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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 3 years

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Mystery Writer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer finds books at a second hand bookstore that are annotated and he falls the person writing the notes.

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins server! This is for the marvellous @definitelynotkatesblog <3 I really hope you like it! I had to delete the original post because it didn't show up in the tags. This will be staying up regardless of that now.

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Spencer pressed his lips together at the person behind the till before heading deeper into the rows of second-hand books. Familiar titles, old and new, printed on spines in various states of pristine/decay, they tempted him to select and bring them home with him. The clear sections between biographies and fiction guided him deeper into the forest, deeper into finding his way out. He was hoping to adopt one such book for a day off, when he could revisit it with a fresh eye. It would be like seeing an old friend again, remembering why they were friends in the first place with a hint of that initial read through from years ago, and perhaps he would learn something new in the process.

A dull ache in his chest at the sight of The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. But he had long since recovered from that heartbreak and he would be able to read this story without feeling that again.

Still. It had been several years since he read this book.

His nervous fingers plucked it off the shelf and the pages fell open for him. A flattened gum wrapper parted the pages like the Red Sea. Spencer lifted it out tentatively. Its creases were ironed in from its role as a temporary bookmark, an impression of scribbled black ink flattened after it was made.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the page in search of what this gum wrapper might have been guarding.

“Women are never to be entirely trusted – not the best of them.”

In the margins was scribbled:

Product of the time, but still a prick, rude smartarse role a bit dull

Spencer found himself exhaling in light laughter. That a lack of empathy was considered “dull” by this person, when it was something he dealt with in his job almost every day. The confidence in this commentary too, this brazen critique of a much beloved fictional character was left for someone else to find.

His gaze found Watson’s opinion of Holmes’ casual sexism: “atrocious sentiment”. It was circled twice in the same black biro.

Spencer dug his thumb against the text block and flicked through the book. A waft of that book smell lifted from the paper, accompanied by the bold notes of the previous owner dotted across the text until he finally landed on the reverse of the front cover. Two letters – initials - were scratched onto it.

It was with bridled exhilaration that Spencer approached the till and held up the book with a half-smile. His hands were quick to place it down on the counter so that the shop assistant could type the price into the till. His mood was apparently palpable because they seemed just as happy as Spencer to hand him back the novel in a brown paper bag – the receipt tucked inside.

--->--->--->--->--->

“Love is an emotional thing, and whatever emotional is opposed to what is true, cold reason, which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement.”

What a lonely existence and also a lie. See: entire relationship w/ Dr. Watson!

Spencer smiled at this comment. Now all the other instances of a double underlining made sense. Each one produced itself in his mind as evidence that Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact love. Maybe not marry, but it would have been terribly unconventional for him to wed Doctor John Watson. The unknown author seemed to understand this. They never emphasised if this love was platonic or romantic. But the way in which they proved love existed within this character oft portrayed as emotionless, Spencer simply adored. They were a romantic reader, who still enjoyed reading about the cynic

He grew quite aware of his posture in that moment and he straightened his back. A few clicks of complaint emitted as he stretched, his head twisting from side to side. Screwing his eyes open and shut behind his glasses, he revisited your deduction.

On the dot of the “i” in “lie”, there was a sprinkle of graphite around the indent from where a pencil’s lead had snapped from the effort put into topping off this point. A sprinkle of graphite smudged where the pages pressed together.

Spencer moved on to where a sentence in black biro tried to blend in with the printed words. A memory appeared at the front of his mind: when Rossi was bewildered to learn Spencer and Dr. Alex Blake wrote the newspaper crossword in pen.

The pencil markings were like mini brainstorms, something to revisit and make a solid theory with the black biro. But the planning was never rubbed out.

Little quotes were circled. This mystery critic spent half the book roasting the characters and the other half leaving little exclamation marks and circles around phrases and words when they couldn’t think of something to say. Spencer found it sweet, picturing the thrilling unfolding of events for the reader to revisit.

His heart ached in bittersweet memory as he recalled the contents of Dr Alex Blake’s book The Route of Linguistics. It was necessary pain to create a profile of who this mystery critic was. Yes, he was profiling out of work hours. His evenings were now spent trying to picture the voice behind the notes. The sarcasm, the witty blows to the character’s and author’s ego. He almost wished that he couldn’t read so fast because he finished the book, even with its additional notations, all too quickly. But there was one bonus.

Spencer traced the pad of his fingertip over the exclamation marks describing Mary Morstan. What else might a detractor of the great Sherlock Holmes read?

--->--->--->--->--->

He had returned to the bookshop in favour of adopting another. Yet he could not find one that satisfied his unknown criteria. It was not until he found himself checking the front pages of the fifth book he had selected, that he realised he was looking for a pair of initials.

Sighing, he placed My Dear Bessie, with its empty front page, back on the shelf. The chances of finding another book containing this mystery critic were so minute. He could probably calculate them if he wanted to dedicate himself to such a disheartening statistic. He’d rather not spend his lunch break doing that, as much as he loved statistics. This once, they did not assure his safety and he remained unsupported by the fact that he could not find any other Arthur Conan Doyle books.

His desperation became most apparent when he thought that perhaps fate should just decide for him. If anything, he would come away with a random book to read through in about ten minutes on a flight back home.

He peeked around the corner of the shelves. The shop assistant at the till was busy writing something down, not paying any mind to the shop’s only customer.

“A random shot had no better odds than just picking books off one by one” is what he told himself as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the end of the shelf, just over the first book’s spine. In an “S” pattern, his arm moved up and down, over the books and shelves and gaps between units. His feet stepped forwards into the space he knew was clear.

Spencer stopped and opened his eyes, his finger shifting just an inch out of the way of his new book’s title.

Circe. Madeline Miller.

He tapped the top and the book fell forwards, where he caught it. Its shining dust jacket was serving its purpose, a few tears along the edges from where it had protected the hardcover. He checked the front page. A map of Aiaia in orange and brown filled it to the corners. On the next page, his heart stuttered at the sight of two initials in the same handwriting and the same biro. There was also a scribble - invisible to start with then a ball of black.

The first page with the story’s text held a scribble just above its opening line:

the power of the name

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.”

He could see that the first was in a blunt pencil, but the addition was a sharpened point carving into the paper. A secondary thought that was provided after completing the novel, they had added it. Spencer lifted it to his face, his eyes crossing to keep the stipple in focus. The scent of the paper and the graphite reached him easily; the note must have been made just before Circe was gifted to him. How lucky he was to find such a treasure.

The shop assistant was cutting out a new sign for “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE!”. By the time Spencer made it to them, the sign was placed upon the pile besides him. The shop assistant smoothed out a crease on the dust jacket, ineffectively but Spencer admitted the gesture. He was glad that someone who loved books as much as him got to work in a place like this.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer’s mind, definitely for worse, echoed the words off the tabloids around his head the split second he made eye contact with the headlines. He paced the shelves to somewhere a little quieter. When he found the chocolate aisle, he pretended to peruse. Ever half a minute or so, his gaze drifted up to the till area where the shop owner was on a phone call and clearly not paying attention to him.

It was not long before Spencer grew bored of looking at KitKats, and he pulled out One Thousand And One Nights. The book’s pages fell again to page 57. This shop’s receipt stood above them, still holding its place from the previous owner. It felt wrong to part the two.

No new people had entered this corner shop for 8 minutes. He’d even given the time at the receipt’s end a fifteen-minute margin either side. Given that this mystery critic took a break from work at the same time on the same day of the week – and that they worked during the day – he should have seen them. Maybe he had, and they were that man in the baggy hoodie who stunk of weed. Probably not. Hopefully not. Not that Spencer was judging him for his… recreational activities. He just wanted the mystery critic to be someone he could realistically spend time with.

Just then, Spencer’s phone trilled annoyingly loud. He received a glare from the shop manager and Spencer sent an awkward apologetic expression his way before answering JJ quickly.

“Spencer, we’ve got a case. We need you here ASAP.”

His response was immediate. “Ok, be there in ten.” Hanging up, Spencer dithered on the spot then grabbed a packet of Cheetos. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes; he had to get something.

“Three dollars,” the manager said before returning to his call. But not before he rolled his eyes at Spencer. Spencer dropped the bills onto the counter and dashed out before he could be offered a receipt.

--->--->--->--->--->

An outlier in the usual length of case work had passed by in five long days. Spencer hardly ever regretted the time he put into this job. Every unsub caught was lives saved. But the absence of his mystery commentator had been niggling at the back of his busy mind and he was glad to finally reunite with them on this long flight back.

From his satchel, he recovered the copy of One Thousand And One Nights and began rereading the notes to ground himself in the story. His focus lingered on the page as if he were reading it at the average 250 words per minute. It allowed him to block out the humming of the engine.

Spencer did not take his eyes off the page as he pulled open his desk drawer and popped a piece of overpriced gum into his mouth. Half-hearted reminders bounced in his head, from when he tried smoking and chewing gum to ease his cravings. The fruit flavour was very clearly artificial and it faded within six minutes. Why his mystery critic would pick such a pathetic packet of gum to chew, he didn’t know. But hopefully the fact of its flavour disappearing fast would mean they get through the packet quicker and buy another soon. Even if today, and the days before, spent in that shop did not lean in favour of that hypothesis.

--->--->--->--->--->

The Five People You Meet In Heaven was in the Recently Donated pile. It was near the top, slid towards the edge of the container after being placed wonkily on a copy of some sports autobiography.

Within the pages was more than Spencer could have ever hoped for. Entire paragraphs were circled, quotes underlined. A squashed mini post-it note tabbed the page and a whole paragraph was scrawled on it, about Tala. An arrow pointing to the underside, Spencer lifted the flap and saw more to read, like an interactive pop-up book that he’d gotten Henry for his second birthday. Spencer closed his eyes quick and snapped the book shut. He wanted to save it for when he was sitting comfortably, not while he was rushing back to work in time for JJ to get to her lunch break on time.

The shop assistant had just clipped the lid back onto a green highlighter when Spencer drew up to their counter. With careful fingers, he placed the book upon it. There was a twitch of the assistant’s mouth; their eyes brightened. They looked like they wanted to say something, but something else held them back from making the first move. Spencer recognised it from his school days.

“It’s a good read.” He spoke after they had typed the price into the till.

“I know,” The assistant replied instantly, a relieved smile on their lips, “What part are you on?”

“I’ve already read it, but I wanted to revisit the passage at the diner.”

“Ahh, that’s a good bit. One of my favourites.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch. His gaze dropped to the nametag on the left side of their chest. Y/N, their name’s first initial. It couldn’t be.

“What did you think about the final person, Tala?”

“Oh,” The shop assistant clutched at their heart, “I was an emotional wreck before and it hit me hard just as the rest did. So bittersweet to hear her forgiveness. It took me a few times to finish reading the end, but it was all worth it.”

He couldn’t be this lucky, to get this many books from the same person and to have them standing in front of him. Spencer didn’t believe in luck.

As he reached across for his new book, he turned over the cover, “Was this yours?”

Twisting their head around to read the publication details, the assistant – Y/N - smiled sheepishly at the initials. “Yes, and I’m glad to see it go to a new home.”

Apparently luck believed in him.

“But,” Spencer felt his brows knit automatically as he looked between the book and their previous owner, “You love it. I-I’ve seen your notes.”

A hand clapped over Y/N’s mouth, “Oh God, you must have. I mean, it wasn’t the intention initially, but I thought they might be a little entertaining for anyone who picks it up to leave them in there.”

“Oh, they were! I’d love to read more of your thoughts. Hear, hear them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N checked the door to the shop, still shut, and back to Spencer. They dropped their elbows onto the countertop with their chin in their palms. “What did you wanna know?”

From his bag, Spencer procured his – their – copy of The Sign of Four and flicked through the pages. So many places to choose, but he wanted to open with what had introduced him to Y/N’s analysis.

The pair put their heads together, leaning on the counter. Spencer could smell the chewing gum on their breath. Y/N never cut him off, and he never wanted to cut them off. There were little pauses at the end of each of their turns to speak before the other picked up where they had left off. Their voices leapt from secretive whispers to passionate orations of their favourite passages, rebounding evidence and analysis off each other like a bouncy ball. Spencer finally had a voice to put to the sarcasm, the one his mind had conjured long forgotten in the wake of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

The shop’s door swung open. Spencer leapt to attention as an older woman swept in, past the two of them towards the non-fiction section. Y/N adjusted their name tag, their back straight too. The clock behind the till announced that it was now twenty minutes after the end of Spencer’s lunch break.

Running on the rush of his hobby meeting a potential friend, Spencer asked, “Can I get your number? So we can talk more, maybe swap some more books, when you’re not working?”

His luck was still by his side as Y/N wrote out their number on his receipt, written in their infamous black biro.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer leapt over to the door of his apartment, took a deep breath, and unlocked it. Stood behind where it had been was Y/N and they too were still wearing the uniform from work. Their nametag was still on their polo shirt, the same spot that Spencer wore his FBI tag.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked the second they made a step inside his abode.

“Tea would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”

And while he was in the kitchen, Y/N rushed over to the bookshelves, their eyes wide to take in Spencer’s collection. “Oh wow! You weren’t joking!” Their finger indicated to a hard cover copy of Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy, “That’s one of mine. Well, yours now.”

Plucking it from the shelf, they opened it up. Spencer had written his initials beside theirs.

Spencer stuck his head out in the partition, “Ours. If we’re going to be sharing.” Y/N stood on tiptoes, teeming with delight, their hands cradling the book with all the care Spencer could hope for in a fellow reader. Joint custody of their books and their passion? What a dream.

“I just have to write a little more about the epilogue, and I’ll be with you,” Y/N took their place on his couch. A pencil began scribbling away their thoughts onto the last few pages. Their knees were their desk.

Spencer finished brewing and placed the mug in front of Y/N, who mumbled a quick thank you to him. He joined them in writing his final notes. It slowed him down a considerable amount, but he was glad to take things at a casual pace, especially considering the way that Y/N almost broke their pencil as they scrawled out their thoughts for Spencer to hear later.

“Have you thought about the next one you’d like to try?” Spencer asked tentatively. He wasn’t so sure if Y/N would want to be interrupted.

Luckily for him, Y/N paused their stream of consciousness to look back at his books, “Hmm. So much to choose from.”

Stood up, their book left in Spencer’s care. They took a deep breath, closed their eyes and used their forefinger to draw a zigzag over the spines. Spencer felt that he was almost sick with joy.

Y/N stilled their wandering hand and opened their eyes, already drawing out the selected novel, “This one.”

“And what have you chosen for me next time?”

Y/N handed over The Butterfly Lion from their bag, “Ok, I can’t wait any longer, what do you think?”

They sat back on the couch. Their legs now hung over the arm of the couch, elbows either side and face cupped in their palms. The book rested in their lap. Shifting so that he faced them completely, Spencer returned to the first page and his analysis began.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my writing

399 notes · View notes

skippyv20 · 2 years

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I am wondering.....

With the two precious real babies being baptized together (how wonderful is this!) such an important occasion...and the fact baby doll from California is not included, what will Pinocchio do? I have questions and concerns....

Is there a local news outlet she can perhaps get to cover baby doll baptism?

Will she find some nice baptism pictures on line she can claim for her own, and perhaps tweak with a bit of photoshopping?

Will she crash a real baby’s christening and make it her own, just shove the parents out of the way? Can a DuchAss do that? I think so....

Are there any ToysRUs left in the US? Perhaps she will use one of those for a venue....and have a built in audience. (Customers)

Will she just photoshop doll into Royal Christening gown and send out articles saying doll will be wearing it, as is her right?

Is there a great concert coming up in LA? With some star power? Perhaps a famous person’s funeral? She could push people out of the way and make it her own? Big crowds always an indication of a Royal present

Will she give out matchbooks with her cypher? And perhaps a happy thought?

Will she give out bananas with encouraging words?

Will Piers Morgan be a godfather? Lady GaGa the godmother?

Will Archie perform the service? Or will he play background elevator music?

Will she wear a trash bag evening gown with strands of her wig for sleeves?

Will she wear a clean wig?

Will Omid Scobie be there getting the inside scoop?

Will it be a bring your own chair event?

Will people have to supply their own food? Or will she give out coupons ahead of time? She is a lover of coupons apparently.

Will the baptism take place in the same room we see during every zoom call? The one rented by the hour to pretend she has a mansion?

Will the chickens be attending?

Will Harry be allowed to attend or will he be locked in some room at Doria’s?

Will the Markles and photographers be there?

Will doll have a full set of teeth by the time christening happens?

Will their be adult party favours, like at her a Jamaica wedding?

Just wondering.....😁

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star-lemonade · 3 years

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School reunion (1/3)

A.C.E Junhee x Reader

Cw: bulling, kinda angsty, Junhee is a sweet heart though

Rating: T (Series R)

Word count: 3.6 k

Summary: You hire someone to accompany you to your school reunion.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. The laptop sat on the kitchen table and the page in the browser was taunting you. You stared at the screen from your spot against the kitchen counter. The empty boxes waited for you to fill in your information. Should I really do this?

You sighed and filled some water into the kettle just to delay having to make a decision. The other thing on the kitchen table was not better. It was an invitation to your school reunion. The reunion was scheduled for the Saturday of the following week at your old school. School. Even the address on the paper brought a bad taste to your mouth.

“You’re so ugly, who would ever date you?”

“I dare you to kiss her.”

“Yak not even for money”

You shuddered. No, no, there is no way I will go there alone. You sat down at the table and began to fill in the form. Name, address, phone and age. On the next page they asked about the occasion or event and you typed: school reunion.

