#THE NAME OF THE ROSE this n the brothers are a case of my mutuals pick my tbr for sure!!! gi thats largely your doing tbh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ktheist · 4 years

Text

nice guys finish last | m

synopsis. you thought you were over yoongi’s dick move of ending your engagement through his parents - not even a text when he disappeared out of your life. that’s why you agreed to the newly arranged marriage with his brother, namjoon, but on the brink of your wedding day, it becomes apparent that you haven’t really let go of the past as you tear up in front of your soon-to-be husband at the back room of the church.

◟alternatively, “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

pairings. husband!ceo!namjoon x doctor!reader x ex-fiance!producer!yoongi

genre. arraged marriage au. angst. fluff. smut.

word. 16.2k

content: age gap factor (namjoon is 5 years older than oc and yoongi is 7 years older than oc). pining. teasing. hoseok cockblocking.

warning(s): heavy adult content. mentions of cheating. hospital scenes.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

“i don’t want to marry you at all. the person i love is someone else.” there are tears brimming in your eyes but if there’s anything the years of etiquette class namjoon’s parents forced on him taught him - he’d say he turned out okay - it’s to not mention to the crying lady that she’s crying. but he can’t help stare a little longer. admire a little too much.

the rays flooding through the window paired with the prettiest ivory dress he’s seen you in gives you an iridescent halo. you look like an angel descended from the top most heavens.

but not for him.

“i know,” he lets out a drawn out sigh, hand on his neck. he’s always been the awkward one between the two. if it was him - if it was his brother, he would say it without any ounce of self-reproach. but then again what does namjoon have to be sorry for? for being born? for being the second choice son to step into his brother’s shoes when the aforementioned man threatened to disown the family name if their parents refused to let him marry a girl of his choice who, according to the workers’ gossip, ‘he suddenly woke up one day and decided he was in love with’?

“it’s yoongi, isn’t it? you love yoongi.”

your eyes are prettier when you’re looking directly at him. the tears give them a kind of glow that makes him want to gather you into his arms and keep you there. the flushed cheeks affirms - despite saying it with full confidence, it was just - his hunch.

oh.

the ceremony proceeds rather smoothly. you’re still sniffling when your father passes your hand to him at the end of the aisle. the older man himself looks distraught. either he knows you’re against this marriage and hates himself for failing to put his daughter’s happiness before the guaranteed wealth that comes from marrying you off to the kim family or you’d gotten into a fight with him in a last ditch attempt to convince him to call off the marriage.

either way, you’re here now. the pastor’s words are muddled in your ears but it’s enough to take note of the end tone and the steely silence that ensues which could only mean it’s your turn to say those words.

“i do.” they’re the easiest to get over with.

after endless fights with your parents, going on two hunger strikes and running away to paris for a year - you know you’re in the endgame. and you’ve painstakingly and sorely lost.

he lifts the veil off your face, taking his time with setting it over your head. it’s no secret that kim namjoon is handsome. the kind of thick, textured-fabric-suit-wearing and sleek-back hair kind of handsome. yoongi was more of the hoodie-and-jeans and messy-in-need-of-a-trim hair kind of handsome. but he isn’t yoongi.

you screw your eyes shut, refusing to let the memories of your own wedding vows embed in your head. those beautiful pink full lips are as soft as they look. but they’re not kissing you on your pressed-into-a-straight-line lips. betrayed by your curiosity, your eyes flutter open only to gaze upon the smooth cream skin that wraps around his neck and just the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple as he pulls way.

your newly-wed husband has just kissed you on the forehead.

adjusting to married life is as easy as slipping on your favorite shoes. it’s perfect. almost unsettling even. the beach house off the coast of the private island namjoon’s family owns is breathtaking. the sound of waves crashing against the shores is your constant companion as you work on your research. it’s a project you had to put aside when you graduated. the first year at the hospital is the busiest, or so your senior colleagues say.

namjoon strides into the kitchen sometime past noon, all fresh and showered with a fitting long sleeved shirt and trousers. it’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen and yet for some people you know, it’s the fanciest they can get. sometimes you wonder if the standards have hit the ground or if namjoon’s so well-adapted into the routine of dressing up presentable enough to go to his office on an off day in case something calls for it.

“good morning.” you greet first, traces of the embarrassing tear-jerking wedding ceremony still lingers in the back of your mind - you’d tried to explain yourself on the way here in the boat but namjoon had easily blew your worries away with a light chuckle and a “i’d do the same too if i loved someone and had to marry another person.”

it’s not unusual for you to already be perched on the elegant gold sofa adjacent to the sliding doors that has the best view of the sea. the master bedroom is the other part of the beach house with spectacular view - you’d been entranced when you stepped into the room on your first day. but namjoon suggested you stay in the guest room, knowing there’s no way you would share a bed with him -

“or you can take this room and i take the guest room,” he added a moment later, probably because he saw you staring out the balcony, bewitched by the sea. that had broke you from your trance and you’d shook your head so much in protest, you were surprised it didn’t fall right off your neck. “n-no! i mean - i’ll take the guestroom.”

his parents had been nice enough to lend their private beach house for you honeymoon. you weren’t going to step over their son and conquer the master bedroom - even if technically, you’re now part of the family.

“morning.” he fixes you with that half-smile. the kind of smile you give to someone you’re in an complacent relationship with but nothing more.

at least you’ve got that going for you. and that’s a rarity coming from the gossips you’ve heard here and there about marriages found on the ground of convenience.

his eyes swipe over the ipad in your shorts-donned lap from his spot, leaned against the counter in the kitchen, pitch black mug of coffee with wafts of smoke coming out of it, “how’s your research going?”

“well,” you set the ipad down on the glass surface of the coffee table, it’s bare of anything besides your phone that’s been lighting up from the notifications. one from your mother, another from the group of friends you found in college, and the rest is from your strictly-women group from the hospital, “the world wide web is resourceful and all but it can’t beat the information in actual books - papers, you know?”

“ah, the traditional way of researching.” he chuckles, dimples digging into his cheek, enhancing his handsome features. you never knew he had dimples. not that you knew much about him - you’d only properly talked on the day of your wedding, in the back room and the first thing you said was -

you suppress the memories further down your thoughts. it works for the most part, but you can’t help the flush that spreads across your face. so the laugh you let out is a little strained and if he notices, he doesn’t show - like he pretends not to notice a plenty many things.

but alas, he knew your secret crush - was it still just a crush you had for yoongi? you’re not sure.

“what can i say? i’m raised traditional.”

that was two weeks ago. now, you’re back to working your ass off at the hospital, being grilled to the bones by your supervisor, getting reprimanded over being one minute late and then being told to run to the cafe five minutes from the hospital to buy your supervisors their favorite strawberry smoothie topped with sprinkles.

“kim seokjin, that dickwad.” jennie huffs, her cat-like eyes making it appear as though she’s plotting the man’s death. “he’s working you to the bones as soon as you get back.”

“he probably thinks i’m not that serious about my residency since my family has enough fortune to sustain me for my whole lifetime,” you can only laugh at that, her anger has sucked all the tiredness and annoyance you have for your supervisor right out of you. it feels refreshing, “all the more reason to prove him wrong.”

“enough about that asshole,” jisoo waves a dismissive hand off and you know what’s coming is far more terrifying: she blinks, eyes filled with stars and cherry red lips curling into the kind of smile that can only mean one thing, “how was it? the second son of kimcorp. were there rose petals on bed? candles lit around the house? a romantic, sizzling-”

“sorry, jisoo, i gotta go get ready for the dinner. i’ll buy you lunch tomorrow, okay?” you clasp your hands together apologetically when your phone buzzes with the reminder you set a week prior: 8am annual kimcorp dinner.

you breathe a sigh of relief as you shake off your white coat, draping it over your recliner before escaping to the washroom with a bag of makeup and the dust-proof cover bag of the outfit you’re wearing for tonight. by the time you’re touching up on your nude lipstick, your phone buzzes again but this time, the screen lights up with namjoon’s name on it.

“hey,” his voice is deeper through the phone - it’s the first time he calls you. there was never any reason for you to call each other but you suppose, he’s calling to make sure you’re not forgetting the dinner -

“i’m in front of the hospital.”

or maybe not.

“wh-what do you mean?” your cheeks heat up from the thought of namjoon waiting for you in his audi. the image, too domestic for your liking.

“well, you can’t drive so i thought i’d pick you up.” he says it like its the simplest equation to understand.

“namjoon,” the name feels foreign on your tongue regardless of how many times you taste it when you need to tell him something - to set the line straight, “i didn’t know you were gonna pick me up so i already told kyungsoo to pick me up. he’s probably already here. sorry i didn’t tell you sooner.”

“i know,” he says simply.

“e-excuse me?” while you’re beyond confused.

“i told your parents i’d pick you up so kyungsoo’s driving them to the dinner.”

“oh.”

wait. what?!

namjoon is confident in his driving skills - as he is with everything he does. he’s almost perfect. the line of his shoulders seem at ease as he stirs the wheel with one hand and the other rests on the gear, inches away from your scarlet clad thighs.

“why isn’t hoseok driving you?” the aforementioned man sticks to him like glue. everywhere namjoon goes, he goes. it’s a given since he’s the head secretary but anyone who’s seen them interact could tell there’s more than boss-employee relationship between them. they seem like close friends which is unlikely be given namjoon’s too-serious nature and hoseok’s joke-cracking every five minutes - but not impossible.

his face remains the same as he keeps his eyes on the road, humming briefly, “he had a thing.”

