and walked out with her parents.

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Adrien was shocked by Marinette’s decision. Why would she leave? He knew things had been tough for her lately, but he had kept telling her that it would get better soon. Soon the class would realize that Lila was a liar. That she just had to wait a little longer. But Marinette had clearly given up and was running away. That wasn’t like Marinette at all. When he had the chance, Adrien was going to go pay her a visit in Gotham and convince her to return.

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Marinette was already loving Gotham. She had been met at the airport by Alfred who brought her to the manor. Mr. Wayne was very nice and introduced her to his children as well. Marinette was the same age as Damian and would be in the same class as him as well. Damian had expected to be irritated by this girl when he was first informed of their guest. But to his surprise, he didn’t find her presence as repulsive as everyone else.

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Weeks went by and Marinette was having a wonderful time. She had made some wonderful friends in her class, though she was nervous to try and make friends after Mrs. Bustier’s class. But she was welcomed warmly by her new class. Her and Damian had also grown close over the weeks. They had started dating recently, and would often spend their time together quietly working on their different craft projects; Marinette working on her designs, and Damian working on his most recent painting. The Waynes were shocked at the change Marinette had caused in the youngest Wayne. Damian was still a very reserved person, but he was considerably warmer to Marinette and had started to act warmer to his family as well.

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While Marinette wasn’t aware of it, her departure brought about Lila’s downfall. Lila hadn’t been at school recently, on a ‘diplomatic trip to Achu’, and because of that, she didn’t know Marinette left Paris. So when she came back, she was planning on making her next attack against Marinette’s reputation. She used makeup to make fake bruises and called up her tears as she entered the classroom. The class was horrified to see their friend crying and injured. They raced forward and asked Lila what happened. “It was horrible. As soon as I returned to the city last night, Marinette was waiting for me outside my home. She was so mad that she got detention for a week when I told Mr. Damocles that she had stolen my book. She beat me up and said if I ever said anything I would regret it! I am so scared!” Lila was proud of this performance. It was probably one of her best performances yet. But when she looked up at the class, she was surprised to see that the class was staring at her doubtfully.

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Alya, feeling dread in her stomach, asked “Are you sure it was Marinette last night? No chance it was someone else?” Lila, irritated that they were questioning her, didn’t notice the tension in the room. “Of course it was Marinette. I saw her face and there is no way it was anyone else last night.” Nino, who was now realizing that this could mean that Marinette was right and that Lila was a liar, asked “What do you mean Marinette attacked you last night? Marinette moved to Gotham almost two weeks ago. She couldn’t have attacked you last night.” Now Lila was horrified. This was a major mistake. Lila was trying to back pedal, and figure a way out of this mess, but the class had realized at this point that Lila was lying and that she had probably been lying before when Marinette was still here. The class started to yell at Lila as they realized that she had been lying to them all this time. Lila raced from the room, not wanting to face the class. The class quickly tried to reach out to Marinette, to apologize and ask her to come home, but the number they had for her had been disconnected. Adrien was disappointed that Marinette hadn’t told anyone her new number, not even him. He was going to go to Gotham soon and try to convince her to come back. He was sure their Everyday Ladybug would be willing to come back.

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One day, weeks after Lila’s exposure, Damian and Marinette were sitting in the garden just relaxing. After watching Marinette work on a new design, Damian said, “Marinette, you should really try to open a boutique. Your work is terrific and you would be very successful.” Marinette seemed shocked for a moment. “You really think I should? I wouldn’t even know where to start. And how would I afford a building? I don’t think I could do it.” Marinette continued to anxiously ramble, until Damian came to stand in front of Marinette. “Marinette, Angel, breathe. I am sure you would do wonderfully. And as for the building, my father has multiple buildings in the city that he isn’t using. I am sure he would allow you to set up in one of them.” After more convincing, Marinette agreed to at least ask Bruce about it. When they approached Bruce, he was very willing to help Marinette set up her first boutique. He had seen the girl’s designs and knew that she would be a major success. Marinette felt bad about just taking one of his buildings and accepting his help with getting everything she needed for the boutique, but she accepted when Bruce told her to consider it a loan if that made her more comfortable. Then, they immediately started setting up her boutique.

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After about a month, everything was set up and Marinette’s boutique had opened under the name MDC. She was an instant success and quickly became very busy with several orders from big name clients. As time went on, Marinette began to feel like Gotham was her home. One day, after she had closed the boutique and was leaving with Damian to go on a date, they were approached by a familiar face. “Adrien?” Adrien smiled and approached her. “Hi Marinette.” Damian sensing the tension, stepped closer to Marinette. “Who is this Marinette?” Adrien looked at the boy standing next to Marinette and didn’t recognize him at all. “Damian, this is Adrien, someone I knew in Paris. Adrien, this is my boyfriend Damian.” That took Adrien by surprise, but he moved past it. He was sure that Marinette would leave this Damian and come back to Paris where she belonged.

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“So what are you doing here Adrien?” Adrien smiled again, “I am here to bring you home Marinette! Lila has been found out and she is gone. You don’t have to keep hiding here in Gotham. You can come home and back to the class. Everything can go back to normal.” Marinette just stared at him, as Damian started to get angry. Adrien didn’t pick up on the tension. “So come on. Lets go get your things. We can fly back to Paris in the morning.” Adrien tried to grab her arm, but Marinette moved back, avoiding him. “I’m sorry Adrien, but I’m not going back. I am really happy here. I still have months with the study abroad program and may stay here permanently if I can. I have friends who wouldn’t leave me for a liar. Damian is here. And my boutique is doing really well. I am not ready to go back to Paris.” Adrien just rolled his eyes. “Come on Marinette, you have friends in Paris, and you can set up a new boutique in Paris. Its no big deal. So come on, lets go.” Adrien once again tried to grab at Marinette’s arm, this time Damian got in his way and shoved him back. “Marinette said she didn’t want to go with you so that is that. You should go now, you have embarrassed yourself enough.” Adrien glared at Damian, angry that he was getting in his way. “I am not leaving. Not until Marinette tells me to, so stay out of this.” Marinette stepped out from behind Damian, looking more confident then Adrien ever remembered seeing her. “Adrien you should leave. I am happy here and I am not going back to Paris. My ‘friends’ in Paris turned their backs on me because of the liar’s pretty words. My friends here would never do that to me. Now please leave.” Adrien was shocked, and didn’t move. Damian rolled his eyes and guided Marinette around Adrien and back to the manor.

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Adrien went back to Paris, alone, the day after his conversation with Marinette. He was surprised that Marinette wouldn’t come back with him. Mrs. Bustier’s class was sad when Adrien came back without Marinette. They had hoped she would come back, but unlike Adrien, they knew the chances were slim. While they were sad that Marinette was gone and that they had chased off such a good friend, they were happy that she had found a place that she could live happily. They tried to move on, hoping that one day they may get the chance to apologize to Marinette in person.

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Marinette stayed in Gotham after her conversation with Adrien. She finished her year with the study abroad program and then decided to live in Gotham permanently, with her parents blessing. She continued to stay at the manor, living happily with the Waynes. She continued using the horse miraculous to go back and forth to Paris for the akumas and soon revealed her identity to the Waynes once she realized they were the Batfam. Her boutique continued to be a major success. Her life had improved in every way it could. She was surrounded by true friends, she had a boyfriend who truly cared for her, her fashion business had started with great success, and she didn’t have to deal with the liar anymore. She was the happiest she had been in a long time, and she intended to be this happy for the rest of her life in Gotham.

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backtoyuta · 3 years

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NCT 127: How they would be as coworkers in a shitty office

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❁ [Taeil] King of the welcome wagon; If it was your first day working in a small dinky business, Taeil will make it his sole responsibility to make the environment as inviting as possible. After all, the business wasn't some glamorous well known company, nor was it an exciting new start up, so Taeil made it his mission to paint the office as pretty as he could before you could decide if the job was too boring to keep. If you ask any of his co-workers they'll tell you nobody put him in charge of welcoming the newbie, but it seemed everybody but you noticed him do a double take at the receptionist's desk where you waited to be shown around. Soft moments included him making you a coffee every time he left to make his own, making a point of clearing a little space in the communal fridge for your lunch and hanging around while trying to maintain a respectful distance in case you had any queries so he could be the first to answer them. If you were low-key dreading your first day, you kinda forget about the nerves quickly because of his kindness and tells you cheerfully "See, we don't bite." Will make sure you have everything you need, down to the last sticky note and ball point pen, and smiles bashfully at you when you go to thank him.

❁ [Johnny] cheesy office romance; It was quite impressive really, the fact that Johnny managed to unlock every single office romance cliche you could think of and he wasn't subtle about it either. Though there was no policy really about dating co-workers, the whole situation was a tiny bit embarrassing given the blatant flirting from the titan walking around in his shirt and tie, always throwing devilish smiles from over the photocopier. Even if his desk was miles away from yours, there would always be an excuse to stroll by your work space to drop off some paperwork personally, or remind you of the meeting happening in the afternoon despite the email reminder going around. Johnny really put his bladder through it since he now took too frequent trips to the water cooler that was so conveniently placed next to your desk. The whole office gagged when you finally agreed to go for drinks after work. The hours were spent buying each other pints and admiring him with his tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the delicate tattoos that decorated the skin there before calling it a night and letting him kiss you on your porch after walking you home. You kind of became the height of office gossip, which Johnny thrived in, but you couldn't really be mad when you were dating that tall glass of water after all.

❁ [Taeyong] The receptionist with first aid training; Stapling your finger was embarrassing enough, imagine the heat flooding your cheeks when the receptionist appears at your desk clutching the first aid kit, big kind eyes glancing at your finger empathetically. Taeyong was the first face you saw when you walked through the door, that alone making a wonderful first impression, also he was a very diligent worker. He never made a fuss when you asked him to fax something, make a memo or photocopy, and when you had to ring the office because you left your keycard and needed to be let in, he laughed that off with you too while assuring that it happened all the time. On the blasted day you aimed the stapler at your paper but instead caught your finger, Taeyong was the first to perk from behind his desk at your exclamation of "Ow!" and was by your side before you knew it. He apologised profusely at the sting of an anti-bacterial wipe and wrapped your finger gingerly in a plaster, his chair scooted towards you and your knees bumping occasionally. You were pretty sure every female in the office was crushing on him and you were one of many, but you couldn't help the blush when you received a private IM chat asking if you wanted to get coffee after work: "Date? :)" he wrote at the end of the message. You wasted no time typing on your computer a reply, sneaking a glance at his face from behind the desk and exchanging a smile before looking busy once again.

❁ [Yuta] The guy that lowkey terrified you; Yuta was the co-worker that, whether it was on purpose or not, pushed you away with sheer intimidation and sinfully good looks. When you first encountered him in the office you were sure he was a model undercover, and when that was debunked you were sure he must have had a much higher level and higher paying job than you. His presence read corporate, the cologne you sometimes caught a whiff of smelt expensive and you could easily picture him in a big leather chair in a tall glass building barking orders at people. What surprised you was behind the intimidating aura, lay the humility of any of your other co-workers. All it took was one painfully awkward conversation in the break room and with the power of pointless small talk you learnt that his weekend plans didn't involve a modelling side hustle like you expected, but rather being a homebody, watching animated movies and cooking dinner for one instead. When you did finally enter an established relationship with him, expect impulsive moments like being tugged into the copier room so he can press his lips to yours and run his hands through your hair, or intense staring contests when other male co-workers demanded your attention. Overall, he was terrifying, but his redeemable qualities involved making dates after work so you had something to look forward to, buying your favourite cake during office parties and volunteering to do overtime with you so you would always be entertained.

❁ [Doyoung] The manager that scares you shitless; For the position of local branch manager, Doyoung exuded way more power and intimidation than what was probably warranted. Maybe that was why he managed to get the branch performing so well, everybody dreaded being called into his office for "friendly chitchat" after making a small mistake. When you first arrived, you steered as clear from him as possible, only venturing near his office when absolutely needed. What you didn't see was the way he would watch you intently in your little office nook, always appreciating how hard you worked and how cute you looked in your office get-up. You often squirmed at the amount of eye-contact he gave you when he ran meetings and you would glance around to see if anyone else was experiencing the same thing. Nope, just you. When he did call you into his office that one time you were quaking in your shoes. You had already convinced yourself you were fired before you had even reached his office door, but the feeling was replaced soon enough with confusion when he did eventually speak to you. "I just wanted to ask... would you be interested in.... this corporate training program?" He rushed. My god, your boss was just as awkward as the next bumbling guy. It would be a while before he asked you on an official date, dinner for two, also quite a bit of paperwork to fill out with HR, but you would come to realise his icy exterior wasn't all that icy when he wasn't in work-mode.

❁ [Jaehyun] The temp that never left; Jaehyun was fresh from university, now venturing into the world of work but still had the boyish aura that set him apart from the rest of the men in the office. From the way he spoke to you over lunch in the break room you could tell he was full of ambition, but also didn't seem to be in any rush to leave this job any time soon. Jaehyun was the guy who you initially tried not to get too close to, since you were under the impression that he would be leaving after completing the temporary placement and when he left it would hurt like a bitch. However, you could have sworn his placement ended like a month ago, but eventually you learnt that he somehow managed to talk himself into a full-time position. "Oh that, yeah, I guess I just realised I had more reasons to stay." He shrugged as casually as he could when you asked about it. You couldn't deny that you were happy, not when you saw his smiling face in the conference room saving you a seat, hearing his outrageous stories from uni and always being the two to get a little too drunk at corporate parties and being sent home in a taxi of shame. Romance blossomed when you remembered that one drunken kiss in the backseat and you both bonded when your boss gave you the cold shoulder after arriving to work a little more than dishevelled and with a hangover.

❁ [Jungwoo] Desk buddy; Honestly, who could hate their job when they had a sweet Jungwoo sitting at the desk adjacent to theirs. You kinda scored when your boss appointed you this specific desk because Jungwoo took to you almost embarrassingly quick. It made your heart swell looking at all the little knick knacks on his desk; toys to fiddle with and colourful sticky notes, this was just one part of his persona. You were a little shocked when he offered you a cigarette during the lunch break, kind of exposing a duality you didn't know existed, but nobody could be that wholesome of a person. Monday to Friday 9-5 was filled with Jungwoo ping-ponging back and forth between these traits, any off handed comments he would mutter to you when the boss was giving an announcement or the conversations you would overhear him having with a friend over the phone would remind you he wasn't a total puppy of a human being. However, the way he always offered to share a snack and would flick paper and notes at you playfully was also very much him being himself. You always fluttered a little at the smirk he would throw your way when your manager was talking something boring or ridiculous, it seemed those smirks were only reserved for you. It didn't take long before he became your best friend in the office, if he wasn't in that day you were in the right mind to just call it quits yourself (and vice versa), he was the guy that made the long hours that much more bearable.

❁ [Mark] The bumbling intern; When it came to responsibilities in the work place, you tried to delegate as little of that as possible to Mark the intern. It was cute really, the guy put in 110% effort into his tasks and yet when it came to coffee orders, photocopying or sending out a memo, something nearly always went wrong. You couldn't help but admire his enthusiasm, also that he made an effort to know everybody in the office, including the cleaners. Mark was one of the first people to greet you when you joined, waving around a little notebook of Starbucks orders and a company card to splurge, urging you to write down whatever you wanted. A simple task right? Rookie mistake. Bless him, you would never tell him how his mistake of getting full dairy rather than the soy you requested led to a night on and off the toilet, but that just scratched the surface of his office blunders. Somehow, he never cost the company too much, but there was a reason why the poor boy never got promoted beyond intern. He wasn't deterred though, he'd lean up against your desk while you made idle chit chat and he'd tell you that he liked his job and he didn't aspire to be the best in this business. Where he really proved himself was during company functions, you'll never forget during the annual employee bbq when he asked you your favourite song so he could sing it melodically accompanied skilfully with a guitar. Mark's contributions to the work place were always a little unpredictable, but he kept things interesting and people, including you, genuinely enjoyed having him around.

❁ [Haechan] Probably the reason you get fired; Even in the workplace, Haechan can't deny himself a bit of mischief. He made a stellar first impression by rocking up half an hour late, sending your boss a half arsed apology and plonking down at the desk across the room from yours. To be honest, he kind of annoyed you at first, his attitude came off immature and you didn't appreciate how distracting he was when you had work to do. However, things started to change at some point. Haechan was the guy that convinced you to ditch the office party and sit on the rooftop with him to watch the city lights, the guy that sent out ridiculous memos just to catch you smile and the guy eventually became the reason for you own demise after he started picking you up for breakfast most mornings. When the manager called you in his office after being late the third time in a row, you ducked your head and mumbled something about traffic while hiding a croissant wrapper in your pocket, Haechan covered a laugh with a cough and apologised on behalf of both of you. When you asked him about why he never seemed to give a shit about anything, you learnt that it was because he had a taste for adventure; "Don't tell me you wanna stay and work here forever? Don't you wanna do something more... exciting with your life?" He asked you incredulously, like the answer was obvious. He kinda got you, no, you didn't want to work in a dingy office for the rest of you life. To be honest, when he painted a picture of moving to a big city, or taking a road trip, or just fucking off to the suburbs you didn't hate the sound of that either. When you were both sat there in your manager's office, signing off on a severance package, you weren't even mad. You didn't have time to be, Haechan was already clasping your hand and leading you to his car and laughing about finally being free, tugging his tie from around his neck whilst driving no where in particular- the start of an adventure.

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babyjamiebarnes · 3 years

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Build-A-Bear

Part Four

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, various characters in other chapters

Warnings: language, making out

Chapter Summary: You go on a short trip to Massachusetts to see Peter, Bucky takes you on a second date, someone gets caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Author’s Note: This was going to be a filler but it has a decent amount of necessary plot and progression. The next part will have a time jump so I don’t have to include a bunch of filler chapters, blehk. Let me know if you see my Avatar: The Last Airbender reference in here! And as always, you’re welcome to send me a coffee!

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Tags: @kennedywxlsh @ursmolbunny @devilswaldorf

By the time Monday rolled around, you were thankful Bucky had training in the morning or you would’ve never gone to sleep. Most of the deeper subjects had been touched on when you were together on Saturday, so Sunday was just texting more playful banter and fun facts you hadn’t learned during your lab hangouts, but you two still talked until your phone was propped up on your pillow waiting for another message while you drifted in and out of sleep.

Bucky had sent you a sweet “good morning, doll” text for you to wake up to, but you didn’t talk much before you had to head to work and he had to work out with Steve. That’s the downside to waking up with just enough time to get ready. Not much wiggle room for distractions, no matter how delicious.

You had barely settled in to your workspace, specs for Sam’s wings pulled up in front of you, when you had a request for a FaceTime call from Peter, of all people. You hadn’t seen him in a few weeks since he went back to campus, but he was set to come back soon for a weekend.

“Hey Peter, what’s up?” you answered.

“Hey [Y/N]! I, uh, I kind of have a big favor to ask,” he said with a forced chuckle.

“Oh… okay? What’s going on?”

“Well, you remember that project you wanted my help on?” You nodded. “Well I talked to my professor about it and he said I can use it as my final project for this semester as long as you come to the proposal and document what you did on it so I don’t take credit for any of your work. If you don’t want to, that’s totally fine! I can probably work on another project, I just don’t want to put your project off and make you wait for me to finish my part —“

“Peter!” you shouted, cutting off his rambling with a laugh. “I think that sounds great. It’ll be nice for you to kill two birds with one stone. When would I need to be there?”

“Uhh,” he started with another forced laugh. “My proposal is Wednesday.”

You stared at the screen, motionless at his response. “Wednesday. Like, two days from now, Wednesday?” Peter nodded. You could practically see him sweating through the phone, worrying about whether or not he should’ve asked his professor sooner or just completely avoided the subject entirely. But you knew he probably didn’t have much heads-up and considered using your project a little late in the game. “It’s a good thing I like you, kid. Let me double check with the boss but I’m sure that’ll be fine.”

“Yes! You’re the best!” Peter cheered.

“I’ll text you when my flight leaves because there’s no way I’m driving ten hours.”

You and Peter briefly went over how things would work, from what you should wear to whether you’d be getting a hotel room or bunking on his futon. While you were talking, you emailed your dad about the trip and got a quick approval. Tony liked Peter, and you understood why. He reminded you of your father if your dad had a stutter instead of an ego.

Mid-afternoon, when you took your second 20-minute break of the day just to let your brain relax, there was a soft tap on the door of your lab before Bucky poked his head in. He stepped in and looked around the whole room frantically before he noticed you curled up under a blanket on the giant bean bag chair you shoved into the corner once Peter left. You liked being able to take your breaks in the quiet of the lab so your brain could actually shut down for a few minutes.

“Oh, hey,” Bucky said with a smile.

“Hey Buck,” you replied, mirroring his smile. “How’s your day?”

“Pretty good,” he said with a sigh. “Just bored so I thought I’d see what you were up to.”

“Just taking a break,” you shrugged. “But you’re more than welcome to sit with me while I work. I won’t interact much because I lose focus easily but you can hang out.”

“As appealing as that is,” he started as he walked closer to you in your bean bag chair, “I know I’d start asking questions and I don’t want to distract you.”

You stood from your spot as he got closer and smirked up at him. “You are pretty distracting.” He stopped when he was toe-to-toe with you. “It’s a good thing my breaks are made for distraction.”

He smiled down at you as his warm hand curled around the back of your neck and pulled you into him for a kiss, your own hands looping through his belt and pulling his body closer to yours.

You practically melted into him, feeling as if you couldn’t get closer no matter how hard you tried. Even him slipping his thigh between your legs didn’t feel close enough. Then the weight of his metal hand fell to your waist as his tongue entered your mouth. It was all reminiscent of your first kiss just a couple days before.

Except outside your apartment, you didn’t have to worry about getting caught.

“Hey [Y/N], have you—“ You and Bucky quickly pulled apart at the sound of a new voice coming from the doorway and you immediately started to panic.

“—seen Bucky,” Steve ended with a sigh. The door quietly clicked shut behind him as he stepped in. “So you two…?”

“Have been on a date,” you said, walking toward Steve with your hands held out. “Steve, please don’t tell anyone, especially Tony.”

“You kind of owe me one, punk,” Bucky said as he walked closer, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I never ratted you out for lying on, what, five different enlistment papers?”

Steve huffed at this, clearly stuck between following the rules or letting others break rules that were much more harmless than his past rule breaking.

“You know this is gonna come out eventually, right? You won’t be able to hide this — and whatever this becomes — forever,” Steve warned.

“We know,” you said solemnly, “but it’s nice to just have this for now, you know?” You looked over at Bucky, who was leaning against the lab table looking back at you, his lips quirked in a small smile.

“Just… be careful,” Steve said as he started to leave. “If you don’t lock the door, at least ask Friday to alert you if someone is coming this way.”

“You know, I don’t care what people say about you, Steve. You’re pretty smart.” Steve initially smiled but then let out a short ‘hey!’ as you pushed him the rest of the way out.

“That was close,” you said, turning back to Bucky.

“But at least we have a pretty influential Avenger on our side, if we ever get outed,” Bucky said. Too bad he didn’t know the approval of everyone on earth would mean nothing to your dad — and both of your boss.

“Well, that little debacle kind of wasted the rest of my break,” you pouted, stepping up to Bucky.

“Can I take you out again?”

“I’d like that a lot,” you smiled. “Oh! I’m leaving for Massachusetts tomorrow and coming back on Thursday and have my family thing on Friday so will Saturday work?”

“Massachusetts?” Bucky asked, clearly missing the rest of your statement.

“Yeah, I’m helping Peter with a project so his prof wants me to be there to answer questions while he proposes his project. It’ll just be Wednesday, but Tony let me have tomorrow and Thursday off for travel so I’m taking my time.”

“That sounds…” Bucky started. “Uhh… I gotta be honest, that sounds unbearably boring,” he laughed, making you giggle with him. “But good luck to you and Peter. I’ll see you Saturday?”

•

The trip to Massachusetts was short but boring, and you were relieved to see Peter’s car when you stepped outside. Your hotel was right down the road from his dorm, so you dropped your stuff off before heading to his room to go over the proposal.

Even though you had only spent a few weeks working with Peter, he had grown to be like a brother to you. Spending so much time every day with no one else to talk to can really help people bond. Your dad’s adoration for the kid definitely helped, too. You wouldn’t be surprised if your dad eventually brought Peter along to family dinner.

“So I have to do most of the work, but you’ll need to explain why we’re doing this and what you’ll be doing,” Peter said after reviewing his speech.

“Okay, I can manage that.”

Peter was quiet for a second before saying, “Do you… maybe wanna go over what you’ll say…?”

“Oh, sure! Sorry, public speaking is a big thing in my family so I just figured I’d wing it.”

“Please don’t,” Peter said quietly, his eyes going wide right as the words left his mouth. “I don’t mean that in a bad way! I just mean, this proposal is important to me so I want it to go as smoothly and well-planned as possible.”

“Okay, you be your professor.”

Peter cleared his throat and said, “Miss [Y/L/N], what prompted you to start this project with Mr. Parker? And what role will you play in its growth?”

“Well, Dr. Kramer, I recently received a promotion within Stark Industries to work with the Avengers on their weaponry. This work included the vibranium arm on the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes. One thing I noticed early on was the lack of sensory receptors within the arm. That observation, along with a similar request from Mr, Barnes, prompted me to look into ways to change this. Mr. Parker has an internship with Mr. Stark so, considering our different areas of study, I sought out his help. With my knowledge and expertise on the mechanical side of things, Mr. Parker will primarily be working on the more biological side of things. Once he finds a way to connect new receptors to the spinal column through the current nerve channels, I’ll be able to create millions of micro-receptors that will need to essentially be surgically embedded in the vibranium. I already have the blueprints for this process; I’m more than willing to share those documents with you, though it is confidential and I would need you to sign an NDA for safety reasons.”

Peter stood in the middle of his room, speechless.

“I told you it runs in my family,” you laughed. “Now pick your jaw up off the floor. I’m hungry.”

The next day, Peter and you breezed through the proposal. Peter didn’t even stutter during his speech! But his classmates did bombard you with questions that the professor quickly shut down. You and Peter spent the rest of the day catching up. He introduced you to his girlfriend Michelle and his friends Ned and Flash. By the time you got back to your hotel that night, you were exhausted — and thankful for an afternoon flight.

The next morning, you got breakfast with Peter before his class and finished packing to fly back to New York. You were once again grateful for an afternoon flight because by the time you got back, you didn’t have time to get back to work. So you took the evening off and treated yourself to a bath, some wine, and your favorite Netflix series — and texting Bucky, of course.

Family dinner that week was much easier than the previous week. Your dad mainly asked about your project with Peter, only briefly touching on Bucky’s involvement. At least until your phone buzzed on the table. It was a rule that phones stay face-up on the table at dinner and any messages get read aloud. So when you saw “James 🐻” pop up, heat rushed to your face. You managed to snatch your phone before your dad could, but you still had to read it out loud to the table.

“Uh,” you nervously cleared your throat. “So, James said ‘I have an idea for our date tomorrow, but I would need full reign over your kitchen for a while.’” You sent the table a tight-lipped smile as you locked your phone and set it down again, waiting for someone to say something.

“You’re going out with this James again?” your dad asked.

“Yes,” you said plainly. “I like him, dad. A lot.”

“And you’re already inviting him over?”

“Dad, stop. I’m a grown woman; I can make my own decisions.”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just saying… well, don’t you want to get to know him better first? Make sure he doesn’t want to wear your skin?”

“Ew, shut up,” you laughed. “I’ve done plenty of research into him; he’s a good guy.” Your dad still looked skeptical, so you pulled out your puppy dog eyes. “Please trust me on this.”