Time? about 3 hours. I won’t stay there for too long.

Gender preference? Hmm I don’t actually care. ‘Don’t care’ was not an option, so you chose ‘man preferred’ over the ‘man only’, ‘woman preferred’ and ‘woman only’ options.

Age preferences? 25-35. I can’t show up there with an 18 year old.

Your finger hovered over the enter button. The shadow of your school days was still haunting you and made your hand heavier until you finally clicked check out.

You had officially rented a plus one for your school reunion.

A day after you had filled out the form you received a message from an unknown number.

“Hello, this is Junhee. I will accompany you to your school reunion next week. Would it be okay if I asked some questions so I can prepare?”

“Hi, Junhee. What do you want to know?”

“How should I introduce myself?”

You chewed on your lip. As you typed the next message your face felt warm.

“As my boyfriend.”

It felt so sad to ask this of a total stranger and you prayed he would not judge you for it. Please don’t question this, please don’t question this.

“How long have we been together?”

I guess that is a valid question someone could ask. You thought about it for a moment. It should not be too short but also not too long. The fact that you did know much about each other would make it not believable that you are together for years.

“A few months maybe?”

He asked a few more questions like “where and how did we meet?” (“at work while getting coffee”) and you answered them with whatever struck your mind.

“Okay. I think this is enough for me. Thank you!”

You sighed. This was actually more complicated than you had anticipated. At least now it felt real as opposed to just a scam to get money from people. Three dots appeared on your screen again.

“One last thing. This is also in the terms of service, but we all must remind our customers about this: I am not a hooker and you did not book sexual favours.”

Your face burned when you read that. Surely no one had asked for that before, had they?

“Of cause not, I just don’t want to go alo-”

Before you really thought about it, you had accidently pressed ‘send’ instead of backspace. Oh no. OH NO.

“Shit.”

My escort knows how pathetic I am. ‘As if he did not know before’ another part of you interjected. Your phone vibrated again.

“It’s okay, I will do my best to keep you company :)”

You did not know what to answer and just send:

“Thank you.”

As the reunion neared you found yourself thinking about it more. A sort of dread had settled in your chest. After all these years you would finally face your bullies. The people who had belittled you for not been pretty enough and made you believe that you could never find anyone who loved you. The worst thing was it seemed that they were right. You were single and you even had to hire someone… no. No, you would not let them get to you. The past years had been the happiest you had ever been. You had friends, even if they were not many, and you did well at your job. There was nothing not to be proud of. Even if you were single now, that did not mean you were unlovable. It just meant that you had not met a person that fit. You would walk in there, head held high and show those petty bitches you were not afraid of them anymore.

Your mood oscillated between confident and anxious for the whole week. You did not want to give them the satisfaction of knowing you were still so affected by them, that their mere presence could make you stay away. No, you had to go. Like this you killed the time to the day of the reunion.

You had rented a dress from a rental service. It was not too fancy but you simply did not own that many dresses and the ones you had did not seem appropriate. Someone on the organizing committee had decided that nice dresses and suits were what they wanted to see. You had messaged Junhee to wear something appropriate for that dress code.

“In a few hours it’s over.”

Your mirror image was not convinced by this but it was all you could do now. Backing out last minute would make you look bad, even if you really wanted to. All of this seemed like a bad idea. What if they found out that you had hired someone to play your boyfriend? You would be the laughing stock of the whole school and this after you had not been in school for years. For a moment you considered just taking off the dress, putting on some sweaters and sitting down on the couch. Your phone made a noise. A new message had arrived.

“At 5 pm at the station, right?”

Junhee.

“Yes. See you there.”

As if it was mocking you, the sun shone from a bright blue sky. The people on the street smiled more than you had seen in some time. On the other hand it was maybe your imagination. Now that you were walking to what could be the worst night of your recent history, everyone seemed in a better state than you.

You arrived at the station.

“I’m wearing a red dress.”

Maybe the dress was a bit much. It had seemed like a good idea. Wearing red would make you stand out. Now, however, that was the opposite of what you wanted to do. Fading into the background, turning invisible and just straight up going back home was what you really wanted right now. The only thing that was that held you back was the thought of the money you had spent upfront for your plus one.

Two young women stopped next to you. One of them sat her backpack down and tried to stuff a paper bag into it.

“Should I help?”

Her friend watched her struggle with amusement. Despite her offer she did not help backpack girl but looked around instead.

You shifted your attention to your phone. Junhee had seen your message. Good. I hope he will be here soon. So we can get this over with.

“Jeez, I wish my boyfriend looked like that,” the girl said as her friend proclaimed: “I’m done. Let’s go.”

Backpack girl dragged her friend away. At least she had a boyfriend. It was not like you needed a man in your life but it would be nice sometimes. Next week I will try tinder. From past experience that was not likely but the thought alone seemed to pacify your mind for now. Getting a boyfriend was future-you’s problem. Present-you had to worry about that goddamn school reunion.

Someone said your name.

“Hmm?”

You were not sure which part shocked you the most: the crisp black suit that hugged the man’s body perfectly, the curly dark hair that looked straight out of a romcom, the beautiful lips and handsome face, the million dollar smile or the soft voice that said your name. It was hard to choose.

“Ehm?”

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Junhee.”

“ID please.”

You showed it to the sour faced student behind the supermarket counter. He nodded and you paid. Buying hard alcohol in broad daylight was highly suspicious but this situation called for it. You definitely could not do this sober. Junhee had sat down on a bench not too far from the supermarket. The black suit and white dress shirt fit him perfectly. It was as if watching a photo shoot for the next wedding catalog. Oh, this is a catastrophe. You unscrewed the bottle and took a good mouthful. The cheap alcohol burned in your mouth and all the way down. No one in their right mind would believe he is my boyfriend. It could not be more obvious that you had hired him. Junhee watched the cars go by. The sun made his hair seem more brown than black and the light breeze moved the soft locks. You took another gulp and stuffed the bottle in your handbag. Did I accidentally book a model? There had not been an option for that of course. I should have asked for a photo. You left the store and walked over to Junhee. Maybe I should just send him home and go drink at a bar.

When he saw you, Junhee stood up. His charming smile filled you with dread. This is a car crash waiting to happen.

“Did you get everything?”

You nodded. Soon the alcohol would hit your brain. Maybe then you would care less about everything. You could not bring yourself to send Junhee away. He had come here, looking sharp and you had paid money for him to be here. Your stinginess won against better judgment, so your only option was the original one: go to your old school.

It felt like there was a black cloud of doom that thickened as you got nearer. The bad experiences from the past made every step you took towards that hell hole more difficult. You wanted to run away.

“Can I take your hand?”

Junhee. You had almost forgotten about him. He had not said anything for the past ten minutes or so. Maybe he felt that now was not a good time to talk. You offered your hand. He interlaced his fingers with yours. It had been some time since you held someone’s hand and it made your heart beat faster. Or maybe it was the liquor.

You turned the corner and there it was. The building looked the same as in your memory. Whoever had the idea of starting the evening here before instead of going to a restaurant directly, did not have your gratitude. Walking through the front door stiffly, you clenched your hands. Your whole body was tense. You were ready to fight or flee at any second.

Voices were coming from the gym. Next to the open door stood a table. On it were pens and stickers. As you approached a woman came through the door and smiled at you. It was the most fake smile you had seen in some time.

“Welcome! Please make a name tag for yourself.”

She made a swiping gesture to the table. You let go of Junhee’s hand and wrote your name on a sticker. The woman watched Junhee as he made a tag for himself. You had never been the jealous type but right then wanted to claw her eyes out.

“Have fun.”

You almost felt her looking as you entered the gym. The hall was filled with bar tables groups had formed and all eyes were on you. At one of the empty tables you stopped.

“I will get something to drink. What do you want?”

You barely heard your own answer over the ringing in your ears. The ceiling had been decorated but it made the hall seem more shabby. As if the paper garlands were only there to hide the cracks in the grey concrete. You looked around.

They looked back at you from the other table, pointed and smirked at each other. Your bullies. They looked old. The ten years since graduation had carved lines into their faces but they tried to hide it by applying too much makeup.

You felt sick.

“Hey.”

A hand landed on your shoulder and you jerked. Junhee pulled back his hand. He studied your face.

“Do you want to leave?”

You looked up. Leave? Leaving meant giving up. They won if you left. No, no you were strong. Your hand strangled your purse. You would not run away from them. Junhee‘s brown eyes watched the tremor in your hand.

“Let’s go,” he whispered and took your hand. Your skin was cold and sweaty against his as Junhee dragged you out. You were so shocked, you did not even say anything until you had left through the front door.

“Stop!”

You ripped your hand free from his grasp.

“You should not stay there any longer.”

“That is not your call to make,” you snapped at him.

His face flushed.

“No, but it is the right one.”

Before you could talk back he continued in a calm tone: “You don’t care about any of those people and they don’t care about you.”

He waved his hands.

“I don't know what happened in the past but you are not here to meet some old friends.”

Your eyes burned. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s humiliating. You tried to blink the tears away but your vision blurred.

“Not here.”

Junhee grabbed your shoulder and led you away. The tears fogged your vision, so you just followed wherever he was going. Your feet moved on their own accord and you were thankful for it. Holding back an undignified sob took up all your mental capacity.

“Sit.”

You collapsed on the bench. There was nothing holding the tears back now. You looked like an idiot in front of everyone. Your bullies had seen you turn up with an escort only to run away the second they looked at you. And now you cried on a bench in front of said escort. How pathetic had your life become? You had not felt this bad since leaving school.

Get a grip. There was nothing to be done here. You did not feel better by telling yourself this, but at least one of these could be fixed. Try to stop crying.

You concentrated on a point on the ground. The concrete was cracked there and something green had started to push its way to the surface. Plants are amazing. They can even exist in these places.

Your eyes still burned and your nose was all clogged up, but you had stopped crying.

“I’m sorry, Junhee.”

You looked up. There was no one around. When did he leave? You sighed and your eyes burnt again. I guess it is just that kind of day. Going home sounded like a good idea but you could not bring yourself to get up. The weight of your sorrows kept you on the bench. You could not even blame Junhee for leaving either. Usually you were very composed and rarely had outbursts of any kind, but today was just not your day.

“Here.”

A bottle of water entered your field of view. Your gaze followed the arm that was holding it up until you met Junhee’s eyes. You took the bottle and almost cried again because he was still here. For better or worse he had not abandoned you on a bench.

The water was cold. It had clearly been in a fridge not too long ago.

“Thank you.”

Junhee sat down next to you and waited while you drank the water. This day, although it was not over, was already a train wreck. Very carefully Junhee asked: “Can we get something to eat?”

You nodded slowly. Food was not a bad idea. You had skipped lunch because you had not been hungry at the time.

“Sure.”

Junhee stood up and looked around, hands on his hips. He turned to you and asked in a hushed tone:

“Where do we have to go?”

There was nothing funny about it but you laughed anyway. Junhee looked like a lost puppy and when he saw you laughing, he pouted. Now this really was funny.

“The station is that way.”

Junhee looked at his phone. He took off his tie and pocketed it.

“Technically I’m free to go now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “We just got here and ordered food and you want to go?” was what you wanted to say but swallowed it. You were still embarrassed and grateful that Junhee was there with you. He had made dumb jokes all the way to your favorite restaurant. It was almost on the other end of town but it was the only place you wanted to be right now.

“So, you wanna leave?”

“Leave? No, no!”

He waved his hands frantically.

“I … meant I’m not here because of work now.”

The soju had painted Junhee’s cheeks a rosy red. It looked good on him.

“What do you do when you don’t do this?”

You gestured vaguely at you and him sitting together in your favorite restaurant. Surely it had to be model or something like that just based on what you had seen so far. Technically you were not supposed to ask personal questions but your contract was done. Technically.

“I’m a student. I study computer science, but I will graduate soon.”

He took a sip from his drink. That rang a bell in the back of your mind. Computer science? Someone was talking to me about that not long ago. Who was it?

The waiter came and set your food on the table. He opened the lid of the barbecue that was mounted in the table.

“Have a good meal.”

“Thank you.”

When you left the restaurant, the sun had set. You felt a little awkward. It had been nice spending time with Junhee even if you had been very distressed earlier. Before you could really think about it, the words fell from your mouth.

“Thank you for spending the day with me. It was nice.”

You did not look at him. It felt unnatural but you meant it and had to say it.

“It was nice for me too.”

Junhee’s hair was not as neat as earlier. The waves had flattened and the way he always combed it left it looking disheveled. His cheeks were flushed from the food and the drinks.

You were not sure what to say. “Goodbye for ever” seemed a bit odd.

“Good luck with your studies. See you around.”

“Goodbye.”

You left Junhee at the restaurant and walked home. It was not too far so you could walk. The night air was refreshing after the stuffy restaurant. It also cleared the dryness of your eyes and nose.

Your apartment was dark and empty. You took a quick shower, put on your pyjamas and went to bed. The day had been emotionally exhausting and you were drifting into the fuzzy precursor to sleep. Your mind drifted through some memories and thoughts but nothing was clear. It hit you. You were wide awake because your brain had found the answer to the question. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. The light from the screen nearly blinded you.

John, a name he had chosen because none of his overseas clients could pronounce ‘Seungmin’, was the CTO of a company that had their offices in the same building as your company. Without thinking much about it you sent Junhee John’s number.

“He is looking for some computer science people. Maybe that’s something for you. Anyways good luck and best wishes.”

You tried not to think too much about that day. It still felt like a defeat even months later. You had run away from your bullies. They had looked at you and you had folded. It was a bitter memory. The logical part of you noted that it was not worth your time, that you should focus on the tasks at hand and live your life.

You spent time with your friends and on your hobbies. Indeed your spirits lifted slowly. The less time you spent ruminating about the past the more time you could spend on other things.

“Let’s get lunch. I’m starving.”

You agree with your colleague. You grabbed your phone and keys. Your colleague was already at the elevator and held open the door.

Two floors down the elevator stopped and the door opened.

“Hey!”

John and some of his staff entered. You waved and smiled. John was a man in late 40 or early 50s, you had never asked, but he gave off the youthful energy of someone who loved his job. A ‘ding!’ announced the closing of the doors but John jammed his leg and arm between it.

“Hurry up, newbie! We can’t have you starve on the first day!”

Steps echoed in the hallway and the newbie flew into the tight space. The young man had dark hair and wore round glasses. With the dark blue sweater and the jeans he gave off the youthful vibe of a university student. He was very handsome and your face burnt.

Junhee.

#wkcnet #noonasinnetwork #Junhee x reader #Junhee smut #A.C.E smut #a.c.e x reader #kpop x reader #a.c.e fanfic #A.C.E fics #kpop fanfic #non idol au #star writing #queue for the lemonade stand

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Secrets ~ 2

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A buried family secret comes to light thrusting you to the forefront of an old alliance.

Note: Last night I got some not so nice comments about me and I know it doesn’t really matter but considering I have to work on my bday tomorrow and everything is just mounting and mounting up, I don’t know how much writing I’ll be doing. It could be a lot or a little. But thankful to have those who care, you guys, cheering me on.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You went on like nothing had changed. It hadn’t. You weren’t leaving to marry some stranger. Some outdated prince in his crumbling castle. You studied the past, you didn’t want to live in it.

You went to class. Numb. Your anger slaked away as you jotted your notes and tried to ignore the tugging in your chest. Three classes, a coffee in between the second and the third, then you were due at the bookstore for the closing shift.

It was late enough in the year that the customers weren’t so many. You paced the aisles and asked students if they needed help. Few did as they perused the shelves and wandered, almost aimlessly so. Danica was on the till, though you took turns between sorting through the table of discount paperbacks left disordered by curious shoppers.

Only twenty minutes before close and you were near the back of the store, sweeping. Your path was blocked however as you turned in the far aisle. That man, Mr. Barnes, stood by the wall of rucksacks and hoodies, pretending to be interested. Given the fine cut of his suit and the polish of his shoes, you doubted he needed or wanted the campus-branded clothing.

You kept at your work. You got closer and continued to sweep, knocking his heels with the broom as you grumbled a grizzly ‘excuse me’. He chuckled and stepped aside, turning to watch you as you tried to ignore him.

“Your highness,” He said.

“Don’t call me that,” You huffed as you lifted the dustpan and it folded up against the stick. “What are you doing here?”

“My duty.” He said lightly. “I was sent by your fiance to keep an eye on you. To bring you back to him.” He glanced around and slid a magazine from the rack. “To free you of this boring mediocrity.” He flipped through the pages. “You don’t belong here, Duchess.”

He folded back the magazine and turned it to face you. He held it out and you scowled. He waved it impatiently and you sighed as you stepped closer to look. A man, tall, blonde, austere, leaned against an expensive sports car, a mansion behind him, akin to Versailles, as he gazed nonchalantly into the camera. The headline floated beside him; ‘A King for our Times’”

You recognized him. You’d seen him, as most people had; on the news, in tabloids, on questionable gossip blogs. You’d never paid much attention to him or those royals who existed beyond their means. You scoffed and shrugged.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Your lip curled.

“Your feelings don’t really matter,” He closed the magazine and put it back. “The contract stands.”

“You came all this way on the back of a paper signed by a dead king of a dead nation?” You shook your head. “Is your king that desperate?”

His jaw squared and he swallowed. “You think this makes you better than him? This… existence?”

“A life I earned,” You retorted. “I doubt he or you know very much about that.”

“And how much do you know of duty? Obligation? A purpose beyond your own selfish needs?”

“Selfish?” You rolled your eyes. “Sir. We’re closing. You need to leave.”