“can secretaries have a thing and leave their boss to drive for himself like that?” that doesn’t sound right. you may not be actively involved in fecam industries’ affairs but mr. jung, your dad’s secretary, spends more time with your dad than the two men do with their wives - that’s how demanding the business world is. but could hoseok get a free pass because of his and namjoon’s friendship?

namjoon chuckles, dimples and all and you can’t help but blush at the side profile. if anything, he has a sharp jawline and beautiful neck-

you push the thought as soon as it comes. neck? who finds necks beautiful?

“he had a date but it’s not until a couple hours,” the tone he uses is light and playful but underlined with a sort of bashfulness that you don’t know kim namjoon was capable of, “i told him to go home because i wanted to pick you up myself.”

your cheeks heat up all over again as you stare at him a little too long. so much so, the hand that’s been comfortably perched on the gear goes to the back of his neck in an unsure manner.

“i just needed to talk to you about something.” he explains, just as awkward as he was in the back room at the church.

“okay.” eyes turned to the road too, you can see namjoon breathing a sigh of relief from your periphery. that couldn’t have been because of you could it? was he nervous because you were watching him? “what did you want to talk about?”

he clears his throat, that natural ease in his tone returning, “if it gets uncomfortable - if anyone asks, we met because you were yoongi’s fiancee and we couldn’t help but fall in love. but you wanted to intern at a hospital in paris so that’s why we’ve only gotten married now.”

you take awhile to digest the information until something in your stomach doesn’t sit right with you, “you want me to... lie?”

his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth just for the briefest moment as he thinks about it. he probably didn’t expect you to disagree but he admits his mistake faster than half the people you know your whole life would, “i’m sorry, i didn’t think it would weight on your conscience. i was thought it’d be hard on you if some ass- someone’s going to start a rumor about you but i didn’t ask how you’d feel about it.”

“i see.” you simply nod. it’s true that you’re the pass-up fiancee who got between two people who fell in love in college but the other is the son of a renown family and engaged while the other is an arts major from a normal working family. unable to let bygones be bygones, you decide to marry the younger brother to your fiance - or so the story goes. “but they already know i was yoongi’s fiancee and i ended up marrying you. i don’t need - no, i don’t want to explain myself to anyone.”

despite that big talk, your can feel the prickle of tears in your eyes. namjoon steals a glance at you and he never mentions the glassiness of your gaze - if anything, he smiles. it’s different than the usual smiles. this one, though wordless, says he’s following your flow. do what you like and if and when things get though, you can count on me.

dinner has yet started when you arrived. guests are still arriving and waiters and waitresses are carrying trays of champagne glasses around. in a distance, your friends wave at you to come over. you smile, hand falling away from namjoon’s since you needed to at least do that in front of the paparazzo that were waiting outside. eager, hungry for gossip about the wedding that shook south korea’s business world.

“girl, you are glowing.” yerin literally screams. it’s a secret to no one that she’s hinting on your recent marriage and private island getaway. but nothing happened.

“how are you girls? it’s been so long.” you side hug eunha, letting her arms wrap around your waist as you stand huddled together.

you haven’t seen them since you got back from paris. the wedding was attended by thousands of people - all of whom, your and namjoon’s family’s associates. but you had your hands full shaking hands and smiling next to your husband because these people matter to namjoon. or at least he has an interest over them. business deals. merges. trades. kimcorps carries out every kinds of business they can get their hands on. namjoon passingly mentioned about the work-in-progress for a private hospital.

you dread the likelihood of having to leave the hospital you’re working in right now for family-run one but you know it’s quite impossible to not get involved when you, yourself is a doctor.

“we weren’t the ones who went under the radar and came back and got married to the second son of kimcorp.” yuju huffs sulkily, cheeks pinked from the champagne she’s had but she isn’t that far gone when she clamps her mouth shut a second later, eyebrows furrowing in guilt.

sowon nudges her side anyway, mouthing her something as your gaze falls on the light caught in your black gucci heels.

“i-i’m sorry, ___ that didn’t come out right.” comes a heartbeat later, she sounds just as sorry as her words as you offer her a small smile.

“it’s okay, it’s the truth anyway.”

“stop that,” eunha suddenly gripes, her gaze boring into you and rips apart the barrier you’ve tried so hard to maintain, “we’ve been friends since elementary school, we know how whipped you are for that asshole so-” she sniffles while you’re left wondering if it’s her who had an ex-fiance break if off and had his parents relay the news on a bi-weekly dinner.

“she’s trying to say you can cry or get mad or curse that dipshit around us. don’t hold back.” sowon finishes, lips twitching as she enjoys watching the vulnerable state of the otherwise fiercest one among you.

something in your chest feels light. like a weight being lifted off your shoulders as you study the girl’s face one by one. sowon’s and yerin’s smirk, yuju’s nodding and eunha’s teary eyes.

“yoongi, he’s-” you take a deep breath and it feels almost dramatic as the second stretches on while you build up the hurt, the anxiousness, the disbelief that the man put you through, “-a fucking idiot.”

“you bet he is,” yerin’s basically screams, swiping a glass for you and holding hers up, “that fucking idiot.”

you tighten your side hug on eunha in an ‘i’m okay’ gesture as you clink your glasses together.

it’s a few moments later that murmurs start to spread around. the tension that comes with the latest arrived guest thick enough to command every attention in the room.

“she’s ballsy. coming here.” sowon offhandedly comments, eyes trained on the girl who has her hand on yoongi’s arm like an iron clamp. “right into the lion’s den.”

she may not have her parents’ money to groom her into the women you and the girls are. but maybe that’s why she has her own air. her poised steps, coupled with a cocktail creme laced dress and relaxed smile easily gives her an innocent cloak. someone friendly and good-tempered and can adjust well to her suddenly-plunged-into-money circumstance when she married yoongi. that must have been why you never heard any bad rumors about her even though there’s almost always at least one gossip enthusiast in these socials.

“ugh, i hate her!” yuju hisses, eyes more focused as she places her glass onto one of the waiter’s trays.

“i-i think i’m going to get myself some snacks.” with that, you slip past the guests until you’re at the end of the room, standing in front of the everything-you-can-eat table lined up with pastries only from the best bakes.

that moment, when you looked from her to yoongi, your eyes met. his hair is a little longer than you remember it, flowing in light blue tresses until just a few centimeters above his eyebrows. the first two buttons of his shirt is undone. her doesn’t wear a necktie - he despises how suffocating they feel. but he’s managed to keep on his blazer - he used to say they were hot and took them off and left them in the back seat of the car when you arrived at an event. he used to attend these events with you. just the two of you. for four years. you thought you’d keep doing so for longer after you got married.

“you know, they’re not plastic and made for display.” a voice breaks you from your train of thoughts.

“p-pardon?” you blink once. confused.

“the pastries,” namjoon lulls his head to the side where towers of tarts, macaroons, pavlova and sliced cakes stand tall and proud, “they’re edible.”

it takes a moment for you to register that he was joking - kim namjoon? cracking jokes?

his smile tilts higher when you chuckle. it’s brief but the look of relief oh his face lingers. he must have seen you escape from your group of friends. and this is his own way of checking up on you.

“thank you, namjoon.” you murmur low enough for only you and him to hear, lips tugging in the corners. “but i’m fine - i just - seeing him for the first time like this - it’s just unexpected. even though this is an annual dinner held by his family and he has every right to be here.”

“that’s her? the ex-fiancee?” a guest asks in a hushed tone somewhere a few feet away. but she’s not very discreet as she thinks she is.

“yeah, she couldn’t get the older brother so she went for the younger one.”

apparently, her company needs to attend classes on how-to-whisper-101 too.

“how mortifying. and the brother just goes with it?”

“he must have felt compelled to save her face. you know how nice and well-mannered he is-”

the low noise namjoon makes under his breath catches your attention. the muscles on his face is strained and twisted. it barely shows. just a crease between his eyebrows and the lack of smile. he hardly ever smiles from the tabloids and interviews you’ve seen of him so people might not notice the displeasure. but after a whole month of knowing namjoon, if there’s anything you can say for certain about the man, it’s the stockpile of smiles he has to offer.

“namjoon, it’s okay. i don’t care.” you smile, it’s forced and you know he notices it right off the bat but sighs anyway, shoulder line falling just slightly as he runs a hand over his sleek styled hair.

his lips move and you hear the words he uttered but somehow your mind couldn’t comprehend the information without going blank. “s-sorry?”

“it agitates me that they’re freely spewing bullshit like this,” he huffs, cheeks tinted pink at having to repeat his words. “it’s taking everything in me not to go over there and tell them their husbands have at least one business deal with kimcorp. and i can end it and it’d plunge their family into bankruptcy.”

“wh-why would you do such a thing?” the question comes out almost dumbly but if it did, he doesn’t say. he just... keeps looking at you.

you’re barely able hold yourself from squirming under his scrutiny, the smile now awkward in all places.

“if you don’t mind, can i kiss you?” his eyes widen just the slightest bit as he corrects himself, “on the forehead i mean.”

he clears his throat, eyes straying away from you as if he couldn’t bear to look at your face after that mistake. “just so i can prove to them i wasn’t forced to marry you.”

the light pinkish blush spreads to the tip of his ears and neck as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. you’re not sure why, but the sight in front of you is endearing and you find yourself saying-

“okay, kiss me.”

you didn’t specify where. and maybe, as the heat flares across your own cheeks when his arm band around your waist and a warm hand presses up against you cheekbone - maybe you want him to kiss you somewhere else.

the chatter stops and so does time. but it’s only for as long as namjoon’s full lips are on your forehead, kissing you for the second time. then, time resumes and murmurs begin to spread louder than when yoongi made his arrival. when the gravelly voice speaks from somewhere behind namjoon, you know why.