Tony huffed and shook his head. “Okay, fine. He’s a good guy. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And don’t do anything I would do either.” You rolled your eyes at him but managed to divert the conversation by asking Happy and Pepper what Tony’s limit really meant.

•

The next day at 3:30 on the dot, you got a call to your house phone by the front door. It was unusual, especially since you hadn’t ordered any food. The doorman usually brought food up, but called if they were working alone. And you knew they weren’t working alone, considering how early it was. Still in your sweats and a t-shirt since Bucky wasn’t coming over until 4, you answered the phone with a simple “hey.”

“Hello Miss [Y/L/N],” you recognized the doorman Matt’s voice, “there’s a James at the front door for you?”

“Oh, okay, shit,” you said, whispering the last word to yourself. “Go ahead and send him up.”

“Would you like to grant him regular access to your residence?” Matt was always so formal, probably because you pushed for your dad to hire him and he knew he had to keep this gig. His background check showed he came from a low-income family and really wanted to turn that around. He knew he owed you and because of that, he was always grateful and sweet.

“Yes please. Thanks, Matt!”

With that, you hung up and sprinted to your room, knowing Bucky only had a 20 second elevator ride before he got to the sixth floor. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t have time to scramble for new clothes before there was a knock at your door. You grumbled as you ran back to the front door and greeted Bucky.

“Hi,” you said, half out of breath from your scurrying.

“Hey,” he smiled back. “I’m glad we chose the same style today.”

You gave him an admittedly generous once-over and realized his gray sweats and black tee matched yours, though your shirt did have an NYU logo on it.

“Oh thank god,” you nearly cackled. “I was panicking because I thought I should dress nice but you were early so I didn’t have time but I didn’t want to get ready too early so I wasn’t —“

“Hey [Y/N]?” Bucky interrupted. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” You stepped aside and let him kick his shoes off in the entryway. That’s when you noticed all the grocery bags in his hands. “Uhh, whatcha got there?”

“I said I’d need your kitchen, right?” he smiled, sending a wink your way as he started setting up. “I’m gonna cook you some authentic Romanian dishes ma used to make back in the ‘30s.”

“Ohh, sounds yummy. Can I help?”

“If you want to eat any of it, you better help,” Bucky joked.

“Let me grab a couple aprons so our fancy attire doesn’t get dirty.” In the hallway closet, you had about a dozen aprons Happy got for you. You said you needed some aprons once and suddenly you were getting new aprons for every gift-giving holiday. You appreciated it, though. Every time Happy saw an apron he thought you’d like, he bought it. And you, in return, bought him every oven mitt you thought he would like after he accidentally burned his hand making green bean casserole one year for Thanksgiving.

You grabbed the “Queen of the Cat-chen” apron covered in cats for yourself and for Bucky, the “I’ll feed all you fuckers” apron your dad thought was hilarious on your last birthday.

“Sorry I don’t have any matching chef hats,” you joked as you handed Bucky his apron.

For the next three hours, you followed all Bucky’s instructions and watched as he did his part of the work, chatting while things cooked and finally relaxing once everything was plated. You each had a decent amount of food debris on your aprons, making you thankful you both wore them. You led Bucky into the living room where you sat on the floor between your couch and the coffee table.

“You know the couch is made for sitting, right?” Bucky asked as he slowly sat behind you, one leg on either side of your body.

“Yeah, but it’s more fun to sit on the floor, especially when I’m eating.” You turned your head to face him as you continued, “I get too sleepy if I’m on the couch too long.”

He chuckled at your confession but didn’t argue. You both ate in comfortable silence, the only sound coming from the hum of traffic six floors down and the TV quietly playing a crackling fire YouTube video.

“Can you finish this for me?” you asked as Bucky set his empty plate on the coffee table.

“I’m full, doll.”

“Bucky, please? I can’t finish it,” you whines, pouting up at him.

“Then just put it away with the leftovers and eat it later,” he shrugged.

“But I’m so bad at eating leftovers,” you groaned.

“Then I’ll put it away and eat the leftovers,” he conceded. He snatched the plate from you and headed to your kitchen to pack it all away.

By the time he made it back, you were snuggled under a blanket on the couch with “What’s Your Number?” pulled up on the TV.

“I hope you’re okay with watching my favorite movie,” you smiled, making sure to flutter your eyelashes extra hard so he couldn’t say no.

“I haven’t seen this one yet so sure,” he said with a shrug.

He yanked the blanket off your body and unfolded it so he could bring you under his right arm and cover both of you with the thick fabric. Ever since Monday in the lab, he’s been more affectionate. He stopped by on Friday and kissed you at least half a dozen times before he left, then earlier while you were cooking, it was like he had to hold your hips every time he watched over your shoulder, and he chose to end the night holding you into his side and… oh, you were a goner once his fingers started lightly tracing shapes on your bare arm.

And he had to have known you were weak, if the way he angled his body toward you was any indication. You loved the movie you had picked out and really did want to watch it… but when you looked up at Bucky and saw his gaze meet yours, you knew the movie was going to be long forgotten.

His lips pressed to yours firmly, like he wanted to make sure you remembered what he felt like. You quickly let things escalate by gripping his hair and pulling him with you and you laid back on the couch. Your legs fell open as he slid right between them, his left arm propped on the cushion to keep himself from crushing you and his right slipping under your shirt to hold your waist. When his tongue passed your lips, you couldn’t help but whimper at the feeling of him taking control. His hand never moved past your waist, just occasionally squeezing as he pressed his body against yours.

The rest of the night was spent alternating between making out, talking while you were chest to chest on the couch, and making out some more until you fell asleep against his chest.

•

The next morning, you woke up to the blaring sound of a ringtone... that wasn’t your ringtone. And you were on your couch? The sleepy haze quickly wore off when you felt Bucky’s body shift behind you to reach over and grab his phone.

“What?” he answered grumpily, though your body’s initial reaction was to how deep and gravelly his voice was in the morning. Fuck.

With how close you two were and how quiet it was with the TV off, you managed to barely make out what was being said on the other end of the line.

“Where are you?” It was Steve. “You were supposed to be at the group breakfast this morning but you weren’t in your room so I told Tony you weren’t feeling well.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky groaned. Now that sound sent all your senses into overdrive. “I fell asleep at [Y/N]’s last night.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured,” Steve replied, clearly exasperated. “Look, just stop by a convenience store and grab some medicine so when you get back, no one questions it. You snuck out when no one saw, that’s the story.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll head out soon.” Once they hung up, you rolled over on the couch to face Bucky.

“Good morning,” you said with a sleepy grin.

“Good morning,” he replied, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m sure you heard but I’ve gotta head out before Tony gets suspicious.”

“Okay. Text me when you get back?”

Bucky stood from the couch, and you followed suit behind him as he put his sneakers and jacket on.

“I’ll text you on my whole trip back,” he smiled. “Looks like you might have to bring those leftovers with you tomorrow. I don’t know that I can sneak them back today.”

You practically skipped to join him at the door, your hands going to rest on his chest before he could leave.

“Should we just designate Saturdays as our date nights?” you asked.

“Who said you get another date?” Bucky joked back.

“Excuse me?” you gasped in mock offense. “Next time I get to choose what we do and I’m not letting you take that away from me.”

Bucky chuckled at your little outburst but pressed another kiss to your lips as a peace offering.

“Next Saturday, your pick,” he smirked.

“It’s a date.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x Stark!reader #bucky barnes x stark!reader #Stark!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic

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txemrn · 3 years

Note

For the simping softness prompt...

Sam & Brynn - " hey, everything's gonna be fine. stay where you are, i'm on my way. "

Hey, Nestle! Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy this, and I hope you enjoy a fluffier Sam Dalton (for a change)! 🥰❤

***

Unveiled

Book: TNA

Warning: language; fluffy

A/N: Huge thank you to sweet @kat-tia801 for pre-reading this and helping me in my headspace with that darn moodboard! 🤣

***

Sipping hypnotically on her early morning espresso, a well-dressed Brynn stoically sits at the marble breakfast bar. Her normally careless, wavy almond tresses are neatly styled and pinned into a low, tasteful bun, exposing the pure white brilliance of her vintage Tiffany pearl earrings, courtesy of her future in-laws for accepting their son’s proposal to join the family. Her make-up is fixed modestly, her lips adorning her perfect shade of mauve, complimenting the ripples of blue and gray in her sparkling eyes. Her pressed midi eyelet dress is designed for women of status, easily paired with her nude, red-bottom heels.

And Brynn has never felt more uncomfortable.

Even though Sam asked for Brynn’s hand in marriage shortly after the new year, the couple agreed to announce their engagement intimately last month to their families. They knew the news would not come as a huge shock, but Sam had cautioned his young fiancée that wedding and party planning is a long-standing tradition amongst the Dalton family women, and it would begin the moment they knew a date had been set. Though she heard his warning, Brynn was not prepared for the onslaught of opinions, decisions being made without her approval, and more importantly, the disregard to her budget.

“Babe, we just spent $12,000. On a fucking cake--” nervously cried Brynn on Monday evening. Sam took the early morning off for wedding cake tasting, but left his bride-to-be with Vivian, his mother, and two of his cousins, Brigitte and Katarina, to talk design as he returned to the office

“Sweetie,” Sam kissed her gingerly, “don’t worry about the price.” He lovingly pressed his lips again to her mouth, this time embracing her comfortingly. “I got it--” Brynn forced a smile, nodding her head dutifully, but the price tag burdened her.

This is not me.

Today, Sam’s cousin Daphne, an apprentice for the designers at Alexander McQueen, has scheduled a fitting with a private collection from a recent trunk show of wedding dresses. Brynn already has her heart set on a dress she saw with Jenny and her mom back in Philly, but as to not rock the boat, Brynn agreed to look at dresses with the Daltons this morning.

A smooth, deep voice startles her from her thoughts as Sam wraps his arms around Brynn’s waist. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

That makes two of us.

Brynn bats her eyelashes. “Do I look like a Dalton?”

“Even better,” he peppers her neck with kisses, “you look similar to the gorgeous woman that agreed to marry me.” A natural smile takes over Brynn as she spins around in her stool to face Sam. She delicately slides her hands around his neck, pulling him into a more intentional, hungrier kiss. Sam pulls away first, tracing the back of his fingers across her soft cheeks. “Ready for another day with the fam?”

“Ready or not,” Brynn sardonically chuckles.

Sam kisses the tip of her nose. “Now, aren’t you missing something?” Brynn furrows her eyebrows, giving Sam a curious look until he pulls his other hand into view. On his pinky finger resting on his first knuckle is the 2.4 carat Graff emerald-cut engagement ring he had given her. “Do I need to superglue this on or what?”

Brynn nervously giggles. “I’m sorry, babe, I just--”she titters, “--you know, I’m just not used to this--”

And the five-digit price tag…

Sam raises an eyebrow, offering his hand with his palm facing up. Brynn’s eyes meet his dreamy, chocolate gaze as her hand easily melts into his. With his eyes not leaving her stormy blues, he glides the diamond on her finger. The perfect fit. He kisses her knuckles before kissing her lips again.

“You better get going, babe.” Resting his hands on Brynn’s hips, Sam helps her off the high-top chair. “Hey,” he leans over, suckling briefly on the crook of her neck and shoulder before brushing his lips against the shell of her ear. “This is all about us. Just you and me.” He offers a crooked smile, squeezing tightly to her hand. “Remember to have fun.”

Brynn nods, her anxiety beginning to melt away.

That’s right. You and me.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too, beautiful.”

***

Flipping through notecards for his marketing presentation for the Cromwell account, Sam shakes his watch down his arm. 9:52 AM. He smirks, knowing that Brynn, his mom, and cousins are well into their wedding dress appointment. He hasn’t heard from his fiancée since this morning, so he remains encouraged that no news is good news.

Sam hurries into the glass-enclosed boardroom, casually nodding to several familiar faces as he unbuttons his sport coat. As his meeting comes to order, his phone begins to ring in his pocket. He chuckles in embarrassment as everyone begins to whisper with the interruption. “My apologies, folks,” he charms with a smile. Looking at his phone, Brynn’s picture pops up, but he sends the call to voicemail. As he begins to send her a text message, she calls back immediately. He silences the chiming of his phone, staring at Brynn’s ID photo. “Uh--” his voice carries over the room as he decides whether or not to take the call.

Brynn has never been one to interrupt Sam at work. If she wants to be cute, she usually sends a message in his lunch or she emails him, ensuring not to interrupt his busy schedule. The fact that she was calling, even after her call being rejected concerns Sam. “Excuse me. I need to take this,” he informs his audience, “please go ahead and help yourself to some coffee.”

Sam exits to the hallway, answering the phone. “Hey, babe--”

“Hey.” Brynn’s voice is soft like a gentle breeze, settling into a stale silence.

“Brynn?” Sam’s voice has a hint of concern as he crosses an arm over his chest to cradle his elbow. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah, I'm fine, I just--” her voice begins to crack, audibly swallowing sobs.

“Brynn baby,” Sam furrows his eyebrows, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. I just really--” she sighs heavily, “just needed to hear your voice. I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to bother you--”

“You know full well that you are never a bother,” Sam hushes into a commanding whisper. “Is my mom being nice?”

“Oh God, yes. Everyone is lovely. It’s just--” Brynn stumbles into her own tears, crying over the phone as Sam patiently listens.

“It’s just what, baby--?”

“I can’t do this,” she abruptly answers. “I can’t keep pretending I’m something I’m not--”

“What do you mean--?”

“I have only tried on two dresses--couture dresses--Sam, that start at fifteen grand--” Sam purses his lips together, pinching the area between his eyes, listening to Brynn start to panic. “--and now I’m standing in a Sarah Burton gown rejected by Kate Middleton. Kate Middleton, Sam! And-and-and I’m wearing a diamond that costs more than my first car, and Sam, I just--I just--”

“Whoa, whoa, listen to me, baby,” Sam reassures her lovingly, “slow down. Breathe--just breathe. If you don’t want this, just say the word--”

“But your family--” Brynn tries to stifle her sobs, “God, I just--Sam, I can’t do this. I want you, and-and I love you. So fucking much,” she shakily exhales, “but this life? Are you sure? I mean--look at me--”

Sam lets out an exasperated exhale as Brynn continues to cry. He looks back into the glass conference room, seeing his presentation on the screen. He looks at his watch again before turning his attention back to the attendees to his meeting, already rolling their eyes in boredom.

Suddenly, a smile grows across his face. “Brynn baby?”

“Yeah,” she sniffles, “I’m here.’

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m hiding in the dressing room. I told the attendant I needed a minute.”

“Hey, everything’s gonna be fine. Stay where you are. I’m on my way--”

“But, Sam--”

“No ‘buts’, my beautiful bride,” he smiles cheekily, “I’ll be right there.”

***

Forty minutes later, Brynn changes back into her white, summery dress, slowly donning her heels. As she touches up her make-up for lunch with her future mother-in-law, she suddenly hears a man’s voice interrupt the hushed whispers of the Dalton women. Brynn carefully peaks out the lavish chenille curtain.

Sam.

Brynn quickly pulls open the changing room, a radiant smile illuminating her face. Sam jogs to her side, receiving her in his arms with a searing kiss. “I can’t believe you’re here--” Sam silences her, pressing his lips harder into hers, causing them both to giggle into breathless moans. Brynn opens her eyes and notices Sam has a garment bag in his hands. “What’s that?”

“Change into this.”

Brynn raises an eyebrow. “What? Why--?”

“It’s not new,” Sam informs, “but God,” he sighs, allowing a mischievous grin grow across his face. “--you look amazing in it.” Sam’s eyes lock onto Brynn’s, time and place fading around them. Brynn’s cheeks begin to flush, feeling the desire in his gaze. Sam cups Brynn’s cheek, licking his lip. “Go on,” he whispers, directing her to the dressing room and lightly spanking her on her ass, “we’ve got places to be.”

Brynn suspiciously steps backwards into the changing room, dragging her teeth across her bottom lip. She hangs up the garment bag, unzipping it hastily. Allowing the fabric to slink through her fingers, Brynn’s breath hitches, tears collecting in her eyes. Inside the protector is a short, solid black, one-shoulder dress, the same dress she wore on their official first date, the same dress she wore the night he proposed to her.

She pulls the curtain back open, causing Sam to whistle with his teeth, a golden gleam in his eyes. Giving his mother a kiss on the cheek, he steals Brynn from his family, escorting her to the car. Giving a nod to Carter, the car starts moving.

Brynn relaxes into Sam’s comforting arms. He begins to nuzzle his supple lips into her ear and neck. “Thank you, baby,” she moans. “I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting--”

“I’m not--” he growls as his lips descend to her exposed shoulder, nibbling on it.

“Sam--” Brynn gasps, leaning into the passionate smolder of his pout.

Suddenly, the car stops. Sam looks up at Brynn, offering his hand for hers. “Are you ready?”

Brynn giggles, scrunching up her nose. “I don’t even know where we are.”

Sam helps her out of the car. As she steps away from the car door to adjust her dress, she notices the grand cement gray building in front of her, adorned with large ornate columns and intricately chiseled statues. Stairs that lead to the front doors are busy with people coming and going.

Brynn furrows her eyebrows. Confused and wanting answers, she whirls around--only to find Sam on one knee. A curious smile grows across Brynn’s face as she self-consciously looks around at the crowd of people. “Sam, what are you doing?”

“You asked me earlier on the phone to look at you,” he smiles brightly as his eyes begin to glisten with tears. “I am.” He takes a big breath, gathering courage. “Brynn, I don’t care if we eat gold-infused cake with diamond encrusted icing or that fake shit from the can--” they both begin laughing, welcoming the comic relief as they wipe away their tears. Sam continues, “I don’t care whether you are wearing one of my ratty-old tees or an expensive couture dress--I don’t care,” he kisses her hand. “When I look at you, Brynn Noelle Schuyler, all I see… is that you’re the only one for me.” Brynn genuinely glows, streams of tears pouring down her cheeks as she subtly shakes her head in disbelief. “Marry me--”

“Sam,” she giggles, sniffing away her tears, “I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but haven’t you already asked me--?” Sam stands up, shaking his head. He takes Brynn’s face tenderly into his hands, drying her tears with his thumbs.

“Marry me,” he bites his lip, nervously sucking in air. “Right now.” Brynn’s eyes grow wide as she stares deeply into Sam’s gaze. She anxiously looks around her, her eyes darting to the people staring at them, to the car and then to the courthouse before them.

“Right now?”

“Right now,” Sam smiles, humored by the shocked look on his bride’s face.

Brynn looks down at her hand, staring at the radiant sparkle of her diamond. Chewing on her lip, she subtly nods her head before turning her attention back to her groom.

“Okay.”

***

@ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @forallthatitsworth @jerzwriter @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268@neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @phoenixrising308 @sfb123 @shannonsaid @shewillreadyou @somersetmummy @thefrenchiemama

#the nanny affair #sam dalton x mc #m!sam dalton #choices tna #tna fanfic #choices fanfiction

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ukiyo-jaem · 4 years

Text

NCT Dream Reaction to You Wearing a Short Skirt

Renjun

he was helping you clean out your old closet at your parent's house. both of you had just bought an apartment together so your parents left you the house keys, expecting all the moving hassle to be done when they come back next monday; a road trip being paid by their jobs.

jun spent his time sitting in your old bean bag occupying himself with your old journals and photo albums. "you went to a school with a uniform?" he asked and you looked to see him looking at your old school's photo album.

"wha- oh yeah." you breathed out a slight laugh and dug a little deeper into your closet. "speaking of uniforms." you chuckled and held up the plaid skirt to your body, looking into your mirror.

"i wonder if it still fits." your head leaned to the side. "im gonna try it on." you finally decided and walked to the bathroom and wasting no time. it fit perfectly...just...shorter than you remembered.

you were gonna take it off yet remembering your boyfriend that was sitting in your bedroom.

you tucked your graphic tee into the skirt and went back to your room, his gaze still stuck to your old photos. "so what do you think?" you saw him do a double-take, his eyes landing on your ass that was practically hanging out the bottom.

"it...it fits nice." he nodded, his hands setting the book down beside him on the floor.

"i remember i would get in trouble everyday because the teachers didnt know how to mind their stares." his answer was delayed as he swallowed hard. "i mean..." you noticed a more fidgety renjun as he thought for a moment. "i can't blame them." he whispered but it was enough for you to hear.

you smiled, walking closer to him and lowering yourself onto him so your legs were straddling his thighs; the fabric of the old skirt becoming bunched up at the top of your thighs.

your hands rested on his shoulders, his frame relaxing at your touch as his hands rested on your exposed thighs.

"you're so cute and blushy." you pinched his cheek and his smile fell. a more unsettling tone took place as his eyes seemed to get darker. he took your wrist and gripped your hand roughly, forcing your hand down to his now apparent bulge.

"and you're such a brat. you know what you were doing, baby." an airy laugh escaped his chest as your hand could feel him getting harder by the second.

"so...are we going to do something about this or are you going to keep grinding on my lap acting like i don't notice?"

Jeno

he was finally off and agreed to go on a small date to relax and unwind. "im going to go get ready." you said getting up and kissing his cheek. "alright. ill just wait for you here." he smiled and watch you walk off.

you wanted to do a coupley outfit today. you grabbed a tighter white t-shirt and a shorter pink plaid skirt with one of his oversized flannels. you walked down and he immediately almost started choking on the water he was drinking.

"isnt it so cute?" you asked as you did a little spin infront of him. yet, his response was just picking you up and holding you tightly as he walked back to the bedroom.

you didn't know he was going to react the way he did. jeno saw you in the short and flowy skirt and thought he saw red.

the coffee date seemed so distant as you were both in bed now, entangled in eachother. his hands would grip your thighs with such force it felt like he could break you in half if he really wanted to.

"you just look so good." his lips attacked your neck and painting it with dark hues. "i just can't control myself." your hands gripped and pulled at his hair; messiness setting in and making him look absolutely euphoric.

his hands got lost up your shirt and was just grabbing and pulling roughly. he couldn't take it anymore and just ripped your shirt down the middle, your chest now exposed, rising and falling quickly.

"you look so nice, babydoll." he fawned at you, his hand coming to brush your hair back out of your face.

"you should wear this kind of stuff more often." he winked, laying a more softer kiss against your lonely lips.

[you're mark]

Hyuck

all day...games...after breakfast...games...after lunch...games...after you fell asleep in his arms for nap, you woke up to the constant keyboard clicking...after dinner he was right back in his chair with the rest of the boys on a conference call on his phone; shouting following you down the hall and into the living room.

you were done though. you wanted to have your time with hyuck. it was your turn. you went to your dance bag, grabbing your old costume skirt from a previous dance competition. you went to the bathroom and changed quickly. you added the finishing touch which was one of his shirts; his weakness for seeing you in his clothes running through your revengeful mind.

no time was wasted as you went to the shared bedroom. "no go to the left, jae!" "the other left." your boyfriend yelled at his computer screen.

your soft steps went unnoticed until you were right next to him. you set your hand softly on his shoulder. he only looked at you for a second though. "hey, babe." he spaced back out, not even noticing your attire options.

"jaemin if i have to tell you one more time on where to go i am goi-" your fingertips grazed up the side of his neck, slowly tugging on his hair at the back of his head.

his eyes closed as he leaned his head back and let out a deep sigh. his hands became limp at the keyboard and his friends began calling out for him. you had gotten him exactly where you wanted him.

his gaze became more glazed over as both of you became caught up in each other. "im so lonely, hyuckie." you whined and his hand began trailing up the back of your thigh.

"you just had to ask." he smiled a little and his eyes finally caught his t-shirt hanging from your body.

he turned his chair and leaned forward to grab your body and put you on top of him. "LEE DONGHYUCK WHERE ARE YO-" "im busy. bye." and he hung up quickly as they tried to make him stop.

"now where were we?" he asked as his hand came to both sides of your face, guiding you to kiss him softly, hands then coming down to just go back up his shirt.

yet when he took his shirt off your body, he was met with a pleasant surprise. a white skirt laid bunched up at your hips. his hands came to your exposed ass and began forcibly grind you on his lap.

your soft touches drove him absolutely wild as he wanted to make you more vulnerable as the minutes ticked by.

yall shoulda known where I was bout to go with this...

Jaemin

you went and grabbed one of your skirts you had bought awhile ago and slipped it on with some thigh high socks. you went out and started to clean up a little bit. you began to tidy the living room where jae sat on the couch watching a random show he found.

you bent over and began to clean off the coffee table. "oh sorry, am i in the way?" "a little." he said, craning his neck around you to continue watching the show.

you wanted to face palm and walk off. yet, you were going to push on. you grabbed your phone, checking random emails as you sat in the seat next to him. "hey, jae?" you asked and he only tilted his head toward you, his pinkish hair being contained by a black baseball cap.

"im gonna go out with jeno for a little bit. i'll be back in a couple hours." you said and grabbed your keys from infront of him and trying to walk over his legs.

his arm flew forward and wrapped around your body, pulling you down towards him quickly.

"you're not going anywhere dressed like that, princess." he said, gaze looking down at you in his lap.

"well i want to do something then." you sat up in his lap and crossed your arms over your chest. "then do something. but you're not going to go do something with my friend dressed like this." his touch slowly going up under your skirt.

"well come on, princess. do something." his hands then went behind his head. a smirk sat on his lips and he felt as if he won. he really did and at this point you were desperate.

"please, jaemin. just touch me." you pouted and he wanted to coo at your cute ways but he bit his lip and waited. "i don't think you need me ye-" you grabbed his hand and put it on your clothed heat.

you grinded on his hand desperate for some friction. you were ready for him but he didn't want to give you that satisfaction yet.

he wanted to keep you in this skirt forever and you be his little princess that only he could do this to.

he froze in his position, his eyes locked onto his hand that disappeared under your tiny skirt.

his other hand grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you down towards his lips where he was ready to give you what you were wanting and waiting for.

Chenle

this baby wouldn't know what to do when he saw you in your tiny skirt.

he would feel turned on definitely but didn't want to act out of line and touch you if this wasn't your clear and true intention.

you would have to guide him a little bit on what to do but once he started going, he found it hard to stop. you were a new drug-like anomaly he was completely addicted to.

this was still new to him so you doing this for the soul purpose of getting this kind of reaction...well...he didn't mind it all too much.

he asked you for permission to touch you even when you guided his hands onto you.

"can...can i-" "you don't have to ask lele. just do what feels right." you smiled a little, beginning to kiss up his neck softly. "even if you know it's completely wrong."

boyfriend lele vibes are strong in this one uwu i just had to put it in

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magicforjournals · 3 years

Text

The Green Dress (A Story About Loki) Chapter 3 : What a mess

Warning : Not really any. In the next chapters, we'll have more Loki and reader interactions.

Three days had gone by since Maria’s birthday party… since you shared a passionate moment with Loki in a dark hallway. It was all you could think about throughout your weekend, at the grocery store, grading history tests, having dinner and drinks with Nat - you just could not stop thinking about him. You also were not certain if you should tell Natasha about the kiss, knowing how she viewed him. Quite honestly, you were unsure about your feelings regarding that night, or him. All you knew was that every night since, you couldn’t help but touch yourself as you thought about his lips on yours, his tongue wrestling in your mouth, his hands gripping your waist tightly. You could still hear his voice, moaning and whispering your name. And to think that this God had shifted your entire world that night with a single look. How could that be? You had been in relationships before, had been attracted to other men before, but none of them had ever completely and utterly fucked up your universe as this man had. You needed to see Loki again, not only because you desperately craved his touch, but you undeniably had to figure out what your next move was going to be, and how he felt about you. Oh, what a mess you had gotten yourself into.

It was snowing when you walked outside that night, after a long day at work. Not that the phenomenon was uncommon for April, but you didn’t especially like the cold and desperately wished for summer to come. You were surprised to notice that it was already dusk out, how long had you been working tonight? You started to make your way towards your car, when you noticed a tall figure, leaning against the front of it. Steve.