He tilted his head and grinned. His tongue poked out along his lip and he chuckled.

“Your highness,” He bowed his head. “Until tomorrow.”

He stepped closer and you turned to let him past.

“Don’t bother,” You said to his back as you watched him near the end of the aisle. “I’m not going. Tell him to find someone else.”

He stopped and pushed back his shoulders. He said nothing, just stood there a moment before he continued on. The electronic ding signaled his departure and you let out the breath that had stuck in your chest.

You clutched the broom and dustpan in one hand and grabbed the magazine from beside you. You went to the counter where Danika was balancing the till.

“Hey,” You leaned the broom and pan against the counter. “I wanna buy this.”

“Just take it.” She shrugged. “With our discount, it might as well be free.”

You nodded and took it, bending it under your arm.

“Anything else besides cleaning?” You asked.

“Nah,” She counted out the last of the pennies. “Go on. I’ll close up.”

👑

You sat on your bed, the glow of your small lamp the only light. After an hour of tossing and turning, you surrender to wakefulness. You stared at the magazine, the glossy cover reflected the light beside you. You sank back into your pillows and picked at the pages until you found the one. You opened the magazine and stared at the man; the king; the strange. Fiance?

He was handsome, sure, but even in a picture, he seemed haughty. There was an arrogance to his shoulder, the way he leaned on the white hood, how he appeared to look down his nose at the lens even while standing on the same level. You flipped the page and began to read.

A short blurb introduced him as the King of Astrania, once the playboy prince, but, as the article claimed, matured by the throne. You recalled the gossip of those days, yourself barely a teen then. One night, he had a socialite on his arm, the next an actress, next a singer, a model…

‘You’ve done so much. Anything still on the list?’ The interviewer lobbed another softball question.

‘Lots.’ The king answered. ‘I think my mother would be relieved to hear me say I think it’s past time I found a wife. A queen.’

‘You’re going to break a lot of hearts, your majesty.’

‘I’ve had my fun. Maybe too much. If I’m to serve my people, I’ll need someone at my side.’

You lowered the magazine and frowned at the ceiling. You pushed the pages off your chest and rolled over to turn off the lamp. You pulled the pillow over your head and squeezed your eyes shut. The thought of being bound to man so opposite yourself made you want to scream but you were too tired for that.

👑

You still didn’t know what to say to your mother. Your whole life was a lie. Not a lie you hated which was worse because the truth threatened to undo it all. When you went to the kitchen to get your coffee, she was there, waiting, a mug ready for you. You didn’t say more than thanks as you took and returned to your room.

You readied yourself for another day. Thursday. The last two days felt like weeks. You packed up your bag and left through the front door, avoiding your mother who watched you from the kitchen. What were you supposed to tell her? It’s okay you lied to me, it’s okay you don’t want to fight, it’s okay to barter me away before I was even born? None of it was okay.

You reached the end of the walk and a man in a black suit stepped into your path. You stopped short and tried to pass him. Another man, in the same suit, black jacket, black tie, black everything, blocked you again. You turned the other way and found yourself box in by Mr. Barnes. He crossed his arms as he smiled at you.

“You’re off early.” He said.

“I have class.” You sneered and once more tried to make your way around the men. They moved with you, forming a wall. “Get out of my way.”

“The king wants me back before the end of the week. I can’t return empty-handed.”

“I don’t care what your king wants. I have class, work--”

“The jet is charted for three,” He checked his watch. “We have lots of time to pack.”

“You’re not--” You sputtered. “No.”

You looked back at your house. Your mouth stood in the door as she watched. She looked sad, broken. You grimaced at her.

“I told you I’m not going,” You tried to shove past Barnes and the other men grabbed your arms, your bag flopping to the ground. “Hey, let me go.”

“Your highness, my king did permit us reasonable force in our duty,” Barnes said evenly. “And to this point, I have restrained from it.”

“Hey,” Your mother swept through the door and stormed towards the men. “Don’t! Let her go! You’ll hurt her.”

“There is a seat for you on the jet too, Princess,” Barnes offered. “It’s only fitting the mother of the bride should attend the wedding.”

“Get off!” You kicked out and Barnes moved out of the way. “Off!”

“Astrania favours tradition.” He continued. “And it is not unheard for brides to be brought in chains. I’d rather not be so medieval.”

“I don’t wanna go! No!” You continued to struggle. Your mother grabbed at one of the men and was swiftly shaken off. “Stop!”

“Get her inside. The princess, too.” Barnes order.

One man hooked his arms through yours and held them behind you as the other seized your mother. You were turned and forced back down the walk, growling and grunting as you were pushed up the porch steps. Your mother whimpered as she was held by the back of her neck and angled through the front door ahead of you.

Inside, the door clattered and the thicker one was closed and locked. Barnes led the way into the living room and pointed to the couch.

“Princess,” He ordered and your mother was pushed onto the sofa. “Bring the duchess here.”

He beckoned to the hallway and strode ahead of you. Your shoulders ached as you tried and tried to wrench yourself away. Barnes looked in doors until he found your room. You were taken inside as he peered around.

“Cuff her,” He said. “Put her on the bed.”

He turned you and pushed you down onto the mattress. He released your arms as he pinned your down with his knee in your back and you reached back blindly to claw at him. He caught your wrists and held them together, securing them with a pair of thick cuffs before he got off of you. You rolled over and kicked out. Barnes caught your ankle and squeezed until you groaned in pain.

“The king would prefer a bride without a broken foot,” He warned. “But he will accommodate it, should he need to.”

He threw your leg down gruffly and nodded to the man. The other left and you sat up awkwardly, your arms trapped behind you. You stood and Barnes quickly pushed you back down.

“I’ve been nice. Patient.” He said. “But I don’t have time for this.” He pointed his finger in your place. “Perhaps your mother didn’t tell you how these things work or maybe you just didn’t listen. This isn’t a proposal, Duchess. Not a choice.”

You snapped at his finger and he drew away quickly. He smirked and scoffed and shoved you back roughly.

“Keep it up and I’ll have you strapped down.” He snarled.

You slowly sat up, glaring at him, but didn’t go further. “Fuck you.” You spat.

His eyes rounded then he snickered again.

“Oh, there’s a lot to work on, Duchess. That mouth, first of all,” He turned and pulled open the sliding door of your closet. “Ugh, and…” He touched a wool sweater. “And these, most of all.”

The man in black reappeared with a suitcase, the other faded leather dug up from the linen closet. He slapped it down on the bed beside you and flipped it open. He went to stand in the door, blocking it with his wide frame.

“Duchess, future queens, do not wear…” He held up a jacket. “Tweed.”

You growled, fighting the urge to kick him. You couldn’t reach and the cuffs kept you off-balance.

“We’ll take enough for the time being but… we’ll have to bring in some stylists,” He dropped an armful of clothes into the suitcase. “For…” He looked you up and down. “Everything.”

“You can’t do this,” You snarled.

“I can. I am.” He insisted as he tucked in the corners of the clothing. “That’s what you don’t seem to understand. I can do whatever I want. I have an order from the king and I have diplomatic authority. Now, I have been nice so far, I will even allow your mother to accompany you.”

“No,” You hissed. “No, leave her here.”

“Leave her?” He asked.

“It’ll be easier.” You lowered your chin. “For both of us.”

He was quiet. He nodded and stepped away. He went to the attached bathroom and returned with your pouch of essentials.

“We can make up for whatever we forget,” He dropped it atop the open suitcase. “Anything in particular I’ve missed, duchess?”

“Beyond human decency?” You challenged.

He laughed once more and closed the suitcase.

“It’s a long flight,” He said. “And it’ll be longer with those.” He tugged on the cuffs. “Hopefully it gives you time to think.”

He zipped up the bag and handed it to the man in black. Then he grabbed you and lifted you onto your feet. He guided you from the room with his hand on your wrists. Your mother sat, the other man staring her down, and looked over as you entered.

“Please, don’t take her. Please.” She begged as she tried to stand only to be nudged back by her watcher. “You can’t--”

“Princess, you know you can’t stop us.” Barnes said. “And your daughter has made up her mind. You will stay.” He bent to look her in the eyes. “You get your wish. Stay in your exile, pretending, playing at normalcy.”

“I’ll go,” She pleaded. “Let me go.” She leaned over and looked around him at you. “Don’t leave me here. I’ll come with you. I’ll-- I’ll-- you’re my daughter--”

“And you lied to me.” You sniffed. “You did this. Why would I want you to come?”

“I’m your mother.” She uttered.

“You’re the Princess of Ecklun. It was written there on that paper.” You sneered. “In your hand. I have to live with what you’ve done but it doesn’t mean I have to live with you.”

You turned your head up and held back the sudden wave of sadness which swelled in you. Everything you knew was just a lie. Your own mother. Your only family. She’d sold you like cattle. If she had warned you, maybe you could have stayed hidden. If she had warned you, maybe you wouldn’t be so unprepared. If she had warned you…

“Well,” You looked at Barnes. “Are we going?”

He stepped away from your mother and took your arm. “No goodbyes?”

“She signed her farewell a long time ago,” You said and turned away from her. “She’s had years to prepare for this. Years she stole from me.”

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ve1vetyoongi · 5 years

Text

take a sip | jjk

summary: Your best friends engagement party was a dreadful reminder of your painfully barren dating life. That is until you laid eyes on the tattooed waiter who can’t stop staring - after all, the wine tastes sweet but he tastes sweeter.

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: smut, fluff

au: countryclub!au, waiter!jungkook, rich!reader

word count: 9.4k

warnings: oral (f receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, some dirty talk, (very) soft dom!jungkook, bratty tease oc.

a/n: ITS MY MUHFUCKIN BABY’S BIRTHDAY so i decided to write a lil something to celebrate because i love him with my whole heart shh who said that <3 (p.s this is largely unedited rip excuse any mistakes)

You fell asleep last night so I saw myself out. Thanks for the drinks! — Jungkook.

You crumpled up the note you found folded neatly on your nightstand and dropped it into the trash with a groan.

Another failed attempt at dating. God, you were such an idiot.

Your temples throbbed with the tell tale signs of a hangover, courtesy of a night of reckless drinking at some scummy club that played Top 40 EDM tracks like they were actually good — the drinks were cheap, though, so you put up with the hearing loss more often than you cared to admit.

The words on the note echoed in your head. Last night?

Hazy drunken memories slowly began to piece together, making you wince when you remembered the way you'd clung onto the arm of a dark haired boy in skinny jeans on the dance floor the night before.

How you had shamelessly grinded against him, probably whispering something unnecessarily filthy in his ear.

And even worse, how he had followed your stumbling form out onto the sidewalk, refusing to let you walk through the streets cloaked in night time alone.

"I can call you a cab?" A voice filled with concern.

"My place...'s not far from here..." You had slurred.

What happened next?

He'd insisted on escorting you home, you knew that much. You remembered the way his eyes widened when you stumbled into the lobby of Paradise resort -- the elite residential area your father paid ungodly amounts of money to be a member of -- instructing Jungkook to rummage in your bag for the key card that would let you inside.

"You live here?" He had asked, straightening his simple white T-shirt when he took in the grand chandelier and the classical music humming overhead which boasted the highbrow nature of Paradise, a juxtaposition to the casual setting in which you'd met. You noticed the way he'd ogled your red bottomed shoes, probably putting two and two together now.

"Mmf," you had mumbled into the crook of his neck as he helped you climb the stairs to your suite. "Parents are rich."

You remembered asking him if he wanted a drink and then watching his own hands pour a shot of whisky when yours proved too shaky to get any of the liquid in the glass.

You remembered the tattoo which started at the base of his neck beneath rosy stains from your lipstick, the design curving down his arm and ending in a rose on the back of his hand.

You remembered how said hand felt warm when it cupped your cheek and how his lips were sticky with the sour taste of alcohol when they touched yours in a way that set your body on fire with a craving to never stop.

You remembered how he carried you to your bedroom, face scanning yours with something that looked like concern when the alcohol in your blood stream had you slurring your words. How he laid down next to you, body heat comforting as your eyes fluttered closed.

And you remembered how you fell asleep like that, wrapped up in a near strangers arms before you'd even asked his name.

Jungkook. That must have been it.

He didn't leave his number. Were you even surprised?

Ugh. What did it matter anyway? It wasn't like you were ever going to see the dude again.

While you were popping a painkiller out of the blister packet, swilling your dry tongue with water to get rid of the lingering flavour of vodka that made you want to blanch, you heard your phone buzz nearby.

2:45, Somin: — Are you up? Don't forget my get together tonight. — I can't wait to show you the Pinterest board I made with wedding ideas!!!!

And there it was. The literal headache of your life that no amount of painkillers could soothe.

Your best friend Somin was getting married.

And you were happy for her, you would swear it to your grave...

Another buzz.

2:47, Somin: — P.S. Namjoon will be there 😜 I have a feeling you'll get along great.

You just didn't see why she felt the need to pressure you into following in her footsteps.

"We're getting married!" She had announced one afternoon while you sipped Chardonnay on the sun deck just in time to gaze at the resorts badminton team taking the field for a game from a nearby balcony. She had been hanging off Hoseok's arm all day, a sparkling diamond on her left hand nearly as big as the mushy grin on his face. "Can you believe it?"

"No." You had answered, voice tight and a little too high to give off the I'm-happy-for-you vibes you had hoped for. "I can't believe it."

It was true; Hoseok had been a member at Paradise for as long as you could remember and last time you checked Somin wasn't in any hurry to get married.

Until she learned of Hoseok's six figure income. Eye roll.

After that it was all wedding this and wedding that and when are you getting hitched because it's suddenly socially unacceptable for me to be friends with someone not in a financially convenient marriage.

So that's why you almost said no when Somin had booked you in for a wine tasting session at the resort's most luxurious bar in celebration of the engagement. Sure, you liked drinking the stuff as much as the next person but Somin's mindless gloating about her dashingly handsome CEO boyfriend-turned-fiancé couldn't be drowned out by even the strongest of liqueurs.

Neither could her fruitless attempts at setting you up with Kim Namjoon, Hoseok's rich best friend.

Sure, she liked to think that her intentions were generous, but deep down you knew it was because there was one thing Somin couldn't stand: a smudge on her perfect reputation. And right now, you were the dirty mark she just couldn't clean.

But you promised. To be happy for her and to actually turn up. So you found yourself choking back an excuse invovling your self inflicted headache and dragging yourself to her engagement party despite your reservations.

You could see the distaste on her face when you arrived at the bar ten minutes late, black cocktail dress and fur jacket a far cry from the pretty pink number she'd picked out for you to wear to "impress Namjoon."

Her face darkened even more when you strutted straight past the place marker labelled with your name in her delicate scrawl atop of the seat next to Namjoon himself in favour of slumping down into one of the empty seats beside her at the head of the table.

The truth was you didn't want to date a Namjoon or a Hoseok or any of the other guys swirling aged alcohol in their glasses at the party. You didn't want to be one of the wives hanging off their arms and smiling pretty when they gloated about their business promotions.

Was it too much to want some passion? Something more than a social statement? Maybe you were living in a fairytale you just didn't want to wake up from.

Instead you popped a grape from the intricate table piece displaying a range of wines into your mouth, gathered a deep determined breath and willed the alcohol you were about to pour down your throat to make the night go by faster. Because each time you caught a glimpse of Namjoon your mind drifted back to the pretty boy with tattoos. The one who had held you in his arms and made sure you got home safe and kissed you with a passion unlike anything you'd felt ever before—

"Ma'am? Can I get you anything else?" A formal voice shook you from your thoughts. A voice that sounded strangely familiar.

"Huh?" You started rummaging through your bag, retrieving a cherry red lipstick and a pocket mirror, the tell tale marks on the rim of your glass a sign you needed to touch up.

"I asked if I could get you anything?"

You could see the torso of a young man in the distinct Paradise uniform in your peripheral, barely even glancing in his direction before you were waving him off.

"Im fine, thank you uh, Jeon...Jungkook?"

Your lips curled around the name on his name tag before you could stop yourself.

The lipstick in your fingers clattered to the ground.

It all hit you too quickly, like the breath was sucked out of your lungs. The tattooed forearm that peeked out from beneath the black shirt stretched across his torso, the slightly chapped lips that formed a small 'o' when you locked eyes for the second night in a row.

Except this time you weren't giving him bedroom eyes from across the dance floor and he wasn't ogling your bare legs in the cocktail dress you were wearing because this time it was his hands that shook as he poured wine into your glass and you were expected to tip him generously. Because he was your waiter.

A heat flushed your cheeks and you scrambled to pick up your lipstick but Jungkook was quicker, his hand brushing yours. The contact was brief but you shivered when he pressed the container into your palm.

Jungkook cleared his throat, wiping the shocked expression from his features while you stared at your hand, still processing.

"Better be more careful, ma'am." His voice was formal again, serious. Exactly how a waiter should speak to a customer.

"Y/N." You stammered, daring to look him straight in the eyes for the first time. "My name is Y/N."

Jungkook seemed taken aback, swallowing hard when his gaze dropped to your lips before he was averting his gaze bashfully and pinching the inside of his hand, as if to chastise himself.

Cute.

No! You were not about to admit that he was cute or that were regretting falling asleep last night because goddamn how can one guy have dimples and thighs that look so good in those pants? You resisted throwing your head in your hands and diverted your gaze from his hot cheeks to the tattooed hands which fidgeted at his sides instead.

"What are you doing here?" Your voice was but a whisper, hoping to avoid funny looks from Somin although she seemed engaged in a particularly enthusiastic debate about wedding cake toppers luckily for you.