“get a room, will you?” yoongi’s tone is light - you’d taken a whole year getting used to it to know he’s being playful and not condescending.

“yoongi.” namjoon greets, unlike the elder man, his sounds better natured but there’s a sort of underlying detachment. his arm is still on your lower back almost as if he needs to feel that you’re here or he’d be completely detached. “i didn’t think you’d show up. you hate these events.”

the aforementioned man draws out a long sigh as though he’s been found out over a poorly told lie. “i don’t but naeun wanted to go - you know how things are with mom and dad. she thinks it’s gonna make them open up.”

it’s no secret your father and mother-in-law doesn’t talk about yoongi’s marriage - they never do around you but you thought they were being considerate. but what yoongi’s saying right now could mean his relationship with his parents are far more strained than you thought it’d be. especially since they had let him marry the girl of his dreams who’s clearly below their standards.

she - naeun - is standing somewhere near the exit, conversing with the notorious older generation that yerin duped ‘the wickeds’. for their ways of gaining wealth, for their poor treatment towards their employees, for socially shunning a young man - new money, for addressing one of them casually. she is ballsy.

“it’s been awhile,” yoongi’s directly addressing you now. the tug on his lips as playful as an old friend’s greeting. you don’t know how he can look at you like nothing happened. “you’re finally a resident now, huh?”

“yeah, finally.” you smile, the kind of smile that celebrates her triumph. the celebration part is true but the smile is every bit unnatural. but it seems to fool yoongi as he nods, proud.

somewhere in your chest, the strings on your heart clenches at the unchanging personality of this man. no wonder you like him.

before the conversation can tread further down memory lane, there’s an announcement to have the guests move to another room where dinner is being served.

“we’ll get going first then.” namjoon announces, guiding you by the waist as yoongi nods, waiting for naeun to come to his side before going in himself.

dinner went smoother than expected. yoongi and naeun showed up uninvited and were placed in the back seats where the people socially displaced guests are. you felt bad when you saw naeun’s distorted expression as waiters bring in chairs to the table for the both of them. but there’s nothing you could have done.

“you have an 8am shift tomorrow, right?” namjoon asks as you slip your heels off, wincing at when one of them brushes against the blisters. they’re gonna be a bitch to deal with tomorrow.

stretching your arms out as you walk up the stairs, you hum in confirmation. “mhm, and you have dinner with ms. yoo, right?”

it’s ironic how you know each other’s schedule despite not being anything more than two people sharing one house and happens to be married. guess you’ll chalk it up with the fact that you both respect each other enough to be aware of each other’s whereabouts - not the creepy kind of way but the share-me-your-live-location-so-i-know-you’re-safe kind of way.

namjoon was quiet until you take a left to where the guest bedroom-turned-permanent-bedroom is, “it got rescheduled.”

your hand hovers over the door handle as you crane your neck to look at the man on the top of the stairs. his bow tie is loosened, the button to his color undone and his blazer is draped over one arm - a telltale sign of a final end to the night. “i was hoping we could have dinner to together. after work.”

yes but you don’t usually go straight home after work. you usually spend time at the library either at your previous college or at the hospital. you’ve decided to continue your research no matter how taxing it may be since you came back from the honeymoon. namjoon knows and the fact he asks you to dinner anyway - it’s unlike him.

he’s the kind of person that would ask if you had free time and match his schedule to yours. not ask for your time.

“yeah, sure.” you say and you think you see his shoulder line sagging as if he’s just let out a long-held breath, “pick me up at 8?”

“yeah.” he nods, dimples showing as his lips curl at your answer, “at 8.”

only when the door closes behind you, do you let yourself slide down to the ground. heels lying next to your thighs and dress in need of being sent for washing. your cheeks are and neck and ears are hot. dinner? just you and namjoon? like... a date?

jisoo isn’t around when lunch rolls by.

“a patient got rolled into er this morning - couldn’t contact any of his family members. suho decided to go ahead with surgery but he reacted badly to the anesthesia so she had to make up for her suho’s mistake and monitor his patient.” jennie’s face scrunches at the other woman’s supervisor pushing the task on her. shoving a forkful of the cheese cake, she sighs as the medical professional side take over, “thank god the surgery went smoothly though despite all that.”

you hum in contemplation, comparing the well-established crazy bitch seokjin who pushes those under his supervision to their limits and suho’s less-than-extreme approach. you used to envy jisoo and jennie for getting suho as their supervisor but at the end of the day, with every push from seokjin, you get out of it stronger and wiser. “i hope she doesn’t forget to have her meals.”

the day ends faster than usual. of course with rounds and surgeries you have to assist with, you’ve always find yourself barely realizing the setting sun - the sign of that your shift has ended.

but you could have sworn it was 5pm when you last checked the time. an car crash patient had arrived at the er and you forgot you’d left your phone on your desk, running out to assist the critical patient. it’s only when you’ve plopped into your recliner, head thrown back in fatigue, do you notice the vibration of your phone.

namjoon’s name flashes across your screen. your eyes almost bulges out of their sockets as you swipe to the right.

the deep voice from the other end is as calm as ever, “hey, ___-”

“namjoon!” you almost scream with guilt, phone pressed between your cheek and your shoulder as you shrug the coat off one shoulder before using the free now free hand to hold the phone and shrug off the other shoulder, “where are you?”

“i’m at the parking lot. i couldn’t wait at the lobby because i was obstructing the other cars - i called you a few times.” he sounds almost concerned and your heart clenches tightly in you chest at the thought of him waiting for you for over an hour.

you burst onto the parking lot - searching for the sleek black audi until a red bugatti rolls over. you’re about to take a step back seeing as you’re almost standing in the middle of the road - when the driver on the other side of the car steps out. his usually gelled hair is mussed from the amount of times he ran his hand over it, cuffs rolled to just below his elbow, revealing the dark veins that run just below the skin on his arm.

namjoon fixes you with that eased smile, going around the gently purring vehicle and opening the door to the passenger seat for you. the arm which hand he uses to hold the door open pulls on the thin fabric of his button down in all the right places. so this is a the normal end-of-the-day look.

you always get back a bit later than him and by the time he looks up from his work that’s laid out over the coffee table, he would usually already have bathed and changed into one of those long-sleeved shirts.

the restaurant he initially booked for dinner had cancelled. naturally. so you end up in a barbecue place five minutes away from the hospital. this is where you and your colleagues go when to celebrate a birthday, promotion or finally-having-a-boyfriend/girlfriend.

the slices of meat sizzles on the grill, its marinated aroma wafting in the air. but your stomach churns with a different kind of sensation - guilt. “i-i’m sorry. because of me you had to wait an hour and got cancelled by the restaurant.”

then, he chuckles. it’s the same kind of good natured chuckle that reverberates every time you say something amusing - but you can’t see how any of this is.

his says your name. the syllabus rolls out of his tongue in waves but you chalk up the blush spreading on your face with the heat of the grill so close to you. he leans back against the backrest, sleeves filled out to the brim as he crosses his arms over his chest. “you were the one saving a life. all i did was wait.”

“y-yeah but still.” no emergency is foreseeable, otherwise you could have saved more lives than you do now. and it’s still not enough. “i forgot about you.”

namjoon nods, taking your words into consideration - as if he never thought about it that way. as if he truly doesn’t mind wasting his time over some woman he has to tolerate because he’s married to her. “cook me dinner then.”

“wh-what?”

“i don’t want you to beat yourself up and i know whatever i say is going to come off as me being nice.” the corners in his lips tugs upwards, “so make it to me by cooking dinner.”

once your brain is done registering what he said, you clutch your hands in your lap as though you’re clinging onto this one time chance to make up for your fault, “yes! i-i mean yeah, sounds fair.”

the smooth sound of his chuckle isn’t lost to the sizzle of the meat. to him, it must be a small matter but to you, it’s a matter of pride.

“this saturday then?” you offer, a bit too eager.

almost as if remembering something, he releases a long drawn out sigh, “business trip to tokyo.”

“next weekend?”

“mom’s home sweeter home fundraiser for the orphans on saturday. sunday?”

“night shift. how bout breakfast?”

“golf with seollyu’s director.”

a heavy pause lapses in the room. after a moment, namjoon reaches for the chopsticks, flipping the slices of meat over.

your shoulders sag, lips pursed in a pout. this isn’t an unusual occurrence in your years of being the daughter of your family. your father is devoutly involved in the family business and your mother is busy with her charity work. you’ve celebrated birthdays with the staff more than you do with them.

the glint of the chopstick that’s placing a piece of meat on your plate catches your eyes. you study the long nimble fingers to the vein that runs from the back of its hand and disappear somewhere below his arm before you gulp, meeting his eyes - did he notice you checking out his arm?

“we’ll figure something out.” if he did, he doesn’t say as he fixes you with an assuring smile, “but right now you need to get some food in you. eat up dr. ___. you did great today at work.”

this time, you really can’t blame the grill for the blush.

“you could’ve told mom you couldn’t do brunch.” namjoon tells you in the elevator to the 15th floor of your in-laws’ house. it’s been three days since that night. he’s left for work but prior to this morning, he’d already made it clear that it was no problem at all picking you up from home.

he’s probably saying this because of the lack of makeup you’d put on. some pats of compact powder and bright red lipstick can’t hide the bags underneath those tired eyes. you’d spend extra hours reading about the defective genes and the fix to remodel them so every child born from parents from a history of relatives with inheritable diseases could live a life without the risk of said disease.