“What are you doing here Rogers?” You sigh, as you approach him.

“Natasha said I’d find you here. Why do you work so late on Mondays?” He asks.

You knew that you did work late on Mondays, always wanting to get all your prep done for the week, early on, and that meant staying late. You didn’t know, however, that it had become a habit of yours, and certainly not something you thought your friends would’ve noticed.

“I just have a lot of work to do I guess,” You shrug, putting your bags in the trunk of the car, and walking to the driver’s door. “You didn’t answer my question though, what are you doing here Steve?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Steve says, standing in front of you.

“All ears,” you groan. You hated how he was tiptoeing around the subject.

“I changed my mind.” He announces bluntly. “I want you.” HE WHAT?!, you think, your body reacting to the shock.

“Y-you what?” You manage to stutter out.

“I want you, I want to be with you.” He repeats, holding your hands. You gasp and yank your hands away. “I know it’s a little late, but I can’t stop thinking about you. When I saw you Thursday night, it only made everything that much clearer for me. I want you to be mine, only mine.” He adds, getting closer to you, pinning you against your car.

You can’t breathe. This is all so sudden. In the past, you would’ve given anything to hear Steve utter those words to you, but now, with everything that had happened between the two of you, was it too late? Where was all this two years ago?

“Steve, why are you doing this now?” You whisper, thinking back to all the innocent flirting he had done with you before Natasha had intervened. “I thought you didn’t want any kind of commitment.”

“I know, I know.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, really. I was wrong. And when I saw you at the party, exchanging looks with Loki, the way he looked at you… it drove me absolutely mad.” He growls. “I can’t bear thinking of another man having their hands on you. I want you,” he says again before lifting your chin up and kissing you aggressively.

OH HELL NO. In what world does he think he has the right to do this? To just take what he wants? No. You put a firm hand on his chest and push him away, rage bubbling up.

“No Steve. You can’t do this.” You almost scream. “You can’t just come waltzing in my life after shooting me down and expect me to let you have me?! No. You just can’t do that. I don’t care what the excuse is, that you’re jealous because Loki and I LOOKED at each other or not. I look at a lot of people every day, you know? It’s unacceptable for you to think of me as something to own.” You’re absolutely furious now. All you want to do is get as far away from him as humanly possible before you punch him in the face, and you know you’ll break your hand if you tried. “I have to go.” You spit out as you open your car door.

“Wait,” Steve says, grabbing your hand again. “I made a mistake last time. I don’t want to let you go again.”

“You already did it once, shouldn’t be too hard.” You hiss at him, and get in your car, slamming the door in his face. Your blood is boiling as you pull out of the school’s parking lot, dialing Nat’s number.

“Hi, what’s up?” She asks, picking up almost immediately.

“He kissed me,” you say through your teeth.

“Holy shit!” Nat screams.

“Not now Nat, I’m absolutely fucking pissed. Where are you, I need a drink.” You say, hoping she’s at the compound.

“Home, I’ll get the wine out of the fridge.” She answers.

“Be there in 5,” you add before hanging up and speeding to her place.

You pull up to the gate, notifying F.R.I.D.A.Y you were here to visit Natasha. As you park your car, you take a moment to try and calm yourself down, quite unsuccessfully. You decide to get out anyways, grabbing your purse and making your way to Nat’s apartment. You don’t even waste time knocking, you just burst through the door, dropping your things in the entrance and making your way to the couch where you collapse, whining into a pillow you cover your face with. You feel Nat tap you on the foot for you to make some room on the couch, and you bring your legs up before setting them back in her lap once she sits down.

“Loki kissed me,” you announce, your voice muffled by the pillow still on your face.

In a fraction of a second, the glasses are on the coffee table, the pillow is gone and you’re being sat up on the couch.

“What?!” Natasha cries out.

“Loki kissed me at Maria’s party.” You repeat. “And well... I kissed him back.”

“Y-you… Loki… Ok, hold on” She says, trying to make sense of what you just told her. “How did this happen? You should’ve stayed away from him like I told you to. Did he force you? No, you said you kissed him back. How was it? Wait, it’s Loki!! ” She adds, all in one breath.

You’re blushing, you know it. You were never embarrassed to tell Nat these kinds of things, but for some reason, you were as embarrassed as a student that got caught cheating on a test.

“It happened by the washrooms, I was getting out, he was going in. We started talking, he asked if he could be honest with me, I said yes. He told me he couldn’t stop looking at me, that he liked how I looked in my dress. He asked if I was afraid of him, I told him I wasn’t, that I felt like he was probably cast aside as a child and was acting up now, and then he kissed me. And I kissed him back.” You’re talking so fast, giving Nat a rundown of those 10 minutes with Loki that you have yet to forget.

“Wow.” Is all that comes out of your best friend’s mouth as she leans back on the couch, absorbing all the information you literally just threw at her.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask, after a very long moment of silence.

“Oh no, I’m not mad. I’m … shocked.” Nat answers. “I didn’t expect that. You made out with a God! Oh my God, you made out with Loki!” She starts giggling.

You start laughing with her, grabbing your glass of wine and sipping on it. As you laugh together and get over the shock of the confession, she asks you for all the details of the kiss. As you’re rambling on about that night, she stops you suddenly.

“Wait, Steve kissed you tonight. What happened with that? How are you feeling?”

“He came to see me at school, I guess you told him I was there. He said, and I quote, ‘I want you. I can’t bear thinking of another man having their hands on you’. And then he kissed me. It was really rough, I pushed him away and yelled at him.” You reply, feeling the anger rise again.

“I can’t believe that! I see why you were pissed. You almost threw yourself at him two years ago and now he what… wants to claim you or something? What the hell is wrong with Rogers?” She exclaims. “I know I said I wanted you and Steve to date, but he can’t turn you down and expect you to wait around until he’s ready to date. That’s just insane!”

“Tell me about it. I don’t want to see him for a while,” you tell her.

“Understandable. I’ll try to keep you two apart the best I can. You hungry?” She asks as she grabs her phone.

You guys end up ordering dinner and talking about Loki and Steve for a while longer. She agrees that you are clearly infatuated with Loki and need to make sense of the situation. Although she might not revel in the fact it was Loki, she trusts you to be safe and smart, Natasha knows you wouldn’t do anything stupid. She also understands that sometimes, following your heart is what is best.

You get home a while later, having been dropped off by Maria who had been working late at the office. Nat promised you that your car and teaching material would be in the parking lot at school before you even got there. As you’re getting ready for your shower, your phone pings on the bathroom counter. Probably Nat just double-checking you got home safe. With half your body already in the shower, you grab your phone to check and your mouth falls open.

An email. How ridiculous was that? Did you really just send her an email? Loki can’t stop beating himself up, debating whether jumping off the Bifröst is a good option. You were the only thing on his mind lately, and he wanted to see you again. He didn’t know how to reach out to you. Thanks to Thor, he had learned which school you worked at and he had gotten your contact information. There were so many ways for him to talk to you, but he was afraid. Afraid of rejection. Never before, in his many years, had he been so taken by a mortal. He spent two days after meeting you - kissing you - trying to get you out of his head. He drank, lashed out, picked a fight in a bar too, everything he could think of to stop thinking about you. But the taste of your lips, your smell, the way you moaned under his touch, as soon as he was alone, all those memories came rushing back to him. He had to see you again.

He knew it was late, and that there was a very high probability you were already in bed, seeing as it was a school day, but he typed up an email regardless. After spending over 3 hours debating whether to email, text or call you, Loki settled on an email, thinking it would be more appropriate to reach out that way. He had been overthinking everything way too much, you drove him absolutely insane.

Good evening, I hope you are doing well, my darling. I, on the other hand, have been suffering. I must admit that I can not stop thinking about you. You are the only thing on my mind during my every waking moment, and at night, when I close my eyes, I can still feel you in my arms. I know this all may seem very forward of me, and I do apologize. Nonetheless, I need to see you again. Would you do me the honor of sharing dinner tomorrow night? Lovingly yours, Loki

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#green dress #green dress a story about loki #marvel #mcu #natahsa romanoff #steve rogers #thor #tom hiddleston #reader insert #marvel fanfic series

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capsiclecevans · 4 years

Text

“you can’t sit there all day”

Warnings: no major warnings, just fluff

Summary: Chris is worried about you when you have been overworking over the last week and tries to help you cut down so you don’t get sick

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

⭐︎ ashleigh’s masterlist ⭐︎ | ☾ ashleigh’s taglist ☽

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It wasn’t often that you had to work so much when Chris was home. But since your team literally brushed off this presentation onto you, to prepare it all by yourself, you had been confined to your office in your shared Boston home ever since you had it given to you in your team meeting on the Monday morning.

This had meant missing quality time spent with Chris, who had just spent 6 weeks away from Boston on a press tour of America and Europe promoting Knives Out with the cast. He had arrived home early on the Monday morning crawling into bed beside you mere hours before you had to go to the office for this meeting of yours. Most of the time your job was able to be done remotely, but the team meetings were always a big deal and you had to be in the office for them.

Since the Monday afternoon, when you arrived home from the office with a large mountain of paperwork for the presentation, your bum had made good friends with your office chair for nearly 14 hours a day so you could get this work completely. By being stuck in your office meant that you had barely seen Chris, or Dodger for a matter of fact, you saw them briefly in the morning when you went into the kitchen to get some breakfast, lunch then when you eventually walked up to your shared bedroom after eating the dinner Chris had made you by yourself in your office. You knew that this wasn’t healthy, you needed to spend time away from work so you could relax. You needed to spend time with Chris, especially after 6 weeks separation due to his job, but you were too conscientious to stop working as this presentation was very important to prove that the team was performing as they should be.

You yawned softly into the sleeve of one of Chris’ old Patriots hoodie you had stolen from him, you were slowly losing concentration as you read over the material you had already collated on your laptop. Your eyes were getting heavy and your shoulders felt tense as you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose. Having opted to not even wear your contacts for the last 3 days as staring at your laptop would have dried your eyes out a lot quicker than if you wore your glasses.

You jump ever so slightly when you see a mug of steaming hot tea being placed on the Captain America coaster you have next to your pen pot, looking up at Chris and smiling softly. Gratefully, more like. He smiles back down at you lightly, the soft half smile you have loved ever since before you two got together, before leaning down to press a loving kiss to your hair.

He hands rest on your shoulders lightly and he frowns to himself when he can feel how tense your muscles are, slowly and gently he begins to massage them to try and help you in any way that he can. You hadn’t really spoken to him about work recently, but he did know how important this presentation must be if you are working longer than if you did have to go into the office.

You sigh and melt into his touch as his fingers work into the knots, you felt instantly relaxed by him just being in the room with you. He had been a saint while you had been too focused on work. He had made sure that you were eating, bringing the food to your office if you did forget to come out to eat, also ensuring that you were drinking plenty as well. He also knew when you needed to be left alone, to work, and during those periods of time he would either go to visit his family or go into his office to catch up with some emails or call his agent, or depending on the time of day, took Dodger for a long walk.

“Thank you…” You whisper, your voice hoarse from the lack of use as you reach over your shoulder to give Chris’ hand a gentle squeeze, a sign to show that you appreciate that he has brought this to you. Chris knew you too well at this point in your relationship to know that a cup of tea always keeps you going, and would calm you and your nerves down over the presentation.

“Your welcome…” You hear him whisper, squeezing your shoulders lightly before he perches himself against your desk, looking down at you. You look up at his face properly for the first time in God knows how long. Well, at least the first time today, and it was a sight for sore eyes, you had missed him even though you were in the same house again. His expression as he looked down at you was just of worry, he was worried that you were going to work yourself too hard and make yourself sick.

You reach for your mug of tea, chuckling a little when you see that it is your favourite mug, sporting the quote “I get to tap America’s ass.” A fan had made it for you as a gift, and gave it to Chris when she met him at a convention while he was promoting Knives Out in LA, citing the hilarious quote from Endgame. As you blow on the steaming tea gently to cool it down so you wouldn’t burn your mouth as you drink it, you notice that Chris is watching you intently, looking for something to make him worry more as you have been cooped up in the same room for so long. Dodger sits at his feet and his tail wags a little, looking between you both curiously.

“You can’t sit there all day…I’m worried that you are going to make yourself sick by overworking yourself…” He says, his eyes widening a little at the thought of you getting sick. He looked a little like a lost puppy, and your eyes softened at the sight of him. He was insanely worried about you.

“I’m not Chris…” You sigh a little before setting the mug back on the coaster, resting your free hand on his arm lightly to try and comfort him. “But, I need to get this work completed…” You say, frowning when you look at your laptop as your email notification sounds. You hoped that it was one of your team members asking if you wanted some help, maybe take over for a few days so you can relax and spend time with your boyfriend, but no, it wasn’t. As you open it, you remove your glasses to rub your already sore eyes, slipping them back on as you read of some more requirements that the presentation needed to follow.

“You need to rest though love, why don’t you just send what you already have to your team, make them complete the rest? I can see that they aren’t helping by the amount of time you are having to spend in here…” Chris says, crossing his arms lightly, biting his lip as you sit back a little in your chair. You rest your head back gently, looking at Chris quietly, you were secretly glad that he had noticed how you were struggling slightly by yourself, that you needed help. Maybe, you should just stick up for yourself and send it to the whole team, demanding them to pull their weight. Allowing you to have some time to relax, away from your laptop.

You think for a few minutes about how relaxing it would be to spend the weekend with Chris and Dodger, smiling a little to yourself as thoughts of afternoon walks, coffee shop dates and watching the Pat’s game with Chris and his family flooded your mind. “Plus, I think Dodge is sick of my company, and wants some of your attention…” Chris’ voice interrupts your daydreaming and you smile at him as he reaches to pet the dog laid down by your feet now. He hadn’t been allowed in your office this week while you worked, unlike all the other times he laid down by your feet while you worked while Chris was away.

“I think you may have a point…” You mumble before leaning towards your laptop, composing a new email to your team, including your boss so she can see how you have been treated in regards to the presentation, asking for them to pull their weight and also to not bother you for the next week as you had been working tirelessly for 5 days straight now. Hopefully, by adding your boss into the recipients list of the email will make the team work harder and get the rest of the presentation completed without you.

Chris smiles at you and shuts your laptop for you when you have sent the email with all the materials you had already sorted, taking your hand gently to help you out of the chair. You both walk through to the living room, curling up on the couch slowly, Dodger curling up next to you both as you spend the rest of the afternoon watching films and relaxing as Chris talks about his time away.

You smile to yourself as you listen to Chris talk about his time away from Boston, content that you have your boyfriend there when you need him most to make you realise what is best for you and get you out of the unhealthy habits you have when it comes to work.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Send in any requests to my ask/submission box!

#chris evans #cevans #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot #chris evans x reader #cevans x reader #chris evans x you #cevans x you #cevans imagine #cevans one shot #chris evans drabble #cevans drabble #marvel imagine #marvel imagines

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jungkookiebus · 4 years

Text

The Client pt. 3 | kth

Genre: sexworker!au x smut x angst x fluff (for real this time) Pairing: sexworker!reader x taehyung Word Count: 6k Rating: 18+ Warnings: multiple orgasms (m&f) x taehyung and reader are basically switches x oral sex (m&f) x cum eating x fingering x nipple play x cum swapping? x unprotected sex x creampie Summary: The painful weeks after Taehyung’s accidental confession have the both of you living in agony. Just when the both of you thought you were over the other, you quite literally run into each other in the rain. Taehyung walks away from you into the dark night. Do you have the guts to go after him?

Taehyung’s days drug by endlessly. Each day stretched further than the next when all he wanted to do was get home as quickly as possible and pass out just as fast. When he was asleep at least he didn’t have to think about you, that is, if his brain decided to give him a break. Sometimes he’d dream that he got to replay that night again with you being none the wiser and he never said it. He’d get to see you again. But then he’d wake up to the harsh reality that simply wasn’t true. Then his miserable day would start all over again. He knew better than to request an appointment and he had written and rewritten the same email that now sat in his drafts, collecting hypothetical internet dust. He also made sure not to go to that same café again even if it was close to his office. Any thought of you sent a pain into his chest so sharp he could hardly stand it. You had probably forgotten how foolish he had been and moved on from him, just another client lost to the crowd. And in a way, Taehyung wished for that, but he was very wrong.

Your POV

Two weeks earlier

You felt the tears welling up in your eyes before you could stop them. You blinked fast, hoping they would just go away but the emotion was too strong. Taehyung had just told you he loved you and you could barely breathe as you looked at him, watching as his face turned red in shock.

“Taehyung, please clean up and leave.”

He didn’t even bother using the bathroom this time. He fumbled as quickly as he could with his clothes and exited the room but not before shooting a pained expression in your direction. You tried to direct anger at him because you needed him out of the room as quickly as possible and it seemed to work as he shut the door behind him. You burst into tears as soon as the door clicked shut and you curled up on your side as you shuffled under the blankets.

You had been in this line of work for years. This was your life, your passion and you didn’t see it as some skeezy side job that helped pay the bills, no, this was the job. Your interest in sex and various sexual partners was why you decided to go into this line of work, you had never been made out for relationships and you were beginning to think you were incapable of romantic feelings until you met him. But since this was your job, you quelled those feelings because, just as the job entailed, you had to put on an act. You hadn’t hoped that he noticed the little extra you poured into each session, and maybe he didn’t, but you suddenly felt responsible for this. There was no way you could have a relationship with him, not in this line of work. Jealousy was a bitter bitch and you weren’t about to deal with that.

But what if he didn’t care?

No, shut up. You can never expect someone to be okay with your sex work…

You cried a little harder into the sheets. No feelings. It was in all your contracts because you thought you didn’t have feelings, not in a sociopathic kind of way, but…you gripped harder at the sheets as you screamed into a pillow. Why did this have to happen to you? You needed to get home, but you were too miserable to move. Reaching out of the covers you reached to the bedside for your phone, thankful there were no missed calls or texts, you had to give him that. Going into your calendar you canceled all your next week’s appointments and followed it with a lengthy email feigning sickness and some half-hearted explanation on how to reschedule. You weren’t in the mood to see anyone right now and you planned to use the next week to get a little retrospective.

The week didn’t make anything better. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but he hadn’t tried to contact you at all. He was staying true to your contract’s rule of no feelings, staying out of your way and not requesting an appointment. Maybe he thought you had moved past it and was just hoping you’d forget. That would be the best for both of you. So why did it hurt so badly?

You opened your schedule just for the following Monday and a frequent client took one of your two spots immediately. You almost wished that he had at least tried to schedule but there were none. The regular exhilaration you felt about work was gone as you read the client’s requests. Such bland and boring things. Taehyung’s thighs in the white, silk stockings popped into your head as you dropped it into your hands. You squeezed your eyes and willed your brain to shut up as you groaned inwardly. His sharp breaths were in your ear as he held you close to him, his thigh between your legs. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes again. Why did he have to go and fucking say something? The both of you could have continued living this lie for a little longer. Your fingers dug into the roots of your hair as you willed yourself to stay the fuck away from your phone. Do not go texting or emailing anyone. You felt the softness of his curls dust across your fingertips. Your entire body ached, and you felt feverish. What was this feeling? You hated whatever it was.

Your appointment didn’t go well, which caused you to cancel your second slot and left the rest of your week off the schedule. You weren’t in it. He could tell and so could you. A job you once had passion in now felt cold and it scared you. Maybe when you saw your therapist again, you’d tell her about it, but for now you were going to stay home and away from technology.

Taehyung POV

Three weeks later

The pain had started to hurt a little less as time went by. Enough so that he had agreed to go to a party this coming Friday, finally feeling enough like himself to get out there again. His friend wanted to introduce him to some girl that worked at his firm and figured this was the fresh start he needed.

He looked at himself in the mirror as he held the paper bag wrapped bottle of wine he had procured on his way home from work. He wore a large, soft sweater and dark pants. Soft, he thought to himself. You had always liked when he dressed this way. He shook his head to clear the memory from his mind, wiping it clean with one swipe. Setting his shoulders straight he headed out of the door of his apartment and into the night. The air seemed to be charged with electricity. He squinted up through the city lights to see if he could get any glimpse of the night sky, but he didn’t see anything. One block into his six block walk, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled across the sky. He groaned as he realized his clear lack of umbrella. He quickened his pace, hoping he could make it before it started to pour.

Your POV

The night sky lit up above you as lightning streaked across it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You pulled your sweatshirt closer, not that it was waterproof, but you guessed it was something. You had two bags slung on one arm as you walked back home from the grocery store but had no idea the weather was supposed to get bad tonight.

“What did I do to deserve this?” you asked, face towards the sky as you felt the first drop hit your cheek.

You still had at least four blocks and by the way the wind picked up, this was going to hit sooner rather than later.

“Just don’t let me get pneumonia.”

You walked a little faster as the raindrops picked up. You heard with dread as behind you, they began to hit the buildings and pavement with more ferocity. Cold wind picked up, whipping around you, and bringing with it, cold ass rain. You shivered as it almost instantly soaked into the back of your pants and you cursed the minute you decided to step out of your apartment. You were stopped by a traffic light on a corner, continued to get soaked as you waited for the light to change. You dodged puddles as you skipped across the street quickly and didn’t realize there was someone else approaching just as quickly on the otherwise empty sidewalk. You didn’t have time to react as you ran square into someone’s chest before stumbling backwards. The stranger reached out for you, and to their credit, grabbed your hand but went down with you anyway. The both of you landed directly into probably the deepest puddle you had ever seen in your life, but at this point you were used to your shitty luck.

“Look, oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Your entire body seized in fear because you knew that voice too well and it haunted your dreams, causing the new bags under your eyes. You wanted to sleep to forget, but you were afraid to fall asleep in fear that you might see his face.

“S’okay,” you mumbled quietly, gathering your bag and trying to stand quickly.

The rain poured harder and at this point you were soaked to your underwear and fucking miserable. Your back was to him as you attempted to flee the scene.

“Hey! Wait! Are you okay?” he called after you.

“Fine!” you called over your shoulder. The rain was pouring so hard he probably couldn’t hear you.

You felt his hand on your shoulder before he spoke. You were right under the streetlamp when you stopped dead in your tracks.

“This fell out of your bag.”

You had to turn around to get it back. Walking away would just be creepy and weird. Your hood was still up, but he’d know. You swiveled on your heel and looked up before you even fully faced him. His dark curls stuck cutely to his forehead; he was just as wet as you. His eyes widened in surprise and you looked down at the obvious bottle of wine in his hand. Looked like he was going on a date. So he had moved on. That’s exactly what you wanted so you weren’t sure why the pain in your stomach was so sharp. The apple sat in his hand so delicately and you suddenly missed those fingers more than you expected yourself to. You reached for it slowly and grasped it tightly before taking it.

“Thank you,” you mustered up. If any tears were to fall it wouldn’t be like he’d see them.

He looked pained and in shock. You were the last person he expected to see.

“Y-you’re welcome,” he stuttered out. He turned quickly and made his way down the sidewalk and back into the wet night.

You watched as he crossed under the next streetlight, tall frame falling into shadow again as he moved farther and farther away from you. You still stood, raindrops hitting the plastic bags and making your clothes feel ten times heavier. Your chest burned and you barely felt the cold as you cried, telling yourself to turn around and go home, but everything in your body screamed run.

You barely heard the cans, fruit, and glass bottles hit the ground as you dropped the bags and sprinted in the direction Taehyung had gone. The rain hit your face harder and it felt like you were running into the heart of the storm. He hadn’t left that long ago, so you should catch up to him soon, right?

“Taehyung!” you yelled as you tripped around an outdoor restaurant sign.

Tears fell freely now as you ran, feeling your shoes rubbing blisters on your heels as you slipped in them. Maybe he had turned down another block.

“Taehyung!” you yelled again as you stood on a street corner, but the sidewalks were barren.

You turned in circles, sobs coming out freely now as you gave in to the heartache. You had fucked up everything and now you were paying for it.

“_______?” you heard behind you.

You turned quickly and Taehyung stood, equally as soaked, and still clutching the wine bottle.

“Taehyung.” You were so surprised you weren’t sure what to say.

“I heard you calling me.” You saw the puffs of smoke drift from his mouth as the temperature dropped. You needed to get this out fast.

“I love you, too. I know it’s stupid. I know I said no feelings. I know I made you sign a contract. I never thought I was capable of loving someone else, but you did that for me. Over the months,” you gestured as you laughed nervously, “I started feeling things I had never experienced and that scared me. It was something I talked to my therapist about and,” you realized you were rambling and took a deep sigh. “I don’t want to let go of the one person who brought me those feelings.”

Taehyung stared at you, face unreadable as he searched yours. You felt that strange dread you always felt as a kid when you did something wrong, it ran from head to toe and made you feel sick. He was angry because you had rejected him and now, here you were, telling him you loved him. You knew it wasn’t fair, and you wouldn’t be mad at him if he didn’t reciprocate those feelings now.

The wine bottle hit the pavement with a dull crack as he moved forward. He had you gathered in his arms and lips on yours just as the sky opened a little wider, lightning lit up the buildings in an eerie blue glow. Thunder cracked overhead and tumbled across the sky like falling rocks down a mountainside. But Taehyung’s lips were warm on yours and you felt relief wash through you. Though, you felt as if you didn’t deserve it, he had accepted you.

“I don’t want to keep you from your date.” Your words came out shaky as you shivered, cold hands against his wet sweater.

He looked a little stunned at your comment.

“It wasn’t really…a date.”

Your heart plummeted again, despite getting what you wanted.

“Besides, fuck that date.”

He grabbed your hand and headed in the direction of his home, which was coincidentally not too far from yours, but he was in an upscale high rise closer to downtown. The both of you dripped across the marble of the lobby as he directed you to the elevator. You both stood, shoulder to shoulder, shivering, and exchanging awkward glances as you made it to his floor. Once he had you in his apartment, he turned the heater on low, as he guided you through his tastefully decorated apartment. Expensive looking art donned the walls of the hallway he led you down and each had their special lighting. The bathroom he led you too was fit for hotel suite as he stepped into the walk in shower and started the water. He stepped back out and up to you, hands tentative on the bottom of your soaked through sweatshirt. He pulled the dripping fabric over your head and you shivered as the cold air hit your skin. You crossed your arms over your chest to stay warm as he peeled your sweats off your legs.

“Get in the shower,” he said softly.

You slowly walked inside, easing under the stream of warm water, and reveled in the feeling of your limbs finally defrosting. He followed behind you, stepping under the rainfall shower with you, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him close.

“I’m sorry for kicking you out.”

“I breached my contract.”

His hand was reassuring on the back of your head as your cheek pressed against his chest. He was right and you had every right to do what you did, but you wouldn’t have felt bad about anyone else.

“Yea, that wasn’t very fair to throw that at me.”

He held his breath a little, expecting you to tell him the truth, but still not ready when you said it.

“I know. My mouth moved before my brain could catch up and I’m sorry for putting you in that position.”

He sounded so sincere in his apology and he hadn’t tried to contact you at all this entire time.

“What now?”

Taehyung’s POV

What were you supposed to do now? He hadn’t really expected to be here in this position. Across the bathroom, his phone vibrated on the counter. Probably his friend wondering where he was as he stood up his somewhat blind date. But he was exactly where he wanted to be three weeks ago, standing here with you in his arms. He wanted to ask if you were real. You shivered slightly as you continued to warm up and he held you closer to him. He missed the feeling of your skin against his. You were here with him and it wasn’t an appointment and he wasn’t under any contract.

Instead of answering your question, he released his hand to tilt your chin upwards so that he could kiss you properly. You sighed softly against his lips and he felt the familiar flutter in his chest that he only associated to being in your presence. His lips were against yours in a gentle kiss, touching just for a moment when he whispered.

“Use me.”