He started at your voice, seemingly too invested in letting his eyes run over the cleavage which peeked out of the top of your dress to hear you. Huh.

His professional resolve seemed to break. Did he remember last night? He was sober enough surely... "I-I..."

"Excuse me, sir? Do you have any more of that Chateau Margaux? I'd like to taste it again."

The bubble around you and Jungkook popped. His head jerked, attention drawn back to his job and before you could prod him further he was straightening his tie and scurrying across the room in search of some expensive brand of wine.

You took a glug of the liquid in your own glass. Maybe he didn't remember you after all...

You thought back to the way he'd practically done a double take when he saw you. No. He definitely remembered. You could tell by the way he kept glancing up at you from beneath the choppy bangs that covered his eyes, fiddling nervously with the row of black studs littering his ears whenever he thought you weren't looking in his direction.

Everyone around you was engaged in mindless chatter but you were no longer interested, choosing instead to stare over the rim of your glass at the tattooed boy across the room. The Paradise uniform he donned was a far cry from the skin tight leather you'd seen him in last night but you had to admit he still managed to make the black get up look hot.

Maybe he was clumsy or maybe he could feel your eyes on him, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks as he very nearly dropped a crystal wine glass and you had to stifle a giggle, drawing funny looks from the people beside you. You saw a smirk appear on his own lips when he saw how you awkwardly covered the slip with a cough.

The night seemed to drag on as you tried to make small talk with the other guests, desperately trying to ignore the way the waiter's eyes burned into your back. Every moment felt like a fight to focus on Somin's lips as she drawled something about the wine being very dry and you found yourself just nodding where appropriate, too busy remembering how good Jungkook's lips had felt pressed to yours last night.

That's when the idea struck you. It wouldn't be so bad to make it up to him, right? Show him what he missed out on, per se, now that you were marginally more sober. And there was no time like the present...

Perhaps the alcohol had gone to your head. That would be a reasonable explanation for why your head span dizzy with a rush of excitement. For the first time that night you felt something other than utter dread. Something was drawing you to him - something you knew you should just ignore and focus into one of the other more...suitable suitors sitting across from you.

But you couldn't get Jungkook out of your head, especially now he was stood dangerously close to you yet somehow so far away at the same time.

Would it hurt to finish what you'd started the night before?

Oh god, you thought to yourself as you retrieved a pen from your purse, uncapped it and scribbled a note onto a serviette next to the signature Paradise logo. This is a bad idea. The disapproving voice in your head was not enough to stop you from handing the folded napkin to another waiter, a hushed whisper in his ear sending him on his way to the tattooed boy wiping down a table across the room.

You cleared your throat. "I'm going to use the ladies room."

Getting to your feet, the chair scraped across the tile a little too abruptly, drawing everybody at the table from their conversations. The way you folded your napkin was too careful, a ploy to avoid their gazes in fear of giving away your true intentions.

"Wait! I'll come with you." Somin announced, throwing back the red liquid which sloshed at the bottom of her crystal glass. She started to fiddle with the strap of her bag, nearly already on her feet before you were shutting her down hurriedly. Shit!

"No!" You started, Somin's eyes widening as you waved your hands wildly in a gesture for her to sit back down. "I mean, no! You're the host, you can't leave the guests alone at your own party."

"Oh." Somin fell back into her wicker chair, eyebrows still furrowed at your fervent outburst. She looked a tad hurt at your rejection of her company to powder your noses or whatever she assumed you were slipping away to do (the thought of you getting it on with the waiter of all people probably too unimaginable to even cross her mind) but you didn't have time to feel bad about it - besides, she'd probably forget once one of the blonde girls beside her asked whether she planned on honeymooning in Paris or Prague - as Jungkook was unfolding your note, glancing over your scrawl before scanning the room with wide eyes for the sender - you.

"Hello, earth to Y/N?" Somin's voice snapped you out of your vacant stare, momentarily drawn away from checking out Jungkook's ass to stare down at her. "Will you be okay?"

"What? Oh yeah, I'll be fine." You managed to pull your crimson lips into a tight smile, the action appeasing Somin a little when she settled back into her chair, crossing her bare legs under the table. You were in the clear - now you had to make your escape. "The bathroom is just over there." You said simply, considering but resisting an I'll be back before you know it knowing you would probably be a while.

With that you pulled the strap of your designer bag tightly around your shoulder, excusing yourself with a reassuring smile.

Your red bottoms clicked against the tiles in time with your pulse which only quickened when your hand reached the exit, evening air caressing your face as you slipped through - but not before throwing your hair across your bare shoulders, eyes immediately landing on Jungkook as he fidgeted with the napkin between his fingers. The wink you sent him caused a hot flush to creep up his neck, visible even from where you stood and you ensured to sway your hips a little more than usual while his eyes burned into your back.

A few minutes later and you were stood with your knees knocking on the balcony, the door flying open and sending a slightly sweaty, panting Jungkook tumbling straight into you full force. His eyes widened comically, staggering to a stop but not before his arm was curling around the small of your back instinctively to ensure your balance.

His chest ended up flush to yours, palm a little too close to your ass and he looked nearly as shocked as you did, lip pulled between his teeth as he jerked away from you, as if suddenly remembering something. Probably the fact that you had the power to get him fired for touching you indecently without permission - not that you minded, in this instance.

"Ma'am I'm so sorry-"

"Please call me Y/N." You corrected him quickly. "And it's fine. Not as if I've got anywhere better to be."

He looked down at his feet, swallowing thickly as another blush carressed his cheeks. God he was so cute. "I, uh, had to get someone else to run the tables...can I ask you something?"

"If it's about last night then I wanted to talk about it too." You butt in before he can finish.

You practically heard him gulp at that, looking past you as if meeting your gaze might turn him to dust or something. "Why do you even want to talk to me now you know that I — you know — work here?"

A flirty smile tugged at your lips, your arm brushing against his a little. "I think you know why I want to talk to you."

He coughed anxiously in response, tugging his arm away to interlock it with his other behind his back like they tell the workers here to do, scuffing his black shoes in the gravel.

"Did I..did I do something wrong?" He looked startled." I really need this job so if there's anything I can do to make it up to you.."

You cut him off. "No! Of course not-" You tilted your head, thinking your next words through carefully. "Honestly? I'm the one who should be saying sorry for last night."

His head tilted, confused. "Why? You didn't know who I was so I'm the one in the wrong-"

"It's not that!" He twisted the rings on his fingers, still not soothed. "I'm embarrassed because I had way too much to drink and you were still nice enough to take me home."

"Oh." He scratched his neck, shaking his head with a smile. "Don't be embarrassed, it's the least I could do."

"Well I am," You persisted. "And I wanted to say sorry..."

"Not necessary," He insisted. "I had a good time with you, actually."

"You know, I wanted to kiss you goodnight. Before I fell asleep, like an idiot..." You began to close the space between you. Here goes.

"What?" He smirked cheekily. He seemed to be getting a little more comfortable, the small talk making him forget your social differences. "Are you gonna show me what I missed out on?

"Precisely."

"Wha-"

And with that you placed both hands on his shoulders, no time to acknowledge how broad and strong they felt beneath your touch before your lips were pressing tentatively against his own. You felt him tense beneath you, breath hitching as your teeth grazed his bottom lip.

His reaction was not what you were expecting — his arms pressed to his sides firmly, eyes wide and stiff as his lips stayed still against your advance. You pulled away quickly.

Jungkook's fingertips grazed his lips and you took a step back, allowing a little more breathing space. You turned sheepish. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't have done that."

A few beats of silence followed and it was as if all the confidence you possessed previously melted away into a pitiful puddle beneath your heels. God this was so embarrassing.

Not only had you kissed one of the waiters but he didn't even want to kiss you back.

You fiddled with the fur around your shoulders, desperate to hide your shame. Jungkook was still stood like a statue, mouth open in a small 'o' as he gawked at you.

Clearly you read the signs wrong and he wasn't interested. Idiot.

"I'll be going now." You spun on your heels, tears threatening to prick your eyes with sheer embarrassment at your misjudgement.

"N-no!" Jungkook rushed forward, taking hold of your elbow, forcing you to meet his gaze. "It's not that I don't want to..."

Your interest perked up at this. "Then what?"

"It's just...why do you want to? You know.."

"What?"

"K-kiss me." A small smile graced your lips when he stuttered over the word. Anybody would think he'd never kissed somebody before. "I-I mean, you're you and I'm...me." He looked clueless as if the idea of you wanting him was completely off the cards batshit crazy. It was, in some ways, you supposed.

"You didn't mind last night." You mumbled.

"That was before you knew who I was."

"And you think I would have asked you to come back here if I cared about that?" You studied his face properly for the first time. The quirk of his brow at your question, the way the corners of his mouth twitched cutely and his eyes, staring at you firmly for the first time then.

"I guess not..." He swallowed before squaring his shoulders. As if he was telling himself a mantra. Be confident. "Can you kiss me again?"

You took a step forward again, enjoying the way he shivered lightly when your hand traced up his arm.

Jungkook's lips were parted now, his tongue snaking out to wet their chapped surface. His hands twitched, desperate to reach out and touch you but never quite gathering the confidence to do so; you admired his self control - you weren't sure you would be able to stop yourself from touching him everywhere now he said you could.

With a deep breath you stood on your tiptoes. He was a few foot taller than you, his lips a fair distance from your own until your were closing the gap, his eyelashes fluttering closed against your cheeks this time as you pressed your mouth flush to his in a kiss rougher than the last.

Jungkook's lips moved against yours immediately this time, slotting the damp flesh of his bottom lip between yours. You couldn't help but tug on it a little with your teeth, enjoying the way he sighed into your mouth when you did so.

He was still being careful, treating you as though you were a piece of the fine china he polished eight times a day upstairs. You grabbed both of his hands, placing them firmly at the small of your back and letting out a breathy laugh when he immediately began to rub circles with his thumbs into the flesh of your hips. He was just waiting for the opportunity, willing to give the attention you craved if you allowed him to.

Your own hand had snaked up the back of his neck, tentatively tangling in the hair at the nape and angling his head to crash against yours harder than before.

You could feel yourself getting lost in the heady aroma of his woody cologne, a warmth you recognised as lust pooling in your stomach when he drew you flush against his chest.

His warm skin scorched yours, sticky lips sliding against yours a little too lewdly for the public setting - despite your current predicament you weren't one for PDA - and you found it hard to pull back for air, his forehead coming to rest against yours, panting as you admired his reddened, swollen lips.

"Is there anywhere we can go that's more private?" You managed to get out between laboured breaths, hand coming to cup his cheek gently as he nodded a little too eagerly, knocking your heads together. He bowed his head, apologising bashfully as he removed himself from your hold.

"Y-yeah." He stammered, making you giggle at his awkwardness. "I think I know a place."

His eyes dropped to your hand, as if debating whether he had the balls to take it and before long he was nodding decisively and lacing his fingers with your own firmly. His palm was clammy, testament of your effect on him but he squeezed tightly anyway, dragging you behind him around the back of a bar and into a little back room labelled VIP’S ONLY.

The room was cool enough to have the hairs raising on your arms, glass cases filled with rows of chilled wine bottles lining the walls. You realized this must be one of the private rooms which country club members booked out if they wanted to share a few drinks with a little more privacy.

"Nobody comes down here unless we get a special request." Jungkook asserted as he fiddled with the light.

The place was plush, typical of Paradise - a faux fur rug on the ground, even its own chandelier - and of course, two chairs around a table, already set up with matching glasses, as if someone had been expecting you to wander in here with a good looking waiter. Perfect.

You discarded your jacket and reached for a bottle of red on the middle shelf, the glass cold to the touch. It looked expensive. You would have to add it to the bill upstairs. "Care for a drink-"

You were expecting an answer but Jungkook wasn't listening, his hands wrapping around your wrists and pressing you against the shelves with an audible thump, the bottles rattling precariously but you were too focused on the way Jungkook scanned your face hungrily to care.

It was as if he couldn't wait any longer, the grip keeping your arms suspended enough to bruise; his broad chest wracked with his laboured breath, your own body squirming beneath him as he hovered over you and effortlessly made your legs turn to jelly.

Then his lips were on you; everywhere and anywhere they could find an expanse of skin, mouthing harshly at your exposed collar bones and then your neck before nibbling gently at your jaw and drawing a breathless whine from your lips when his tongue slipped out to sooth the grazes left by his teeth.

You couldn't take the teasing any longer, tilting your head so his lips were in line with yours and he wasted no time in connecting them.

Unlike before he took control, crushing your lips with desperation. When you felt his hot tongue slip into your mouth you practically melted against him, a damp throb appearing between your legs. He tasted of whisky and grape and you already found yourself addicted.

Jungkook was already out of breath, panting lightly into your mouth when he let go of your hands in favour of allowing them to curl around his neck, crushing his chest against yours close enough to feel the way your heart was hammering.

Jungkook let his hands trail down your sides, touch firm as they edged closer and closer to the curve of your ass. The action had you writhing, willing him to just hurry up and touch you like you could tell he wanted to but he hesitated when you let out a frustrated moan into his mouth, clearly mistaking it for discomfort.

"Sorry," He ripped his hands away, resting them more modestly on your waist. He was blinking at you now, somewhat shy again, the way he drank your bare legs in hungrily the only evidence of the rougher Jungkook from before. "Got carried away. 's cause you look so pretty."

You practically flushed at this. His choppy fringe was covering his eyes, but the dark arousal was still evident in them, even if his lidded gaze was cautious. His lips were smudged with your red lipstick and you imagined yours were not in any better condition.

"I liked it." You assured him, trying your best to calm the waver in your voice by biting your lip as seductively as humanly possible when your head was spinning with the scent of his woody cologne and lust, tracing your hands down his arms encouragingly and removing them from your hips to guide them beneath the hem of your skin tight dress to cup the flesh of your ass directly this time.

His hands were burning hot against your bare skin, a delicious contrast to the cold wine cooler against your back. Jungkook shuddered above you, letting out a groan - an actual one, not like the choked ones he'd been suppressing until now - unable to stop his swollen lips from bumping against yours again and you smirked into the kiss mischievously knowing you had found a chip in his resolve. "You're not too bad yourself, by you way."

"Shit." Jungkook gasped, hot breath mingling with yours, torso shifting uncomfortably. Although he seemed desperate to hide the growing arousal in his pants, the noises that left his mouth weren't doing much to conceal it — and as soon as you rolled your hips up to brush your own crotch against his momentarily he was falling apart, knuckles turning white as he staggered to grip the shelf above you like his life depended on it. "Ah s-shit!"

You rolled your hips again, enjoying the way his head fell into the crook of your neck. He hissed into your hair every time his bulge brushed against the cotton of your panties, his length rock hard in his pants to the point you considered it may be painful.

"You're already this hard?" You managed to get out between a small moan of your own as his hips stuttered into action, meeting your thrusts in a way that put pressure directly on your clit which was pulsating by now.

"Can't help it." he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on the feeling of his cock circling your clothed heat, desperate to get any relief.

He was lost to the feeling and you took advantage of his lowered guard by flipping him over and slotting yourself between his legs, pulse racing when you caught the look of surprise on his face. Never allowing your body to stop moving you were diving for his neck with an instinct nearly primal, leaving open mouthed kisses down the centre. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, choking back a strangled moan when you found his sweet spot - just behind his ear - and began sucking at it teasingly.

So he was a sucker for neck kisses, huh? Interesting.

You couldn't help but feel proud that you managed to get him to practically melt beneath you, his hands grabbing at your dress in any attempt to pull you closer to his body, as if you weren't already grinding on his hard cock with your mouth latched onto his neck intent on leaving a mark. Your heart swelled every time he let out a little gasp, pleased it was you making him fall apart so easily.

You removed yourself from his neck, looking up at him through your lashes as you let your fingers trail down his stomach, the ache in your heat intensifying when you felt the toned muscles of his abs beneath his shirt. Your fingers found the button of his pants, fiddling with it until the warmth of his big palms covered yours, grip firm enough to stop your ministrations entirely. You furrowed your eyebrows, confused. "You don't want me to?"

"God no, fuck I do," Jungkook managed to stammer. His voice was thick with lust, the huskiness making your core throb for attention. "Jus' wanna make sure you do, that's all."

You smiled at the way his lips parted cutely, scanning your face for any sign of hesitation. You pushed his hands away, palming him through his trousers and returning to your previous ministrations by making quick work of his pants button. "Believe me I want to." You confirmed before untucking his shirt, allowing your hands to roam beneath it. His breath hitched when your fingers explored his bare skin for the first time, smirking at the way he tensed beneath your touch.

Jungkook licked his lips in anticipation, eyes trained to the hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. The whine that left his lips when your hand finally wrapped around his cock had you rubbing your legs together, panties sticky against your sensitive folds. Jungkook's head lolled back against the shelf, eyes squeezed shut as you ran your hand up his length once and then twice. His pants were pulled down enough to expose the reddened head of his cock, clit pulsing as it twitched when your palm smeared the wetness that gathered there down his shaft.

"F-fuck," Jungkook got out between gritted teeth. "Feels so good."

Your core was practically dripping by this point, desperate for any relief, hole clenching around nothing when your hips tried to grind against something, anything to no avail.

Jungkook must have noticed the way your bit your lip in frustration, wasting no time trying to offer you some much needed relief by hooking a hand beneath your knee, encouraging your leg to wrap around his waist and sending you straight on to his semi-clothed cock.

You both let out a groan when your panty clad core began to move in circles against his nearly bare length, your sensitive clit finally getting some attention.