“i’m fine.” you wave a dismissive hand before stretching in the compact space in a last ditch attempt to wake yourself up and hopefully look fresher by the time you reach the floor. “’sides, i’ve been so focused on work, it’s nice to see mom and dad every once in awhile.”

you’ve gotten used to referring to mr. and mrs. kim as if they’re your own parents - in a way, they are. you’ve known them for as long as you can remember.

“you have to be at the hospital by noon, right?”

you hum in confirmation. though you insisted on grabbing a cab to the hospital since it’s on the opposite side of the office, namjoon had insisted better. “mhm, oh we’re here.”

a ding! echoes throughout the elevator when it stops, doors opening to a hallway with black and yellow walls and ceiling, paired with honey marble flooring. it takes a few seconds before the black door at the end of the hallway to swing open but instead of the warm smile of the elderly lady, a bring and vibrant naeun beams at the both of you.

“you’re here. come in.” she steps aside, the hem of her sundress fluttering as she moves.

your body tenses at the proximity of the woman who you thought you could avoid until a much later time. and from the barely noticeable lifted brows that namjoon does, you know he wasn’t expecting his sister-in-law too. if she’s here, so is yoongi.

“we picked these up on the way.” you hand her the paris baguette paper bag. you’d ordered a mix of fruit tarts, cinnamon rolls and macaroon. all of which you remember mrs. kim mentioning to be her favorites.

“oh! you shouldn’t have but thank you.” up close, naeun is much more prettier with a natural pinkish tint across her cheeks that makes her seem dreamy and glossed cheery lips that complements the gentle air she carries around. she passes the bag to one of the staff that’ll probably unbox them and plate them.

you offer her a smile - though a bit strained. and she must have noticed when she sighs softly, eyes darting to her fuchsia flats before looking back up at you with a furrowed brows. but even when she’s frowning, she’s pretty.

“i’ve been wanting to meet you and properly apologize for not being able to attend the wedding - i had an exhibition that day in prague and yoongi wouldn’t let me go by myself even though i thought at least one of us should go to his brother’s wedding.” she chuckles at the last part as if replaying the heartwarming scene of her protective husband choosing his wife over his family. you can feel every fiber of your body coiling and writhing - it takes everything for you not to leave through the door. would yoongi have done the same for you?

“this must be awkward for you, isn’t it?” her lips tug into a half-smile - a telltale that she’s equally uncomfortable to talk about this topic. “with you and yoongi being engaged before but now i’m the one married to him. but i hope we can put everything past us and be a family.”

but something in the way she talks - it’s as if she sympathizes. as if she’s saying it’s okay, you shouldn’t feel ashamed. but what are you supposed to be shameful of? of being engaged to yoongi before? of marrying his brother when said engagement fell through? perhaps you should have gave mrs. kim a hard ‘no’ when she pleaded with teary eyes for you and your parents’ forgiveness when she and mr. kim had to break the news over dinner two years ago. so you wouldn’t have to develop a hard skin and pretend you didn’t care about the ruthless rumors that have spread far and wide after your marriage to namjoon.

“oh? yeah, it was a long time ago.” you offhandedly say - it’s that moment, when her eyes twitches just the slightest bit that you realize it wasn’t all just in your head. she did mean to make you feel embarrassed when she started mentioning the engagement.

you join namjoon and mrs. kim at the garden while naeun follows suit a second later, taking the middle among the three seats. the elder woman’s eyes light up at the sight of you, her heels clacking against the wooden flooring as she crosses the distance and engulfs you in a hug. you hug back, smiling at the woman’s motherly warmth.

“___, my favorite daughter, what happened to you?” she cups your cheeks, brows furrowing as she seem to examine your complexion.

you should’ve used concealer.

“the hospital is working you to the bone isn’t it? why, it’s been awhile since i had lunch with chairman lee, maybe i should give his wife a call.”

that’s how it works when you have connections. if someone’s daughter or son fails to get into college or a job through regular exams or interviews, a dinner or lunch with the director of the institution will get the child admitted overnight. that’s probably why seokjin was harder on you than usual when you got back from your honeymoon - he must think you’re not serious about being a doctor. it’s not a secret he came from old money but he’d cut off all ties with his family when he started working. he has more ethics than half of the people you know.

“___ doesn’t like it when you do these things, mom.” yoongi grumbles - always the painfully honest one. the chair screeches as he pulls it and plops between naeun and namjoon while their father occupies the seat next to mrs. kim. it looks like they just came from mr. kim’s home office. and judging from the stiffness of their posture, the talk must have been a serious one.

namjoon’s shoulder line tightens just the slightest bit - you almost thought it was just a figment of your imagination but when you steal a glance at his face, you know he’s not too keen in having yoongi sit next to him. so you weren’t imagining it when he seemed like he was escaping yoongi by not waiting for naeun to come and walk with you to into the dining hall.

you’re not lost to yoongi’s familiar tone when he spoke on your behalf. but you’re not happy either. forcing a laugh, you push a strand to the back of your ear for the sake of doing something, “i-it’s not the hospital. i’ve been staying up late to work a bit on my research.”

a worker comes with the baked goods you brought. they’re plated on perfectly polished ceramic - you can easily see your forced smile in its reflection when the woman sets them down the table in front of you.

“research?” yoongi lifts one eyebrow at you. too casually. and it takes you back to those times when you used to visit him at his college’s library and you’d bring your homework with you whilst you slip in a few ‘what i did’s as he typed away on his mac but still managed to keep up with you and asked questions here and there. a sign that he’d been present and listening.

“___’s been working on researching how segregate defective genes during the fetal stage so the fetus won’t take on their parents’ inherent diseases when they’re born.” namjoon explains the simplified version almost as though it’s part of his day-to-day line of work. he grins at you, the corners of his lips tugging with pride - a gratification of being able to show you off.

“that’s good. you’re making a difference in this world.” mr. kim is the first to break the silence. and in the years you’ve known him, it means the highest level of flattery you’ll ever get from the man.

your cheeks are flushed red and you know well enough it’s not because of mr. kim’s compliment than it is his son’s. “it’s still just a research draft but th-thank you. mister-” the elder man raises his brow and you quickly correct yourself, “i mean, dad.”

he nods at the word, the slightest hint of smile disappearing under the cup of tea he brings to his mouth.

“but still, don’t push yourself too hard. working as a doctor takes up a lot of time already.” naeun fixes you with a worried gaze but something about her tone makes your stomach churn - it’s as if she’s playing down the time and effort you’d invested in your research and reminding you to focus on your paying job. even if you did downplay yourself when you were responding to mr. kim. before you can sort out the wave of emotions clashing inside you, namjoon seems to beat you to it.

“not everyone can do what ___’s doing. it’s okay if she wants to do more,” a hand slips under yours in your lap, reverting your gaze from the beautiful woman to the apparent difference in the size of yours and namjoon before you turn your cheek to him. it was a mistake because now you’re holding your breath as you come face to face. his body is leaned into you as he speaks, “i’ll just take care of ___ better.”

he turns to naeun, lips twitching upwards in a brief smile as if to enforce it more and putting a finality to the topic. but you’re left staring at namjoon’s sharp jawline until mrs. kim makes a squealing sound as she clamps her mouth shut in an attempt to tease you.

“gosh, is my baby all grown up now? he’s saying he’ll take care of his wife!”

the chuckle you let out is nowhere near natural or entertained. not when your insides are burning and you think your heart is going into overdrive from how fast it’s beating. and it doesn’t help that namjoon’s too casually playing along “of course, i only have one wife.”

“namjoon,” you take a second to gather yourself, hands fiddling in your lap as the car rolls to a stop in front of the lobby. the man fixes you with an inquisitive gaze. of course, who wouldn’t be wondering what’s up if their name was spoken with so much weight in them like you did with namjoon’s? “what was that? the wife thing?”

he stares into the street as he sifts through his memory before he fixes you with a gaze clouded with guilt, “i’m sorry. i got carried away - it won’t happen again.”

and that’s the thing. namjoon is too fast in admitting his fault. but you didn’t bring it up because you wanted an apology-

“no, i don’t mind.” you shake your head almost too eagerly before back tracking and clearing your throat, “i mean, it’s true. we’re married - i am your wife.”

the corners of his lips upturns at your last words and he doesn’t bother to hide it as he waits for you to finish - but how can you when he’s looking at you so tenderly like that?

“it’s just - too soon?” you curse yourself for sounding so meek but any louder, your heart might just jump out of your throat.

namjoon nods, that contemplative look settling on his face and takes away that smile only to return it with a dimpled grin. one hand slides in between yours and guiding the back of your hand to his lips.

“we’ll take it slow then.”

you can only nod, afraid that if you tried to speak, you would forget how to. the light rap on your side of the window catches both your attention. it’s the parking management. stealing a glance at the cars that are beginning to queue up behind you, you hurriedly gather your bag and hop out of the car.

cheeks flushed, you barely register waving back at namjoon when he leans over the passenger seat just to shoot you that dimpled smile and a ‘see you at home’.

you turn on your heels. the sharp click bounces against the white walls. a small smile spreads across your lips as you think about namjoon’s words.

yeah, the penthouse does feel like home.

this isn’t slow at all. you’re barely progressing.

it feels like everyday is passing by too fast what with the abundance of functions you’ve told namjoon you wanted to go with when you’re not working, to cramming some time for research and trying to find the time to at least make breakfast when you’re not on morning shift. though on some mornings, he’d beat you to breakfast and you’d wake up to the delectable smell of omelette or bacon.