You looked startled by his statement and somewhat confused.

“W-what do you mean?”

His thumb was against your chin, rubbing lightly along your skin as he continued to stare into your eyes. He wanted you to know that everything he said from this point forward was from his heart.

“Use me like everyone uses you. I know it’s your job, but when was the last time you did something you wanted? Use me in any way you want, anywhere you want. You name it, and I’ll do it.”

You were biting your lip as he spoke. He knew you were doing it in thought, but the action had him wanting to bite down on the pink flesh himself, but he waited. You searched his face as he watched the gears in your head turn. It seemed as if this were the first time you were being asked this question. He slid his hand along the small of your back, drawing you closer.

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he said as he dipped lower to your face again. You blushed deeply as he brought his face closer. “Are you shy now?”

“No,” you whispered.

“You know,” he started, “the last session; the one I—anyway, you were behind me one day in a coffee shop by my office, but you were on the phone so you didn’t notice me.” Your eyes widened in surprise. “You looked so casual, so relaxed, so you. I wanted that version of you, so that’s who I created for that session; that was the only way I could really be close to you.”

A knowing sigh passed your lips and cooled the water on his face. “I had begun to wonder…I suspected you had feelings some time ago.”

He felt ashamed for letting too much through and putting you in a difficult position. In a sick way, it worked out for him, but he was hoping that with time you’d let him make it up to you.

“What would you like me to do?” He let his voice drop, sounding gentle, but tried to entice something from you.

Your POV

Your body shook at the timbre of his voice and you wanted to basically climb him right here in the shower. What fantasy of yours did you want? There were so many. A few didn’t fit into this situation, some were questionable, maybe a few were embarrassing, but you knew he would do literally anything you asked of him.

“Do you still have the stockings?”

You felt him grow a little bit harder against you, cock twitching on your stomach as the hand on your back tightened.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“The shirt?”

“It’s at the dry cleaner, but I definitely have a substitute.”

Reaching behind you, you turned off the shower.

“Put them on.”

Taehyung complied immediately, stepping from the shower to grab you a towel before grabbing one for himself. He dried himself quickly as he slipped into the connecting closet. You towel dried your hair so that the cold water wouldn’t drip down your back as you waited. A few minutes passed before he stepped back out of the closet. Instinctively, you started at his feet, admiring the silk wrapped around his calves and then his thighs. His cock was fully erect now, a subtle pink glow to his skin. The shirt he had on looked expensive and tailor made. He left it unbuttoned, but it fit perfectly across his broad shoulders, sleeves ending at his wrists. You walked forward and rubbed the fabric between your fingers. It was the softest cloth you had ever felt, and it flowed like air across his skin. The white of the shirt only accentuated the honey color of his skin as you ran your fingers over his stomach.

“Will this be okay?” He sounded like a child waiting for appraisal from its elder.

“This is perfect, Taehyung,” you said while still running your hands over his body. They now rested on the outside of his thighs. You really did like the way he looked in these.

Slowly, you eased yourself to your knees in front of him. He looked surprised as his eyebrows disappeared beneath his hair. Something primal inside of you stirred as he stood towering over you, wrapped in soft fabric, with his hard cock right in front of your face. To say you missed him would be an understatement. You wrapped your hand around him gingerly, knowing just how sensitive he was. His hips barely moved as your soft hand closed around the base. You ran your other hand up his stockinged thigh, feeling his muscles flex beneath your palm. He groaned as you reached around to grasp a handful of his ass in your hand. Pushing him forward, you guided his cock between your lips and sunk as far as you could, your nose kissing your finger. His hands flexed at his sides as he further became submissive in your hands. He was falling and was more than willing to receive whatever was at the bottom. You held him there in your mouth for a few seconds, letting him feel the warmth of you wrapped around him, tongue moving along the sensitive skin on the bottom of his cock. You watched him as his head tilted down to look at you. His hair hung in half dried curls, framing his perfect face and suddenly you thought you had never seen anyone more beautiful than him. You slipped back slowly, leaving your hand at the base, until just the tip was nestled between your lips like a lollipop. Sucking lightly, you came off with a pop, never breaking eye contact. His body flushed with goosebumps as your eyes continued to dare him to look away. Precum still leaked from his cherry red tip. It glistened in the bright lights of the bathroom, beckoning like a sweet dessert. You wanted more of him, to devour him whole and make him yours forever. Taking him in your mouth, you sank down quicker this time, pulling back and setting a rhythm. His muscles twitched beneath your hand as you kept it on his ass, almost pushing him in time with your mouth. His moans pitched, echoing off the marble walls, a symphony with the most beautiful note. He was biting harshly into his bottom lip as he kept his eyes locked on yours. He wanted so badly to screw his eyes shut but didn’t dare look away. You saw his eyes well with tears, a few escaping down his nose until it dripped perfectly underneath your own eye. Your name tumbled from his lips in quick gasps now.

“_ ____, I’m g-gonna come, oh my god.” He didn’t seem to be getting enough air as he forced his orgasm to wait. His skin was hot beneath your hand and his cock was so hard in your mouth you were sure he was using a great amount of self-control.

Not wanting him to lose it, you pulled off quickly saying, “Come.” Before you sank back down on him, removing your hand and pushing him far back into your throat. His groan was guttural as he almost doubled over, fingers soft on your shoulders in case he lost his balance, as he came in hot spurts down your throat. He was against your gag reflex, but you focused on breathing through your nose and concentrated on your breath. Both hands were tight on his thighs now just so you could feel the way they moved beneath your hands. His hips stuttered forward into your mouth in a few shallow thrusts until you felt the last drops. No longer able to breathe this way, you pulled off his cock and quickly swallowed so that you could exhale.

“Fuck,” you whispered through a raw gasp.

Taehyung’s hands were on his knees as he stumbled backwards, ass meeting the cold counter, and he slumped back. He looked like a perfect statue carved from the most precious stone. His dark hair stuck to his cheeks in sweat or water, you weren’t sure which. The white silk shirt was soaked through and plastered to his skin and it accentuated the soft muscle of his chest. It opened perfectly to expose his stomach and frame his bottom half. His cock was still hard, and the stockings had stayed in place. You licked your lips and rubbed your thighs together as you drank him in. He cocked an eyebrow when he looked at you, finger coming up in a ‘come here’ motion. You stood, sauntering over and his eyes raked over your body hungrily. Slotting yourself between his legs, you ran your finger under his chin, and then your thumb over his bottom lip. He was looking into your eyes, waiting for your next command.

“You have to make me come no less than three times.” You let your eyes flutter innocently to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “By any means possible.”

Taehyung inhaled deeply as he closed his eyes. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you closer again. With a sigh he kissed you and you fell into it, body, and soul. One of his hands went between your legs as he continued to devour you. You moaned, fingers digging into the stockings as he rubbed his fingers along your slit, gathering every bit of you that spilled on his fingers before circling your clit. You gasped in his mouth as he pinched your nipple between his fingers and twisted lightly. You moved your hips over his fingers, and he stilled, letting you do the work. He pinched a little harder on your nipple as he bit down on your bottom lip. You moved faster now, circling, and grinding your hips on his fingers. God, how you missed these fingers. You were all but crying into his mouth when your muscles began to tense. Your calves ached as your toes curled painfully, but the pain wasn’t going to make you stop the rhythm that was soon going to send you over the edge. As your whines pitched and your entire body began to shiver, Taehyung twisted your nipple harshly and pressed harder against your clit. You ground against him, breathing heavily through your nose as Taehyung seemed to be intent in gathering every moan you had. You couldn’t help the clench in your jaw when you came, making your lips immobile against his. You keened and your breath seized in your chest. His lips were at the corner of your mouth as you wet his fingers even more, hips slowing to a halt as you finally let out an exhale.

“One,” he whispered as he placed a kiss to your cheek.

Your body was already beginning to feel the sleepy side effects of your orgasm, but you knew you could take it. He pushed you back lightly as he stood in front of you, placed his hands on your shoulders and switched positions, picked you up and sat you on the edge of the counter.

“Now it’s my turn,” he smiled as he dropped to his knees. He spread your legs as wide as he could, warm hands on the insides of your thighs, so that he could get a better look. Your skin shone with your cum and Taehyung didn’t want to waste another second without tasting you. He leaned forward and licked a long, slow stripe up your center. His tongue dipped inside of you quickly and curled. He drew it back out and swallowed.

“How does it taste?” you asked as you buried your fingers into his hair and pushed him a little harder against you when his lips were back on you.

“Mmpf,” he moaned into you as he fucked you with his tongue. His nose pressed against your clit as you wound your fingers into the hair at his nape. He shook his head quickly against you and with your other hand planted on the counter behind you, you began to move your hips against his face. Taehyung wrapped his arms around your thighs so that he could pull you as close as possible. His eyes opened to meet yours and his pupils were so blown that you could no longer see the chocolate color there. He looked beautiful between your legs on his knees, almost as if he were born for this. His mouth told you this truth. He knew your body more intimately that any other client you had ever had. He knew the perfect ways to edge you, and at the end, have you coming so hard that your vision darkened. He moaned now, sending vibrations straight into your clit. Your entire body was so hot, and it was soon hard to keep your sweaty palm from slipping against the counter. Holding his head, you ground as hard as you could and with the combination of his tongue and the deep rumbles escaping his throat, you came again. He kept his mouth on you, tongue hot inside as you clenched. He drank you in as if you were his last meal. Gently, he nuzzled his nose against your swollen clit, licking up all that he could of you. When he sat back, you saw your creamy cum on his lips and chin. You grasped his chin, forcing him to rise on his knees as you came down, licking the cum from his lips slowly. It was bittersweet against your tongue and Taehyung moaned. Your tongue was past his lips and the taste of you was even stronger on his.

“Are you tired yet?” he asked smugly when you pulled away.

“You wish.”

His smile was devastating as he stood. What you wouldn’t give to see that smile every day of your life. Were you willing to sacrifice for him? Mid-lust ____ probably shouldn’t think about this right now. He placed his hands on the counter on either side of you as he leaned, looking at your face.

“Can I make love to you?” he asked.

Your body flushed and shivered involuntarily, and you felt new arousal bloom in your stomach. Something about the way he said it had you wanting to simultaneously coo over him and fuck his brains out.

“Yes.”

What more was there to say? He rubbed his cock along your slit and your gaze cast downwards to watch. The stockings still looked perfect and the shirt was still giving him every favor. He pushed in slow, feeling your swollen walls take him in fully. When he bottomed out, you gasped and clung to his shoulders as his hips began to move. His breath shuddered against your skin as he buried his face into your neck. His fingers dug into your hips as he quickened his pace. You weren’t sure what you did to get blessed with someone whose cock curved perfectly into your g-spot, but in this moment, you weren’t complaining. Your clit was already so sensitive that any move against it had your stomach clenching and your eyes rolling. It really wouldn’t take much for him to make you come a third time and you were really hoping he wasn’t taking this as a challenge. You wove your hands under his arms and dug your fingers into his shoulder blades as you pushed yourself more into him. Taehyung breathed heavily against you.

“Are you going to come, princess?” He picked his head up and was now placing hot kisses to the underside of your jaw. Your body felt as if it were about to melt through the counter and you clung desperately to him. You couldn’t even talk, your chest burned, and he was hitting your g-spot so rapidly that you could barely form a simple word. But for him, you would do this.

“T-tae,” you stuttered.

He didn’t stop as his lips that were against your cheek, parted. “Yes?”

“I love you,” you whispered as you gave into the feeling of him. Your third orgasm hit and this one melted into your body, soothing and erasing all the bad things that had happened in the past few weeks.

You weren’t sure if what you heard from him was a choked sob or just the sheer force of his orgasm, but seconds later he spilled inside of you, hips still moving. He shivered in your arms again. You let him thrust through his orgasm even though you felt as if you were on fire. You’d do anything for him. When he looked at you again, you realized that he had begun to cry. Tears welled in his soft eyes as he cupped your cheeks. He sniffed and his eyes moved rapidly as he looked at every part of your face. Your hands were on his wrists, gently applying pressure.

“Tae, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head as he sniffed louder and laughed. The tears spilled freely now and the juxtaposition to his smile was almost haunting.

��Nothing’s wrong.” His tears slowed and his dewy cheeks began to dry. His hands were still pressing softly into your skin as he seemed lost for words. “I just still can’t believe you’re here.”

The full weight of his feelings for you and all the emotions you flowed through the last few weeks, came rushing down on you like a tidal wave.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry, too!” he cried as he quickly wiped at the tears escaping the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry. We’re meant to be happy right now, I’m sorry.”

“No,” you said as you gently shushed him. “I am happy. That’s why I’m crying.”

“So,” he whispered softly, face open and innocent, “do you think we can make this work?”

Could you? Who knew? There was much to talk about, and you weren’t even sure where you would start. You definitely needed to talk to your therapist about this but, right now, you knew you didn’t want to let this feeling go. You had gone years thinking you weren’t capable of love or being loved. Who knew it would take a client of yours to pull out those feelings you were sure your brain had dumped at birth? How far were you willing to go?

All you knew was that you were ready to traverse even the most difficult path if it meant Taehyung would be waiting for you at the end.

“Yea,” you whispered back as you squeezed his wrists a little more, “I think we can make it work.”

#ksmutclub #smutcentralnet #btswriterscollective #ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #bts smut #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #reader insert #sexworker!au #nonidol!taehyung #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung #the client #part 3

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entitynumber5 · 3 years

Text

iceberg blues

this fic is basically one long jonmartin road trip but with depression and angst and yearning!!!!!! here’s the link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30788036. or you can read it below the line!!! <3

Content warnings: depressive episodes, disassociation, panic attacks, discussions of death and mortality, grief, emetophobia, economic anxiety, intrusive thoughts/images, very brief allusions to transphobia and xenophobia (in the context of UK politics), swearing, passive suicidal ideation, food, disordered eating, mention of hospitals, smoking, addiction, arguments, brief references to coercive relationships.

Martin has been sitting at his desk, shivering in his coat, for over half an hour. Still enough that the automatic lights have switched off for the night, one by one in an imploding cascade down the corridor he can see from his desk. Tim and Sasha left a while ago, and Martin had put his coat on and promised he would been right behind them, he was just going to check his emails one last time, when he’d seen Sasha had sent her part of the report on Naomi Hearne’s statement to him. He doesn’t know how to explain why he opened the document and scrolled through to Evan Lukas’s death certificate. But here he is. Stuck and staring.

He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be staring at the death certificate of a man he doesn’t even know. Since Naomi Hearne’s statement two days ago, Martin has been—well, off. He wishes he had a better explanation, but his creativity has jumped ship, apparently, and either a wall springs up every time he reaches for a way to name what he’s feeling or it is energy he doesn’t have to waste, forcing his mind into forming words.

It feels like there’s a balloon inside his chest and no matter how much he expands his lungs, no matter how many deep breaths he takes, he can’t make it smaller. He’d vomited, when he got back to his flat on the day of the statement; yesterday, he had opened the cupboard and stared at the ingredients but been unable to make himself make anything. On the Tube to work, when a stranger looked at him, just in passing, Martin had wanted to cry, and that feeling lingered with him but nothing came of it except an odd sort of internal tension, like a headache.

Yet at the same time, there’s something so dull about it all. He can feel the boredom in his teeth. The blunt edge of a knife, never drawing blood. Why does it matter? Why does it need to be a big deal?

It isn’t, as far as Martin’s concerned. No one else has noticed, and sometimes he doesn’t either. Sometimes it just slips his mind that this isn’t how he feels all the time. Even now, staring at the computer screen, he almost forgets that he’s cold, that it will be dark outside. That it’s Friday, and he usually calls his mum on Friday because the care home gets fish and chips delivered, every week, a whole event, and it’s easier for them both if she has a proper excuse not to answer.

“Martin,” Jon says.

Martin jumps, but his movements are slower than he expects. His shoulders lift enough that the waterproof lining of his coat makes a high-pitched scraping noise, but he can’t move the hand that’s on the mouse to close the document in shame he knows distantly he should feel.

“Martin,” Jon continues, looking somewhat confused, as if he’d already said his name a number of times. There’s a hint of defensive disapproval in his expression. “You’re still here.”

Martin tries to talk, but his voice croaks as if from disuse. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah. Just, um… finishing up.”

“It’s after seven.”

“You’re also still here,” Martin points out.

Another time, he thinks he’d be embarrassed by the remark. He should be feeling that hot, sharp lance of fear that this might be the fireable offence. But there was nothing in his tone except the monotone stating of a fact, and the phantom embarrassment is so vague he doesn’t even feel guilty about its reason for existing.

There’s a short, soft huff of laughter. Martin drags his eyes to Jon’s face, just in time to see his expression of defeated amusement before it disappears.

“Yes, well, I have my reasons.” Jon averts his eyes and doesn’t elaborate.

Martin turns back to the computer. It should be simple, moving the mouse to the corner of the document, pressing the red cross, shutting down the computer for the weekend, off-off, at the wall and all, not standby or Rosie would moan about the Institute’s already-failing green initiative. But he just can’t do it.

Jon lingers.

“Is… something wrong?” Martin manages to ask.

“I need to lock up,” Jon replies, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He lifts the small ring of keys in his hand as if in justification, a supply of proof. “Unless you would like to spend the weekend in the Archives, I suggest you leave in the next five minutes.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, I—I’ll just—let me just…” He moves the mouse to the corner of the document, hovering, but he can’t bring himself to click off it. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to go home. He desperately doesn’t want to go home.

“Sometime today, please, Martin,” Jon presses.

Martin forces himself to close the document. The balloon in his chest feels very big. In his mind’s eye, he can still see Evan Lukas’s death certificate. The clinical recital of the cause, the dates echoing around in his mind. He feels like he might, at any moment, abruptly blurt the words out loud.

“S-sorry.”

“Yes, well,” Jon bristles, “I do have somewhere to be.”

Martin wishes dully that Jon wasn’t here. He could just pull the computer plug out of the wall and be done with it, although his fingers feel numb and he’s not sure he has the strength. Or rather he does have it, it exists, just not within reach.

Martin goes through the motions of small talk, nonetheless. A kneejerk courtesy that reminds him of all the commutes home he can’t remember, the familiar going-through-the-motions, arriving at your destination unharmed, but having done so on muscle memory alone.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Right.”

Jon lifts his eyes to the ceiling, as if he had considered rolling them and thought better of it. He takes a moment before he speaks again. “Actually, I had planned to drive to Wormshill this evening. There is a detail in Miss Hearne’s statement that I would like to check myself.”

“You’re going to Kent?”

“Yes,” Jon answers defensively. “It’s not far. A two-hour drive, at most.”

“But it’s—you just said it’s after seven.”

“Because I have an obligation to ensure my employees are not in the building after hours. What you do with the rest of your evening is none of my concern.”

Martin nods. The motion carries him away for a moment, and he gets lost in the gentle repetitiveness of it. He’s definitely nodding for longer than is acceptable—everything is taking longer than acceptable, today—and he should be embarrassed, but its vaguely soothing, a blip in the otherwise flat, linear trajectory of his mood.

Jon sighs. Loudly. “Is there anything unsaved on this computer?”

“No,” Martin replies, “Don’t think so.”

“Good,” Jon snaps, and then promptly switches it off at the wall.

Martin stares at the blank screen. He can just about make out his hollow reflection. “Oh.”

Jon is still standing there. “Martin…”

Martin hums in acknowledgement.

“There is—well, there’s the matter of the Institute’s health and safety guidelines, which stipulate that any employee conducting research in the field after seven p.m. must be accompanied by at least one other person,” Jon says, rushing but still somehow managing to keep the deep, unimpressed tone. “Ordinarily, I would disregard such bureaucratic nonsense, but I, uh, I rather suspect I’ll be receiving a complaint from Miss Hearne, and I’m—reluctant, I suppose, to attract any further attention from Elias.”

Martin doesn’t understand what Jon is trying to say.

“What I’m trying to say, Martin,” Jon continues, “Is that while I would much rather conduct my investigation alone, it might be pertinent to have company. If only to share the burden of driving.”

In the computer screen, Martin’s reflection doesn’t react to Jon’s statement. His eyes are cloudy, out of focus behind his glasses.

“Fine,” Jon huffs, “I’ll be direct, since nothing else seems to be getting through: Martin, will you come to Wormshill with me?”

Martin must say yes, because the next thing he knows, he’s still shivering in his coat but he’s outside, standing next to Jon on the steps of the Institute while they wait for the taxi that’s going to take them across the river to the car hire place in Croydon, apparently the only one willing to loan a vehicle on such short notice and at this time on a Friday. In his own coat, jaw set against his own shivers, Jon keeps stealing sideways glances at Martin as if expecting him to bow out of the bizarre excursion at any moment.

It occurs to Martin that maybe he should give Jon an out. A reason to go alone, since that’s what he seems to want. Now that Martin’s outside, at least, he thinks he can make it home. He can drift through the weekend, try to sleep off the feeling sitting heavy beneath his skin so that he can plaster on a smile again for Monday.

“Jon,” Martin says, “I can’t drive.”

Jon’s face snaps fully to Martin’s. “What do you mean, you can’t drive?”

“I mean I—I never learned how?”

The car was one of the first things they’d sold, when they could no longer afford to top up the meter, and when he’d turned seventeen, it had been too much money and too much time away from his mum to take lessons, even though so many jobs stipulated—illegally, he’d been told by one disgruntled employee at the Job Centre—that he needed a licence to apply. He knew his mum resented the lack of transport. She would complain about the tins getting dented or the fruit bruising on the bus journey back from the supermarket. Martin would take on extra shifts to cover the taxi costs to and from hospital appointments. But otherwise, they were stuck. There was no way around it.

Moving into London had helped with getting around, but not so much with money, and it had been a sort of comfort to Martin that mostly no one expected you to own a car or even drive here. Until now.

“Why didn’t you say something—?” Jon begins, but at that moment, the lights of the taxi slice through the darkness and a white Prius jolts to a stop in front of them, the driver giving an impatient toot of the horn to get their attention.

“I—I’m sorry,” Martin says. “I thought you knew.”

“How on earth would I—?” Another blare of the car horn. Jon makes a disgruntled sound and starts off down the steps. “Just get in the taxi.”

Martin stares down at him. “What—but I—are you sure?”

Jon, with his hand around the door handle, looks expectantly back at Martin. “Yes, Martin, just—come on.”

In the taxi, Martin sits on his hands as his mind lists restlessly between the vivid, intrusive image of opening the car door for no reason and the worry that he should be making conversation, before settling back into familiar numbness. Jon doesn’t make conversation either, which Martin supposes is a relief. The driver fields a number of calls during the journey and ends up doing enough talking for the both of them.

Jon pays the taxi driver with the Institute credit card when they reach Croydon. Martin stands on the pavement and watches the back lights of the Prius fade into the distance, the way you might watch to check someone gets into their house safely after you walk them home, because he can’t really think of what else to do until Jon demands, “Are you coming?”

Martin jogs after Jon, catching him up just as they reach the car park of the hire place. Jon tells Martin to wait outside, so he waits outside with his hands tucked into his pockets and wonders idly if Jon has picked up on his quietness. And if Jon has noticed, does he think it’s a relief, not having to suffer Martin’s small talk, his stammering inquiries and useless observations?

About ten minutes later, Jon emerges with a set of keys and a collection of paperwork. He barely glances at Martin, making a beeline for the car parked nearest the door, a yellow Citroën.

When Martin stops beside the car, waiting for Jon to unlock it, Jon snaps, “It’s all I could get on short notice.”

Martin stares over the roof of the car at Jon. Is Jon embarrassed because the car is yellow? Because it’s a Citroën? Martin feels like he’s missing something. “I didn’t say anything.”

Jon just huffs and climbs into the car. After a moment, Martin follows, ducking inside and settling into the passenger seat. Jon hands him the paperwork, somewhat unceremoniously, and Martin takes it and places it in his lap and doesn’t say anything about the fact that Jon has given the hire company a false name. Which likely means he has a fake ID. Which is a can of worms that Martin isn’t sure he’s ready to open.

They drive for a while in complete silence. Jon’s driving is a little shaky, at first. He stalls three times in the space of five minutes, and at one point gets flipped off by a teenager hauling Deliveroo via bike. Martin laughs, despite himself, a small huff of air through his nose—it’s a start, he supposes.

“Would you prefer to take the wheel?” Jon snaps and when Martin’s face drops, he adds. “I thought as much.”

Martin sinks back into his seat, the laughter forgotten. He stares out of the window at the other cars and wonders where their occupants are travelling—back to their families for the weekend? When Jon has to merge onto the M25, he clings to the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white, and Martin wishes he hadn’t laughed earlier.

On the motorway, at least, Jon seems to settle into the familiar motions of driving and eventually reaches for the radio, tuning into Radio 4. They’re broadcasting a political debate, and Martin tries to watch without being caught as Jon’s face twists or he snorts at a particularly egregious comment from one of the participants.

“Who’s that?” Martin asks, surprising himself, when Jon rolls his eyes for the fifth time—he’s counting—at the same voice.

Jon blinks, turning momentarily from the road before returning to his eyes-ahead vigil of the motorway. He rolls his lips, like he’s pushing down a retort about Martin’s ignorance of politics. After a while, and a sixth eye roll, he says: “That’s Ann Widdecombe.”

“Oh,” Martin says, “She was on Strictly.”

Jon once again looks like he wants to launch into a lecture about Martin’s witlessness. Instead, he says, in that dry voice of his: “Yes. She has also been a particularly insidious member of the Conservative Party for forty years.”

“Right. Of course. I know that.”

“I should hope so.”

“I didn’t vote for her,” Martin tells him, “On Strictly.”

Jon doesn’t say anything.

“Or in the general election,” Martin adds.

“Not least of all because you don’t live in her constituency.”

“I mean I didn’t vote for the—”

“Yes, Martin, I understood what you meant.” Jon pauses. “And for the record, neither did I.”

There’s a very long stretch of silence after that. Martin wants to point out that he used to watch Question Time with his mum, before she moved into the care home, plus he’s trans and what little family he has left are Polish, so it’s not like he can be ignorant about the UK’s political climate, and just because he’s not some Oxford-educated prick who listens to Radio 4—but what’s he trying to prove, really? It’s a waste of energy, and the lull of the car and the cold pressure in his chest quickly extinguish the flare of indignation.

A radio drama about wartime Britain replaces the debate, and Martin tips his head against the window. He can make out the sound of the words, but not what they mean, and the inside of his mind feels like the road ahead: a blur of sharp asphalt and red-white light, the kind of place where it’s not safe to stop. He feels vaguely sick.

Martin thinks about the weekend again. He wishes he could sleep through and wake up feeling better, feeling real. He wants so badly to pause this feeling and pick it up when he’s ready to deal with it. A break. He just wants a fucking break, so badly that the tight-throat tension of tears he knows he can’t shed is back. He closes his eyes, in case Jon notices, and plays with the paperclip holding the contract for the hire car together.

He doesn’t know if he falls asleep fully or just drifts, but the next thing he’s really aware of is the slam of a car door as Jon climbs back inside. Inside? Martin squints at him through the sickly light of the streetlamp outside the car as Jon manoeuvrers his way back into the driver’s seat while holding a cardboard tray of drinks and two greasy paper bags. He hands one of the bags to Martin. It’s warm in his hands, almost burning, but he doesn’t think to let go.

“Where are we?” Martin asks, detached from the question, uncaring of the answer.

“Just outside of Maidstone,” Jon replies, balancing the drinks tray on top of the clutch with meticulous precision before gesturing with far less accuracy in the general direction of the service station. There’s a glowing sign indicating the presence of a Costa and a number of other chains. “Do feel free to use the, uh, the facilities.”

“I’m fine,” Martin mumbles, “But thanks.”