You reached between your bodies to wrap your hand around his length again, using the palm of your hand to massage the swollen head in time with the roll of your hips. Jungkook's face fell into your shoulder, muffling a strangled moan next to your ear. "I'll c-cum if you keep this up, fuck."

His words went straight to your heat, eyes fluttering shut and pace turning sloppy as you lost yourself to the feeling of his length slipping up and down your sopping slit, the blunt end of his cock so close to your needy hole that he could fill you right up if you just moved your panties to the side, a visible wet patch appearing on the cotton as the action made the fabric cling to your folds.

"I want you so bad," Your words slurred, brain completely clouded by arousal and everything Jungkook - the way his hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you through the motions, the way his lips let out hot gasps of air against your neck with every twist of your hand, the way his cock was already leaking needily against your palm. "Fuck."

"P-please," Jungkook muttered huskily, nibbling in the lobe of your ear. "I can't — please just let me..." His sentence drew out into a low moan when you squeezed his cock, halting your movements in favour of looking up at his fucked out expression.

"What?" You were curious now. His cheeks were rosy, breath quickening when you pulled back and allowed him to look between you at where your hand was wrapped around his shaft, then back up to your expression which you were aware was probably just as fucked out as his. Truth be told you would let him do literally anything he wanted to right now, let him have you in any way but you needed to hear him say it first. "Let you what?

Jungkook licked his lips, hips bucking up lightly into your hand that still didn't budge. Cute. "Let me taste you — fuck please."

The words alone nearly sent you over the edge, clit throbbing at the thought of feeling his lips around it, mouth forming a small 'o' as Jungkook finally let go of all his shyness. "O-oh — fuck okay."

Your mouth was dry, legs putty under his lustful stare. Permission was all it took for him to snap, sweeping you up of the ground with his palms under your ass, legs naturally curling around his waist. He grunted when your fingers tangled in his hair, tilting his head back to connect your lips in a heated kiss while he stumbled to throw you down roughly on the table.

"You're driving me crazy, you know that?" Jungkook never left your lips as he hovered over your body, encouraging you to lay flat against the surface beneath you. His arms slid up your waist to find your arms, pinning them next to your head harshly. "Leave 'em there."

You did as he said, enjoying this bossy side of Jungkook. Before he was cautious, eager to please you but careful not to scare you away; now he was too far gone to care, desperate to get you out of your clothes and wreck you as quickly as he could, all worries dissipating when his hands roamed across the swell of your breasts.

His large palms cupped your tits through your dress, though the low cut didn't leave much to the imagination, your hardened nipples visible through the fabric. The way you bit back a moan as his fingers brushed the hardened buds made the corners of his lips turn up slightly though it was quickly replaced by an open mouthed gawk when he got the spaghetti straps down your shoulders and pulled down the front of your dress.

"No bra?" He spluttered, wide eyed.

"N-nope." The hitch in your voice as he cupped your breasts skin-on-skin was unmistakable.

"F-fuck." He whispered, taking in the way you squirmed beneath him every time his thumb stroked your hardened nipple. He looked almost amazed at the effect he was having on you. "You're so hot shit." That came as more of an unconscious after thought, his mouth already latched onto your nipple and flicking it sinfully with his tongue before you could respond.

His hand snaked between your legs, dragging up and down your inner thighs a few times before finally settling on your core. His thumb slipped beneath your panties, finding your clit immediately making you keen at the sudden contact. He rubbed firm circles into the swollen bud, getting you to squirm as you finally found some relief from the needy pulse in your core.

Jungkook's finger gingerly teased your swollen entrance, feeling the way it clenched in anticipation as you panted, desperate to be filled in any way. "Please, Jungkook." His eyes met yours and you could tell he didn't have the strength to tease, your begging enough to have him pushing one of his digits inside you to the knuckle, almost as if he couldn't resist it any longer himself.

"Oh," You couldn't help but whimper when he curled his finger inside you, dragging agonisingly slowly against your velvety walls. "So good - more p-please."

Before you could adjust to the feeling, Jungkook was circling a second finger at your entrance. The slow slide inside had you panting, both digits stretching you open a little more as Jungkook upped his pace so that the lewd sounds of your wetness echoed throughout the vault.

It wasn't long before you felt Jungkook's hot breath against your thigh, his free hand spreading your legs as far as he could. He wasn't on his knees for a near second before his fingers were leaving you despite your whine of protest when your core was once again left with the feeling of emptiness.

Jungkook encouraged you to lift up your ass so he could pool your dress at your waist, now allowing him full access to the place you needed him most. His fingers gently toyed with the waistband of your panties, eyes darting across your nearly bare core like a man starved although he needed reassuring before he could see you completely. "Fuck, just take them off already."

"O-okay." Jungkook sped into action, dragging the cotton down to your ankles and finally taking in your bare heat, letting out a whimper when you gasped at the cold air against your swollen clit.

"Fuck you're so wet." There he was, wide eyed Jungkook back again as he drank in the sight of your dripping heat but you didn't have time to think about how goddamn cute he was before he was lapping a flat stripe up your slit, head falling back against the table with a whine instead. "Mmf tastes so good."

"It's y-you who got me like this." You managed to stammer between laboured breaths when his pointed tongue began to target your clit, the sensation almost too much to handle, your legs determined to close around his head if it weren't for his fierce grip around your thighs keeping them open.

"Me?" Jungkook sounded breathless, hot breath ghosting across your dripping folds and making you shiver. "God I want to see you cum on my tongue."

The hot throb between your legs only intensified hearing Jungkook speak with a new found confidence, the glint in his darkened eyes conveying his determination to make you come undone with just his mouth. And judging by the way your breath hitched every time he teasingly grazed his teeth across your needy clit it wouldn't take much. "I'll come just listening to you talk if you don't — oh."

Jungkook didn't wait for you to beg even though you would have if he'd asked you to, instead throwing your legs over his shoulders, pads of his fingers attacking your clit and prodding against your clenching entrance with his tongue. You were writhing again as soon as you felt him push inside, unable to keep your hands pressed to the table any longer and instead finding your fingers twisting into his curls to encourage him to keep going.

"Fuck right there," you panted when he pushed a finger into your heat, the way it curled against your sweet spot combined with the feeling of his tongue lapping noisily at your clit enough to have you tugging his roots mercilessly. " 'm gonna cum—"

The coil in your stomach was tightening rapidly and you could feel your high approaching, a few more flicks of his tongue all it would take to have you coming undone, you were sure of it.

Jungkook's hand slid up your body to fondle your breasts greedily, his fingers twisting your nipples painfully slow in comparison to the way his mouth devoured your slit. The sudden pleasure made you writhe and he had to use his other hand to hold you against his tongue, snorting when you whined a little louder than you wanted to.

"Want you to cum for me so bad," he coaxed, tongue getting sloppy now as he opted to pull your clit between his lips instead, sucking obscenely, the motion enough to tip you over the edge with a cry. Your power of your high had tears spilling down your cheeks, thoughts wiped of anything other than the way your legs shook with your release and Jungkook's thumb stroking your hip encouragingly. "That's it, let me see you cum."

Your hands pressed him against your folds firmly and he moaned into your mound - at your neediness or at your hole clenching deliciously around the fingers that still pumped into you throughout your high you couldn't tell - but the vibrations were almost too much against your sensitive clit.

"Fuck Jungkook, I can't ugh." Your fingers found the collar of his shirt, pulling him upwards until he was face to face with you again. The sight of his lips glistening with your arousal was enough to kick start another bout of lust pooling in your stomach, the way his tongue cheekily swiped as much of it from around his lips making you dizzy with want for him - all of him.

"You're pretty when you cum." He spoke softly, still trying to regain his breath as he hovered over you. You must have appeared as speechless as you felt - a testament to his ability to give earth shattering orgasms with just his tongue - and it made him furrow his brow, eyes darting away from yours bashfully. "W-was that good for you?"

You connected your lips to his in a reassuring peck, the tang of your own arousal mixing with the wine which still lingered on your tongue from earlier. "Fucking incredible."

A smile spread across his features at your confirmation, knuckle wiping away the tear of pleasure that streaked your cheeks. You couldn't help but return his grin, slowly dragging your hands down his chest until they reached the hem of his shirt.

"Wait!" Jungkook tensed. "W-we can stop now if you don't wanna..."

"But I do want to," Nipping at his neck had him shuddering in your grasp. "Need to. So bad." You got out between kisses across his cheek, getting ever closer to his sticky lips.

"Sure?" Jungkook's hands came to cover yours, gently guiding you to raise his shirt like you were itching to do. Anything to see him. "I'm happy to just get you off."

"Fuck, why are you always the one being nice to me?"

His shirt was around his neck by now, muffling his breathy laugh as he shook the garment off. "I think I'm the real winner here after that."

You leaned back onto your elbows in an effort to drink him in - the real him, not the him covered by a baggy uniform - his broad shoulders, the tattoo that curved across his shoulder, tiny waist dipping into a perfect V at the hem of his pants. "I'm definitely sure."

If you didn't know better he was unsure of your prolonged stare, almost looking as if he wanted to wrap his arms around his chest to hide from your gaze. In all truth you were just glad to not be the only one who was exposed, reminded all too suddenly that you were semi naked, core on display for him.

He seemed to remember too, zoning in on your tits and groaning when you pressed your hardened nipples to his chest skin on skin. "I can't believe how hot you are." His warm hands cupped your chin. "Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."

"Me neither," You breathed, Jungkook's eyes widening. "How hot you are I mean."

His adam's apple bobbed when you managed to shimmy his trousers down his thighs, pupils dilated with anticipation or need you couldn't tell.

"Let me suck you?" You had to resist licking your lips, mouth nearly drooling at the thought of returning the favour and wrapping your mouth around his hard length. He had felt heavy and long in your palm earlier and you had to swallow thickly to ignore the way your core throbbed at the thought of his hot cock fucking your mouth mercilessly.

"I-I don't think I'll last if I feel your mouth." Jungkook's hand cupped his bulge through the fabric of his boxers, hissing at the contact.

"Are you sure?" Your fingers clasped his wrist, bringing his hand to your lips and fluttering your lashes at him innocently when you wrapped your tongue around two of his digits. They still tasted of you and the thought alone had a moan caught in his throat and you knew you had broken him when he pushed his throbbing length against your leg, desperate for some relief.

"Shit, that's so hot." Voice barely a whisper, mouth agape as he studied the way you guided his fingers in and out of your mouth messily. "But I nearly came just from eating you out so —"

You sighed with mock exasperation. "Then just fuck me."

"F-fuck you? Now?" The surprise in his tone at your request was almost comical. As if he hadn't just eaten you out on this very table and fucking you was somehow crazy in comparison.

You traced the head of his cock through his boxers with your fingertip teasingly, holding back a moan at the wet patch which appeared on the front of the fabric. His breathing was almost as ragged as yours, hips lightly bucking into the contact. "I wanna cum with you inside me."

Jungkook's eyes bulged, a groan leaving his throat. "I-I can do that."

"Good." You let your lips connect, biting down on his lower one cheekily. "Be a good boy, hm?"

Jungkook's eyes squeezed shut and he let out a shaky breath when he covered your hand with his larger one, guiding it under the waistband of his boxers which quickly joined his trousers around his ankles. He hissed when you smacked his hand away, finally able to stroke his length properly.

"Fuck I need to be inside you right now." He stammered, palm squeezing your shoulder tightly as he tried to control his breathing when you twisted your palm around the sensitive tip of his cock. "I won't last otherwise."

You let up your unrelenting pace on his length and he let out a sigh of relief. He must have been really holding back huh? You bit your lip when you felt him pulse in your palm, your entrance clenching in anticipation for what was to come. He felt girthy and you nearly whined at the thought of how good he would stretch you out. How good it would feel to finally have him filling you up like you wanted.

"Please." You felt him spread your legs as far as he could, his hand replacing yours at the base of his cock. He stroked himself a few times as he drank in the way you shuddered beneath him, core soaking and completely on display for him.

"Look at you," He murmured huskily. "All pretty and spread out for me."

"F-fuck Jungkook, what are you-"

Jungkook ran the head of his cock up and down your slit agonisingly slow, a gasp leaving you when the action provided some much needed relief to your pulsing clit before he was circling your entrance teasingly. "Want me to be a good boy huh?"

His eyes were darker than ever before, utterly consumed by lust and the way they bore into yours made you writhe. "Please I need to feel you, ugh."

Jungkook put pressure on your clit again, leaving your hole feeling emptier than ever. "Would a good boy do this hm? Tease you like you tease me?"

"No - ah!" The head of his cock slipped into your entrance, arousal dripping down your ass now in anticipation for the full thing. As much as you tried to push back onto him, slide down his shaft and feel him fill you completely, he was unrelenting. You had to admire his self control considering the way his cock twitched against your heat gave away just how close he was.

"Y-you never even looked at me before today," Jungkook breathed, hips stuttering with a desparation to sink into your velvet heat. You tried to reach between your legs in an attempt to relieve the ache in your clit but Jungkook was too quick, pinning your wrist to the table. "But now look at you, about to cum around my cock yeah?"

"Mmf, please Jungkook I need you." You gave in, begging now. "Need you so bad oh my god—"

"That's more like it." And then he was sinking into you, slow enough to feel every ridge of him drag against your velvety walls. Once he bottomed out he let his face fall into the crook of your neck, completely lost to the feeling of you clenching around him. "So tight, fuck."

"Move!" You pleaded, scratching at his bare back. He obliged, hips snapping back until he was almost falling out of you before he was sliding back in again, both grunting at the feeling of him finally stuffing you full.

Hearing the way he slid in and out of you so easily, the squelching sound audible over his thighs slapping against your ass every time he bottomed out made you even more eager to take as much of him as you could, twisting your hips to meet his thrusts and making him groan when he saw the way your face twisted with a desperate pleasure.

"Want me that bad baby?" The pet name made your heat pulse. Jungkook hooked his arm beneath your knees, pulling your legs together above him, the action making your entrance even tighter than before and allowing him to hit deeper than ever, the head of his cock brushing your sweet spot with every stroke. "S-so fucking close." He stuttered.

You managed to open your eyes, taking in the way his long hair stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat glistening across his tattooed chest as he focused all his attention on ramming himself inside your pussy with a roughness you didn't think he was capable of. You weren't sure you'd be able to walk once he was done with you but it felt too good to beg him to stop.

Jungkook felt the way you clenched around his rock hard member, confirming you were just as close to a second high. He began to roll his hips upwards, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every thrust of his cock and by that point you were lost to the pressure building in the pit of your stomach.

"Gonna cum again for me?" Junkook's lips brushed against your ear lobe, hot breath making you shudder. "G-going to fill you up so good, fuck." He was just muttering to himself now, earlier shyness lost to the feeling, filthy words turning you on even more knowing the fact.

"Mmf gonna c-cum." You managed to stammer between thumps of your heart.

"What will your friends think when they see you've been fucked out nice and good?" A strangled moan left him at the mere thought. "My cum dripping down your legs? Ah!"

That was all it took to have you cumming around his length, vision turning black as you felt the tension in your core finally release, his hips stuttering as he found his own release deep inside your pussy, the feeling of him filling you up making you whimper with oversensitivity.

Jungkook's pants were hot against your neck and you pulled him to your face by the collar, smirking when he struggled to move his lips against your own, still completely lost to the blissful feeling of his cock softening inside you.

"T-too sensitive." You mumbled against the corner of his mouth when he wriggled his hips, his eyes snapping open and scanning your face for discomfort before he was slipping out of you with a small gasp.

He took your face into his palms, planting one last kiss to your swollen lips before he was giving you a bashful lopsided smile. "Sorry I uh, got a little carried away."

The way he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly made your brain scream cute, cute, cute, before you were returning his grin. "I liked it."

He seemed surprised. "Y-you did?"

"Mmm." You shimmied your dress back down around the curve of your ass, shamelessly ogling Jungkook's naked torso as he buttoned his trousers back around his waist. "Couldn't you tell how hard I came?"

"Not as hard as I did!" The words sounded a little too eager and Jungkook sucked in a breath, dropping his shirt before it could even make it around his shoulders and making his red cheeks burn harder. "I've kinda uh...noticed you for a while now. Like before we met at the club..." He admitted.

Cute but the implications of his words made you wince. Why did you only just notice me?

You were eager to put him at ease. "Well, you definitely made a good first impression." That made him smile a little. "How about a sorry gift? For keeping you waiting?"

"What?" He asked cheekily. "You gonna give me a tip or something?"

"I didn't think of that," You mused. Instead you picked up your soiled panties, slipping them into the back pocket of his trousers with a flirty smile. "Maybe next time."

"N-next time?"

#btssmutclub #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfiction #bts #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #happy birthday jungkook!#my writing #fic: take a sip

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padfootagain · 4 years

Text

Girl Crush (VII)

Chapter 7: A Time For Lilac

Here we go for a new chapter!!! It's getting a little angsty over here… oops?

I'm still very efficient writing this story, so I'll keep on updating it every 48 hours!

I hope you like this new chapter!! Tell me what you think about it :)

Word Count: 2887

It was the fourth time that this man came to the shop, and seemed to wait until you were available to walk inside and ask for a bouquet. Sometimes for his mother, sometimes for his sister, sometimes for a cousin, but never for his girlfriend.

Four visits in less than two weeks, you were starting to get a little suspicious.

Ever since the brilliant success of the wedding you had planned (that had almost turned into a disaster, but had been saved by your friends), you had earned more freedom in your work, alongside a nice raise. It was still far from enough to even imagine asking for a loan to the bank, but slowly, you were building a little pile of gold. A few years, and you would eventually have a chance at buying your own shop.