“you must be thrilled about the new hospital, mrs. kim,” mrs. hwan is generally an agreeable woman along with her husband, the president of a small startup firm. they’re the first couple to approach you and namjoon since you arrived at the party. but that’s just it - the smiling, the talking, the eagerness doesn’t show in their eyes. it’s all about building connections while maintaining a good enough acquaintanceship. “are you going to be managing it directly since you’re a doctor yourself?”

“naturally,” the tug on your lips and the smoothness of your response is almost effortless. you’re no stranger to this scene - except back then, you would be standing next to yoongi. though your hand wouldn’t be tucked in his arm like yours is with namjoon. “though i still have a lot to learn, i hope the next two years will help me prepare to for eden.”

two years is the estimated time that eden hospital will be able to run. you’d finish your residency by then. all that’s left is to take the next step. just like your parents had planned for you as they’d planned many things. you never had the power to object.

mrs. hwan goes on to sprinkling empty praises while her husband laughs in deflated humor. they say the way to a successful business deal is through the wife.

once namjoon gets swamped by more people, you gently pull your hand away from his arm. you don’t miss the pleading look he fixes you when he notices your intention but you can only return a ‘you can do it!’ smile and slip away from the limelight.

the balcony area is dark, illuminated only by the fading light the pours over the floor past the door frame. you don’t expect the air to be this chilly at the beginning of summer but then again, namjoon did suggest bringing a coat - you were just too stubborn to because it would ruin the off shoulder look of your dress.

a sneeze escapes you a moment later as you hug yourself in an attempt to retain your body heat. but the warmth that engulfs you seems impossible to have come from just your puny palms - heck, your fingers were starting to feel prickly cold. there’s a sort of weight on your shoulders that wasn’t there before-

“idiot, you’re gonna catch a cold.” yoongi tuts from next to you - he has his hands in his pockets, all donned in crisp white shirt and checkered grey trousers and vest. all that’s missing is a matching blazer - the one that he placed around you just now.

somewhere in the recesses of your memories, you remember him taking off the muffler he had on and wrapping it around your neck when you showed up for your ‘christmas date’ with a pink nose and pinker ears - you could barely feel them. yoongi was that kind of person - the kind that acted like everything is a whole load of inconvenience and yet went to greater length to inconvenient himself for you.

“thanks. i thought i was going to freeze to death if i have to hide out here for another hour.” you tug the thick material of the blazer closer - the warmth of his heat feels just right.

“then you shouldn’t have come in the first place.” he must have noticed the higher-than-an-octave tone he uses before ruffling his hair - it’s the first you’ve ever seen him so unsure. is it really because of you?

“it’s fine. besides, what kind of wife would i be if i let namjoon get eaten by the pack of wolves by himself?” you chuckle at the fact that you’d done just that when you escaped the growing crowd of businessmen.

but when you notice the lack of humor on yoongi’s face, your own dies down. he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look. it’s not the bored expression he usually sports - not also the anger from the outburst just now. before you can say anything, namjoon’s lean silhouette appears in the doorway. you can’t see his face but his tone is strained. “we’re leaving, if you’re both done catching up.”

“so soon?” you know for a fact it probably hasn’t even been fifteen minutes - and you’re supposed to linger for at least two hours before leaving. that’d be enough time for namjoon to scout any potential business associate - the worthy ones at least.

“hey little bro.” yoongi waves, the disinterested look now returning but the way he phrases his next words oozes with revulsion. it’s no surprise. while yoongi hates these events - he’s probably here because of naeun, you heard the director of seoul’s annual art exhibition is here - namjoon strives off it. garnering attention and making the best of it by bringing in stockholders. “had enough of ass licking?”

you never understand the tangibility of the tension that feels the air when these two brothers are in the same room together - they’re barely able to remain civil in the presence of mr. and mrs. kim. anywhere without their parents’ watchful eyes, a fight would always be at risk of breaking out. whenever you were around, you’d be the one to interfere, whether it’s to tug on yoongi’s sleeve and tell him you’re hungry, or step in front of him just so he’d remember you’re here or right now-

“thank you, yoongi.” folding the blazer in half, you hand it back to the man - only that he’s not taking it back. momentarily, you wonder if you’d stained it with your lipstick or foundation but the lapels never touched anywhere above your neck. but deep in the crook of your conscience, you know it’s when his mind retracts back to you, to the present.

the sigh that escapes yoongi is a telltale of fatigue - you wonder if this is the first time of the day he came out of his studio. taking the blazer from your outstretched hand, he slings it over his shoulder, “don’t get too caught up with these functions. focus on your goal.”

your goal meaning what comes next in your career: the fellowship. you thought that information was lost on him, buried among the many things you told him just because you were comfortable telling him everything.

and as you watch him walk back into the lion’s den, you wonder, how didn’t you realize he was in love with someone else during the visits you paid while he was doing his masters and phd?

namjoon doesn’t say anything about yoongi in the car. but both his hands are on the wheel. knuckles a little paler from holding onto the wheel.

“you don’t have to be part of eden’s board of directors.” he huffs, as though annoyed but from the way he continues, you know he’s not annoyed at you. he’s annoyed at himself. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to - i don’t want to force anything on you.”

and you know - you know more than anyone how conscious namjoon is of things. from the change in your mood to the people that tries to get close to him because of his status - that’s also why he didn’t kiss you on your lips that day. but a kiss was the prerequisite of a vow so he kissed you on the forehead. the area where his lips landed burns your skin as your cheeks flush from the memory.

“i know.” you hesitate for a heartbeat but reach out to cover one of his hands on the wheel still. to let him know that you’re not just saying that to ease the guilt.

when you pull away from the thought of how risky and distracting what you did was, the hand that you were lightly caressing pulls at yours, intertwining your fingers as he keeps them on his thigh. your entire body burns from the contact yet you’re sitting frozen in your spot. it’s the gentle squeeze on your hand that brings you out of your shell-shock state. a smile tugs on your lips subconsciously as you squeeze back.

the following week, you almost got into a fight with namjoon when he caught you dressing up prettily. he told you it was okay not to attend these functions anymore - the ones your tight schedule barely allow you to. fight was an overstatement. your feelings were hurt when he’d kissed your temple and said, “it’s okay, you don’t have to push yourself.”

well, you were but he wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. “can’t you see? i wanna spend more time with you and the only way i can is if we attend these functions together.”

in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have thrown your strapless black diamond purse at him out of frustration.

but the following functions, you did spend more time together. he’d declined the usual advancement of business people the way only kim namjoon could pull off - with a dimpled smile and a hand around your waist as if to indicate that they were interrupting - and they were. they’d come up to the both of you while you were telling namjoon about a new skillet spaghetti recipe you’d wanted to try making for the long overdue dinner you owe him. and you’d expected someone to approach namjoon and take his attention away but you didn’t think he’d decline them.

“hm? i don’t think we have tomatoes or beef. should we go grocery shopping?” he suggests calmly as though he didn’t just turn down the chairman of tvn broadcast. the man had to do a double take in case he had mistaken namjoon’s smooth rejection.

you place a hand on his chest, restraining the urge to pull your hand away as if you’ve touched fire. you knew he goes to the gym for an hour after work and his shirts always seem a size too small around his arms but you didn’t expect anything beyond that underneath that shirt of his. you clear your throat when you realize his neck is craned so he could look at you - give you all the attention in the world, “you know, we can discuss dinner some other time - when you’re free.”

but neither of you are free. you barely see each other at home because of your unpredictable schedule and his that’s set in stone.

“then what would you rather us talk about right now?” a corner of his lips tugs upwards. if you first met him, you wouldn’t easily dismiss the smile as nothing more than because of his amiable nature. but you’ve been married for almost five months now and you clearly pick up on the playfulness that lights up his eyes.

“the desserts.” you announce too quickly in an attempt to avert his attention from what he’s thinking - one thing you’ve realized is that namjoon is painfully aware of your blushing fits and your avoidance to look him in the eyes. “they’re nice, aren’t they?”

all of a sudden, he’s scooping a forkful of the chocolate souffle he’d picked up from the desserts section while you’d opted for the luscious almond torte. a small smirk tugs on his lips as he holds the fork to your mouth the way he does during breakfast. he knows you have no objections of being fed like a child but he also knows where you stand with public display of affection.

“say ‘aaaaa’ and i’ll give you a treat, doctor ___.” and he loves to tease you. he’s taken to calling you that because of that one incident where he’d seen you discuss about a patient with one of the nurses while you were on your way to meet him. in his own words, he’d ‘never seen you this scary before.’

in your defense, it was five minutes till lunch break so it was still working hours and you were acting the way you usually did at work - but you’d understand. the person you are with friends and the person you are at work are two separate entities. suppose you’ve mastered separating personal business and work. namjoon seems to take pleasure in making that steadfast side of you squirm and blush like a tomato.

your fingerpads gently grazes the back of his hand as you hold the fork in place before taking it in your mouth. your eyes flit over namjoon’s for the briefest moment before taking a step back, licking the residue of souffle off your lips.