Martin realises he can’t remember the last time he used the facilities, as Jon so delicately put it, even back at the Institute. It should be embarrassing, but even this is hard to care about. There were plenty of opportunities, at work, to get up and make a cup of tea, or to reach into his rucksack and pull out the water bottle he’d bought with the markers specifically to remind him to drink at regular intervals. But he just… didn’t. And he’s dehydrated, clearly. And he doesn’t care.

“Right,” Jon says, looking like he would rather be anywhere else, “If you’re sure.”

Martin has no idea what to say to that. Jon saves him the effort by clicking the radio back on without starting the engine, and the midnight news drifts from the speakers in a deep, sombre voice that makes Martin feel intensely tired.

Jon clears his throat. “I hope you like cheese and tomato.”

Martin blinks Jon’s shadowed face back into focus. The lights are strange, transient—the orange glow of the streetlights interspersed with violent flickers of white as new arrivals pull into the car park.

“Cheese and tomato toasties, that is,” Jon adds, “That’s what’s in the bag.”

“Oh. Oh.” Martin blinks again, almost dizzy. “Thanks. I—I do. Like cheese and tomato toasties. What do I—how much were—?”

“You really don’t need—”

“I insist.”

“It’s fine, Martin.”

“But—”

“I bought it with the Institute credit card,” Jon interrupts, blunt. “If you would like to thank Elias for the cheese and tomato toastie on Monday, be my guest.”

It’s not really funny, but Martin finds himself giving one of those pathetic, half-formed laughs again. Jon looks momentarily surprised before he smiles and turns away.

Martin eats by rote because what else is he supposed to do? There’s an odd safety to mirroring Jon, following his lead. And so Martin does just that. He doesn’t taste the cheese and tomato toastie, and he can’t even tell if there’s sugar in the tea Jon hands him from the cardboard drinks tray, but it sits warm in his stomach, reminding him he hasn’t eaten anything other than crackers for nearly two days.

When Jon begins to drive again, the radio is playing a reading of a book about a Spanish painter Martin has never heard of. He feels like he owes Jon, in some way, for the cheese and tomato toastie, no matter who actually paid for it, and so he decides to remedy his previous disregard for Radio 4’s programming.

“This book sounds interesting,” Martin announces. There’s not much in his voice—no confidence, no real presence—but at least he’s saying something. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this Velázquez guy.”

“It’s Velázquez,” Jon corrects, although his pronunciation sounds no different to Martin’s.

“It’s a shame it’s the final episode,” Martin presses on, even though it’s painful. “Would have been nice to have a bit of context, you know?”

Jon hums in disinterest. “I suppose.”

This brief attempt at conversation is uninspiring, to say the least, so Martin instead resorts to an even more ridiculous line of inquiry. “Did we just pass a sign for Leeds Castle?”

“Yes,” Jon says, although he seems somewhat more engaged this time.

“But we’re in Kent.”

“Well-observed.”

“So why is it called Leeds Castle?”

“Well, there’s actually some debate as to why. In the Doomsday Book…”

Martin’s not watching the clock, but if he was, he would know Jon talks for a full twenty-three minutes about the etymology of Leeds Castle. It’s oddly soothing. Like a repeat of the emulsifiers at the ice cream parlour, except they’re not sitting across from each other, they physically can’t make eye contact, and there’s distance and darkness enough between them that they can both drop the performance. Martin doesn’t want to be looked at, to be seen, but he feels grounded by Jon’s voice. And Jon doesn’t stop every few minutes to make sure he isn’t being a nuisance, that he isn’t stealing time that others will resent the loss of.

They’ve made it to the Kent Downs. Martin supposes he should ask what it is they’re here to investigate. He manages it, and watches with something adjacent to despair as Jon’s open, almost excited expression falls away.

“Miss Hearne mentioned a chapel in her statement,” Jon says. His voice has dropped down an octave again, into the tone he uses in the Archives. “I can’t find any record of its existence, but I would like to be sure.”

Martin feels suddenly, impossibly cold. Like he will never be warm again. He shivers, and Jon turns up the car’s heaters. “I remember.”

Jon’s hands tighten around the steering wheel again. “You listened to the statement?”

“You—you asked me to transcribe it.”

“No, I asked Tim to transcribe it.”

“But Tim—well, he has an ear infection, he’s on antibiotics and everything, and Sasha’s the only one with access to the hospital records so she was cross-checking those, and I—I thought it was only fair if I transcribed it instead,” Martin says, the words falling out of his mouth in a blurred rush.

Jon deflates, just slightly, with a tired sigh. “Of course. I must have—I didn’t—I’ll apologise to Tim on Monday.”

Martin sits on his hands again. If he was feeling better, he might wonder if Jon has ever considered apologising to him. But perhaps he’s more truthful, when he’s in this place; perhaps he’s right when he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

Jon sighs again. “So you heard…?”

“Yeah.”

“Brilliant,” Jon mutters, clearly meaning the opposite.

“Do you really think she’s making it up?”

“Of course I don’t—‘making it up’ would imply some kind of fault or, or blame, which is not at all what I was suggesting.” Jon’s jaw is set, tense, even as he spits out the words. “There is nothing made up about trauma and the very real impact it can have on a person’s life. I think Miss Hearne’s experience was significant and, as I told her, she should certainly seek out help from someone more qualified to address the grief of her fiancé’s death. As for empty cemeteries and chapels hidden in fog, well, I’ve read enough statements to know that the point at which they start to sound like an overdone ghost story is the time to deploy a reasonable amount of scepticism.”

Martin stares at the dashboard. The car’s heating is on its highest setting, the warm air blasting from the vents drying out Martin’s eyes, but he’s still shivering. Still so deeply, immovably cold.

“He was…” Martin whispers, but he can’t finish the sentence.

“He was very young, yes, and his loss was unspeakably tragic. That is not what I am seeking proof of, and that is far from Institute’s area of expertise in any case, but—”

“No,” Martin interrupts. His voice still so quiet, but Jon stops to listen nonetheless. “That’s not what I… I was going to say that she sounded lonely.”

Jon’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t seem able to form words. His teeth click as he shuts his mouth and turns back to the road, driving on in silence as the radio idly broadcasts the shipping forecast.

“I—I don’t mean the part with the empty cemeteries and chapels hidden in fog, although I believe her. I do.” Martin pauses, letting himself linger in that realisation. “The loneliest part was when she spoke about him.”

Jon takes a deep breath. He frowns, as if he wants to say something, but he keeps quiet.

The tightness is sitting in Martin’s throat and behind his eyes again, and he wishes he could cry. Maybe if he cried, it would leave him be, he’d be emptied but in the right way.

“They only got two years,” Martin whispers.

“They were…” Jon says, his voice a feeble imitation of comfort. And when his voice fails, his jaw tightens and the defensiveness flashes back across his expression. “Does it matter how long they got?”

“Yes, it matters. Of course it matters,” Martin snaps. He surprises himself with the vitriol behind his words.

“The length of their acquaintance doesn’t change the extent—”

“Their acquaintance? They were in love.”

“I’m aware.”

“They were going to get married.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Martin,” Jon hisses. “I’m not unfamiliar with grief.”

“Then why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why didn’t you tell her what to—how to—to move on, or—I don’t know, couldn’t you just have humoured her? Couldn’t you have dropped the act for one day to help someone experiencing the worst thing that’s ever happened to them?”

Jon stares at the road ahead, exhaustion sitting in the lines of his shoulders, the twitch of his jaw. He hardly moves, aside from occasionally checking the mirrors, and Martin doesn’t expect an answer. The silence is cloying and choking and Martin lets it fester.

“If I knew how to move on,” Jon says, very quietly, after an indeterminable amount of time, “Well, let’s just say that’s not information I would withhold. And as for humouring Miss Hearne’s experience, what would you have me say?”

“You could have told her you believed her,” Martin presses.

“That would be a lie.”

“It would be a comfort.”

Jon’s lips twist humourlessly. “Aren’t those synonymous?”

“Then why are we here? Why drive around the Kent Downs in the middle of the night if you think it was all just a trick of the mind?”

“Because I need proof.”

“Of what?”

Jon doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he snaps: “I shouldn’t have bought you.”

“Probably,” Martin agrees, falling back into his seat.

“I’m pulling over,” Jon announces without preamble, as if this is a natural continuation of their argument. “I need to check my notes. I’m sure we’ve passed that sign for Bredgar at least twice already.”

Martin doesn’t say anything. Jon pulls the car into a cramped passing place on the side of the road and then takes his phone out of his pocket. The radio drones, and Martin stares out of the window at the darkness of the stretching rural road, the few specks of light in the distance where the sparse houses state their presence. He thinks about the process of lighting torches in order to send a warning. Smoke signals.

“No signal,” Jon mutters in frustration, and then he opens the driver’s door, climbs out and slams it behind him with enough force that the body of the car shakes.

Martin curls into his coat. His face is wet, he realises, and when he lifts his hand to his left cheeks, it’s cold with tears. Jon is a silhouette caught in the car’s headlights, shoulders up, body tensed. To Martin’s surprise, he seems to have abandoned his phone in favour of lighting a cigarette. Martin recalls Tim mentioning that Jon had quit, a while ago. He considers getting out of the car, too, and trying to convince Jon not to lift the cigarette to his lips. But he can’t move. He’s frozen in place, shaking with a chill that doesn’t belong to him.

In the silvery-grey plume of cigarette smoke, Martin thinks he sees the outline of the chapel they’ll never find.

Leaning against the car hood, outside a service station near Preston, Jon sneaks a cigarette while he waits for Martin. His hands are restless, twitching, and if he’s being honest, he has played hard and fast with the meaning of ‘quit’ ever since—well, ever since he started working in the Archives. And he needs a distraction because, for the first time since they left the Lonely the day before, Martin is out of his line of sight.

It hasn’t been long. Five minutes, at most. But Martin had insisted on going alone, had told Jon he was feeling car sick and needed a moment to himself to get cleaned up. To brush his teeth, which he had said with an odd smile, like this was a novelty. So Jon had let him go, and regretted it almost immediately, and began smoking soon after to take the edge off his gnawing anxiety.

Now that he’s alone, Jon finds himself thinking about the journey beyond the heart-pounding panic of getting out of London and the slower-burning worry over Martin’s drawn silence.

His lips curl into a humourless smile around another drag of the cigarette, and he huffs a small laugh. When Jon had turned on the radio after they’d finally made it onto the M6, it was already tuned in to Radio 4. He didn’t have the heart to change it, not least of all because he would have to explain to Martin, after all this time, that he doesn’t particularly like Radio 4. It’s not his station of choice by a longshot. The last time they’d been in a car together—a lifetime ago, it feels like—Jon had still been trying very hard to appear older than he was and, in a moment of panic, decided the only way to do this was to listen to a radio station that didn’t even play music, for god’s sake.

Ironically, he has been listening to Radio 4 recently, if only because Daisy insists they both stay appraised of The Archers. Insisted. Jon’s smile falls. Only a few weeks ago, while Jon had been attempting to organise his office while Daisy complained at the latest pastoral plot point, he had found an old, half-folded Post-it note. A jumbled collection of words in Jon’s handwriting: Martin Secret Santa. Velázquez - The Vanishing Man??

“What’s that?” Daisy had asked him. “I can’t read your handwriting.”

Jon had slipped the Post-it back into the drawer, although this time with his rib rather than the jumbled collection of paperwork it had been coexisting with before. “Then I’m not going to tell you.”

“Oh, come on, Sims.”

“It’s nothing important.”

“I don’t think I believe you.”

The Eye had informed Jon that The Vanishing Man was the name of the book reviewed on Radio 4 on January 16th 2016, in the early hours of the morning, when Jon had been driving with Martin around the Kent Downs. Jon had written the name of the book down so that he’d know what to get Martin, if he drew his name for Secret Santa.

In the car park, Jon’s throat tightens with grief. There was never another Secret Santa after Prentiss. It seemed a silly thing, with everything that had happened, to care about. They’d never been a normal workplace, not really. And yet Jon still craves that brief glimpse of ordinariness, of a pointless tradition everyone rolls their eyes at and complains about but which is still repeated every year.

Jon is just about to walk to the bin and put his cigarette out in the tray resting on top when he notices Martin’s slow, almost unsteady approach. He quickly disposes of the spent cigarette and tries to look as nonchalant as possible, like he is perfectly capable of spending five minutes away from Martin without falling apart.

Except that as soon as Martin’s face catches the light and his expression became visible, Jon has no hope of maintaining the act.

“Martin,” Jon says, stumbling forward to meet Martin before he reaches the car fully.

“Jon.” Martin recognises him. It should be a relief, but there’s a dull echo to his voice that reminds Jon far too much of the Lonely.

Jon can see that Martin shivering, even in the too-big knitted jumper Jon had guided him into when they’d woken up sometime after midday, after sitting together on the sofa all night, Jon crying softly against Martin’s shoulder while Martin slept. He remembers the way Martin’s curls had sprung out of the jumper and how Jon had felt like crying again with how much love he felt in that moment, staring at the crown of Martin’s head, wondering what it might be like to kiss him there.

When Jon takes Martin’s hand, it’s so cold Jon feels a bolt of ice shoot up his own spine.

“You’re freezing,” Jon murmurs, pulling gently on Martin’s hand. “Come on.”

Jon places his other hand on Martin’s back, making small, soothing motions as he opens the passenger door as wide as possible and gently encourages Martin back into the seat. He pulls up the fleece blanket in the footwell up so that it covers Martin’s legs, where the worst of the shivering seems to be concentrated, and squeezes Martin’s hand until Martin’s eyes move to his.

“I’m just going to walk around to the other side of the car and get in, alright?”

Martin nods. Jon squeezes his hand again, one last time, before standing up and jogging around the car to the driver’s side. He climbs in quickly, kicks on the engine so that he can start up the heaters, and then re-takes Martin’s hand. Martin stares straight ahead, his eyes cloudy and fixed on a faraway point Jon can’t identify.

“Martin,” Jon ventures, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible. “What happened?”

“N-nothing.” Martin shudders violently. “It was nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Jon,” Martin sighs.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Jon agrees, trying to keep the reluctance from his words. “But it might… maybe it would help?”

“To see what we’re up against?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Lonely, it…” Martin laughs, a hollow, humourless sound. “It’s not just going to let me go, is it?”

Jon doesn’t know what to say. They sit for a while in silence, the only sound the rumble of the engine and the whir of the heaters. In a moment of desperation, Jon almost considers turning Radio 4 back on, and he nearly laughs at his own ridiculousness.

“I—I was in Costa,” Martin says, at last, disrupting the quiet. “I was going to get you some coffee, since you’d been driving all evening. I’m sorry. That I can’t—that I don’t have a—”

“Martin, it’s fine.” They’ve already had this conversation. Jon brushes his thumb over Martin’s knuckles and tries not to well up because Martin thought to get him coffee, when he knows for a fact that Martin despises coffee as a point of pride and refuses to even keep it in his flat.

“I always wanted to learn. To drive, that is.”

Jon smiles, but it fades quickly. “Maybe you can. When we get to…”

Martin hums. “I ordered the coffee, that was… it was fine. A bit awkward, I guess. Haven’t talked to strangers in a while, you know? Or anyone, really. But I got through it. It’s just that when—when the barista called my name, she just—she looked through me, like I wasn’t there.” A brief, bitter twitch of Martin’s lips. “Maybe I wasn’t.”

“Martin.”

“It’s fine. It’s—it has to be—I’m fine.”

“Martin.”

“I just stood there, while she was calling my name. Looking at me, but not,” Martin continues, still staring out of the window. “In the end, she gave the coffee to the person who was cleaning the forecourt.”

“Oh.” Jon tips his head back against the seat. “I can—did you order anything else? Are you hungry? I can go back inside. Or we can go… t-together.”

Martin shakes his head minutely.

“We’ll eat when we get to the house,” Jon says, like it’s already decided. “I can make soup.”

“What kind?” Martin asks, so quietly Jon almost misses it.

“Whatever kind you like.”

“I don’t know. Is that something I—should I know?”

“We can find out.”

Martin doesn’t say anything else.

“Are you ready to move on?” Jon ventures.

At Martin’s minute nod, Jon reluctantly untangles their hands and retakes the wheel. He pulls out of the service station, and once they’ve navigated the helter-skelter of roundabouts and made it back onto the motorway, Jon lets his hand drift towards the radio. Would it be so earth-shattering, to listen to something other than Radio 4? Surely it wouldn’t shake the foundation of their relationship more than everything else that’s happened in the last two years. And yet he feels an extraordinary amount of pressure, like he’s about to expose some vulnerable part of himself to Martin by revealing what sort of music he enjoys.

“Jon?” Martin murmurs.

Jon retracts his hand. It’s ridiculous, it really is, but he’s not ready. “Sorry. Just, uh, just checking I know where the—the hazard lights are in this car.”

Martin doesn’t seem to be in any position to question him. Jon returns his hand to the wheel and stares at the straight, sparse road ahead of them. There’s not a lot of traffic, late at night and mid-week, and Jon loses himself quickly in the motions of driving. It’s strange, he thinks, the way skills stay with you after so much time dormant and unpractised. He wonders if he could remember the cords he used to play on his grandmother’s piano, if he sat down in front of one now, or the lyrics of the song Georgie taught him, his voice matching the gentle strum of her guitar. He wonders if the Eye would let him be bad at it, let him rediscover these half-realised skills or supply him with the unearned knowledge of how to perfect them.

Instead, he thinks about teaching Matin to drive. If the Eye is going to insist on perfection, Jon might as well share it with the person he cares about most. The Scottish Highlands aren’t the easiest place to learn, and they probably shouldn’t attract the attention of anyone nearby by hiring an instructor, but it would be something to do. A reason to spend time together. They’d argue, almost certainly. He can hear it: yes, Jon, I know the highway code and Martin, you’ve missed the turning again and well, maybe your instructions should have been clearer and I resent your tone and I resent your directions and—he smiles. Petty arguments, of course, the kind that don’t hurt, not really. They would laugh about it when they got home.

He turns to Martin, as if this is already a joke between them, already spoke out loud, only to find him fast asleep against the window.

The suspended moment of surprise lasts far longer than Jon would admit to anyone, even himself, and he has to force his eyes back to the road just in time to avoid a large lorry with smiling cartoon produce on its flank. He takes a moment to breath around his pounding heart as he settles back into the speed limit. And then he can’t stop stealing glances at Martin’s sleeping form.

Martin’s head is tucked between the headrest and the window, a position that will likely give him an aching neck later, but Jon can’t bear to wake him. The fleece blanket—yellow with white flowers, Jon remembers, although he can’t see it in the monochrome lights of the motorway—rests atop Martin’s gently rising and falling belly. One of Martin’s hands is hidden beneath the blanket, curled around his knee; the other lies half-up in his lap, fingers twitching every so often. His mouth is open slightly, top teeth just visible. During one stolen look, Jon notices Martin’s nose curling slightly in sleep, his eyelashes twitching. It’s so endearing that Jon has to smothers the urge to cry.

Once again, Jon thinks about the last time they shared an unfamiliar car to traverse unfamiliar terrain. Martin had seemed to sleep then, too, although looking at Martin now, Jon isn’t sure it was actual rest. More just closing his eyes, because there was no real difference between that and keeping them open, staring absently at the road ahead.

When Jon had dropped the hire car off in Croydon around eight a.m. that Saturday morning, Martin bid him goodbye with a hollow smile, assured Jon he could would be fine getting home, and walked—purposelessly, somehow, even though he had a destination—towards the nearest station. Jon had gotten another taxi back to the Institute, weekend be damned, he needed to write up his notes, and picked up his phone at obsessive fifteen-minute intervals, beset with the need to text Martin to ensure he’d gotten home safely.

He never did text. And he still regretted it, even when Martin came in on Monday—still pale, still withdrawn—and assured Jon his weekend had been fine. Even now, two years later.

Worse still, he knew something wasn’t quite right with Martin that week. Tim and Sasha had been worried about Martin, and had come into Jon’s office before leaving for the night and asked that he ensure Martin wasn’t still there when he locked up. Jon had no real issue letting Tim or Sasha stay in the Archives after-hours; he trusted them, and they were experienced researchers, and they both worked best in their own time. Martin, not so much.

But he had noticed that Martin’s quietness in the days since Naomi Hearne’s statement, the way he drifted distracted through the Archives and sometimes seemed to be somewhere else entirely. Perhaps that’s what compelled Jon to invite Martin with him to Kent. To this day, he’s still not sure why he extended the offer. Why he made that decision over and over again, even when opportunities to turn back presented.

He does know how different he feels now. How sorry he is, that he tried so hard to avoid this. How angry he is, that it took him so long to discover this feeling. And he knows exactly why he invited Martin with him to Scotland.

He supposes it’s good, if Martin didn’t—couldn’t—sleep back then, that he is managing to rest now. Jon makes himself focus very closely on the road, on driving gently so as not to disturb the sleep Martin so clearly needs.

It’s not until they’re about half an hour away from the Scottish border that Martin begins to stir, a deep sigh followed by a more discontented murmur. Jon tries to keep his eyes on the road ahead, tries not to think it’s only been an hour, please let him rest just a little longer, but his gaze keeps wandering to where Martin is curling in on himself against the window, beginning to shudder again.

The car’s heating system is already on its highest setting, which Jon discovers when he reaches to turn it up. Perhaps he’s also running cold from their encounter with the Lonely, and the shivery anxiety still gripping him after their escape from London. Jon thinks about reaching across, waking Martin, but just as he wills his hand away from the steering wheel again, Martin sits up with a noise of confusion, the rasping outline of Jon’s name.

Martin stares at the darkness in front of the car, cut through with the white glare of the headlights. He’s stock still, the only movement the rise and fall of his shoulders at pace with his frantic breathing, and the small quivers running through him at merciless intervals. It’s almost reminiscent, Jon thinks, of the time they drove to Kent, except there is something visibly uncalm about Martin’s posture this time.

“Martin?”

Martin just keeps staring.

Jon reaches across the car towards him. “Martin?”

Martin draws a sharp breath, flinching away from Jon’s outstretched hand so quickly he thumps his head against the window. The impact seems to wake him fully, but his breathing gets quicker, if anything, and he hides both his shaking hands beneath the blanket, gathering it up to his chin as he attempts to stop his teeth from chattering.

“S-sorry,” Martin murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Jon replies, trying to match Martin’s voice for gentleness, although his does not shake or warp with almost-tears. “Bad dream?”

Martin hums, but says nothing more.

“Would you like to stop? I think we’ll be coming up to another service—”

“No,” Martin interrupts, a new sharpness to his voice. He takes another breath, slower but still unsteady. “No, thank you. I’m—I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Jon tries to smile, as soothingly as his can, but Martin won’t return eye contact when Jon glances his way. “Alright. We’re not far from the border now.”

Jon drives, trying very hard to focus on the road rather than Martin in the passenger seat. Every time Jon looks Martin’s way, the shivering seems to get worse, accompanied by a blurring at the edges of his figure that Jon attributes, at first, to the late hour, to the fuzziness of the light and the growing exhaustion behind Jon’s eyes. When he tries to focus on it, it gives him an odd, momentary headache—not dissimilar to when he attempts to Know something too big or too abstract.

It’s then that Jon realises this is the Lonely, clinging to Martin like heat haze to the road, except there’s something distinctly sinister and chilling about it. A claws-out, cloying presence in the car with them.

“Martin…”

“I’m fine,” Martin replies, voice as tense as his jaw as he fights down another teeth-chattering chill. “It’s—it will pass.”

Jon swallows around the ache in his throat. “Can I help?”

“It’s fine.”

“Martin—”

“Jon, I’m—”

“You’re not,” Jon snaps, not meaning to sound so harsh, but the worry explodes out of him sounding closer to anger. “You’re not fine, Martin, and I—I can’t just sit here and watch—”

“Then don’t watch,” Martin hisses back. “Would that be so hard? To just. Not watch. For once in your life just stop—stop looking, stop asking to know things that will—that will—”

“That will what?”

“That will destroy you, okay? Stop throwing yourself into—into the eldritch version of staring directly at the sun!”

“Already been there and done that, I’m afraid,” Jon mutters, with no small amount of bitterness.

“Oh, great! And how did that turn out? I’m not some—you can’t—I didn’t ask for this. I’m not a statement, I’m not—you can’t just Know me, Jon, that’s not—not fair. It’s not—” Martin is gasping now, almost gagging on his words, on the tears threatening to implode his facade of distance. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”

When Jon turns to look at him, there is still something blurred and unspecific about Martin, like he is both here and somewhere else. Like half of his image is being left behind by each forward movement of the car. But he is crying, fully crying. And by some cruel twist of fate, Jon can see this more clearly than everything else around them.

“I know what you’re going to say. I know nothing’s fair. I know that’s the—it’s the way our world is now, right? Nothing’s fair, and nothing’s safe, and everything…” Martin coughs miserably, his voice stolen momentarily by the tears. “Everything ends.”

“Martin—”

“Don’t, Jon. Don’t say my name like that.”

“What would you have me say instead?”

“I don’t—I can’t. Not yet.”

So Jon says nothing. He drives. He tries very hard not to look at Martin, who curls against the door, crying in such a quiet, self-contained way that Jon wants to weep with the intensity of grief Martin seems to be denying himself.

By the time they’re nearing the border, Martin is even quieter. Jon risks a glance at him and finds that he is still crying, but sporadically, just tears now, falling silently onto the blanket he’s still holding beneath his chin. His face shimmers when it catches the headlights leeching across the road from the southbound side. The glassy look has returned to his eyes, and Jon wonders if he even knows that he’s still crying.

Up ahead, Jon spots a sign for Gretna Green. It twists a wretched, tearful laugh from his throat.

“What is it?” Martin rasps.

Jon turns to him, not caring if he misses the moment they cross the border—which before had seemed such an important milestone to him, a prerequisite of the journey. Martin is still crying those silent, ignored tears, but his gaze has moved from that absent nothingness to Jon’s face instead.

“I was just—Gretna Green,” Jon says uselessly. “We’re near Gretna Green.”

Martin takes a shuddering breath. It sounds like it could have been a laugh, too, if they were somewhere else, someone else—a perfect twin to Jon’s. “Oh?”

“Did you know that you can no longer get married at Gretna Green without at least twenty-nine days’ notice? In 1856, a law was passed requiring one member of the couple to have resided in the local parish for at least twenty-one days in order to be eligible to marry there. That has since been repealed, but the longer notice period maintained.” Jon didn’t know this until just a moment ago, when the Eye supplied it to him. “The tradition of Gretna Green marriages dates back to at least 1754, although the practice didn’t become commonplace until a toll road made it a more accessible location to those travelling from England. At the time, Scottish law was guided more by Celtic rather than Catholic tradition, and so allowed a couple to be married by anyone so long as there were witnesses, which gave rise to so-called anvil priests—local blacksmiths willing to perform wedding ceremonies.”

Martin swipes at his cheek with the back of his hand. He seems sturdier, more present. “I didn’t know any of that, actually.”

“The most famous anvil priest is Richard Rennison, who was recorded as having performed five-thousand, one-hundred and forty-seven wedding ceremonies before ‘irregular marriages’ were outlawed by the Scottish government in 1939.”

“That’s—that’s a lot of weddings,” Martin murmurs, a hint of humour in his voice. “He must have seen a lot.”

Jon frowns. “Of what?”

“Well, love, I guess. But it can’t all have been good.”

“Perhaps.”

“I mean, I’ve read Pride and Prejudice, for a start.”

“Yes, but Mr Wickham is not a particularly helpful example of a potential husband. Would you hold his entire character against the integrity of Gretna Green?”

“I guess they never actually went to Gretna Green, in the end. But I bet there’s a lot of real-life examples of people manipulating their partners into a shotgun wedding across the border and then—”

“Goodbye happily ever after.”

“I never had you down for a hopeless romantic.”

“I was agreeing with your last point.”