But these were days to be planned far ahead. In your immediate future, what needed your attention the most was this man coming again and again to the shop to see you.

Jasmine had dropped by, waiting for you so you could get lunch together. She was chatting with Sandra while you finished the bouquet of a client.

And that's when the mysterious man entered in the shop.

He was staring at you as you waved at the customer goodbye, and you welcomed him with a smile as he approached the counter.

"Hello, miss," he shyly smiled. "I… I was wondering if you could help me get a bouquet."

"Sure, what kind do you want?"

"Uhm… it's for… my colleague. She's just had a baby."

"Oh, one for congratulations then! I would advise… irises of course, they're perfect for congratulations and… some lilac too, to wish a good luck for the next step in life."

"That sounds perfect," he nodded.

Meanwhile, Jasmine was carefully watching the scene unfolding before her.

Because it was so obvious that this man was only here for you.

You, on the other hand, seemed partly oblivious, but not completely. She guessed that you suspected that something was up but had connected the dots yet. She wasn't surprised. You didn't believe in yourself enough when it came to relationships.

"Alright, I'll make you a bouquet with these then… Gareth, right?"

He gave you a bright grin, tumbling on his words a little, because you remembered his name.

"Yeah… that's… that's it. Y/N, right?"

You pointed at the pin with your name on your shirt.

"Yep!"

You laughed as you prepared his bouquet, and Jasmine was ready to throw up at how Gareth was giving you crazy heart-eyes…

Five minutes later, and he was leaving with a beautiful bouquet, and you were joining your friend to cross the street to buy some Tacos and eat lunch in the little park up the street.

"You didn't tell me about your secret admirer," Jasmine blurted out as you were taking a bite of your food.

"What do you mean?" you replied, your words distorted as you chewed on your food.

"Gareth! The guy in the shop. He was all mushy around you."

"He wasn't!"

"He was! How many times has he come to the shop?"

"Four times in ten days…?"

"Yeah, he wants to shag you."

"Jasmine!"

"Okay, date you… whatever."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head, but the thought lingered in your mind.

"Do you really think that though?"

She knowingly nodded.

"Yep, I'm sure. But I didn't think you would be interested…"

"What do you mean?"

"What about Harry?"

You snorted in response, and took another bite of your tacos to avoid looking at your friend.

"Harry is my friend. My best friend."

"Harry is handsome and adorable."

"Harry is my best friend."

She put down her food, sign that she was getting serious. But if you thought that she was going to say something ridiculous, you were completely wrong this time. When she spoke again, her words were wise and concerned, so different from her usual light tone.

"Look, I've known you for years. I know when something is up with you. And I think that you really need to take a decision about how your relationship with Harry is going to evolve. Because you're falling for him, sweetie, and I really don't want to see you getting hurt."

You shrugged her remark away.

"He doesn't see me like that."

"How do you know? Have you asked him?"

You snorted once more.

"Don't be ridiculous! Of course not!"

"Then how do you know?"

You let out a breathy laugh, that sounded a little more bitter than what you meant to reveal about how you truly felt.

"I just know. He doesn't see me like this at all. I mean… look at me! Do you really think that I'm the kind of woman to write songs about? Of course not. It's not me at all. I'm his best friend, and that's all."

"Can I give you an advice then?"

"You're going to even if I refuse."

"Get him out of your system," Jasmine warned you. "Get him out before he settles there too much. Before he can truly slip under your skin. Gareth sounds like he is exactly what you need. Find someone else before your heart settles for someone you can't have."

You thought about it as you chewed on your food.

"I don't know… it feels like second choices…"

"You've just told me that you weren't going to be with Harry, so he's not really second choice, if Harry isn't one."

You nodded.

"I guess…"

"You should listen to me and squeeze the feeling before it becomes heartbreaking."

You chuckled.

"No worries, it's not that bad."

The pinch of guilt in your heart though made you think that perhaps you were lying a little now…

But you chose, as always, to ignore the feeling and look away. Some truths were not meant to be faced.

Harry was beyond nervous.

He wasn't done with his album yet, far from it, but he had finished this one song that… he thought it was good. He thought is was very good, actually.

But then, he had made it, crafted it himself with his friends and colleagues, and he reckoned that it ought to blur his judgement towards the piece. There was only one way to make sure that he wasn't heading in the wrong direction: he had to ask someone else's point of view. And who could help him better than you?

No, you weren't a musician, but that was an advantage in his eyes. He had spent so long working on this song in the studio, he needed someone who was completely out of the whole process of making music to tell him if there was any good in this or not.

He trusted you with his life, he would do anything you asked him blindly. He had absolutely no fear of you telling anyone about the song. It would be safe in your hands.

He climbed the steps to your apartment too fast, his lungs burning, but he paid little attention to his lack of air.

In his hand was the memory stick upon which he had saved his song. He hadn't told you about it at all, you were simply supposed to spend the evening together. Sleepless in Seattle was on TV, so it obviously called for an evening in, watching rom coms all night through while eating pizza and these chocolate chip cookies you adored. He had a whole bag of those in his purse to get you through the night.

He wasn't surprised to find the door open for him and didn't bother knocking.

"Hi, Y/N!" he chimed, coming in and locking the door behind him before taking off his shoes and throwing his jacket on the back of your armchair.

You were sitting on your sofa, already in your pyjamas, buried under two blankets while reading a book, and he couldn’t refrain the tender smile that made its way to his lips at the sight.

"Hi, Harry!" you grinned up at him, and let him lean down to kiss your cheek before he would settle on the sofa by your side. "How are you? How was your day?"

"Uhm… fine… what about you?"

"Great. Had lunch with Jas. It was nice."

"Hmm."

"So… pizza?"

"Pizza," he nodded.

You only needed a couple of minutes though to see that he was nervous, for some reason.

"Is everything okay?" you asked him with concern making you frown.

"Yeah… yeah… uhm… actually… can I ask for a favour?"

He seemed all shy now. What was wrong with him tonight?

"Of course! Anything."

He nervously ran a hand through his curls, messing his hair a little.

"I… uhm… I just… need your… opinion on something."

"Sure! What is it?"

"Uhm… I've just finished this song today… or at least I think it's done but, uhm… I'm not sure is it good or not so… could you listen to it and then tell me what you think?"

Your expression turned from worried to ecstatic in 0.1 second.

"YES! Of course! Oh, I'm so excited! Can I listen to it now?"

He wasn't expecting to see you so excited about it, but then, he didn't know what else he could have been expected from you. You were always so supportive with him.

"Sure, here."

He handed you the memory stick.

"You… don't have to do it right now though…"

But you were already reaching for your computer, so he let out a chuckle and reached for his phone.

"I guess I'm the one in charge of ordering the pizza for tonight," he smiled while dialling the right number.

The song was all there was on the memory stick.

Sign of the Times

So you just clicked on it…

"I'm gonna get some wine," Harry mumbled, jumping to his feet and hurrying to disappear in the kitchen.

He picked up two glasses and one of your bottles of red wine, knowing where everything was stowed, as if he were in his own home. But then, your home was a little bit his as well, just like Harry's large house was a second home to you.

He heard the first notes of the piano rising from the living room, and his heart started to beat so damn fast…

What if you didn't like it? What if you thought it was terrible? What if he had been wrong for the past few months?

His voice rang through the apartment as well, deep and soft and sounding exactly how he wanted it to sound like. Would it be enough though?

On one hand he reckoned that he was an artist, and he had to stick to what he wanted to achieve with this song. He wanted to make a record in which he would be himself, sing songs full of honesty, talking about stories he wanted to talk about…

But then, there was the reality of being good or terrible, and he had lost sight of this thin line between the two after so many hours spent on that one song.

He took a deep breath, and made his way back to the living room to see your reaction, no matter how terrified he was.

The guitar and drums were kicking in as his eyes fell on you. You had closed your eyes, your hand resting on your heart. You seemed to be breathing more heavily than usual.

So… that was the kind of songs he had in his heart, huh?

You felt overwhelmed, to be honest. The song was beautiful, and the lyrics pulled at all the right strings in your heart, and his voice… God, his voice was heavenly.

A thousand emotions crossed your frame as you listened intently to every detail of the song, from the melody to the instruments and the way his voice changed. A thousand emotions because of the song itself, because of its lyrics, because of how Harry's voice carried so much passion it was tearing your heart apart, but also because a realization was suddenly coursing through your veins, and you didn't want it to.

Just stop your crying

Have the time of your life

Breaking through the atmosphere

And things are pretty good from here

Remember everything will be alright

We can meet again somewhere

Somewhere far away from here

A single tear rolled down your cheek, but you were too immersed into the song to brush it away.

Your best friend had made that…

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

It was his voice speaking such lyrics, and all you wanted to do was hold him close and never let go.

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away from here

Stop your crying

Baby, it will be alright

They told me that the end is near

We gotta get away from here

This realization that had punched you in the guts though, it was so obvious now… You had been right all along.

We never learn, we been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets? The bullets

Of course, you had always known the truth. You had simply done a wonderful job at hiding it right in the spotlight.

We don't talk enough

We should open up

Before it's all too much

Will we ever learn?

We've been here before

It's just what we know

There really was no need to talk about any of this. What an idiot you had been to ever question it, to ever imagine… oh, you were such a silly girl…

Stop your crying, baby

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away

We got to get away

His voice on the recording turned into almost a shout, hitting a high note, but it sounded almost like a call for help. You were fully crying by now.

It was so beautiful, and you were so… so foolish indeed… unable to see what was right in front of you that whole time.

The song died out, and you needed a moment to open your eyes again. When you did, Harry was handing you a tissue.

"Please, don't tell me that you're crying because you think it's so bad and my entire career will be ruined."

You laughed. He really was the only person able to make you laugh while you were still crying.

He was so stupid sometimes. So… so stupid.

You looked at him as he gave you a shy smile, clearly waiting for you to tell him what you thought about the song. But how could you describe how you felt?

There was one word that fitted quite well though…

"Proud."

He frowned, not following your train of thoughts, but you shot him a bright smile letting out a breathy giggle.

"I'm so proud of you."

His frown turned into a touched smile, and you were quite certain there were tears shimmering in his eyes.

You pushed your computer aside and launched yourself to hold him in your arms, burying your face in his shoulder and holding him so close… just because you needed to let him know, physically, how much you l…

… hell, you couldn't say it, could you? 'How much you cared' would have to do.

"I'm so proud of you," you repeated, as he tightened his own hold on you. "This song is so… I have no words, really. It's such a beautiful song, Harry."

"Thank you," he smiled in your neck, his voice shaky but clearly relieved. "Thank you."

"It's so beautiful. And I'm so, so proud of you."

"Thank you."

He cleared his throat, his voice breaking several times before he could go on.

"So… I'm doing okay, right?"

You let out a laugh.

"I would say you're doing amazing!"

"Great."

Amazing. Yes, that was exactly what he was. Amazing.

What a foolish girl you had been, how could you even think that he would feel the same? He was so… he was way, way too good for you.

The realization was a punch in the stomach. You didn't deserve him. He was somewhere among the stars and you… were far behind.

He was your best friend, and would remain just that, because there was no way someone like him could feel anything more for someone like you.

Jasmine was right.

Get him out of your system. Get him out before he settles there too much. Before he can truly slip under your skin.

Get him out of your system before he could truly slip under your skin…

You should listen to me and squeeze the feeling before it becomes heartbreaking.

Squeeze the feeling… Yes, that was what you needed to do. Squeeze the feeling until it died out. Until it was nothing more than a memory…

"Alright, enough tears for tonight, at least, until Meg Ryan listens to Tom Hanks in that car," Harry pulled away, drying his cheeks with his palms. "Let's drink to that, huh? To my song?"

You accepted the glass he offered you, giving him a warm smile.

"To your song."

And as your glasses rang together, you knew you were right.

Gareth was a much safer choice indeed…

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

Tag list: @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony@madamrogers @cronias13

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #series #imagine #harry styles imagine

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hardlyinteresting · 4 years

Text

Spring Awakening

1940s!Bucky. Bucky returns home from war a different man than he used to be. Bucky falls in love through the seasons. Trigger warnings: Mention of war, kind of shitty parents (nothing specific). Let Me Know What You Think of It!

It’s spring when he first sees her. The breeze carries the smell of newly blossomed roses and early morning dew drops. She wears a blue dress and a white cardigan sweater; perfectly stitched flowers of pink and purple with little green leaves frame the wool collar. A brand new set of pearls rest against her collar bone. She looks like something out of the films from before the war; all grace and sophistication as she sits and reads by the window. He holds his cap in his hands in an attempt to hide his calloused and roughed up hands. His perfectly ironed trousers and new dress shirt do little to hide the life of hard work and war he’s seen. He follows her father silently to the garage where he’s shown the Rolls Royce he’ll be driving and maintaining for the family. Her father does not ask him if he served in the war, and for that Bucky is grateful.

When he came back from the war he found work on the docks but quickly tired of the tales from men who thought the war was nothing but glory; from the men who never really made it to the front lines. He’s looking forward to his new job where he might work in quiet and solitude most of the day. He’s shown the tool bench and given a quick walk around the workshop. Everything he might need is tucked away in neat drawers and hung on the wall behind the worktop. He appreciates the order, it’s something civilian life lacks. He spends his first day of work doing a general tune-up and checking the car over. He wipes the grease from his hands on a handkerchief as he makes his way back to his own car at the end of the day. The sun is setting and the red bricks of the house seem to glow a brilliant amber. In a passing glance, he can see the family sitting down to dinner- with crystal glasses that sparkle under chandelier light, and silverware worth more than a months rent- through the window. What a wonderful life that must be, he thinks.

At home, Becca is excited to hear about his day. Their mother scolds her for running in the house and pestering her brother. He smiles politely at his mother excusing himself to wash up before dinner. They sit together at the small round table in the kitchen eating meatloaf off mismatched plates. Becca excitedly tells stories about her day at school, the latest gossip; any interest in Bucky’s work long forgotten. His mother shoots him a knowing stare as he rubs his left shoulder on his way up the stairs. “I’m alright Ma, I just got to get used to using it again, is all”.

It’s a week later that she gets into the back of the Rolls for the first time. The smell of her perfume fills the car; Lilly of the valley and roses. It smells like the one Becca had tried on the day he took her into the department stores. She doesn’t speak except to say where she’d like to go and what time he should pick her up again. He’s okay with that. She doesn’t speak like any of the girls he’s ever met. She sounds like Kathrine Hepburn with all her soft ‘r’s and annunciated vowels. There’s something fancy about it, and he supposes that’s the point. Mid-Atlantic, just like the film stars and the rich. He wonders if she always talks like that, or if it’s something she’s been taught to do for show.

Exactly two hours later she slides back into the back seat in the same place he dropped her off. “Home, please” is all she says taking off her hat and her white crochet gloves.

By the time summer rolls around Bucky has saved enough money to make sure Becca has school supplies in the fall and to buy himself some new shoes he needs. He makes sure his Ma is working less now that he has a stable job. Winnifred isn’t one to sit still and insists on making herself available to babysit the neighbourhood kids on days when she’s not inundated with washing, ironing and mending for her long list of customers.

On Sunday nights Bucky makes sure he’s home on time for dinner so he can bring Becca to the shop to treat her to a soda or an ice cream cone. The pain in his shoulder is worse some days than it is others, but he pushes through. The numbness sets in afterwhile and it doesn’t hurt too badly. Even on the bad days, the muscle pain hurts less than the bullet that caused it.

It’s a warm summer in New York, but Bucky doesn’t complain. Alone in the garage, he works in just his undershirt. He comes home at night with grease smudges on his neck and brow bone from wiping away sweat throughout the day. His employer attends polo matches; his wife hosts garden parties, but their daughter spends her days indoors as often as she can. Dressed in white linens she sits by an open window and reads, her ringlet curls blowing in the gentle breeze as her cheeks turn pink in the warm sunlight.

It’s a day in July when she appears in the garage. She looks so out of place wearing her bright yellow dress and white crochet gloves in the room of unfinished wood and exposed brick, he holds back a smirk as she stands in her little white shoes on greased stained concrete. “I need a favour”.

“What can I help you with Y/N” “I’d like to go to the beach,” she tells him holding up her woven bag with the blue bow. “Does your father know?” “Of course”. Bucky doubts it and he briefly considers saying ‘no’ until her father asks him himself, but she looks at him with gentle desperation he’s never seen before. He nods. Wiping his hands and rolling his shirt sleeves down.

He waits in the car, giving her space to have her fun. He watches as she takes off her shoes to let her toes touch the water, she holds laughs as a seagull makes off with a pretzel from the pretzel stand, she sets a blanket down and settles into the sand to read her book. She reads until the sun goes down and everyone has collected their beach umbrellas and towels to head home until there’s no light left to read and then she just sits. She watches as the water erases the footprints left in the sand and the pebbles and sea glass are swept away once more.

Locking the car he makes his way towards her, his footsteps silent in the sand. If she knows he’s approaching she doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Miss?” Bucky speaks. “Hello James,” she answers softly, and he knows that he could listen to her say his name forever. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I think it’s time I take you home. Your folks will be worried”. He can’t imagine how worried he’d be if Becca was out after the street lamps came on. “Thank you James--for bringing me to the beach” she says turning to look at him. He can tell she’s been crying, tear tracks shining against her skin under the moon. “Anytime Y/N”.

Neither of them speaks as he helps her roll up the blanket and put it back in the bag along with her book: For Whom The Bell Tolls.