“they really are nice.” you murmur as you throw your gaze at the stage where a man sits at the piano before flickering back to namjoon.

you wonder why he’s so quiet all of a sudden -

the man in question still has the empty fork in the air, eyes wide and staring at you, you would’ve thought he’d seen a ghost. until you notice the dust of pink across his cheek and spread to the tip of his ears.

oh?

mrs. kim’s fundraiser is held at the school where the children attended. about four canopies were set up on the field. one for the children’s activities - you remember reading something about coloring, origami-making and storybook reading. the volunteers - possibly college students hoping to earn the graces of kimcorp’s president’s wife for an internship - already have the children huddled up in groups of three or four.

one canopy is specifically set up for a table of wide range of food - if there’s anything you like about these functions, it’s the abundance of food they never fail to prepare. as if spending a lot of money on a fundraising event is something to flex about.

the other two canopies are for the people of interest - acquaintances of mrs. kim and those who come with an ulterior motive be it to get sponsors for their own project, a business deal or simply to regain a higher social hierarchy by falling into your mother-in-law’s graces.

you press a light kiss on namjoon’s cheek before he’s whisked away by the second category. business men who jump at the sight of your ceo husband who got a fair warning from mrs. kim to “play nice. what’s gotten into you all of a sudden? these days i keep hearing things about you turning chairmen down! your father didn’t work this hard just to raise a stuck up son that could ruin his business in a matter of days.”

once you’ve had a slice of red velvet and tiny macaroons, you decide to hide yourself from the few people who try to do the same to you when namjoon is too preoccupied by the ones who claimed his attention first. just like preys on the top of the pyramid sinking its claws, the lower level preys couldn’t come close.

but one manages to follow you into one of the classrooms.

“nothing’s changed has it?’ yoongi stands in the doorway, tuxedo and brown loafers and all. hands tucked into both his pockets, he strides across the room and stops in front of the window that overlooks the light pink canopies and the people underneath them. “same old assholes using a charitable cause to proliferate their influence.”

the muscles on your face pulls your lips into a disapproving frown, “that’s how our parents manage to give us an education. a good life.” you don’t agree to the way they go about it but you give credit where it’s due.

yoongi scoffs, his shoulders jolting slightly. you can’t see his face as he stands with his back on you but you know he’s smirking that condescending smirk. the first time you saw it was when you were in your senior year of high school and yoongi was doing his masters in business and accounting. he’d looked down on the man who approached the two of you like he was scum just because everyone knew his company was wallowing in debt and he’s desperate enough to ask the lion who hates the jungle for help.

“always finding a middle ground. if you like what they do so much, why did you become a doctor? why didn’t you follow their footsteps, huh?”

you can’t help but let out a tired sigh. you’ve been here before. you’ve seen this. yoongi hates the world he’s born in and you understand why but you can never feel what he feels. “why are you here, yoongi? shouldn’t you be with naeun?” there’s a pause. a heartbeat before you decide to let yourself free. say what you want to say. “before the wolves get to her.”

“she’s fine.” it's almost offensive how haughty he sounds. he must either be aware of nauen’s innocence that makes the wolves eliminate the possibility of her being a threat or he just doesn’t care. the latter presumption makes your stomach churn.

did he also not care about you when you were together? when you went to these events as a couple?

“we should head back. it would be bad if anyone saw us alone like this even though we’re just talking.” and that’s that. you turn on your heels, making way to the door but before you can even take another step forward, lithe fingers wrap around your wrist.

“what?” it comes out harsher than you intend it. funny how you put on a face of a woman made out of steel when your knees can barely hold your weight the moment you feel his warm hand on your skin.

“i knew - i knew but i didn’t want to tie you down.” with his head lowered and his long hair, you can’t see his eyes for an idea of what he’s saying.

“yoongi, what-”

“i knew how you felt.” at that moment, his grip on you loosens. it’s almost as though it’s an overdue confession and the weight on his shoulders has finally lifted, “you only knew me - you turned down every boy that tried to ask you out in high school and college. you -you were only looking at me and i didn’t want that on my shoulders - i didn’t want you to turn down every opportunity to life - to dating, to heart break to - to sex with someone - several someone’s just because we were engaged.”

his fingers traces down your index finger before falling away. but you won’t tell him - you can never do it to namjoon - that it took all of you not to twine your fingers with his just because it felt like he was letting go.

your breath hitches in your throat when you turn your cheek towards him. the sight before you is something you’d never thought you’d see in your entire life. yoongi’s pink dusts his otherwise snowflake skin. the bored expression he usually wears is gone - almost as if he’s never worn it his entire life as something akin to desperation pools in those dark eyes. his soft pink lips are agape as though he wants to say something. and you wait, wait, wait but he never does.

so you turn your back on him, heels clicking against the ground as you slip past the door without a word. only when you’re at the end of the hallway, do you turn the corner, back pressed against the wall because your buckling legs might not be able to handle your weight.

those unsaid words - you can hear them clearly: i fucking regret letting you go.

the following week, you spend by drowning yourself in work and later working on your research until the library closes. by the time you’re pressing the 20th floor to the penthouse you both shared, you know for certain namjoon’s gone to bed. he values his sleep time. says it’s essential to keep himself in a good mood so others who work with him would be at ease. sometimes you want to tell him it’s okay not to think about others for once but the words lay buried the depth of your heart because you’re exactly like him. suppressing your feelings, smiling and saying you’re okay even though you’re not. the only difference is there’s a side of you that wants to lash out, do something worse to those who hurt you while namjoon does it from the good of his heart.

“it’s hard, being nice.” he says in between the clink of the stirring of the spoon in his coffee mug.

you look up from the peanut butter you’re spreading over your toast. “hm?”

he shakes his head, as if to say it’s nothing, i’m just thinking out loud. but the words he says next is enough to make your heart drop right to the ground. “yoongi told me.”

“wh-what?” it’s denial in your tone - the combination of those three words are simple enough to take you back to the school nine days ago. in side that little classroom.

“yesterday. he came over to the office.” he shrugs as if it’s no big deal but the tensed line of his shoulders is apparent no matter how casually he brings the mug to his smiling lips - that too. his lips are smiling but his eyes are not.

you don’t know when or how you started noticing the little things. sensing namjoon’s moods - his reactions and his retractions. you never realized you were so in tune with the things he does. all you realize is you’re already able to read him like a book - thick, best-leather book that was safeguarded by a lock.

“namjoon,” the clink of the butter knife being set on your plate resonates like a pin drop in a vacuum room, “nothing happened. i promise.”

“i know - i know you’d never do anything like that so that’s why i’m telling you it’s okay.” something in the way he looks at you make you bite your tongue - as if he’s asking you to listen even though you’re bursting at the seams. you’d do anything to prove that nothing happened even though you knew he knew. “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

he chuckles but it’s strained and tense, dumping the coffee into the sink because he couldn’t bear to stay in the kitchen any longer. you slip out of the high stool, feet padding around the counter and before you know it, your arms around his body. you feel him freeze under your touch and this is wrong - wrong on so many levels because he would have asked if he could touch you and you’re not reflecting the same amount of respect he had for you.

but for some reason, you can’t let go - you’re afraid if you let him walk out of the door, you’d never be able to grasp even a shadow of his existence.

“i don’t want to.” the words are muffled from your cheek pressing against his back.

a pause lapses between you when you don’t say anything else. no explanation. no reason. because you don’t know it yourself. you don’t know why your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of namjoon’s dismal smile. you don’t know why you acted on your instincts and hugged the man.

you don’t know.

“okay.” he sighs softly as a warm palm rests above your fisted hand. you wish you can see him - wish you can see what kind of expression he’s making because it’s killing you to not know what he’s thinking. “you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

that’s when the sniffle escapes you. internally, you curse yourself for being so emotion-driven. it’s not a good trait for a doctor to have.

namjoon calls your name. the syllabus rolling off his tongue makes your stomach churn with butterflies. “are you crying?”

you don’t expect him to say that. don’t expect the teasing undertone either. naturally, your respond comes a heartbeat later, “n-no.”

the body under your touch shifts. all of a sudden, you’re eye-to-eye with him. there’s a sparkle in them that almost makes you forget how to breathe. his dimples dig into his cheek as his lips curl into a smile whilst his large hands frames you face.

“wh-what?” you feel your brows furrowing, lips pursed.

“you’re too cute.” his thumb grazes your burning cheekbone feather light, “i want to kiss you.”

“then do it.” you don’t know the reason behind that angry, pressed tone but namjoon doesn’t seem to mind - or he knows something you don’t.

you don’t have the time to ponder on that when a pair of lush lips meshes with yours. the scent of the coffee he had engulfs your senses as one hand finds its way to the back of his neck and the other rests on his accelerating heartbeat. time seems to stop when namjoon’s kissing you. somewhere in the back of your mind, you distinctly remember something perpetually important but you couldn’t be bothered as his hands fall away from your face and finds the dip of your lower back and pull you closer until your bodies are pressed together.

somewhere in a distant, you hear the beep of the front door. hoseok’s voice booming across the hallway that leads to the living room and the kitchen where you’re at now.

“namjoon? you here? did you oversleep? man, i never thought i’d see the day our ceo is late to work.” hoseok’s footsteps stops at the end of the hallway, “oh great, you’re all dressed.”

he blinks, surprised at the sight of his boss who’s leaning against the edge of the sink - hands pressed on either side of the edge, doing absolutely nothing while you dip a butter knife into a jar of peanut butter and jelly but equally as out-of-it as his boss appear to be.

“y-yeah, let me grab my blazer.” namjoon pushes himself off, going around the counter and heading towards the stairs where his bedroom is until -

“it’s here.” hoseok points out.

“what?”