“Yeah, but none of the points before that.”

“Yes, I was.”

Martin makes that noise again, something adject to a laugh that warms Jon’s heart. “No, you weren’t.”

“Yes, I was.”

“No, you—” Martin stops, shakes his head. “This is ridiculous.”

“Fine,” Jon says, lifting his hands momentarily from the steering wheel in a gesture of surrender. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a hopeless romantic, thank you very much. But is it so terrible to imagine that some of those marriages were—well, happy or exciting or—or fairer? Than somewhere else? That there was a great deal of love here for a great deal of time, and that makes this place—unique. You’re right: not all of it could have been happy, or good, or honest. But—”

“But you’re a little bit in love with the idea of this place,” Matin says, and it takes Jon a moment to realise he’s teasing.

Jon feels heat rush to his cheeks, and he’s glad that it’s dark inside the car, that they’re between streetlights and passing vehicles. I’m a little bit in love with you, too, Jon thinks, and feels his blush deepen even further. The thought is so vivid that for a moment, he’s convinced he actually said it out loud. But Martin is just looking at him, his expression still somewhat distant, but there’s something like a smile sitting on his lips. No hint that Jon might have just confessed his love.

“Yes, well.” Jon clears his throat. “Sometimes it’s nice to…”

“Have a little hope?”

Jon nods, just once. When he looks at Martin, his smile has disappeared and there are tears in his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispers.

“For what?”

“For everything. For—”

“Jon, you can’t be sorry for everything,” Martin cuts in. “It will eat you alive. God, you—you don’t have to be sorry. Not for anything you think you’ve done to me.”

“Martin, I—”

“No, Jon, I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“What an earth for? You haven’t—”

“I have. We’ve both—we’ve both made a lot of mistakes. And that’s… probably why we’re here.” Martin sniffs, curls his hands tighter around the blanket. “But I…”

Jon waits. He thinks they must have crossed the border into Scotland now, with little fanfare. Too absorbed in each other’s words to notice the transition.

“Can we stop soon?” Martin asks at last, breaking the silence.

It’s not what Jon is expecting, but he nods nonetheless. “Of course. We’ll stop at the next service station.”

True to his word, Jon stops at the next service station—which just so happens to be Gretna Green. He asks Martin if he wants to keep going, to bypass this service station for another, but Martin simply shakes his head and doesn’t say anything as Jon finds them an empty space.

They walk inside together, only splitting off into separate cubicles when they reach the toilets. Martin says very little, but allows himself to be guided by Jon through Waitrose, which is open despite the late hour. They’ll have to sacrifice affordability for practicality this time, since they’re only two hours away from Daisy’s safehouse and it seems like a bad idea to risk stopping again. Jon fills their basket with tea bags, powdered milk, custard creams, bread, bananas, baked beans and pre-grated cheese. None of it particularly glamourous, but it will tide them over, and he’s not sure either of them is in a state to do more than microwave what they have available.

Just before they reach the check-out, Jon notices the chocolate Martin likes. He remembers, because Tim had once returned from his lunch break having bought the entire box from the nearby supermarket when Martin had been staying in the Archives. Caramel Cadbury, the contrasting purple and yellow wrapper always showing up in the bins after that, and Jon feeling an odd sense of jealousy that Tim had so effortlessly, it seemed, made Martin’s unexpected stay more pleasant.

Jon places two bars into the basket with the rest of their goods. With the hand not holding the basket, Jon reaches for Martin. Martin closes the distance, taking Jon’s hand, and they cling to each other through the transaction and the return to the car.

“Are you hungry?” Jon asks Martin.

Martin shakes his head. Jon adds this to the list of things to address later, when he isn’t so sleep-deprived he’s sure to say the wrong thing, push the wrong buttons. He places their shopping bags in the boot of the car and reluctantly relinquishes Martin’s hand so they can both climb back in.

Jon doesn’t start the engine.

“I can’t stop thinking about Naomi Hearne,” Martin announces, after a long stretch of silence. “I had a dream about her statement. Earlier. It was… different, though. I think it might have been—I think maybe I was—I belonged to that house.”

Jon doesn’t know what to say. His own silence is choking him, and he knows now is not the time to cry, but it’s a difficult thing to wrestle down the onslaught.

“I was so stupid,” Martin hisses. He’s crying again, so suddenly Jon feels like he must have missed something. “I should never have gotten involved with the Lonely. I’m—this is—it’s all my fault. I did this.”

Jon swallows his own tears. “Martin, I don’t understand.”

“The Lonely won’t let me go.”

“It will. It has,” Jon says, quick, desperate.

“No.” Martin shakes his head with a mirthless laugh. “No, it hasn’t, Jon. You remember Evan Lukas.”

“Of course,” Jon replies, although it wasn’t a question.

“He escaped. He escaped, and it took him back in the end.”

“No.” Jon leans back, as if struck. This is—why has he never thought about this? But no, it can’t be true, it can’t be a possibility. “No, that’s—Martin, you aren’t like him. Evan Lukas was—he was born into it. The Lonely was with him for longer than it ever was you.”

“I think the Lonely always had me.”

“Don’t say that. Not again. Not now.”

“But it’s true, Jon! When I listened to Naomi Hearne’s statement—”

“I should never have let you—”

“You didn’t let me. I chose to.”

“It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was.”

“No, it—it compelled you, somehow. The statements, they can do that, they can—”

“I wanted to read it.”

“Exactly!”

“No, I wanted to read it because I was doing my job, because I was helping Tim and Sasha. I didn’t know it would—it just seemed like a normal statement. Until I listened,” Martin continues, voice growing in strength. “It called to something inside of me. I recognised so much of myself—”

“No, Martin.”

“My life is—was—it was just like—”

“Stop,” Jon snaps, “Stop. Please.”

Martin stops, but only momentarily. “We have to talk about this at some point. I know I’ve been putting it off, too, but… we have to.”

Jon drags a hand over his face, suddenly so exhausted he could fall asleep. But his heart is pounding and his hands, he realises as he’s lowering them from his face, are shaking. There’s no rest to be had yet. “Alright.”

“Being cut off from the Lonely might kill me,” Martin says, “Like it killed Evan Lukas.”

“I’ll be cut off from the Eye, too. I’ll—”

“Basira is sending you statements,” Martin interrupts, “And you’re going to read them, okay? You have to read them.”

“Then you’ll have to—to find a way to feed the Lonely, too.”

“I won’t do that.”

“That’s the only deal I’m going to make.”

“I won’t sacrifice anyone to that place,” Martin spits. “You saw it, Jon. You were there. How can you think I would ever send anyone there just to save myself?”

“Oh, and you think feeding the Eye is without its sacrifices?” Jon demands, fury rising to meet his grief in a perfect storm. “Is it okay to subject people to nightmares, to reliving their trauma again and again with me drinking it all in, just so I can survive?”

“At least they’d be alive!”

“Martin, this is ridiculous. You can’t—”

“Stop trying to find a way out of this.”

“Stop acting as if this is the only way!” Jon shouts, loudly enough that Martin flinches back.

With a shuddering breath, Jon tries to contain his anger, to hide it until it’s not so raw. He thinks about the last time they were in the car together. The argument then, and how he had pulled over and gotten out and smoked to avoid finishing the confrontation, to avoid letting his true feelings show.

He won’t do that again. He can’t. Not this time.

“Evan Lukas didn’t—it might not have been the Lonely that killed him. We don’t know for certain that it was,” Jon continues. “And if it was the Lonely… did Naomi Hearne’s statement give any indication that he lived his life differently because he knew it might happen? No. He got a job that he cared about. He surrounded himself with friends. He fell in love. You can have all of those things. You deserve all of those things.”

Martin’s tears drop faster and faster, an unstoppable flood, and Jon wants nothing more than to reach across and wipe them away with his thumb. He would, except that Martin is holding himself so tightly, curled with his back against the car door, and he looks so devastated, so far away, so unwilling to be reached.

“He died,” Martin sobs. “He died, and he left the person he loved behind.”

“Oh, Martin.”

“No, Jon, I—I know what that feels like.”

“Martin,” Jon murmurs. Afraid of what’s coming next. But he knows he has to say it. He has to keep going. “Can I ask you something?”

Martin hesitates, wiping at his eyes, digging his fingers into his sockets. After a protracted moment, he nods.

“Do you think Naomi Hearne wishes she never met Evan Lukas?” Jon asks.

Martin stares at him, still crying. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“I don’t…” Martin takes a shuddering breath. “No. I don’t think Naomi Hearne wishes she never met Evan Lukas.”

Jon almost smiles. “Neither do I.”

“But she was lonely again, afterwards.”

“Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she reached out to Evan’s friends. Maybe she realised they were her friends, too.”

Martin stares at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Do you know that?”

“No.” Jon sighs. “No, but I—I can Look.”

“No, that’s not fair.”

Jon steadies himself. Across the car park, he watches a young father bounce a little baby, pacing the length of his sedan as he does so. In the car, the faint silhouette of his partner is just visible; they look peaceful, at rest. Jon’s heart aches.

“Can I ask you one more thing, Martin?” Jon whispers.

“Yes,” Martin rasps, reluctance replaced with resignation.

“Do you wish you had never met me?”

Silence. Jon forces himself to keep watching the father, murmuring now to the fussing baby, giving Martin time to consider the question, all of its sharp angles, its gentle core. He wishes, more than anything, that he could reach for Martin’s hand and hold it. Hold it tight, kiss his knuckles.

“Jon?”

At last, Jon turns to look at Martin. Their eyes meet and then, in a blur of movement, Martin reaches for him, his hands pausing on Jon’s shoulders for just a moment, giving him time to pull away, but Jon reciprocates in full, grabs hold of Martin’s jumper and pulls until they’re a tangled mess, holding each other, crying and clinging and trying to move closer than the small car will allow.

“No,” Martin says into Jon’s shoulder. “I don’t—of course I don’t regret meeting you. God, Jon, I—please don’t—never think that, okay? I don’t want you to ever think that.”

Jon lifts his hand to Martin’s hair, runs his fingers through the tussled curls where they’re fuzzy from sleeping against the door. “Martin, meeting you—it was a gift. It’s always been a gift.”

Martin sobs, his face wet against the seam of Jon’s jumper. “I wish I’d never agreed to Peter’s plan.”

“I understand why you did. And I forgive you, if you need to hear it.”

“But I’ve ruined everything.”

“Nothing is ruined beyond repair, Martin.”

“What if the Lonely calls me back?”

Jon holds tighter, as if the Lonely is already at their backs, creeping closer. “We’ll deal with it.”

“You said yourself…” Martin sobs again. “You said—when we went to Kent—you said—”

“I said it didn’t matter how long Naomi and Evan had. I remember.”

Martin is shaking against him. “Did you…?”

“I meant it. Not because—it’s not because I didn’t care, although I know I was trying very hard to give that impression, at the time. I meant it because no amount of time would have been enough. Love is… it’s outlasting. It makes its own time.”

“Jon—”

“No, please, Martin, I—I need to say this. No matter how long we get, whether it’s days or—or years. It won’t be enough. I’ll always…” Jon laughs, a small, fragile thing. “Well, I’ll always want more. Perhaps you don’t believe me, or you—you can’t, right now. But you, Martin, you are enough. Always. I will spend every moment we get together ensuring you believe that. If you’ll have me, of course. There’s—of course, there’s no obligation, and I would—I’d understand if—but it’s true. It’s all true.” Jon laughs again, feeling giddy. “I want to spend all of my time with you, Martin. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Slowly, they pull away from each other, but not far. Jon moves his hands up Martin’s arms, over his shoulders, until they rest on his cheeks, and he finally allows himself the privilege of wiping away Martin’s tears with his thumb.

“I wish it hadn’t taken—well, all of this—” Martin makes a vague gesture with his hand, which still somehow encompasses everything: tea stains on statements, worms at the door and shoulder-to-shoulder against the wall, trips to the café heavy with paranoia, quiet goodbyes, missed moments. “To get here.”

Jon rubs his thumb against Martin’s cheek. “We can’t go back.”

“I know.”

“Will you…?” Jon takes a steadying breath. There are so many questions, but only one matters, in this moment. The rest will follow, one day. “Martin, will you take it day by day with me? And if that doesn’t work—hour by hour, minute by minute. Together.”

There’s a breathless pause. And then Martin laughs, a genuine smile splitting his face for the first time in—well, Jon can’t remember how long. It’s small and tentative, but it’s there. And it means everything to Jon.

“Yes,” Martin tells him.

Jon smiles, too.

“I’m scared,” Martin murmurs, smile wavering slightly.

“Me too.”

“But I—I want to try.”

Jon feels his smile grow. “That’s enough. Always.”

Martin’s smile finds its feet again.

“Are you ready to keep going?” Jon asks.

Martin lifts his hands to Jon’s and squeezes. “I’m ready.”

In the silvery-grey headlights on the tarmac ahead, Jon thinks he sees the outline of the words he is still looking for the strength to share.

I love you.

Soon. He’ll say it soon. He has time.

The sun is just rising when they reach the safehouse. It welcomes them like an old friend, worn stone bathed in newborn sunlight as if to say hello, as if to smile at their arrival. Jon insists they are safe here, though his heart is unsure. Martin can’t shake the feeling that this is won’t be forever, though his heart wants to hope this might be it.

Maybe they will have a lifetime here. Maybe not.

Love makes its own time, Martin thinks. And Jon smiles and leads them both towards home.

#cw depressive episode #cw panic attack #cw death #cw grief #cw suicidal ideation #cw disordered eating #cw food #cw emetophobia #cw smoking #cw intrusive thoughts #naomi hearne's statement HAUNTS me to this day #i don't even know what to say about the radio 4 discourse #if i could do as much research for uni #as i did looking at the january 2016 radio 4 schedule for this fic #i might just be unstoppable #alas it is not to be 🤣#love and hugs to all who want and need it #have a wonderful day or night or whatever time it is where you are #<3

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nanagoswife · 3 years

Text

For You? Always.

Summary: Fast forward to modern day, it’s a usual Monday morning. Then someone new shows up.

W/C: 2.4k

<<Previous, Next>>

Chapter One

Rushing to the office, you still felt tired from the night before, not being able to fall asleep for hours. There was a meeting first thing and you mentally thanked Derek, your boss, that he helped you get an assistant who had your morning coffee already on your desk. It helped that she had been with you for a few years and knew how days like this start.

Dropping everything you didn’t need, you hurried to the conference room. On your way, your assistant, Paisley, quickly filled you in on the last minute details before you walked in.

Pushing open the door, you were met by the only one there, Derek. He was doing a last minute setup of visuals. Exchanging greetings, you sat your things down in front of the seat beside Derek’s, where you usually sat.

“I’m going to bet that most of the others are going to be late,” Derek said in a playful tone.

“I bet fifty if they all are,” you replied as you both laughed.

Derek countered, “Hmm, I’ll give you an extra five if you’re right.” You gave him a smirk as you sat down and organized everything. "Hey, if we're going that high today, a few dollars doesn't change much." Both of you shared a chuckle before settling.

As you waited, the two of you chatted. He delighted you with stories of his family at home while you occasionally watch the clock as the official meeting start time passed by. Like you predicted, no one else had yet appeared.

“Looks like you owe me fifty-five dollars, sir,” you said teasingly.

Derek chuckled and replied, “A deal is a deal. I’ll get the cash for tomorrow.”

You knew it wouldn't be tomorrow. He always took many days before giving you your winnings.

A few more minutes passed before the expected attendees started to file in, all apologizing for their tardiness.

Both you and Derek couldn’t help but stifle your chuckles at each apology. It took a few more minutes until the last of the members arrived.

Derek didn't waste any time once everyone was present.

“As our first order of business,” Derek said, starting the meeting, “we have gained a new member of our team. He will be the co-head of the legal department along with Siara.”

Siara was one of your longest, and best friends in this building. Not only were you friends in high school, but you stayed in school through university and ended up working at the same company. She had been one of the heads of the legal department, for a couple of years now, with Jason who recently retired.

“Everybody, please give a warm welcome to Ben.”

A man, who you hadn’t seen walk in, stood and gave a small wave. As he did so, he looked very innocent and awkward as he received the welcome. It was almost as if this wasn't the man who had met many authors and celebrities that you would never think of ever seeing in your lifetime.

He took a breath before speaking, “It is an honour to join this fine publishing empire.” Ben said this humbly, sitting down again. He had a slightly faded English accent that was mixed with a Scottish lilt. You wagered that he probably had English (possibly Scottish) parents, but was raised mainly here in North America.

Something about him seemed familiar to you.

So, while Derek filled everyone in on news you already knew, you discreetly studied Ben. He wore what you expected from a lawyer, a suit and tie. His face was clean shaven, showing a strong jaw. His hair was a blondish brown with a hint of red streaming through as it was combed over.

These two features surrounded the most daunting one, his determinedly sparkling, blue-grey eyes with a beauty mark under his right one, just on his cheekbone. Something about it brought back the feeling of familiarity. All together, though, they made for a handsome looking face.

“Now I’ll turn to our Senior Marketing Executive,” Derek said, gesturing to you, “to start the meeting off.”

Standing up, you began to talk about what you knew best. You were used to the scene in front of you. It made you feel like you were at home.

This time, though, you were slightly nervous when you saw Ben looking at you. You couldn’t figure out why. Looking at him made you feel something you’ve never felt before.

When you finished and sat back down, you felt relief flood your mind.

After the meeting was over, everyone filed out, you being the last as you always were.

Walking towards your office, you found Paisley waiting for you with a couple of files for an upcoming project. Following you into your office, she sat at the extra desk that you had set up for her for when you had to work closely or when you wanted to talk. She may be your assistant of three years, but she was one of your closest friends.

“So, have you finally met a man yet?” she asked in a playful tone. “You only had all weekend.” Giving her a look, she laughed. “I’m kidding! I know you’re ‘too busy’ for love, anyways.”

“You know that now isn’t the best time, but-”

“THERE’S A BUT?” Paisley cut you off, yelling. It made you glad that your office door was closed. There was a look of genuine surprise that filled her face.

“There always is. Anyways I was going to say, but I won’t abandon the possibility.” Her face dropped at that. Disappointment that there was still no one significant in your life other than your parents, her, Siara, and your life long friend, Sadie.

“Please let me make you an account on some sort of dating app or something. I’ve been waiting for someone to double date with for years.”

“Siara has a boyfriend.”

“Yeah but they both have time consuming jobs. Then, if they have time together, they stay in or she’s always with you.” She said this slightly aggravatedly. Hearing it only made you fail to stifle a small laugh, earning you a glare.

“There’s plenty of people here that you could ask, isn’t there? I thought you were friends with a lot of people.”

“I am, but they are never available because they almost all have kids. That’s why, with you, the one who seems to be friends with everyone in this building and more, I’m surprised you haven’t found anyone.”

What Paisley said was very true. You were about to reply until a knock at the door drew your attention.

Telling them to come in, you were met with a face you weren’t expecting. It was Ben. Siara accompanied him, undoubtedly showing him around.

“Sorry to disturb you two. I was just showing Ben around and introducing him to some of the people he needed to know most. Starting with you.” Siara said as you got up to shake his hand in greeting. Both you and Paisley introduced yourselves, him doing the same. Why did you feel like you've heard that name before?

“Siara, you always know that you interrupt nothing. And Ben, it’s nice to properly meet you.” You said, giving him a smile. Then, leaning in slightly closer and lowering your voice, but keeping it loud enough so that Siara could still hear, you said, “And if she’s ever bothering you, let me know. I know how to contain her.” All of you laughed.

“She tells the truth. You’ve only known me since high school,” Siara said sarcastically. Giving you a push on the shoulder, she then gave you a friendly hug.

“I heard that I’m apparently going to be working with you quite a bit. I look forward to it.” Ben said this very professionally, but there was a look of nervousness in his eyes. You couldn’t tell if he was either intimidated or if it was something else as he flashed a grin.

“We will be. She might look like she follows the rules, but without us, she would be infringing the law 24/7.” Siara said jokingly. “Anyways, we’ll let you get back to work. I have to finish the tour, but we will be swinging around to discuss actual work a bit later.”

After saying your farewells, they closed the door as they left.

Sitting down, you saw Paisley give you a sly look. After asking her why she said, “He likes you.”

“What do you mean? He was being polite and being thrown into that role in this building would not be easy,” you said back. Her words made you look back and see what she may have meant.

“Did you not see the look in his eyes? When Ben looked at either me or Siara, it was much different than the one he gave you.”

You didn't notice, really. So, you stumbled for your response, “I’m sure he was just nervous. In a way, I am one of his bosses. He was most likely nervous to meet me.”

“And why would he be nervous when he’s a big deal in here. He wasn’t put straight into a leadership role just because. He’s dealt with people we would never imagine meeting in a hundred years.” Paisley retorted.

She was right. You had heard about what he has done from Derek when the discussions of him coming here were first taking place. Ben had met people you could only wish to meet, though you had met a great deal of big names as well. Shrugging it off, you walked back to your desk and went to work.

As you did, you couldn't help but let your mind wander as you tried to figure out why he was so familiar. Why you felt like you already knew him.

- - -

“How was your first meeting?” Siara cut off Ben’s thoughts as he was looking at a file that he truly wasn’t reading. Something else was on his mind.

“Not bad,” his words trailed off as he started thinking again.

Siara caught this and gave him a confused look, “Ben, are you okay?”

He knew he couldn't get past Siara's perceptiveness. She was one of the few that he considered a friend in high school. Even after years of only talking through letters and emails, she could still read him well.

He stammered in an attempt to recover the moment. “I’m sorry. There’s just someone I saw in there that I think I know.”

“I mean, I’ve known you for how long? There is one person who went to the same high school as us. In fact, she’s our senior marketing executive.”

Ben swallowed before speaking, “Actually, that is who I was thinking of.”

Looking down at the file again, he went back to the memories he had of you. School. The cafe. How much he really liked you even though he was sure that you didn’t care for him then.

“Well,” Siara’s voice breaking his thoughts again, “why don’t we stop by her office. I need to give you a proper tour anyways.”

He smiled in thanks but a pang of nervousness filled him as his heart picked up speed. Ben didn't even think he could walk properly once he stood.

It wasn’t long until Siara had led him to your office door. His heart began to race again as she knocked.

Hearing your reply, the door was opened and he was greeted by your kind smile. He hardly heard Siara speaking but managed to introduce himself to your assistant and most of all, you.

“Siara, you always know that you interrupt nothing. And Ben, it’s nice to properly meet you.”

Your smile reminded him of years ago, but he was now sure that you didn't remember him.

Then you leaned closer to him, “And if she’s ever bothering you, let me know. I know how to contain her.” He couldn’t help but laugh, which was thankfully carried on by the others, hiding his slightly anxious one.

The rest was really just a blur. Up until he heard Siara say that they needed to have a meeting with you later, he couldn’t repeat what was said. A grin creeped onto his face at the thought of seeing you again. Even if it was for work

After saying bye, Siara closed the door behind her.

“What was that?” she asked. The question took him by surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“The way you were acting. You like her, don’t you?”

He felt heat fill his cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck, a nervous smirk spreading his lips.

That was all she needed for her answer. "Just like high school," she muttered to herself.

Before Ben could say anything more, she continued on with taking him around the building. Relief filled him when she didn’t continue on the topic.

- - -

Later, you went down to Siara’s office instead of them coming to yours. It was more private and didn’t have a Paisley to distract you. As you thought that to yourself, you chuckled.

Walking into Siara's office, which was really a repurposed conference room, you saw Ben and Siara in the only clear area of the table. The rest was covered in organized piles of papers, files, and open books. Slightly laughing at the sight they both greeted you with a smile, Siara turning back to the tablet in front of her before Ben.

“So what’s up?” you asked when you saw a serious look on their faces. “Please tell me something isn’t wrong.”

“Oh there is,” you started to panic, thinking a mistake may have been made. “This guy is just a mastermind when it comes to playing chess,” Siara replied, making you laugh with relief. They almost had you.

Their seriousness faded as they turned away from the tablet, pausing the game.

“In all seriousness, it’s just the usual update about how everything has been doing well on the legal side of everything. There’s just a few things to double check and that’ll be all.”

Nodding your head, you took the empty seat beside Ben. You noticed as he tensed for a moment but quickly relaxed. Your attention was then brought to the conversation.

Next>>

@stardancerluv @jaydenwoo @madmax2003

#obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x you #obi wan x y/n #x reader #fanfic #ewan mcgregor #obi wan #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan fic #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #ben kenobi #modern au #For You? Always.

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hisunshiine · 3 years

Text

Escape ✈︎ Chapter 4

✈︎ chapter 4: you have been cordially invited... |✈︎ Escape Series—18+, Mature

✈︎ genre: fluff, future smut

✈︎ word count: 2,736 words

✈︎ pairing: jungkook x [redacted] (at the very end)

✈︎ warnings: alcohol consumption

✈︎ summary: A look into what it's like arriving to Bangtania...

Everyday, since the very beginning when it was announced, you have sat at your computer or been on your phone in order to participate in the giveaway for a chance to go to Bangtania Island. Every week, one lucky person has a chance to win an exclusive invitation from the girls who organized it, all expenses paid for them to relocate out there.

Friday couldn’t have come soon enough; your job was draining. A typical 9-5, doing office work was monotonous and you slogged through the week waiting for your weekends to come. Despite the wish to find something else, nobody was hiring in your city. Not for anything you wanted to do, anyways. Deep in your gut you felt the need for something more, instead of the repetitious clacking of your fingers against the keyboard, answering the phones, and feeling like a machine.

Fortunately, it’s the weekend, so you decide to stop and grab a bottle of wine and make your way home. You’re ready to unwind with some youtube videos and spend time browsing your social media for anything interesting. You pour a glass of wine and relax on the sofa, open your laptop and log in to twitter. You have a few notifications, including an update from the giveaway page, they had posted there was another winner chosen and that the winner would receive an email shortly.

“That was 30 minutes ago!?” You squeal to yourself, an unexplainable feeling creeping over you.

Just then your phone chimes, and you unlock the screen to check your notifications. You have multiple email notifications, so you check your email app as you sip your wine. Scrolling through them, it’s mainly junk mail, you see one that catches your eye.

Sender Name: Bangtania Island Mayor

Subject: You have been cordially invited…

Y/N,

Congratulations! You have been selected as the next lucky winner to be invited to Bangtania Island. In order to accept this invitation, please click on the link and fill out the application. Documents you may need to gather prior to completing the forms in the link are:

Driver’s License

Social Security Card

Passport

Please make sure to include the earliest date for you to travel, and please have your physical completed prior to boarding the plane. All documents needed are attached to the email. Please make sure to electronically sign them and reply to this email with the completed documents. If you have any questions in regards to the forms, please do not hesitate to reach out. Upon completion of all required documents per your reply email, you will receive your e-ticket for travel.

The following are the guidelines and stipulations for traveling to Bangtania Island:

You will receive a one-way ticket, free of cost. You will be picked up from the airport and transported to the boat, which will bring you to the island. You will be given a limited amount of time to decide if you would like to stay as a permanent resident of Bangtania, approximately 2 weeks. Prior to you being granted full access to the island, you will meet with the Deputy Mayor who will greet you at the dock, completing a brief in-person interview. If you decide to leave or prove unfit for the island at that time, a complimentary ticket home will be provided to you up until the 2-week window.

Thank you,

Vanessa

Deputy Mayor of the Mayor’s Office, Bangtania Island

You couldn’t stop yourself from spilling some wine as you low-key panicked. You knew there was a very good possibility of being chosen; some of your mutuals on twitter had already left to go there, and while you had seen them briefly on the TL, it was never for long and they didn’t say anything other than that they were enjoying themselves immensely and to share the sweepstakes link.