When Bucky gets home it’s nearing midnight. He spent the whole drive home thinking about Y/N. Why was she crying? maybe, he should’ve done something about it. He thinks about all the other girls who had been on the beach during the day, laughing with their friends and walking arm in arm with their dates. He wonders if she spends all her time alone. Winnifred sits in the kitchen listening to Abie’s Irish Rose on the radio while she mends a pair of Becca’s stockings. Bucky hangs his cap on the hook by the door before going to sit at the table with his mother. “Who’s the lucky girl?” Winnifred asks a smile playing at her lips. “There’s no girl Ma” “I just figured you must be out on a date for you to be home so late,” she says looking up at her son, “You’re allowed to do the things you did before the war you know” Bucky takes the hand she offers him from across the table giving it a squeeze, he knows she worries. “I know Ma”. She lets the silence sit between them before she speaks again, “If it wasn’t a date, why are you so late”. “Y/N wanted to go to the beach”. “At night?” “No, no,” he shakes his head his brow creasing as he thinks about the day, “She was there all day, she just sat and read all alone”.

“She sounds awfully lonely,” Winnifred smiles sadly, she squeezes her sons hand tight before getting up, “I saved you some ham and potatoes”.

It’s Autumn. The groundskeepers spend the whole day raking up the fallen leaves from the gravel driveway, and the lawn. Washes the car in the afternoon sunlight thinking that the warm sun might keep his hands from freezing in the chilled water bucket. The change in temperature makes his shoulder stiffer but he tries to ignore it the best he can, the same way he tries to ignore the fact that he’s been home for almost a year and nothing is the same, nor will it ever be again. He tries not to think about the man he was before the war; fun and flirty, full of life and so sure he had plenty of time left to enjoy. A man in the peak of his early twenties. Now, he finds himself feeling empty more often than not. Now almost 27, he feels worn down and so unsure.

Y/N finds him in the garage later that day tuning the engine, and he can’t help but think that she looks like the sun itself in her yellow skirt with a matching jacket. And for the first time since he first laid eyes on her, he lets himself think she’s rather pretty. He knows that before the war he would’ve been bold enough to ask her on a date, he would take her dancing and maybe steal a kiss at the end of the night if things went well. He wonders if she dances, if she’s ever been swing dancing or if she’s only ever waltzed with boring rich boys at Christmas parties and weddings. He gives her a drive to the city; to the cinema. She wants to see Notorious. Bucky wonders why even after all the news clips, all the grainy footage of the destruction overseas, everyone still wants to make movies about the war. Everyone wants to see a hero, he supposes. Bucky is about to ask what time he should be back to pick her up when she asks him to join her. “I’ve never been to see a film alone before. Would you mind terribly?” She asks her hands holding tight to her little black purse. “What kind of man would I be if I let a pretty girl go see a film alone?” he smiles kindly.

The movie isn’t as bad as he thought it would be. They got most of it wrong in his opinion, but what does his opinion really matter to anyone but himself? Y/N holds onto his arm as they walk back to the car.

Would she even say yes to a date with him if he asked? He dismisses the thought immediately. Her father would kill him, and who knows what kind of trouble Y/N would be in, going out with a poor boy from Brooklyn. He would be in his right mind to shake her off his arm and keep his distance now, but he can’t bring himself to do it. She seems happy for the first time in a long time, and he hopes that maybe just having someone with her has warded off the loneliness for just a little while.

“When was the last time you saw a movie?” Y/N asks on the drive back home. “It was before the war”. She’s quiet for a moment a crease growing between her brows, “I’m sorry--I wouldn’t have asked you to come to see that movie with me if I had known. Of course, I should’ve known”. “It was a fine film,” he assures her, “you couldn’t have known, I didn’t tell you”.

In November Y/N takes more trips into the city as she begins her Christmas shopping. Bucky waits patiently in the car and helps her carry boxes and bags full of clothes and perfumes, hats and ties, handkerchiefs and new cufflinks.

Bucky starts saving to buy his Ma a new radio. Theirs broke back in August, and though she didn’t say anything, Bucky knows she misses listening to her radio programs while she sews. He keeps the perfume he bought for Becca in the drawer in his room. A fancy one from the department store. He spent more than he should’ve, but she’s his only sister, how could he not? It’s the night of the first snowfall, Bucky is finishing up in the garage, sorting his tools and cleaning his hands when he hears a door slam. He assumes it’s one of the housekeepers leaving for the night.

Y/N is standing by his car when he finishes locking up the garage. She’s shivering in her red wool coat with its fur trim and her leather gloves. She looks like she’s about to freeze to death.

“What are you doing out here? You’re going to catch a cold”. “Will you take me dancing?” “I’m sorry--What?” “I want to go dancing”. “It’s late. I finished work for the night Y/N. I can take you into the city tomorrow if you like”. “I want to go to the dance hall. Can we not go as friends?” Every sensible part of Bucky knows he should say no. But instead, he says: “We can’t go as friends, but you can be my date”.

He swears to god Y/N almost squeals with happiness as she climbs into the front seat of his car.

He’s not dressed as nicely as he’d like to be on their first date, but Y/N doesn’t care. She’s all smiles all the way to Manhattan. And he wonders if this is the first date she’s ever been on, and he feels like he’s letting his mother down. He should be dressed properly, he should’ve brought her flowers. She deserves better.

It only takes a song and a half for Y/N to get the hang of swing and Bucky is impressed, and happier than he’s been in a long time. They slow dance too, standing as close as they possibly can, he’s careful where he puts his hands. He likes the way she tucks her head beneath his chin. He feels like he can protect her. And he wants to freeze at this moment. The first time he’s felt truly alive since the war. The girl he’s adored for months held safely in his arms. He doesn’t let himself think about the blood he spilt in England, France or Germany, or why he really doesn’t deserve to be touched by someone so pure and untainted by the war.

When the dance hall closes she begs him not to take her home yet. They sit in the backseat of his car watching the sun come up. She leans her head against his chest, her legs curled up on the seat beside her. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and she holds his hand tighter.

“Thank you,” she mumbles through a yawn, the night finally catching up to her.

“No, thank you”.

He gets her home before her parents wake up and before the house staff arrive. And he starts his work cleaning the Rolls early.

When he gets home Winnifred smacks him up-side the head twice. Once for having her worried sick about where he’d ended up, not coming home for 24 hours. And another time for keeping the girl out all night. She reminds him that she taught him better than that. And he knows. Becca gets scolded for making jokes about Bucky having a girlfriend.

Winter, he hates it. The snow reminds him of the time he spent trudging through the woods in Europe, and the cold goes straight to his shoulder. He wakes up in pain and goes to bed in pain. He prays that it’s a short winter this year. By the time Christmas comes around Bucky and Y/N are going steady. During the day he takes her into town when he’s not working on the car. She makes him go to the movies with her, and he takes her to dinners in Brooklyn. She loves it. She meets the people he knew before the war, his friends from school on their way to work in the docks, Dorothy who works at the diner, she makes sure to have apple pie ready every Friday for when Y/N and Bucky visit. On Christmas Eve while her family talk business in the living room and entertain guests Y/N sneaks out the house to catch Bucky before he leaves for the night.

“Hi James,” she smiles sweetly against his lips, holding tight to the lapel of his coat, standing on tippy-toes.

“Hello doll,” he smiles back. His hands quickly make their way to her arms in an attempt to keep her warm.

She gives him a new pair of leather gloves, a pair nicer than he could ever afford, and he’s grateful but ashamed that his gift to her isn’t worth as much. “It’s not much, but I thought you’d like it”. He hands her the leather-bound book, wrapped with a twine string bow. She holds in tightly to her chest, fingers running along the binding. A Farewell to Arms.

“It’s perfect Bucky, thank you”.

His mother nearly cries when she unwraps the new Crosley radio. She tells him it’s too much. He tells her it’s not enough. Becca loves her new perfume and makes sure it’s sitting proudly in the centre of her vanity table. Becca gives him a new pair of socks and a shaving razor. His mother gives him a new knit sweater and a kiss to his forehead. “Hopefully, if you're warm enough, your shoulder will stop acting up”.

On New Year’s Eve, Y/N meets Bucky’s family during the day. She makes sure to kiss him at twelve noon, “This is our New Year’s kiss,” she tells him. Winnifred makes stew and bakes cookies. Becca spends the afternoon asking Y/N about her clothes and showing her the makeup she’s bought with her pocket money recently. Y/N makes sure to help Winnifred in the kitchen. She hasn’t a clue what to do, but she’s a fast learner and Winnifred is patient and kind.

It’s spring and almost Bucky’s birthday. Bucky and Y/N go on picnics when they can. When it rains they take drives and park off to the side on dirt roads. Sitting in the back seat while the rain pelts down on the roof of the car and cascades down the windows, Y/N reads aloud from whatever book she’s reading her back to Bucky’s chest. He plays with her hair and steals kisses between paragraphs. He could listen to her talk forever. She says she likes his accent more,

“At least it’s from a real place,” she says.

He humours and gives in when she asks him to read sections from her favourite poetry books. There isn’t a single thing he wouldn’t do for her.

She asks him about his shoulder one day when she catches him wincing while he works on the car.

He tells her about how he got shot as honestly and with as little detail as possible. She tells him that she wanted to be a nurse when the war started, but her parents wouldn’t let her. He can’t bear the thought of her overseas, and he tells her so.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” she says.

“You could never upset me”.

Bucky saves his money for an apartment. He has six months rent stashed under his mattress.

He’s another year older, Winnifred buys lamb for dinner, and Y/N joins them for dinner around their little kitchen table. Becca makes sure he gets his birthday beats. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he can hardly feel them, with her tiny fists and weak wrists. She apologises and hugs him when she realizes she had hit his left arm. When the table is cleared and the dishes are done, Becca and Winnifred leave the couple alone. The radio plays in the background as they slow dance on linoleum tiles.

“Marry me?” He asks as the song ends. “Yes,” she replies without hesitation.

Winnifred lets Bucky have her wedding rings. Y/N wears her engagement ring on a chain tucked beneath the collars of her Brightly coloured blouses and dresses.

It’s nearly June when they tell her parents. Bucky wears his best clothes, makes sure his shoes are polished. His mother’s words “Be honest, that’s the best you can be,” ring in his head. He rings the doorbell and waits. He holds his cap in his hands, the way he did on his first day on the job.

“Sir, I’d like to speak to you in private, if I may,” Bucky says when her father answers the door. He’s smoking a cigar and ushers Bucky towards his office.

Passing the staircase Bucky sees Y/N. She’s wearing the blue dress she had on the first day he saw her and he wonders if she did it on purpose. She smiles encouragingly, her hand held over where he knows her engagement ring hangs.

“Sir, I’d like to ask for your permission to marry your daughter. I know it seems like I don’t have much, but I have money saved, I have an apartment ready in the city. I can support Y/N. I love her more than anythin--”

“I don’t give you my blessing. But you can marry her if you wish. Just know, that if she chooses to marry you, she is not part of this family any longer. Should she choose to marry you, she is choosing to live the life of a poor Brooklyn wife,” He takes a puff of his cigar settling into his chair behind his desk, “The choice is hers”.

In July, Bucky and Y/N marry in the same church Winnifred and George Barnes were married in. Becca is Y/N’s maid of honour and extraordinarily excited about it, to say the least. They don’t have a cake or champagne but they do have their own apartment to go home to. It’s tiny, two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom, but it’s home. Bucky hums familiar tunes as they dance their first dance in their kitchen.

It’s spring again when their daughter is born. They call her Rose. They wrap her in a handmade blanket Winnifred gave them; tiny pink and purple flowers with little green leaves are stitched at each corner.

#1940s!bucky #40s bucky #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky one shot #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier x reader #bucky

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canvastotebag1 · 3 years

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kaspbrak-tozier-reddie · 4 years

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"Have you ever been to a birthday party for children/And one of the children won't stop screaming/...There's other people, you selfish asshole!" From Bo Burnham's song, for that quote thing? Also this is for Reddie. Thanks :)

Song: Art is Dead by Bo Burnham

Warnings: slight mentions of homophobia, other than that, just pure fluff.

Send quote/prompt and I’ll write a fic

——————————————————————

With Richie being a hotshot comedian now, his manager had decided it was now time to do a meet and greet. Richie not only now performs his own standup comedy shows but is on Saturday Night Live, does movies and tv shows.

Having a rocky 2.5 years in the comedy industry, Richie’s new beginning seems promising, even Eddie is thrilled. After all, Eddie is the one that forced Richie to fire his writer and old manager due to homophobic jokes, not being able to come out thus shoving him back into the closest; and had jokes that were far too dry and tasteless that even Richie didn’t laugh. They made Stan’s jokes seem laughable now! So with the help of his boyfriend of 2 years, he and Eddie found a new manager.

“Excited for your debut M&G?” Scotty, Richie’s new manager, asks.

“Oh, heck yes!” Richie exclaims as he sets up his table. “Give me a sec.” Richie spots his boyfriend carrying a large bag that he immediately recognises as Eddie’s first aid bag. “Eds, we don’t need that babe.”

“Uh, yes, yes we do. I can’t get sick and neither can you!” Eddie replies placing the bag behind Richie’s chair. “Do you know how many germs are spread around here?”

“I -” Richie starts.

Richie can feel granddad’s wedding ring shift in his pocket, causing Richie to remember why he even has it in the first place. He carries it with him day in day out, ever since the couple’s 1st anniversary. Knowing that any day could be when he chooses to marry the man he’s been in love with since he was 10.

“It’s a rhetorical question. Okay, long lines in a confide space, you will. Get. Sick.”

Eddie isn’t wrong, it takes only a couple people with a cold or flu to then infect hundreds more. Keeping a load up of hand-sanitizer on hand is important, he places it where it’s hidden but within Richie’s reach. The entire bag contains multiple bottles of water and fruits; as well as all those important tissues and general first aid kit that has been overly stocked with more bandages, band-aids, gauzes and alcohol wipes than it needs.

But Richie isn’t nervous for the one on one meet and greet, it’s the actual panel where he’s speaking and Eddie refused to come up on the stage with him. He doesn’t know what he’s meant to do, sure he’s done interviews but it was one person, not hundreds.

“Richie? You ready?” Scotty asks.

“Yeah.”

“Good, ‘cause it’s showtime.” Eddie stands off to the side and gives him the thumbs up and Richie looks everywhere but the stampede of fans coming in. All the other celebrities at the function are relaxed and getting ready but Richie is ready to puke instead of greeting the fans.

Maybe this was all a mistake, Richie thinks to himself. But he loves his fans, if it wasn’t for Eddie he would be on the list of most hated people around the world. Besides, Derry should be on that said list of places to not visit on account on its outdated teachings.

His negative thoughts come to a halt as his first fan arrives at his station. It’s awkward, he has no idea what to say or do but nonetheless, he’s still sweet, awkward and charming.

After 15 fans come to his table, he’s finally gotten the hang of it and that would also be 15 uses of the hand sanitizer thanks to his boyfriend’s need for hygiene and germaphobia.

What Richie didn’t expect was his fans to be of a variety of ages, he’s seen kids as young as 12 come by with their parents in tow. Parents dragging their kids with them, the rare elderly citizens come by and not to mention a few whole families; we’re talking kids, parents and grandparents. Richie is blown away.

He sees a break and quickly looks to Eddie, who sits quietly behind the table out of sight. “Holy shit! This is insane!” Richie whispers, his mouth covered by his hands to not be seen as someone who talks to himself.

Eddie looks up from his book, “That’s great. Also, I was thinking that I come on stage with you.”

“That’s great,” Richie looks back briefly. “Oop, more customers.”

Richie can hear Eddie’s giggle and then it stops and a page flips. He accidentally bumps the ring in his pocket, causing him to jolt. Could this be it?

****

A couple of hours later, Richie finally sets up for the panel, the most important event of the day, according to his manager. “Are you sure Eds, I don’t want to seem like I’m forcing you,” Richie says as he gets hooked up to the sound system.

“I want to, the number of fans asking about me… I couldn’t. Also, don’t call me Eds,” Eddie responds and Richie signals for another mic and third chair is brought out to the stage.

There’s another panic attack bubbling in Richie’s throat and blood, he feels like he’s being smothered, he can feel his pulse around his body and hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears. He instinctively turns to look out at the crowd from behind the curtain and sure enough, there are, at least, 200 people. Every ticket for the panel was sold out, he remembers his manager said. Richie and Eddie are signalled out to the stage and manages to get to the chair without an issue and finally looks to the crowd.

You can do this, he thinks to himself, I’ve got Eddie with me.

“So Richie, in your Netflix Special, you had stated that you are now writing your own material. Why the change?” The host asks; Richie had never really publically stated why the change but he guesses it’s time everyone knew.

“My old manager thought my jokes were too crass and wouldn’t appeal to anyone. He also claimed that self-deprecating or my gay sex jokes wouldn’t appeal. So he kept me in the closest and gave me jokes that I would never have approved.” Richie doesn’t hold back unleashing all his anger out. “I, of course, sued him and won.”

Cheers of approval echoes through and Richie’s tenseness starts to die down, relaxing into the crowd.

“Right, let’s go into the fan questions.”

Richie looks to Eddie and smiles coyly at him, Eddie returns the favour and gently squeezes Richie’s thigh for support. The two looks back at the crowd and straight up the middle are about 15 people ready to ask questions. “Why did it take you so long to leave that manager?” A fan asks.

“I couldn’t break the contract,” Richie explains. “When we were 2 years fresh out of college I had signed with this man and Eddie had gone into risk analysis. I did one gig and immediately wanted to drop him.”

Richie is about to continue when Eddie cuts him off, bringing the mic to his mouth.