“your blazer. it’s this one, right?” the secretary loyally scoops up the thick maroon blazer off the couch and hands it to his boss who’s just barely recovered from what seems to be a trance.

he’d went down and tossed the blazer on the couch before making his coffee - before the kiss.

namjoon clears his throat, refusing to look at the man’s scrutinizing eyes as he thanks him and slips the blazer on. but he loses those eyes when he peeks over the man’s shoulder, mini-waving at you, “hey, morning, doc.”

you return the greeting, refraining a blush as you feel the ghost of namjoon’s lips when you fix his secretary a smile, “hey, hoseok. care to join us for breakfast?”

the man shrugs, eyes flitting over his boss who now seems ready to go, “thanks doc but i had some cereal and cold milk.”

he bids his farewell and escapes out of where he came from, letting the two of do what newly weds do before the other goes to work. it’s in that moment that he realizes with a chill running down his spine as he sat in the driver seat - that namjoon isn’t a bachelor anymore and he couldn’t come and go as he pleases and that he might have interrupted something. come to think of it, both you and namjoon’s cheeks were flushed...

“h-hey boss,” hoseok steals a glance of the man at the backseat through the rear view mirror. he almost chokes on his next words when the man’s eyes meet him but he persists like a man on a mission to not get fired , “y-you know, i’ve been with kimcorp. f-for a long time. i-it’s like my family a-and i’ll work harder from now on.”

confusion flashes across namjoon’s features for the briefest moment. he doesn’t know what makes hoseok say something so out of his character and shakily at that but it’s not the first time that his employee’s said something like this to him - of course, minus the stutter and all.

“that’s good to know, hoseok.” he says simply.

it’s been a week since you told namjoon you didn’t - wouldn’t see anyone. yoongi or not. when you told him you were going to meet yoongi at a cafe near his studio to give the man an answer - a hard no, there’s still some needling doubt in namjoon’s gaze as he reverts his eyes away from you. as though he was afraid that the illusion would fade away and he’d end up catching the smolder of passion he’d always seen you look at the man with.

he’s not lost to your feelings - in hindsight, it was pathetically obvious how smitten you were for the elder man. even your and his parents could see. and they’d foreseen many things but not having to plead and then beg and then finally, force you into a marriage you didn’t want with the brother of the man you loved.

your only regret was leaving without kissing namjoon goodbye - but it also felt like anything you said, any sort of assurance you offered would just be an act. until you tell his brother to stop.

“come to think of it,” you set the warm cup of latte down. it would have tasted better if the circumstances were different, “we never properly ended things. the only way i knew the engagement was over was through mom and dad.” his parents you meant.

he tilts his head to the side as a response - an indication that he’s listening. he’s dressed in plain white shirt and the darkest jeans. the bags under his eyes is an indication that he hasn’t slept in days - either it’s because of working late nights trying to make music or because of what he’d said to you.

you know he’d do this - detach himself from reality when things gets tough or when he’s stuck in a situation he doesn’t have control over. but you still had hope. still held onto the past seven years you’d spent together for him to regard you with enough respect to offer closure.

“do you love naeun that much?” and yet you still ask.

you meet his hollow gaze, not knowing the intensity yours hold until your fingerpads wrapped around aches and he lets out a heavy breath.

“she was different.” he says simply - almost tiredly, “she caught my eyes. we started talking and we found out we had some things in common. i thought she’s what i needed to get over you.”

“don’t.” the churning starts from your stomach and spreads across your body like a poisonous fog. “don’t use me as an excuse for leaving. you loved me as much as i loved you and you got scared.”

a lump forms in your throat as the memories, the inside jokes that built up over time, the comfortable silents spent - everything comes crashing in like tidal wave. you knew he loved you deep down. that was why the news of him getting married took a toll on you - so much so, you decided to leave everything behind and fly to paris.

“you could’ve pushed me away if you truly had no feelings for me but you kept me around and let me think we were going to have a happy future together.” his image is distorted from the prickles of tears in your eyes but you blink them away, “but you didn’t really know you were in love with me back then, huh? that’s why you got scared shitless and decided to leave.” you’re not sure if you’re choking on your words or if you’re actually scoffing. maybe both.

in that moment, you watch as yoongi’s expression switches from that signature boredom to realization and finally unbridled sorrow. he must feel suffocated - like he’s drowning in emotions the way you did in that suite you spent for two weeks in paris before you decided to buy an apartment and stay for good. and you would have if your parents didn’t call you back - recounted all their sacrifices for you to make you guilty enough to agree to the marriage with his younger brother. he’ll spend the same amount of time sleeping and waking up in his room and realizing he can’t turn back time.

“i fucked up big time, didn’t i?” he laughs dryly as he presses his palm to his face, hunched over the minute round table.

the latte is still half-full when you swipe your phone off the table and stand up. he doesn’t spare you a glance - he probably couldn’t bring himself to face you now.

‘you’re a fucking coward min yoongi.’ is what you want to say but for some reason, you leave the words to die on the tip of your tongue. you won’t - can’t wish him a happy life and propose to put everything past you. it’s not that simple and you’re not that forgiving. but namjoon’s easy smile flashes at the back of your head at this moment of all time and makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. their relationship is already strained and if you insist on prolonging this, it’s only going to end up hurting namjoon one way or another and the cycle will just keep going on with naeun getting hurt if she found out.

“you did.” your hand is trembling around the strap of your bag, “but it’s all in the past and i don’t blame you. things wouldn’t turn out the way they do otherwise. so just... live for the present, yoongi.”

his shoulders rise and fall a little faster than normal but there’s nothing you can do - and it’s better if you leave him to collect his thoughts. the censor at the door beeps as you pass through. it takes a moment for you to feel the morning air brush your cheeks and sunlight to seep into you. your chest still feels tight but in due time, you know it’ll lighten.

“hey, boss. you have a special guest.” hoseok peeks into namjoon’s office like the slyboots he is. the wiggle of the man’s brows before he disappears gives namjoon all the more reason to prepare for the worse.

“send them in.” he sighs, not bothering to hide his feelings in front of hoseok. they’ve been working side by side for a long time and friends for longer he knows his friend is aware of the contrasting definition of ‘special’ but this once, as he sees you walk through the door - he admits that him and hoseok may finally be of the same mind.

namjoon shoots up from his seat, clearing his throat and buttoning his blazer together the way he’s so used to doing it when he receives an unannounced visit from his father. “what brings you here?”

instead of shooting him one of your brilliant smiles, you drop your bag on the crisp white leather couch and run right into him. arms wrapped around his torso, he can smell your favorite floral shampoo from your hair but he can’t bring himself to hug you back. his heart is palpitating inside his chest and he can only pray for some miracle that you can’t hear it. which is most unlikely what with your head coming up just a few centimeters above his shoulder line and your ears being the same height as the beating organ in his chest.

if you notice, you're not saying anything about it.

“i met yoongi just now.”

namjoon doesn’t say a word for the longest time - it’s so namjoon of him not to. but it’s also not where you stand now. that day, when you partially admitted to liking namjoon and you’re pretty sure he felt the same - you’d seen a side of namjoon you never thought you’d saw. vulnerable. fearful. all because he thought he was going to lose you - and it felt like he’s always been prepared for it. it was just a matter of time.

the muscles in your arms contracts at the thought of namjoon being so ready to let you go - is it like that too, right now? is he expecting you to go back on your words and tell him you’re going to have an affair with his brother? you don’t know and that’s driving you insane.

and just when the muscles in your arm contract, just when you’re about to pull away, namjoon’s arms band around your body and a kiss lands on top of your head.

“did you tell him what you wanted to tell him all this time?” his voice is velvet and smooth and you can hear that easy smile as he speaks.

you nod against his chest. “it’s over. i told him to get lost.”

the chest vibrates against your cheek as rings of chuckles tumble out of namjoon’s mouth. it makes your body light up with a sort of fire. and for once, you welcome the heat spreading across your cheeks like an old friend.

he knows the last part is a bluff - it’s comforting that he knows without having you say it.

does he also know...

“after that i came here because i wanted to see you.” you crane your neck to look up at him.

true enough there’s that smile and gets wider when he meets your gaze. a hand comes to rest on your neck while his thumb grazes your chin as he presses his lips to yours. you think your heart might explode at any moment now as you kiss him back, your hand snaking to his shoulder but he stops your right hand, holding it on his chest. his heart beats the same rhythm as yours. his shoulder line heaving the same way yours do when the back of your thighs hit the couch and you finally break apart. but before you have the chance to gather your thoughts, his lips are on you again. the hand on your lower back pulling you closer until your thighs press on either side of his legs.

“let’s go home now.” he murmurs between breaths, “i might really go crazy if i touch another part of your body that’s covered in clothing.”

it’s in that moment that the door swings open.

hoseok bursts through the door with the photostatted files in his hand. there’s a skip in his step.

“hey boss! here’s the files you asked for.”

he looks between you - well your back - and namjoon. the ceo is fixing his tie with a hard expression while you’re standing facing the ceiling-to-floor window that overlooks the streets and several stores in the area.

d-did he just walk into you two fighting?

“thanks, hoseok.” namjoon swipes the files from his hand, walking back to his seat around the desk and dropping the files with a sharp pap!

“n-no problem boss.” he takes one frightened step backwards before turning around but before he manages to escape the lion’s den, you stop him.

“hoseok wait.” it comes out a bit rushed. granted, you’re not in any position to waste time. you dropped by even though you know you can’t afford being late to work but somehow you ended up at namjoon’s office anyway. the secretary seems to physically turn into a rock before shakily turn his cheek to you with a smile.