You set down what was left of your wine that hadn’t spilt into your lap, and ran around your room, pulling clothes off of their hangers and out of your dresser drawers before you remembered you hadn’t even clicked the link to complete the forms.

Pausing in the middle of your bedroom, arms filled with random clothes, you took 7 deep breaths to try and calm down before dropping your handful of clothes into your pen and waiting suitcase. Sitting back down, you calmly clicked the link and once transported to the secure website, you filled in the information needed so that your flight could be purchased for you as well as any other accommodations you may need could be handled by the ones in charge.

You printed out the forms needed for the physical, jotted down some notes to go to the doctor on Monday to complete the form, and decided that the earliest you would be able to fly out was Wednesday. That gives you enough time to go to your job, request use of your vacation hours for the next 2 weeks, and turn in your two week notice. You didn’t ever want to come back to that shit hole.

You celebrated the news by turning up your bluetooth speaker and blasting your favorite upbeat BTS songs while you packed up everything you would need. Hasta La Vista!

Catching your flight was easier than you thought it would be, as you had an upgraded flight in first class. You were given star treatment, access to a separate waiting area with complimentary food and drinks, less people to deal with, comfortable seats, the works. You couldn’t believe that ARMY was able to provide all of this for you, but who were you to complain?

The boat ride was also nice, more like taking a large yacht across the water to the island, you stood at the bough of the boat for most of the trip, enjoying the view as you became farther and farther away from everything that was shitty about your life and closer to everything you wanted. An escape into a world that was full of other people who were like you, liked the same music, had the same mindset, and you got to do it all on a paradise island? Hell fucking yeah.

After docking, you rolled your luggage behind you as you disembarked from the ramp, and saw a girl waiting for you. She was short but cute, a friendly smile and aura of being in charge. Her cheeks were slightly sunburnt, but you were envious of the way she looked refreshed, skin glowing. You couldn’t wait for that to be you; sunkissed and relaxed from the ocean breeze and too many margaritas.

“Y/n?” She asked, and you nodded.

“Welcome! I’m Vanessa, I hope that your trip went well?”

“Oh yea, it was awesome, thank you!”

“No problem, congratulations on winning! So before we go off to the fun stuff, we have a brief interview and a few more things to go over, and then I’ll give you a tour of the island and show you to your place. If you’ll follow me?”

Vanessa led the way to a golf cart and you climbed on, your luggage secured in the back seat of the cart. She turned the key, and you were speeding off towards a large house. It was painted white with accents of brick, and green ivy climbing lattices. The windows were large and beautiful, and you felt like you had seen them somewhere before. Like they were in a magazine or some type of professional photos or something. You shrugged off the feeling of deja vu, and followed Vanessa into the house.

The windows were open and provided a good amount of sunlight into the entryway, and you tried to take in as much as you could see as Vanessa walked past a staircase and led you towards the back of the house and into a side room. It was an office, with bright white walls and a large sturdy desk. A bookshelf was the entire wall behind the desk, where she now sat at.

She gestured to the plush chair in front of her desk and you sat down, suddenly nervous. For such a large house, it was pretty quiet, and you wondered where all the other people were. Was this actually all an elaborate trick to sell you into sex trafficking and you were brought here to die?!

You calmed your thoughts once you heard laughter from somewhere above you, and music playing lightly from another area of the house.

“So, once again, welcome! I am the deputy mayor here, and basically in charge of getting you all settled. We are a formal nation, Bangtania, with a president, a whole government system, and we’re working on expanding the businesses here. Before I can reveal anything more to you, I do need to have you sign the Non-Disclosure Agreement here in person. I know that I sent it to you via email for you to read and electronically sign, but I like to cover all of my bases.”

Like clockwork, another woman walked into the open office door, carrying a glass of wine and some papers. She took a sip and handed the papers to Vanessa, who thanked her as she headed back out of the room. The woman blew a kiss and disappeared around the corner.

“That’s my best friend, Talia, and definitely the reason that all of this was even put into motion,” Vanessa said as she shuffled the papers before straightening them gently by tapping the edges on the desk. She stapled the corner, binding the papers together, and passed it over to you.

“I know you read over most of this, but I want to reiterate a few points anyways. From the moment you leave this office, you are not to share with anyone about the other people on this island. When you first applied to the giveaway sweepstakes, you gave us your social media handles. While we won’t take away social media from you, your posts will be monitored for identifying certain people who wish to remain anonymous while here. Please always ask anyone before posting and triple check photos as well.”

She points to a section and you initial, stating you understand.

“You have a two week period here to see how you like it. You don’t have to stay if you do not want to. After that time, you will be issued a passport for Bangtania, a resident ID, and be included in our census. You will have dual citizenship for here and for your home country as well.”

“If you choose to leave within the 2 week window, it’s no charge. If you choose to leave after, you will have to fund your flight home yourself. We will pay for your boat ride back to the mainland, and from there you can negotiate work or if you have money saved just in case, you can fly out. Also, if you choose to stay, you can always fly out to visit friends and family, just remember the NDA is always in affect.”

You initialed again.

Vanessa led you through a few more sections of the contract, and you learned that a few of the girls on the island were nurses and so if you were sick or needed minor medical attention, they would help you. Everything else was pretty much provided to you, and all they asked was that they could use your skills in return.

You weren’t surprised they knew you had skills with computers and answering phones, which made you a perfect candidate to work in the main house under Vanessa doing secretarial work for her best friend, Talia. It wouldn’t be a lot of work, you would have plenty of time to enjoy the beach and rest, and the work would be related to the giveaway, running the island, and other fun BTS related things, so you were excited.

Signing your last signature on the bottom of the last page, Vanessa took the document, notarized it, and put it away in a locked filing cabinet next to her desk.

“Now, if you’re ready, I’d love to give you a tour of the island and show you where you’ll be staying.”

After seeing the main areas that people hung out at, you went towards what looked like a restaurant, which was good because you were hungry. Vanessa parked the golf cart next to a few others, and she held the door open for you.

You almost fainted. Seated at the table right when you walked in was none other than the 7 boys that were the reason you lived. BTS. Namjoon, Jimin, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jungkook were sat at the table, and as you looked around, you saw that in between them sat other girls, including mutuals you knew were living here. Hobi appeared from swinging doors that led to what you assumed was the kitchen, delivering plates of food from a platter as a few girls followed him as well with drinks.

“C’mon Y/N, don’t be shy. Isn’t this what you wanted?” Vanessa laughed, taking in your shocked expression.

After eating, and sharing some conversation with Jin and Yoongi, you were ready for a nap. Jin was an exceptional cook, and you were full to the brim. Vanessa waved bye to everyone, a lingering hand on a certain male’s shoulder as she walked away, leading you back outside. As you sat back on the leather seat of the cart, she checked in with you.

“I’m definitely still in shock, but now I understand the NDA a lot more.” You chuckled as she drove you towards another house. It was just as big as the main house, as you heard several people call it, but the style was more relaxed and upon entering it, you realized it was because it was lived in. It was two stories, with a large open concept downstairs with a living room and kitchen, and rooms upstairs. You dragged your suitcase up the flight and Vanessa unlocked a room for you with a key before handing it to you.

“This is our newcomer guest room. We will have a room ready for you after your 2 weeks are up, if you decide to stay. For now, most people have said staying with me and Talia has been helpful if they had questions or needed anything, but any of the girls will help you, everyone is super nice.”

You looked around the room; it was spacious with a nice big bay window that allowed a decent amount of sunlight in.

“I’ll leave you to get settled in. Feel free to explore some more, and tomorrow we will have our weekly game night so you can meet everyone in a more relaxed setting and have fun. It’s our way of welcoming you to Bangtania.”

Vanessa let herself out of the room, closing the door softly. You wanted to explore, but at the moment the bed was calling to you. You lay down in the spot where the sun was pooling, curling yourself into the warmth and passed out. Jet Lag was a bitch.

When you finally rejoined the waking world, it was definitely not waking hours. The sun had set, and you shiver, the ocean breeze now too cool in your bedroom. You get up, throwing a MOTS tour hoodie on, and climb back in the bed, attempting to go back to sleep. Tossing and turning for about 15 minutes, sleep evades you. You must have caught up on all of your missing sleep with that ‘nap’ you took. Like you said, Jet lag is a bitch. Not wanting to continue to lay there restless, you slip out of the room and down the stairs.

You walk along the road, past other houses, finding yourself walking into sand. Sitting on the beach, enjoying the sound of the waves, you finally begin to feel tired. Rather than fall asleep on the beach, you make your way back to the house.

You head up the stairs and start down the hall, being as quiet as possible since it’s late and everyone is asleep. At least you assume they are all asleep, until you hear a very familiar voice coming from Vanessa’s room.

“Come here Princess, why are you acting this way?” You step closer to the door that is slightly ajar. You can’t believe what you are seeing, but you can’t stop watching either.

#hisunshiine #hisunshiine writings #hisunshiinewritings #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts story #bangtansorciere #bangtanuniversity #bangtanwhq #bangtaninn #mrsparkjimin18 #Escape Series #Escape #Escape BTS #BTS Escape Series #ot7 x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

summertime sadness .5.

work day

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: dub con sex (fingering)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky explicit. 18+ only. I know they aren’t super dark, but like questionable so I’m keeping those tags just to be safe.

Summary: Loki adds to your workload.

Note: Right, here we go, here we go, here go again. Girls, what's my weakness? Men! Sorry, minor detour there but are we ready for the darkness? Y'all hold onto your panties. Thanks everyone for their support and I love you all! 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I’m loving the feedback from y'all and the enthusiasm! Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

You didn’t sleep much. Every time you closed your eyes, the scene flashed behind your eyelids. Loki standing over you, the image on his phone, his hand on your chin. And then you thought of Bucky. It was hard not to; your phone buzzed all night as you ignored his messages. Steve’s too. It had finally caught up to you and it felt worse than you could imagine. A man you admired thought you nothing more than a floozy. Well, maybe you were.

Saturday shone through your window and you rolled over. You were exhausted; mentally, emotionally. Your hours were spent reprimanding yourself. Going over all your mistakes; every single choice that had led to such disaster. You sat up and rubbed your eyes. You moved slowly, your body cramped from the tension.

The grind of your coffee machine filled the apartment as you sat at your desk. A mark of your guilt. A gift from one illicit lover; another having defiled you a top it. A year ago, to think of all that had transpired, you would’ve been appalled. You were. You’d sold your integrity for fleeting pleasures. You felt cheated. By yourself more than any.

You filled a mug and grabbed your phone from beside your bed. You hadn’t looked at it since you laid down the night before. Missed calls, unanswered texts, unread emails. You answered Bucky first, a simple ‘I wasn’t feeling well. Sorry.’ Besides, he had plans with Tanya, or was busy dodging her.

You texted the same to Steve and his response was swift. Your phone vibrated as his ID flashed across the screen and you answered the call after several rings. You were weak, breathless.

“Hey,” You said quietly and sipped your coffee.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked.

“Fine,” You lied poorly. “Work’s kept me busy and… I guess it’s gotten ahead of me.”

“Oh,” He uttered. “Any plans today?”

“Rest,” You shrugged and sat back in your chair. “After I sort through all my work emails and catch up.”

“Bucky?” He asked.

“I… I’m tired.” You grumbled. “I… need a break.”

“I’m sure work would understand if you took a day to yourself.” Steve said.

“No, no, I can’t do that,” You said suddenly. “I wasn’t talking about work.”

“What do you--”

“You shouldn’t be calling me. You should call Kylie. See how she’s doing.” You interrupted. “And Bucky should worry about his students. About marking and whatever. And I need to think about myself and my job.” You stood and paced around the small space of your apartment. “I’m sorry but… you said it yourself. It’s okay to be selfish, so I’m going to be selfish and think about my future because fucking old men isn’t going to get me anywhere.”

You hung up before he could respond. And then your heart sank. Why had you said that? It all had spilled from you so quickly. You cringed and your phone began to buzz again. It was Steve. You let out a shaky breath and dismissed the call. You set your phone to do not disturb’ and tossed it on your bed. Maybe your words were rash but it didn’t make them any less true.

💋

Monday. You walked into Adder Press with a pit in your stomach. You were jittery from more than your morning coffee. You gripped the strap of your bag tightly as you passed Stacey. Everything around you seemed distant, obscured by the haze that fell over you. You sat at your desk, numb, and began to set out your stuff as you always did. In a desperate attempt to make it all feel normal again.

As you waited for your computer to boot, you felt a subtly weight on the back of your chair. You looked up at Loki as he gripped the chair and smirked down at you. You blanched and your pen slipped from your hand. He bent to grab it before you could and as he rose, he dragged the lid against your leg. He held it out and you snatched it from him.

“Morning meeting in five,” He said as he stood before you. “Then I wanted to go over layout with you. A useful lesson if you ever hope to be anything more than a freelancer. You have to have a good eye… for detail.”

You gulped and nodded. “Yes, okay, yeah.” You set the pen down on your desk. “Five minutes.”

He winked and left you there to stew in your shame. You glanced around but no one else seemed to notice your tense interaction. They were all too concerned with their own schedules, their own presence at the meeting. Really, who cared much about the summer intern?

You were antsy as you walked into the conference room. You hid between Vanessa, a political pundit, and Jory, who covered local business stories. Loki sat near the head of the table as the marketing head went over the final prints of the Pride issue. You folded your hands before you but couldn’t concentrate.

Your eyes wandered from the powerpoint and you found the editor-in-chief peering over at you. Another sinister grin sent a chill through you. You looked back to the screen and prayed for the day to go quickly. Your heart felt as if it would explode.

When you broke out, you dragged your feet and were the last out of the room. You lingered at your desk as you grabbed your notebook and pen. Loki’s office beckoned to you ominously. He stood in the doorway watching you; waiting for you. You neared him as his lips curled.

He shut the door and you jumped at the click. He brushed past you before he rounded his desk. He pulled a chair with him and placed it beside his. He waved you over. You took a breath and crossed to him. As you sat, he pinched your ass and you pressed your lips together to keep from yelping.

His hand settled on your thigh as his other moved his mouse. He opened a page from last month’s issue and kept his eyes on the screen as he kneaded your leg. “We’ll go over composition. How to draw the reader’s eye and using layout to enhance your words.”

You nodded stiffly and shakily opened your notebook. He kept his hand on your thigh as you place the book on his desk and uncapped your pen. He circled the title with his cursor, entirely unfazed by your discomfort. His fingers slipped closer to your pelvis.

“Titles are easy but you’ll want to position them according to article type as well. Is it an editorial? Review? Reflective?” He continued. “Now, most editors would leave this to marketing and such but… I try to be hands on with every aspect of my business. My seal is on every page, ever word, that goes out.”

You scribbled down a jumble of words as his hand slid between your thighs and he squeezed. You flinched and he let out a soft chuckle under his breath. You kept your wide eyes on the monitor and he carried on his lesson. His hand never quite reaching its target. He was teasing you. Asserting the new power he held over you.

When he finished his spiel, he drew away and turned his chair to face you. His legs were far apart and you tried not to look at the obvious bulge in his pants. You kept your head down as you slipped your notebook down onto your lap.

“I’ve got an important lunch date tomorrow,” He said. “I should like you to accompany me, darling.”

You peeked up at him. “Okay.”

“Sceptre Press is looking to expand its mediums. The director of Celestial has agreed to discuss a partnership.” He said coolly.

“Oh?” You breathed. “They… do podcasts?”

“Mostly,” He confirmed. “But, my dear, do wear something nice. A skirt.”

You crossed your legs. Your straight-cut pants felt thin enough. “Alright.”

“No panties.” He licked his lips. “Our little secret… well, another one, yeah?”

“Okay.” You said. You bit down and your pen rolled out of your grasp once more.

His eyes followed the pen and flicked back to you. “Well, go on,” He mused. “Very… clumsy today.”

You bent to retrieve your pen and he caught the back of your head. He held you there and rolled his chair closer so that his lap was only inches from your face. He snickered as you tried to pull away but quickly gave up. His other hand stretched over his crotch and he grasped his erection through the thin fabric of his trousers.

“I could make you do it right now,” He slithered. “Hmm?”

“Yes,” You uttered.

“I’m tempted,” He rubbed himself and shifted his hand as he pushed you closer. “Kiss it.” You closed your eyes and kissed his bulge. He shivered and let you go. You sat up, dizzy, and he grinned at you. “Not yet.” He preened. “But I do have to take care of this…” He ran his hand across his lap again. “So if you would excuse me. I am certain you have work to catch up on.”

You stood and back away slowly. “Yes, sir.” You turned as you rounded the desk.

“Sir? I like that,” He called from behind you as you neared the door. “Oh, darling, one more thing.”

You spun back to him and shielded your chest with your notebook. “Yes?”

“I’ll need some inspiration so before you sit down, go to the lav and take a nice photo for me.” He made a show of unzipping his pants behind his desk. “I bet you’re wearing a sweet little white bra, aren’t you? Maybe a precious pink number?”

Your throat tightened as you stared back at him. “Okay.” You forced out. “Is that all?”

“For now,” He shooed you away with a wave of his fingers. “As you will.”

💋

You had few skirts to choose from. You settled on a lavender one that ended just above your knees. With it, you wore a blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a grey blazer with three-quarter length sleeves. It wasn’t as enticing as any other outfit you owned; which was not at all. Perhaps that would work in your favour.

When you arrived at the bistro, Loki waved you ahead of him as you followed the hostess to your booth. You slid across the bench first and he was close behind. He took out his phone and checked it before he set it face down on the table. He asked for water and nothing else.

Your leg shook under the table nervously. He grabbed your thigh to still you. The waitress returned and he thanked her, his hand still on your leg. When she departed, his fingers slowly gathered your skirt. You reached to pull it back and he tssked.

“Our associate has informed me she’s running late.” He grinned. “About twenty minutes or so.” You squirmed as his hand slipped beneath your hem. “I think we can fill our time accordingly.”

“L--Mr. Laufeyson,” You gasped. “Someone might see.”

“They’d have to be watching us very closely,” He leaned against you as his fingers crawled along the top of your thigh. “Now,” He shoved his hand between your legs roughly. “Let’s have some fun, darling.”

You parted your legs reluctantly and he tickled along your cunt. You grabbed the edge of the table and your eyes searched frantically. The other diners were occupied with their own meals, their own company. You felt as invisible as you had back at the office. He rubbed you slowly. He lifted his glass with his other hand as he continued.

“After our meeting, I think we’ll head back to the office and call a conference. We’ll need ideas for prospective podcasts,” He swirled his fingertips and you let out a long breath between your teeth. “Of course, if this all goes to plan.”

You whimpered as you felt yourself getting wet. His fingers glided easily along your folds as he spread your arousal. You planted your elbow on the table and held your chin as you bit your lip. Mortified, you tried to hide your face.

“Uh uh,” He grabbed your wrist and shoved it down as his fingers dipped inside you. “Look at me.”

You leaned back against the booth as you looked over at him. He smirked as he moved his fingers steadily in and out of you. He pressed his palm to your clit and the sensation made your legs shake again.

“Is this what you like? Sneaking around?” He taunted. “Is this what he does, hmm? Or maybe he bends you over his desk?”

“Mr. Lauf--” You swallowed down a moan and clapped your hand over your mouth.

“I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it,” He sped up and your thighs squeezed his hand. “Are you going to cum? Here in front of everyone? In the middle of this restaurant?”

Your eyes rounded and you grabbed his shoulder pleadingly. You couldn’t speak, afraid you would cry out instead.

“You like being a naughty little girl, don’t you?” He curled his fingers and you heard a subtle squelch as your walls twitched around him.

You bared your teeth and latched onto his arm. You rocked your hips without thinking as you came. You let out a shuddery breath and he slid his fingers out of your cunt, sure to drag them along your folds. He untangled his arm from your grasp and you fell back against the seat and pushed down your skirt.

He raised his hand and ran his wet fingers over your lips. He pressed against your mouth until you opened it. He stared into your eyes as he made you suck your own cum off his knuckles. He withdrew them and used a napkin to wipe away your saliva.

“It is a pity, however, that this lunch should set you behind, darling,” He crossed his legs and drank from his water again. “You will have to stay late tonight… to catch up.”

“Yes, sir,” You ceded.

He smirked and looked around. A moment of silence before he perked up and stood. He buttoned his jacket so it hid his bulge and greeted the tall woman who approached you. He shook her hand with the same one he’d just had between your legs. You stood in kind. Your legs felt weak.

“Valerie,” He purred. “Thank you for fitting us in today.”

“Us?” She looked between you. “And sorry about the delay. Traffic was… traffic.”

“My intern,” He introduced you by name, “She’s shadowing me for the day. To get an idea of the business and all its little quirks.”

You shook her hand and you sat down as she did the same. The server was quick to appear and offer you menus. You eagerly took yours, hoping to hide behind it for the rest of the meal. Especially as that familiar and irresistible tingle nestled in your core.

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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years

Text

Kinktober Day 13: Almost Caught

It was easy to fall into a relationship with John, Helen thinks as she lays in his huge bed, watching the light rise over his property. John’s was already awake, had kissed her good morning, and he went downstairs to make coffee.

John was sweet. And caring. Generous in his attention. He spoiled her mercilessly but it was so much more than that, too. It was the way he made her coffee every morning and made space for her in his closet. The way he installed security over her house and did everything in his power to protect her.

He was paranoid but for the right reasons. He wanted her safe and he was terrified, above all else, that she was going to get hurt because of him.

She understood. She knew what he did. She knew he had enemies.

But that part of their relationship was hard.

The secrecy. The lies. Telling her family she was single but still dodging every date her mother tried to set her up on.

John didn’t really have to lie that much. He had acquaintances but he lacked friendship, outside of Helen. But she was still a secret. Someone he went home to but never spoke about.

She understood. But it hurt.

Still, she would never let him know. The guilt was already heavy on his shoulders and she didn’t want to add to it.

Helen sighs and rises to her feet. She picks up John’s shirt off the ground from where it had fallen the night before as they collapsed together in bed. She rolled up the sleeves and walked down the hall just as John made his way up the stairs. He’s already dressed and carrying two mugs.

He handed her the daisy mug and Helen accepted. “Thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome. I need to check my email. Want to come?”

She follows him into his study and leans against his desk as John boots his laptop.

“What do you want to do today?” John asks as he waits.

Helen shrugs a shoulder, “Lazy day? Crap television, crap take out, and amazing sex?”

He smirks, glancing up over his laptop. “Oh yeah?”

“It has my vote. Followed closely by crap television, amazing take out, and crap sex.”

John reaches for her and Helen sets the coffee on the desk, letting John tug her forward and onto his lap. She laughs, softly, as he tickles her sides.

Helen rests her head on his shoulder, "I love you."

He kisses her head, "I love you too."

She smiled and breathed in his delightful scent. Life was good.

“John? You home?” A male voice calls up the stairs.

“Fuck!” John swears.

“Who’s that?”

“Marcus. Fuck!” John says again. “Can you go to the bedroom and stay there?”

Helen rolls her eyes, “I thought Marcus was your friend.”

“He’s as close as I have but…”

“But?”

“Please, Hels. I’ll get rid of him fast?”

“John?” The voice is getting closer.

“Under the desk.” John says quietly.

“You’re fucking kidding.”

“Please, Hels.”

“Fuck.” She swears, looking completely unamused. “Fine, but you owe me so bad for this, John.”

“Whatever you want.” He promises, placing a hand on her shoulder as she slips to her knees and crawls under the desk. Never has John been so grateful to have such a large desk before in his life.

“You home?” Marcus calls.

“In the study.” John hollers back and Marcus appears in the doorway.

“Did Donovan really take a case out from under you?” Marcus asks, walking in. From her hiding spot, Helen can hear the sound of a chair being dragged out on the floor.

John scoffs, “I gave it to him. It was on a deadline and I have things to do this weekend.”

“Yeah, you look real busy. But Donovan is going around telling everyone that he snatched it out from under you.”

John leans back in his chair and Helen smiles as a thought forms. John had put her under a table. Well, fuck.

If he was going to play this like that then she was going to damn well take advantage of the situation. It doesn’t take much to lean forward and crawl between his thighs. She feels him stiffen, ever so slightly, as she reaches through the opening of his sweatpants and wraps a hand around his dick.

“I’ll talk to him Monday.” John says and she knows that he is slipping into assassin-mode. He is becoming the man who can walk on a broken leg and continue to choke the life out of someone with a gunshot wound. He’s pulling that blank face down and she wonders, idly, if he can really keep it up.

She pulls him out of his pants as John continues to talk.

“But I have to say that Seamus Donovan isn’t high on my list of concerns.”

She runs her hand down his length, bringing his semi-hard cock to life before her. She uses a finger to trace the veins as Marcus speaks up.

“Nor should he be. Winston already publicly called him out about it and he went back.”

Helen is no longer listening as John’s cock pulses in her hand. She glances up, although she cannot make out his face over the desk and she brings her tongue to his length. She licks the head, swirling her tongue around his tip.

A hand grasps her hair and tries to pull her back. He can’t do much, however, without drawing attention to her. And she knows that John would much rather be tormented by her mouth than to have her revealed to anyone in the Underworld.

Jokes on him, she decides, keeping a hand at the base of his cock.

As much as she would like to take him down her throat, to choke and gag on him, she can’t do that silently.

The next best thing will have to be this.

She bobs her head gently, taking him as deep as she dares while John’s hand tightens in her hair. Again, the joke is on him. As if a little hair pulling will stop her.

He’s still talking to his friend casually telling him about some fake plans he has. Such a liar. She almost wonders if she should stop just before he comes. If she should take him to the edge, make him rock hard under the desk, bring him to the moment of release and stop.

It was a delightful thought.

And he must sense what she is thinking because he loosens the grip on her hair and tugs her forward.

She must have slowed down, she realizes, because John is fucking her face as carefully as he can.

“I don’t think so.” John says, and she wonders if his friend has noticed the slight change in his voice, “I’m trying not to take any foreign cases right now.”

“Why not?” Marcus asks, “You’re usually the main guy for international.”

Helen almost snorts. Because, she thinks, moving her hand to gently massage John’s balls, he’d have to go days without this mouth. And poor John just can’t do that anymore.

She feels him tighten in her hand and she softly inhales, preparing for what is to come.

His cock pulses and his cum spills into her mouth, salty and thick. She swallows him down without a thought and the only evidence that anything has changed was a momentary hitch in John’s breath.

He’s going to get her back for this, she knows. Good. Maybe if she teases him a little harder, she’ll get his belt.

She sits back on her knees, listening as John wraps up the conversation, insisting that he’ll be leaving soon himself.

She hears the chair be pushed out and poor John can’t even stand, his dick still poking through his pants.

“I’ll see you Monday, then.” Marcus says, moving towards the door, “Oh, and John?”

“Yeah?”

“Nice try at subtlety, but you got two coffee mugs on your desk.”

Oh yes, she’s definitely earned the belt.

...

Part 2-- John’s revenge comes tomorrow

#John wick #kinktober #john wick kinktober #overheard at the continental #incorrect john wick #john x helen wick #helen x john wick #otp: daisy #kinktober 2020 #kinktober day 13 #kinktober almost caught #almost caught #fic #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #fanfic rec #fanfiction #fanfic #the matrix has queue

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adenei · 3 years

Text

Always A Bridesmaid, Never A Bride - Chapter 6

AO3 || FFN

Hermione

It was official. I’d agree to anything if it meant I had a chance to spend time with Harry outside of work. I knew it was a problem, and it was blatantly clear when Jenny called me in a rush this morning. She thought she’d scheduled an appointment to set up her registry at John Lewis for Monday, but her days had gotten mixed up and she took the only open slot for Sunday.

Of course, I knew she’d already booked herself at the bridal salon and florist, and couldn’t fit it in as she was explaining her mix-up. I was going to suggest she reschedule, but then I heard her mutter about sending someone else, and thinking she was going to send Harry, I offered to go, too. So, despite telling myself numerous times to just call her and cancel, I still forged ahead, even though I knew my ulterior motive was despicable.