“He knew that I delt with contracts and risks so he asked me to look at it. To put it simply, if he left and signed with someone else, he would’ve been in grave debt where it would’ve been damaging and become a whole legal issue.”

Richie smiles at his boyfriend thinking back to the day that he took the godforsaken contract to the young risk analyst. As Eddie looked over the whole contract, he notices the whole fine print, something he knew that Richie would obviously skim over like every other person. Stan would obviously have 6 fits if he caught Richie doing that but alas Eddie isn’t Stan.

The manager had several writers on hand and Eddie looked every single one of them up and sure enough, each writer had a bad review. This man was going to stop Richie’s career before it even began but after 2 years Richie could opt out without any legal penalties.

Eddie had explained everything to Richie but that still meant that Richie would have to do whatever they said to not face court. Richie, of course, was heartbroken but that was the way that it had to go. But in the comfort of Eddie’s apartment, he kissed him and Eddie kissed him back until he had pushed Richie away.

“Richie, you’re seeing someone. I can’t -” Eddie had said.

“I don’t care, I like you. Eds, I’m gay and I’m seeing someone against my will,” Richie tries to reason.

“That - that doesn’t matter.”

I broke his heart but he knew that Eddie was right. Natalie was lovely, no matter the circumstance he couldn’t hurt her.

****

“Eddie with Richie being a comedian, have you met any other comedians?” A fan asks Richie’s boyfriend.

“I have actually. Bo Burnham and John Mulaney,” Eddie replies. “In fact, Bo Burnham has a very relatable song called Art is Dead. It’s the epitome of Richie.”

“Oh, how so?” Richie presses.

Sure he’s met Bo Burnham but he hasn’t really listened to his stand up shows, all he knows is that he makes funny songs. Eddie is often raving about a few of Bo’s songs but that’s about it, Eddie’s never gotten him to actually listen to them.

“Okay, so young Richie was an asshat and that’s just putting it lightly. Anyway, there’s this line, ‘Have you ever been to a birthday party for children, and one of the children won’t stop screaming?’” The crowd laughs, “I can guarantee you that Richie often did this, for all 6 of us and if we were lucky, also his own party, making it all 7.“

Richie just starts to laugh knowing full well that it was him as a child, he mouths ‘true’ to the audience, causing more and more laughter before Eddie’s voice starts to echo back through the speakers.

“Richie always craved the attention, as mentioned in the song, but one line that I use often is, ‘There’s other people, you selfish asshole!’“ Richie tries to contain his laughter but he burst and tears start to stream down his face as he laughs the hardest he has in years, from a joke that wasn’t his own.

Nobody can break him but somehow his boyfriend explaining how Bo Burnham’s song is relatable just makes him burst into tears from laughter. Even Stan’s dry and sarcastic wit wasn’t enough to make him cry, in laughter, when they were kids or even now as adults. It’s physically impossible.

“I hope a lot of you got that on camera, me crying; nobody has been able to do that ever!” Richie exclaims as he wipes away the tears from under his eyes. Now it’s Eddie’s turn to laugh vigorously.

But at that moment, Richie knows, he knows that the man right beside him, laughing in absolute joy, is the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Normally he’d forget about his granddad’s ring during the day until he got home and has taken his pants off. But now as the thought continues to creep into his brain, the ring feels like it’s burning a hole in his pocket, wanting to escape.

“How long have you two been friends for before you got together?” Another fan asks

“About 3 decades of friendship and 2 years as boyfriends,” Eddie confirms.

“It would’ve been 4 maybe 5 years of being boyfriends if I didn’t have that shitty manager.” In Richie’s peripheral vision, he can see Eddie’s shocked face. “Don’t act surprised, I flirted with you through all of middle school to college.” Eddie laughs as does the crowd.

Richie knows it’s too soon but maybe this is the way it is meant to happen, how he is meant to ask Eddie to marry him. He’d be bloody stupid to not do it when he has known that Eddie is the only one for him ever since Bowers’ cousin in the arcade back when he was 14.

The ring in his pocket becomes Richie’s main focus, not the fans; if he takes it out…

“Rich? You good?” Eddie asks.

“Huh? Oh uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Richie stammers. “Next question.”

“You said that you suffer from anxiety, how do you manage it when you’re on stage?” A young girl asks, she’s probably no more than 16, she fidgets with her fingernails as she speaks and it becomes that she’s nervous.

“Don’t be nervous hun, it’s okay, I am too,” Richie states and the crowd ‘awe’s’ causing Richie to chuckle. “I know if I’m having an anxiety attack and it’s become part of my everyday life so I find it’s best to act as if it’s not there. It’s partially because I’m too lazy to get therapy.”

That’s the truth, any time he gets an anxiety attack he knows he’s not dying especially since Eddie has explained it to him. It’s annoying but therapy is just too bothersome, he has to try to fit it in with his busy schedule and then he’ll probably have to get anti-anxiety pills or anti-depressants to stop the anxiety attacks.

“But, if Eddie is by my side then all my anxiety tends to go away,” Richie finishes and quickly digs into his pocket, fiddling with the ring in his pocket. It’s hidden away from the way he’s sitting which is the important thing.

But he’s unsure of what to do, does he do it now in front of hundreds? Or does he do it later at a restaurant? If he does it now and Eddie says ‘no’ then that’s going to leave an awkward 25 minutes left of the panel.

He looks back at Eddie.

“If you ever get married, would you become Richie Kaspbrak or Eddie Tozier or Richie and Eddie Kaspbrak-Tozier?” Richie’s eyes almost pop out of his head, the pain is unbearable, he needs to break, he wants to break but it’s an impulsive move to propose without thinking it through.

He hasn’t thought of how he would do it.

Hasn’t thought of what he’d say.

“I uh,” Eddie faulters, “100% Eddie Tozier, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Richie chokes on his saliva and bursts into a coughing fit, what the fuck?

“You for real, Eds?” Richie questions, he takes one look at the audience, who are anticipating on what happens next, then back to Eddie.

“If you’re taking it as a proposal, I don’t thi-” Eddie’s cut off by Richie holding a white gold plated ring. “Are you -” The look in Richie’s eyes is enough for Eddie to take the ring and place it right on his finger. Sure enough, it is, surprisingly a perfect fit.

“Ask him!” Some dude yells from the crowd, a chorus erupts and causes Richie to fall from his chair and onto one knee.

“I know this isn’t a restaurant and is entirely impulsive but it wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t. I love you, have since we were 10, instead of it being hypothetical, will you truly become Edward Tozier? Marry me?”

“Yes,” Eddie replies pulling Richie up from the floor, the crowd erupts as he kisses Richie’s cheek before sending him back to his own seat.

“Next question?” Richie says.

#reddie #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #edward kaspbrak #eddie kaspbrak #richard tozier #richie tozier #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2

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ms-snubble · 4 years

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Lost

Pairing: Hermione x Draco

Words: 2355

It was the third time this week that he’d lost his temper with her resulting in the current state of the flat. Their sanctuary. It was virtually unrecognizable, so unlike the cosy space that she had painstakingly cultivated. And for what? Because she was going to lunch with Ronald Weasley. Again.

“I’ll be going to lunch with Ronald tomorrow,” she’d said with her back to him, slowly removing the emerald studs that he’d given her. The most recent in a slew of physical apologies.

“Why the fuck would you be going anywhere with him?” he couldn’t stop the anger that bled into his tone, the jealousy that warped his mind and sharpened his tongue.

“Draco, we’ve been over this. Ronald is my friend and might I remind you that we often work together. Besides, Ginny cancelled at the last minute and it would be rude for me to stand him up when we’ve had these plans for some time now.”

“So you’re keeping things from me now?” It wasn’t a question so much as it was an accusation. It was a loaded question and he knew it. His eyes tracked the motion of her hand stilling above the jewellery box, took in the stiffening of her spine.

“Draco, I don’t have the time to tell you about every little thing that comes up in my life. Ronald is my friend and-”

“Don’t fucking give me that shit, Granger.”

The sound of her mouth snapping shut around the rest of her sentence was audible even from where he was across the room and he waited with growing anticipation for her response. For the fiery sting of her ire that never came. She’d stood perfectly still for but a moment more, and then suddenly she was gone.

And why? Because of Ronald Weasley.

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The first time that she’d left in the wake of his insurmountable rage had been for an excruciating 45 minutes. Her departure made itself known in the loud crack that reverberated around the sitting room. He’d immediately panicked that he’d finally proven everyone right. Had lost the one person who he knew he didn’t deserve. Yet she’d come home and he’d apologized with the worship that he showed her body. With tongue and teeth and desperate pleas for her to stay, just stay.

What should have stopped him had only been a catalyst for his decline into further fits of rage, into the never-ending anger just beneath his skin. Sometimes she rose to the bait, knowing full well that he was goading her but she was just like him in that way. She was always up for a good fight.

This time had been different. She hadn’t raised her voice, hadn’t lost her patience, she’d been suspiciously calm, provoking the sadistic part of him to dig deeper, to prod more at the weak points, to pry open the calm of her disposition to see the pulsating, bleeding fire that he knew was just below. Just like him. Instead, she’d left, a small bag in hand, without so much as a backwards glance.

That had been two days ago.

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On the third day of her absence, he’d swallowed what was left of his pride and made his way to the Potter residence, an ostentatious bouquet of white tulips in hand. Potter didn’t bother to hide his opinion on the matter. His disdain as clear as the silvery, infamous scar on his overblown head. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was getting Granger home. The moment he saw her left him winded. Every single emotion he’d dealt with in her absence rushing to the fore, overwhelming.

No emotion slipped by her guarded expression, but the tightening of her hands on the rails gave her away. The longing to touch her, to have her back made his skin itch, his jaw clench.

“Who’s there Harry?”

He tore his eyes away from Hermione to see none other than the giant ginger oaf lumbering down the stairs, coming to a stop just behind her. It was clear that Weasley had spent the night.

“What the fuck is he doing here, Granger?”

He barely registered shouldering his way past Potter and into the foyer. Or the way the shorter man was trying to run interference. Her clothes were rumpled, the lines of sleep still creasing her puffy face and her hair a veritable nest. She looked as she always did when he’d ravished her, the knowledge of his revelation unleashing a surge of magic that turned his carefully crafted apology to a mass of burnt petals and smouldering leaves.

“Oi, fuck off Malfoy!”

“Ron, Draco, stop, just stop!”

He wished that he could have heeded her cries. Wished that his anger hadn’t propelled him rushing past her to throttle Weasley.

For once he wished she’d stop him.

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He’d come home the following evening with a strange sense that something was awfully wrong. Spell after spell had revealed that no one was currently there. But Hermione had been. He didn’t need a spell to tell him that, the faint smell of her favoured perfume still clung to the air long after she’d departed.

The perfume that usually sat on their boudoir.

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The quiet that ensconced the flat was unnerving. He felt exposed and vulnerable in the nothingness, stripped of the layers of balmy contentment that she brought. Gone was the easy comfort that came with her aimless prattling about the latest discovery that she’d made between the pages of some long-forgotten tome. The incessant purring of the squash faced orange terror that she insisted was a cat. The little noises that breathed life into this prison.

He began to resent the fading sunlight each evening, a reminder that he ought to return to the emptiness of his apartment. To a place that was no longer his home.

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On a night with too many drinks and too little caution, Blaise had told him that he was better off for it. Granger didn’t deserve him if a little tiff could send her running back to Weasley, Blaise had said. Not the stuff good brides were made of he’d asserted, as they downed another whiskey. In his drunken stupor, Draco had nodded along. Afterall, no one but him would know that he was lying to himself.

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Lonely nights with the scent of her rapidly fading on their sheets led to dreams of how they’d been, how they’d reconnected after all these years. She’d testified at his trial, never one to let ‘an innocent’ such as himself suffer for the sins of his sire. Her honesty and conviction though once abrasive had been alluring. So against the grain that he’d been bred and raised to follow. In truth it was her ruthless righteousness, burning as bright as the anger that festered inside him that had trapped him.

Insinuating himself in her life should have been harder than it was. He was an almost convict with a ruthless father and prejudiced upbringing. A self-proclaimed snake more ambitious than kind. Often in those early days, he felt stripped of all pretences when she looked at him, those big amber eyes looking beyond the well-crafted face he showed the world. And yet she never tired of him.

Until she did.

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As the days away from her bled from one into the next so too did his melancholy into contempt. Hermione was supposed to be stronger than this. She wasn’t supposed to give up on them. Why did everyone else get unlimited access to her, unlimited forgiveness but he was fettered. The extent of her absolution concrete, finite.

Seeking her out while in his current state of mind probably wasn’t advisable but anything was preferable to the yawning maw her absence had created.

Despite the hour, he knew he’d find her stashed away in the back of the shop she shared with Longbottom and Severus, meticulously researching something or the other that would no doubt add to the absurd profitability of the apothecary that the three unlikely business partners ran.

“What on earth are you doing here, Draco?”

He’d wandered to her office, tucked away from prying eyes and nosy customers without realising, occupied as he was with how unfair the whole thing was.

She looked tired, dark smudges making the thin skin beneath her eyes appear almost purple. The glasses she wore only as the evenings wore on and her load grew heavier perched on her nose.

This was how he loved her best, wrapped in the safety of her passions, buried in a project that lit the fire inside her that illuminated her eyes.

“I’ve missed you.” He knew he sounded as desperate as he felt, but it didn’t matter. None of it did if he couldn’t have her back.

“We can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep letting you do this to me.”

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It was hard to accept that there was nothing left of their relationship to salvage and so he didn’t. Getting Hermione to accept that would be difficult to be sure, but doable. It had to be.

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The party at Blaise’s manor was decadent. There was no shortage of liquor or women or borderline debauchery. Just as it should be to usher Pansy out of her until now, mostly single life and into years of what was to be wedded bliss with none other than Ron Fucking Weasley. That had been a shock to be sure, finding out that for the past several months the red-headed thorn in his side had been dating his dear friend in secret. On her own orders, Pansy had informed him, something about not wanting to convolute things, what with Draco having dated Pansy throughout their teenage years and Weasley panting after Hermione. He couldn’t exactly fault her reasoning. He’d wanted to keep Hermione all to himself when their romance had started.

It made sense now, Hermione’s insistence that they were just friends, would be nothing more than just friends. Afterall, to hear Pansy tell it, it was Granger’s impeccable taste that had ensured her engagement ring wasn’t a gaudy red and gold monstrosity. A beautiful emerald and silver band that he couldn’t help but think would look much better on Hermione’s hands.

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Stumbling through the fireplace drunk off his arse was only getting harder the older he got. A crease in the rug sent him sprawling to the floor. He was grateful that Hermione wasn’t here to see the depths he’d sunken to. He’d need to go see her in the morning. Just as soon as he could kick his arse into gear.

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The morning after Ron’s engagement party rolled around bright and filled with the snores of far too many red-headed men. In the mayhem, she’d managed to secure herself the coveted position on the lone couch in Grimmauld, many of the others sprawled on the floor and in uncomfortable little mismatched armchairs.

Ron’s words from the night before came to haunt her as she attempted to stretch the bone-deep weariness from her sore muscles.

“You ought to give him the opportunity to change Mione.”

“I’m not a rehabilitation centre Ronald. As much as I love Draco, I can’t - I can’t just let him use me.”

“But have you truly given him the opportunity to change Hermione, helped him to understand that he even needs help?”

“He’s not a fucking child Ronald. I shouldn’t have to guide him through his bullshit. I won’t be his punching bag, I won’t.”

“Far be it for me to take up for a tosser like Malfoy but he’s had a rough go of it from what Pans has told me. You of all people know how the war’s fucked us all over. How it muddled things up up here,” he said, tapping the rim of his beer bottle to his temple.

“I’m not saying let Malfoy walk over you, Mione. Merlin knows I wish you’d fallen for any other bloke. Just, you know, if you love him, as you clearly do, help him find the tools to get better, you know?”

A watery smile and a quick nod were all Hermione could manage as Ron engulfed her in a tight hug. She knew that the war had impacted them all psychologically, Harry was still in rehabilitation for his almost crippling PTSD and Ron himself was on a strong dose of anti-depressants that her apothecary produced. How it had escaped her notice that Draco hadn’t dealt with his demons was beyond her. Ron was right. She didn’t have to let Draco walk all over her, but she could help him on the path to recovery. Maybe then they’d have a real chance at something.

Grabbing a fistful of floo powder she called the address of a place she’d had every intention of leaving behind her.

The apartment was deathly quiet. She wasn’t sure that Draco was even there, knowing full well that Pansy’s engagement party had also been the night before. The sound of the faucet down the hall alerted her that he was in their room. Before she could lose her nerve she crossed the distance to the bedroom. She found Draco propped up on the bed, hand fisted in his blond hair.

His head snapped towards her at the sound, eyes widening in surprise.

“Hermione.”

Her heart thundered against the confines of her ribs at the sound of her name on his lips. It had been so long since she’d let herself think of him. So long since she’d indulged in all that she felt for him beyond the crippling pain at being apart from him.

The sound of the bathroom door opening dragged her attention to her left, to the startled blue eyes of Astoria Greengrass.

“Hermione,”

She’d never known that it was possible to actually feel your heart break. To feel as the tissue and muscle and sinew tore itself apart. Not until now. She was vaguely aware of movement in front of her. Of a tangle of limbs and fabric moving as though through a syrupy haze.

She didn’t trust herself with her words, didn’t trust herself at all. So without breaking Astoria’s gaze, she vanished.

#dramione #drabble #ficlet #hermione granger #Draco Malfoy #hermione x draco #dramione drabble #dhr #dramione fanfic #trigger warning #tw anger

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