Jenny had slipped her list of items under my door while I was in the shower. I thought it was odd if she was sending Harry, but then maybe she didn’t have time to stop by his place before her first appointment.

I took the list and caught a taxi to take me to the department store in the city. My phone buzzed and I checked it to see I had a text from Jenny. Your reinforcement should be there soon. Thanks so much for doing this again! I decided to go in and get started at the registry desk since I knew the set-up process would take a while. Finally, after I finished the paperwork, I was ready to begin.

“So, here’s the scanner!” the clerk said. “This is all you’ll need to choose the items that you’d like. Once you hear the beep, you’ll know it’s been added. If you scan something by mistake, just scan it again to take it off. I’ll be here if you need anything, and if not, just drop the scanner off before you leave.”

“Thank you,” I said as I pulled the list out from my bag and determined where I should start first.

I was paying so much attention to the list, I didn’t notice someone joining me.

“Fancy meeting you here.” I looked up to see Ron standing next to me.

“Jenny sent you?” I asked. Surely, this was a joke.

“Are you surprised?” Ron asked me innocently.

“Yes, actually, I am. What writer helps with menial wedding tasks like this?”

“When I cover a wedding, I cover the whole wedding,” he explained as I shook my head. “So, where should we get started?”

“Probably housewares,” I said with a sigh.

I handed Ron the list to check things off as we scanned them. If he was here, I was going to make sure he was helpful. Maybe it’d make the job go by faster.

“Who needs all this useless junk, anyways?” he asked as I scanned a beautiful set of ivory candlestick holders. “Don’t they both have separate flats already? Surely, they have enough stuff between the two of them to outfit one apartment.”

I rolled my eyes in his direction. “When you’re starting a life with someone, you want to pick out items for the home you’re going to share together. You know, to make it both of yours instead of a mix of two people’s things,” I explained.

“So you’re telling me if you were to get engaged, you’d chuck all of your current stuff just to ask for new versions of the same stuff because you’re marrying someone else?”

“Well...not everything, but I’ve been inside Jenny’s apartment and it’s rather bare in there.”

“What about Harry’s stuff?”

“It’s okay, but he is a bachelor. He only has half the stuff he does because of Teddy,” I said.

“Harry has a kid?” Ron asked, his eyes wide.

I chuckled. “Not exactly. Teddy’s an orphan that’s part of the Boys & Girls Club. Harry’s his big brother. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if he really does try to adopt Teddy after he and Jenny are married.”

“And how does Jenny feel about that?”

“Why do you care so much?” I gave him an odd look.

“N-no reason. It’s just an interesting dynamic, that’s all.”

“Well, when we went to Teddy’s football game, Jenny seemed really taken with him. She’s surprisingly good with kids,” I mentioned offhand.

“Surprisingly? What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked curiously.

“Oh, um, I suppose she probably has several nieces and nephews if four of her brothers are married.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good, then. I’m sure they’ll make a beautiful family,” Ron said.

“Yeah,” I said distantly. It was hard not to think about it, even though I really didn’t want to.

Ron was looking at me curiously. “You know what I think you want?”

“What? Please bestow your infinite wisdom about me, a person you barely know, to me,” I scoffed.

“I think you do all this because you just want a wedding for yourself. Not an actual marriage, but a wedding.”

I stared incredulously at him. “How can you even say that? You don’t know me! Of course I want a marriage! Who wouldn’t want someone to spend the rest of their life with?”

“Well then why aren’t you looking harder for your ‘one true love’?” he said in air quotes. “You spend all your extra time helping brides and attending weddings, and it seems like you barely date.”

“I do too date!” I retorted.

“Yeah? When’s the last time you dated someone? I don’t count,” he said pompously.

“What do you mean you don’t count? Of course you don’t!” I argued.

“Oh, you wound me,” Ron said, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Are you going to answer the question?”

I stopped to think about it. Was it bad that I really couldn’t remember. Ron took advantage of my distraction to steal the scanner from me and started scanning random trinkets.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I tried to take the scanner back.

He used his height to an advantage to block me. “Oh, come on, it’s all in good fun. Every couple deserves some random trinkets that they open and have to fake a smile for, don’t you think?”

There was a mischievous glint in his eye that made me laugh even though I should be scolding him. I was still mad at him for his accusations, but I was willing to play along so I didn’t have to answer the dating question.

“Is that what you think?” I said with a smile. “You’d want to open random gifts you didn’t ask for because someone thought it would be funny to play a joke on your registry?”

“It’s never going to happen for me, so it doesn’t matter what I’d do, now would it?”

Ron was smiling, but it wasn’t reaching his eyes. I stopped to contemplate his words for a moment. “Something must have happened to make you resent love so much. So, what is it?”

I snagged the list from his hand to see how we were doing as I began walking again. We needed to get to the linen section next. Ron still hadn’t answered me, so I decided to push his buttons a bit.

“Did your parents get divorced? An ex-girlfriend cheat on you with your best friend like in those cheesy romantic comedies? Or, were you left at the altar or something tragic like that?”

“Yeah, actually.”

I froze. I wasn’t really serious. I turned around to look at him. “What?”

“I was engaged a few years ago, but about two weeks before the wedding she called it off. Apparently she was more interested in my brother instead, and only realized it when she came home to meet the whole family.”

“Oh, my God, Ron, I’m sorry. It was—I didn’t mean it,” I apologized. That was awful and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“It’s fine. I was too blinded by love to see that we weren’t a good fit anyways. My brother saw right through her shallowness and told her to fuck off. So, I guess there was a silver lining.”

I handed him the scanner. “Scan all the ugly things you want. I’ll feign ignorance as long as all the stuff on this list gets added.”

He let out a weak laugh. “Thanks.”

“Are you close with your brother, then?” We hadn’t discussed anything personal yet, aside from my involvement in weddings, but I found myself wanting to learn more about him.

“As close as we can be. He lives in Africa on a wild nature preserve.”

“And your ex was more interested in a—”

“Zoologist? Apparently. Guess my career as a writer wasn’t adventurous enough for her. Or it didn’t make enough money for her lifestyle.”

“If she’s more interested in money than love, you’re better off. You’ll find the one someday, I’m sure.”

“So will you...maybe,” he smirked.

“Good to see you being so supportive,” I said sarcastically.

Just like that, the moment had passed. Maybe I’d been a little too quick to judge Ron without knowing his backstory. First impressions were typically a good indication of a person for me, but now I was starting to think that maybe I’d misjudged him. Even though he reverted right back to his sarcastic ways, I was fairly certain that it was all a cover. I couldn’t help the feeling churning inside of me that yearned to know more.

Ron

I was sitting at my cubicle on Wednesday when Rita stopped by my desk. “How’s the article coming?”

I knew she was talking about the perpetual bridesmaid one. “It still needs work; still a rough draft,” I told her.

“I want to see what you’ve got. Email it to me,” Rita said bluntly before walking away.

“But—” It didn’t matter what I was going to try to say, she was expecting it and I needed to send it along.

I didn’t understand why I was hesitating, though. This was going to be my big break, and yet I had this nagging feeling in my stomach.

Sure, Hermione was strong minded and opinionated, but she was always so interesting to talk to. I found myself craving her company and wanting to learn more about her. Hell, I’d even admitted my darkest secret about Romilda that no one knew outside of immediate family.

The last time I put love ahead of my career I lost the section for my contributing investigative pieces and landed my arse firmly in commitments. I needed to stay focused so I shook the thoughts of Hermione from my head as I carried on with cleaning up the article. It’d been so long since I let anyone into my life, and I just didn’t know her well enough yet to trust her.

I did make one small concession, deciding not to use her real name because of the business. So I called her Hermione Wilkins in the article. No one needed to know, and it was my feeble attempt at protecting her identity. Satisfied with the draft, I pressed send on the email and moved onto my next task.

On Friday, Rita called me into her office. “This is really good, Weasley. You should be proud.”

I looked at her in slight confusion, not exactly sure which article she was talking about.

“The perpetual bridesmaid article! We’re running it on Sunday. You’re on the front page of the Styles section. And you’re out of commitments for good after you cover that Warrington/Potter wedding, of course.”

“Er, right. Yeah, thanks!” I tried to fake excitement over it, but the knot was pitted even deeper in my stomach.

“Why aren’t you more excited?”

“I just think it could use some more time, that’s all. She’s in that wedding, too. The one next weekend. Let me wait and see if I can learn more. You know, to add—”

“Ron, this is perfect as is. Isn’t this what you wanted? Or has someone taken a fancy to Ms. Wilkins?” Rita gave me a knowing smile, but it wasn’t a genuine one. It made me uncomfortable.

“Can we please just push publication one more week?” I asked once more.

Rita sighed dramatically. “I’ll see what I can do, but if you have started to care for her, you might want to tell her. You can go now. I’m sure you have things to accomplish before the weekend.”

I nodded slightly as I turned to leave. I had to find a way to tell Hermione. I wasn’t ready to lose whatever dysfunctional new friendship we’d created, but after she’d already accused me of lying to her, I had no idea how I was going to spin this. No matter how I looked at it, it was totally deceitful.

Not to mention my sister and all of her lies, too. No matter how annoying I thought Hermione could be, I knew she didn’t deserve that. She needed to know this was coming. I had to tell her.

~o~

My phone rang on Saturday afternoon. It was the first Saturday where I didn’t have to do anything related to weddings and it was brilliant, until I saw Ginny’s name on the caller ID.

“What?” I answered.

“I need your help.”

“Aren’t I already helping you enough?”

“Never,” Ginny said through a grin that I knew was undoubtedly plastered on her face.

“Well?” I asked, pretending to be annoyed.

“I just got a call that the favors are done and ready to be picked up in Brentwood. Harry was going to do it after the dinner tasting, but I’m worried that won’t give him enough time to get to Andover for dinner with Mum and Dad since it’s in the complete opposite direction!”

“So, you’re asking me to pick up the favors, then?”

“Unless you wanted to come to dinner—”

“Nope, I’m good. I’ve got to try and get a hold of Hermione tonight for something anyways,” I told her.

“Hermione?” Ginny’s voice sounded intrigued.

“Yeah, but it’s not what you think. It’s not like I’m into her or anything,” I said a little too quickly.

“Sureee,” Ginny teased. “Well, you’re in luck. She’s with Harry right now for the tasting at the Winchester in Putney. She offered to go to the tasting since I was wrapped up with things back home. Maybe she could go with you?”

“Yeah, maybe…” I had to admit that Ginny came up with a good idea.

“Listen, I have to go, we’re getting ready to leave now. Hopefully Harry will be hungry enough. I did reserve a later dinner, but Mum and Dad wanted to get settled at the inn beforehand since they didn’t want to drive home tonight…” Ginny trailed off.

“Okay, tell them I said hi, and I’ll take care of the favors for you.”

“Thanks, Ron, I owe you!”

“Yeah you owe me for a lot of—” I stopped talking once I realized she’d already hung up the phone.

“Doesn’t she believe in saying goodbye?” I said out loud as I shook my head.

I could be at the Winchester House in fifteen minutes. Grabbing my wallet and keys, I headed out the door and hailed a taxi.

When I arrived at the hotel, the maitre’d pointed me in the direction of where Harry and Hermione were seated. It was a relatively nice day. Warm and partly cloudy, but I could tell by the way the sky was changing that a rainstorm was coming in.

I walked through the main area to the outdoor seating section where I stopped near the doorway to look for them. I spotted them on the other side of the terrace overlooking the Thames at a small table. My first thought was of how gorgeous Hermione looked when she was smiling. She normally only reserved scowls for me, and I hadn’t realized how attractive she truly was until that moment.

The thought terrified me. I wasn’t sure if I was even ready to let someone else into my life like that. I’d sworn off love, convinced it wasn’t in the cards for me. If things were meant to look up, there was no way it could be her. Especially not after that article dropped. At least Rita was giving me more time to explain it to her.

I refocused on the two of them and began to take a few steps toward their table. That’s when I saw it. The look I’d seen on every bride who was hopelessly in love with their soon to be groom. How had I never realized it before? The way she smiled and leaned across the table.

All the unabashed flirting. Everything was making sense now. Why she was so upset at the club that first night, why she was so dejected when she called me, and why she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to be part of my sister’s wedding. Hermione was in love with her boss, who was also my sister’s fiancée. I wasn’t sure what was worse. Her pining over a man who had no interest in her at all, or Harry’s complete obliviousness to the entire situation. I’d seen him around my sister long enough to know he only had eyes for her.

I was feeling a mix of hurt and anger that I hadn’t felt since Romilda left me, and I didn’t understand why because it wasn’t like I was in love with Hermione or anything. I just enjoyed her company and was keen on the prospect that she might be a good friend if we could get past her constant accusations.

At that moment I lost all my ambition to tell Hermione about the article, and even to ask her along on the wedding errand. I was about to turn and leave when Harry happened to look in my direction and called me over. Shit.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione looked at me in surprised annoyance.

Of course she was annoyed, I just ruined the probable fantasy she was currently living with this whole situation.

“Jenny called and asked if I could go pick up the favors with you before the shop closes.”

“Oh, I thought I was going to take care of that,” Harry said.

“Yeah, Harry and I were just getting ready to head to Brentwood now,” Hermione said pointedly.

“Well, the bride is worried that it’ll make him late for some dinner that’s past the other side of London, so…”

“Hmm, she does make a good point. And it looks like the rain is heading in, which would make travel conditions worse,” Harry said. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Hermione’ll ensure everything is sorted as the maid of honor, right?” I asked, raising my eyebrow in question and knowing she couldn’t say no.

“I—I guess,” Hermione sounded deflated as she shot me a death glare as Harry was finalizing the menu.

Good. Someone needed to pop the bubble because she was holding onto a dream that would never come true.

“Great, thanks again, you guys. I better get going if I have to stop home before heading to Andover.”

Harry got up and clapped me on the back as he took off toward the exit. I smiled widely at Hermione, who looked like she was going to murder me. I couldn’t wait to reveal what I’d found out about her little secret.

#romione #romione muggle au #side hinny #27 dresses inspired #ron x hermione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger

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atlafan · 4 years

Text

Take it Slow - Part Sixty-Four

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, and the start of smut...

a/n: okay this is short only because the angst made me tired, and it’s late, and I wanna deliver on the smut so....that’s that on that.

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

“Holy shit! Someone got some sun!” Niall says as you get into his car Monday morning. He squints at your neck. “He knows it’s not really scarf weather anymore, right?”

“I’ve lost the energy to care or fight with him about it. Besides, I’m sure it’ll go right up Mark’s ass. What a nice treat for me.” You laugh. “How was it last week, anyways?”

“Good! The three of ‘em actually kept to themselves which was nice. You gave him plenty of work to do.”

“Oh good.”

“How was Harry, happy to see yeh?”

“Of course he was.” You furrow your brows at him. “Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

“I’m not the one who got into a fight.”

“Niall.” You sigh.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry about all of it. It was stupid, and primitive.”

“I appreciate you both looking out for me, but I wish you wouldn’t be angry for me. I feel like I’m really moving on, and it’s hard to do that when the two of you can’t keep your cool.”

“I know, I really am sorry.” He gives your hand a squeeze and you smile at him.

“It’s okay. Wait! How was yours and Sarah’s six month? I haven’t had a chance to ask her yet?” Niall nearly stops short on the drive.

“Um, it was good, really good. I got her a new anklet, and she really liked it. We had a nice dinner out too.”

“Oh that’s great!” He parks the car and you both get out. “Hope you enjoyed what she got for you.” You wink at him and head inside.

“We’re not talkin’ about it!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, have we reached a point where we can’t talk about sex anymore?” You ask facetiously. Niall’s face was beat red.

“Don’t play with me. I know you two went shoppin’ together.”

“She wanted a second opinion.” You shrug.

“Wasn’t it weird for you to go shoppin’ with her?”

“Not really. They went shopping with me earlier in the day to get something for Harry. We’re all very close.”

“What else did you get for him?”

“What do you mean what else?” You cross your arms.

Just as he’s about to speak you both are greeted by Trish.

“We’ll talk later.” He says and you nod as you both go to your separate offices.

You had a meeting right away with Mark that you were dreading. He was waiting for you outside your office.

“Welcome back.” He says with a smile. “See you got some sun.”

“Thanks, and yeah I did.” You unlock your office door and he follows you in. “I just need a minute to get settled.”

“Take your time.” He says sitting down.

You plug your laptop into the docking station and get logged on. You start looking over some of the things Mark worked on, and you actually weren't disappointed.

“Took some time to watch some of those videos on the Adobe site, turns out you were right, it’s not that difficult to learn.

“I’m actually kind of impressed, Mark.” You smile at him.

“Thanks.” He smiles back. He notices your neck, but doesn’t say anything. You’re actually being nice to him and he doesn’t want to ruin it. “So, boss, what do you need me to work on this week?” You smirk at him.

“Well, I’ll have to go over all this and get back to you. Is that alright?”

“Course, I’ll just be with the others in the conference room.”

You weren’t sure what it was, but Mark seemed to have a serious attitude adjustment, and you liked it. Maybe the rest of the time he’d be working with you wouldn’t be so bad. You look over everything, and make up a list of what you’ll need from him. You go into the conference room right before you leave to meet Harry for lunch, it was Monday after all.

“Hey Mark, here’s what I’ll need from you this week.”

“Thanks. We’re all going down the street for lunch, do you wanna join?”

“Can’t, sorry, I go to Harry’s studio on Mondays.” You walk out, and go down to Niall’s office. “Need your keys to meet Harry.” He tosses them to you. “Thanks! Have a good lunch.” You smile.

“You too!”

Harry was having the day from hell. Somehow word got out that Harry and Mariah had become chummy outside of work, and that he set her up with Rachel. Someone must’ve seen a picture of them hanging out last week on Instagram.

“Harry?” Julia asks, coming into his office.

“Yeah?”

“This is sort of non work related, but I was wondering if you could help me with a school thing…”

“I thought you weren’t in any classes this semester.”

“I’m not, but we have a faculty member we’re supposed to pass things in to for the internship to prove that we’re actually doing stuff. I’ve never really put a portfolio together, and I was wondering if you could help me now that I’ve written a few things.”

“Oh…um…”

“I’d ask Myk, but I want it to look really nice and you’re so creative.” If Harry had any faults, it would be that he could be sweet-talked into just about anything.

“Sure, yeah, I’d be happy to help. I’d have to help you at the end of the day though when I have more time.”

“Really?! Thank you so much! Would tomorrow after work be alright?” You had your therapy appointment tomorrow, so it wasn’t like Harry would be missing precious time with you at home.

“Yeah, that works.”

“Thank you Harry, this’ll be such a big help!” Harry turns and sees you walking in.

“No problem, run along now, my lady’s here.” He nods towards you and she walked out of his office. You brush by her as you walk in. “Hey you.” He stands up to hug you, and squish his nose to yours. “Have I told you how happy I am that you’re back?”

“Maybe just a couple times.” You kiss him quick. “It’s nice out, wanna eat outside?”

“Sure.” He grabs his things and heads out with you.

“So, what did Julia want?”

“Oh, she wants me to help her put a portfolio together for school. I’m gonna help her tomorrow while you’re with Dr. Mara, is that alright?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Why would I care?”

“You don’t exactly like her.”

“Neither do you.”

“True.” You both chuckle.

Julia purposefully wears a tight dress to work Tuesday. She couldn’t wait to spend time with just Harry in the office alone. She wouldn’t make the same mistake she did last time. She needed to be less obvious, and she genuinely needed his help with her portfolio.

You: babe, want me to bring you dinner after my appointment? Can meet u at the studio

Harry: that’d be great! Pick up whatever u want <3

Julia comes into Harry’s office with her laptop at the end of the day. Everyone slowly starts to leave. He grabs a chair for her so they can both sit at his desk.

“So, I have these pieces that I’ve done, and I really have no idea how to organize any of them. I wanna give my instructor a virtual experience you know? But I don’t wanna just use prezi or screen record.” Harry hums along in understanding.

“With my photos, I’ve sort created these, like, virtual booklets almost. There’s this program, hold on, let me email you.”

Harry sends her the info so she can set up an account.

“I think your prof will be impressed that you’re putting in so much effort.” He smiles.

“It’s not every day we get to basically take a semester off from classes, so I just wanna prove to her, and to all my friends that think I’m not doing anything that I’m actually working really hard.”

“You shouldn’t care what other people think of you, but I get where you’re coming from. Alright, pull up all your articles and I’ll show you how to add them into the program.”

He leans in close and points to where she can drag and drop things. She tries her absolute best to not get distracted by the smell of his cologne. After an hour or so they take a little break.

“So, you have a year left?”

“Mhm.”

“What do you think you’ll do after you graduate?”

“I have no idea.” She sighs. “I think I wanna travel. I could see myself freelancing for a bit before finding something stable.”

“You should definitely travel! I’m glad I did. You learn a lot about yourself, helps you grow up a little bit too.” He smiles at her. “Also, it’s okay to have no idea what you want to do. It’s not like graduating automatically means you’ll have it all figured out. Your passions will change all the time, and you might find you didn’t want what you thought.”

“Was there something you thought you’d be doing but realized you didn’t wanna do?”

“Yes and no. I knew I wanted to be a photographer. I thought for a while I’d end up in marketing with my mate Niall, especially while I was going for my MBA. But the structure was just too rigid. I also didn’t wanna wear a suit every day.”

“That’s too bad, you look so good in a suit.” She jokes nervously.

“True, I do clean up pretty well.” He jokes back. “But I just knew it wasn’t for me. There’s too many people to answer to. Even here there’s a lot of people to answer to, but I feel like my vision gets trusted more and more and I’m able to just do what I want. I think that’s the key. Do something you want, not something that someone else wants for you.”

“That makes so much sense. You really have it all figured out.”

“S’not that I have it all figured it out, but I’ve had a lot of experience to steer me in different directions.”

“I feel like I have a better head on my shoulders than a lot of my friends. This internship alone has been such a big help.”

“Good. Let’s get back to it, shall we?”

He leans back in closer and shows her some other things to make the virtual booklet look more interesting and engaging. He cracks a joke or two and she ends up putting a hand on his shoulder while she laughs.

You were just coming up from the elevator with dinner. You picked up some of his favorite sushi. It was dark in the studio except for Harry’s office. Julia’s hand was still lingering on Harry’s shoulder. She gripped lightly at the material, and his eyes went wide.

“Woah, what are you-“ He starts to stand up.

“Hey!” You say dropping the food to the floor. You grab the back of Julia’s dress and yank her over to the wall in Harry’s office, practically throwing her into the glass. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“Nothing, I was just-“

“You were just trying to kiss my boyfriend?!” Your hand wraps around her throat and you push her back against the glass again. Harry wraps his arms around your waist to pull your away from her the girl cowering in front of you. You try to break from him, but he’s too strong. “I will end your shit, do you understand me?!”

“Julia, get your shit and go, now.” Harry says, very pissed, but not wanted to add more fuel to the fire.

Her body shakes as she grabs her laptop.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“You didn’t mean to what?! Try to kiss him?! You’re a psycho! He already told you he wasn’t going to step out on me, remember when you tried to fuck him in Florida? He told me everything! I think I’ve been very nice, but I’m done. I am soooo done.” You look back at him. “Let go of me.” Harry cautiously loosens his grip on you and you get in her face. She uses her laptop to shield her. “As god as my witness, if you don’t leave him alone, if I even hear of you looking in his direction, I will end you. Your life will be over. You’ll get fired from this internship, cause guess what, you’ve been sexually harassing him. And don’t look at me like you don’t know that’s exactly what you’ve been doing. You’ll get fired, you won’t have a good enough reference for your next job, and you won’t get hired anywhere. You’ll live in your parent’s basement for the rest of your life all because you couldn’t keep your fucking hands to yourself after he said no.” You look her up and down. “You think you’re special just because he’s nice to you? Just because you wear a tight dress you thought he would get into your pants? Guess what little girl, I used to pull the same shit when I was your age. Grow the fuck up. And I don’t care if you’re the coffee girl. Have Dana do it, or Isaac. I don’t care. It’s not you anymore. Stay the fuck away from him.” You step forward again and she flinches.

You smirk at her, and she slips out of the office, running out of the studio. You turn around to Harry with wild eyes. He was absolutely stunned, and a tad frightened. You were fuming.

“Would you care to explain to me why her hand was on you in the first place?” You ask crossing your arms.

“I know you’re not blaming me for any of this.” He starts packing up his things. “You better hope she doesn’t report you threatening her.”

“She better hope you don’t go to H.R.! She’s lucky you didn’t report her when the thing in Florida happened!”

“You know as well as I do she could’ve turned that around and said I came to her room. It wasn’t worth the headache. I had the situation under control.”

“Did you?! It looked like she was about to kiss you, Harry!”

“You need to calm down! I would’ve never let that happen! I was about to stand up and tell her we were done.”

“Why. Was. She. Touching. You?” You step closer to him.

“I don’t know. I made some joke, she laughed, and then she put her on my shoulder. I noticed she started to grab at the material so I was about to get up. S’not like she grabbed my dick, Y/N.”

He walks out of the office and you follow him. He turns the light off and locks the door. He sighs and picks up the food from the ground.

“This should still be fine, nothin’ came out of the packaging.”

“How could you even eat?! I feel absolutely sick to my stomach!” You both walk over near Isaac’s desk where there’s more light.

“Babe, I-“

“Don’t babe me!” You put a finger in his face. “Only I get to touch you, do you understand? Me, only me!” Your eyes well up with tears and he puts everything down to wrap you in his arms. He hugs you to his chest. You cry into him.

“S’not worth your tears, love.” He strokes the back of your head. “I’m upset too, don’t get me wrong. I don’t like that anyone thinks they could touch me. You’re the only one I want touchin’ me. I only want you, Y/N.” You look up at him and he wipes your tears away.

“I didn’t mean to get so upset. I just came from therapy, and then I walked in and saw that, and I lost it.”

“I thought you were goin’ to throw her through the glass.” He chuckles. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen yeh like that before.”

“Oh, have I never told you that I’m a black belt? All my siblings and I did karate growing up. I could literally end her shit.”

“You’ve been keepin’ something like that from me all this time?” He says with a fake gasp.

“You’re only supposed to use it in certain situations.” He kisses the top of your head. “Shit, are there security cameras here?”

“Yeah, but Isaac’s the one who checks them in the morning. I’ll text him and ask him to not say anything to anyone.”

“Okay.”

You both leave and meet at home. Harry puts the sushi in the fridge, suddenly also not feeling hungry. He texts Isaac, and he tells him Julia is to not interact with him anymore.

“Harrryyyy.” You whine from the bedroom. He comes in to meet you.

“Sorry, I was just…textin…Jesus.” You had changed into the lingerie you hadn’t worn during the photoshoot. You had something behind your back.

“You were texting Jesus?” You giggle.

“How do you get more beautiful each time I see you?” A grin grows over your face.

“I have a lot of adrenaline built up.”

“Do you now?”

“Mhm.”

“What’s that behind your back?”

“I think you already know. I had a little chat with Sarah today. You and Niall tend to gossip more than she and I do.” Harry starts to sweat. You blush and toss the cockring to him. “Wanna have a little fun, baby boy?”

He smirks and nods. He puts the little package on the bed and starts to undress. He had never used one before, all he knew was that they made an erection last longer, so he just figured you wanted to go a few rounds tonight. But you had much more in store for him.

#harry styles #take it slow #harry styles x reader #harry styles y/n #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles sluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff fic #harry styles smut fic #harry styles angst fic #yall i laughed when i saw this was under 3k im so sorry #i thought it was longer #i just couldn't write the smut man #tomorrow tho he gone get it #come hang in my ask box!

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