“uh, yeah doc?”

“namjoon, do you mind me borrowing hoseok for a bit?” the heat comes on full force as you turn to namjoon. he’s burning a hole through the files he’s flipping through but you don’t miss the pinked tips of his ears and the way his adam’s apple bobs at the sound of his name on your tongue, “my shift is starting at noon so i need to be there by,” you check the watch on your wrist, “now.”

the way namjoon doesn’t even look up from flipping the papers is how hoseok know for sure you’re fighting. “sure thing. oh and hoseok, no detours. come straight back once you drop ___ off.”

but to you, it’s because he’s flustered beyond imagination - you know, like you know how he’ll condemn himself for not being able to control himself like that. your whole body heats up as you slip into the back seat when the image of namjoon’s hooded eyes, reddened cheeks and half agape lips flash at the back of his mind. a part of you - the reasonable one - chides yourself for even thinking about ditching work and actually going home with him but another part wishes to indulge in the endless possibilities of what will happen if you did.

“____,” your name tumbles out of namjoon’s mouth in a breathy huff. naturally so. he hasn’t even caught his breath from when he finds you crawling over him like a woman in on a mission. now, the same exact woman his cuffing his wrists and holding them over his head with one hand while the other is undoing the buttons of his shirt while she kisses him in all the right places.

“wh-where did you even get cuffs?” his headboard is one of those pristine white cushioned ones meaning there isn’t any rails for you to hook him on and keep him in place. but you don’t need that because namjoon can barely move - all that time he spends at the gym has gone down the drain as invisible threads tie him down.

“oh these?” you let one corner of your lips tug deviously. it’s been six months since you got married and you and namjoon has never gone past the occasional cuddles and light kisses. the morning after that day when you dropped by his office after meeting yoongi, namjoon had declared his intentions to ‘do it right’ - like dates and getting to know each other better before anything else.

it was sweet of him. until you realized you barely had time for dates - only late night conversations that ended up with you on top of him but before things could progress, he’d do everything he could to avoid bedroom affairs. but over time, it gets a bit discouraging. so this is the last straw - there’s no wine or champagne for him to use as an excuse to carry you to your room. you’re both sober, and if he doesn’t want you -

“never mind where i got these.” the low sound emitting from his throat makes your heart skip a beat as your lips brush against the shell of his ear, “don’t you want me, namjoon?”

trailing hisses down his smooth jawline, you let your lips hover over his - it only lasts for a heartbeat before he closes the distance and starts kisses you like a famine beast.

“i want you,” he confesses when you pull away just to reinforce your control. he may be the one lying down with his hands bound but it almost felt like you’re the hopeless one here - almost. the a feral glint in his eyes sends hot waves down your core - you have to tell yourself to breathe. “of course i fucking want you ___.”

you hum in contemplation - taking just enough time to sit straighter and let your fingers undo the rest of the buttons and stopping just above his belt. the few times you laid together and he lets you lie on top of him - you knew he was brains and brawn. but you didn’t expect a perfectly sculpted body of adonis himself to be lying beneath you. the ridges of his abs heaves helplessly as he drawn in deep breaths.

somewhere on the edge of the bed where you’d tossed it, your phone vibrates - someone’s calling but that can wait.

you lean down, soft tresses brushing his skin as you kiss that spot that illicit a delicious sound from him the first time you discovered it. somewhere in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

“fuck.” his voice is raw and desperate and carnal as his body yearns for you. his legs bent at the knees, feet ground into the bed as he grinds his hip into you - the signs of his arousal painfully obvious.

you can’t help but giggle at the way he so vehemently yearn for you. somewhere on the bed, your phone starts vibrating again.

“y-your phone.” he manages to stammer out. it’s the third time it’s vibrating.

“don’t worry about it. the only people who would call me at this time is jisoo’s drunken butt dial or the hospital-” you sit back up, heat still pooling in your stomach when your hips grind against namjoon’s arousal in the process but the urgency in the way you swipe your phone off the sheets has stolen your attention.

clear as day, it is one of the two possibilities you’ve mentioned and it isn’t your quirky colleague.

when you first started working, you were of the ripe age and eager to help those in need. you loved your job despite the long arduous hours, missed meals and ungodly hour roll calls because at the end of the day, it was what you wanted to do - it was the one thing you wouldn’t let your parents take away from you. you fought blood sweat and tears to get where you are now.

and doctors don’t usually start a family until they’ve at least finished their residency - but you had to get married early to keep your end of the bargain. of course, you didn’t expect to commit to said marriage. you didn’t also expect to fall for namjoon either. and you certainly didn’t expect for him to still be here in the waiting area when you walked out of the emergency operating room, head lulling to the side as sleep begins to take him, arms crossed over his chest. he didn’t even get the chance to change when you hurriedly uncoffed him, informing him about an emergency at the er. he’d offered to drive you since you couldn’t drive and waiting for an uber driver to accept your request this late at night would take more time. you’d rushed out of the car with a ‘thanks, namjoon. i owe you one!’ thinking he’d go home and get some rest - there’s no telling how long these surgeries take after all.

when he leans too far to the side, his eyes flutter open softly before noticing the turquoise-clad body in his periphery.

“___, you’re done? did the surgery go alright?” he’s always had a way of saying your name. it makes your heart warm and your chest full as he stands up to close the distance between you - to cup one side of your cheek with his hand. though your delayed response may have been the reason for that.

“the surgery was a success.” you finally say, your smaller hand covering his, lips curving softly. guilt creeps up the creeks of your chest but gratitude washes it away. it wouldn’t have been very namjoon of him if he didn’t consider everything: how you’d go home once you’re done. if there’s even any uber working this late of an hour. your heart is swelling - you don’t think you can ever love him more than you do now but namjoon being namjoon, he’ll make you fall in love with him more and more until your heart is filled to the brim, “thank you, namjoon.”

and he gets it. just like that. the words that you’re saying without putting them into words because there are many ways to say it and a plethora of intrepreting it but namjoon gets it because his heart beats the same rhythm as you: i love you.

a dimpled smile curls over his lips as he places a kiss over your forehead, “should we go home?” he leans down to whisper into your ears, his tone changing dangerously, “and pick up where we left off, yeah doc?”

3K notes · View notes

rina-writes · 4 years

Text

The Absolute Worst

Summary: You accompany your brother, a newly famous YouTuber, to the Dolans house for a collab. Through a series of misunderstandings, you determine that Ethan Dolan is the worst human being in the world. Luckily, the feelings are mutual. Much to your chagrin, because of a misstep on your part, you are now quarantining with Dolans for 14 days. Your only hope is to make it through the tension without it all blowing up in your face.

Warnings: Angsty in the beginning, then smut and then fluff towards the end. (Just in case this isn’t clear...single!Ethan)

You touched your face with disbelief as you stared up at Ethan Dolan’s smug face. You couldn’t believe that you had forgotten to put on your mask, and of all times now? Your face turned red hot as your hand dipped into your pocket to pull out the triple layered fabric mask. You slipped it behind each ear sheepishly, unable to meet Ethan’s eyes.

“What was that about my brother and I being socially irresponsible?” Ethan asked you, folding his arms. “I believe you went as far to say that we are terrible role models for our incredibly young fanbase.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know how he was staring at you. Besides glaring at him all day, you had followed the twins for a couple years. Ethan seemed to be a sweet guy, with his boyish look of large hazel eyes, tousled dark brown hair and rosy red cheeks. The behavior you saw today revealed him to be a complete douche bag.

For starters, when you first arrived with your brother, the boys were too busy to greet you. Something was so important on their phones that they could not tear themselves away. You and your brother watched them awkwardly in silence, wondering what to do. It was only when you cleared your throat did Grayson look up and introduce himself. He had to yell Ethan’s name and slap him on the shoulder to get Ethan to pay attention.

The boys gave you and your brother a tour of their estate, and Ethan lingered around his car to brag about it. As he drowned on and on about his Tesla, you looked at your brother with a worried expression. Your brother was younger than you, and quite impressionable. His most recent video recently gained popularity earning him a check from YouTube with more zeroes than anyone in your family had seen in their lifetime. Your entire family respected that it was your brother’s money, but everyone was praying he didn’t do anything foolish with it. Given the fact your brother could not even drive without a licensed driver accompanying him, you didn’t like the starry look in your brother’s eyes when Ethan bragged about the car. Your heart almost dropped to your stomach when your brother agreed and said, “I’m definitely buying a Tesla.”

“Y/b/n,” You said in a warning tone. “You should really focus on getting a place to live...”

“Lay off, Y/n.” Your brother whispered to you, harshly.

You were a bit taken aback. Your brother never spoke to you like that...at least not in public. You had a fairly good relationship, and he knew you meant well. You instantly blamed it on the fact he was trying to look cool in front of Ethan.

“If you need a place to live,” Grayson smiled, walking over to a navy blue wrapped van. “How about this nice van?”

You blinked slowly. Why on Earth would your teenage brother want a van?

“Is this the van from your cross country trip?!” Your brother yelled, running over to it.

“Oh hell no...” You said a little too loudly. The last thing you wanted was for your fanboy brother to get duped into buying a lemon. You put your hands on your hips. “And how much is this van, Mr. Dolan?”

Grayson’s eyebrows went up at the accusatory tone, and you saw Ethan’s shoulders square up behind his brother. You didn’t back down. Sure, they were large muscular dudes, but you weren’t a coward. At least...not when it came to your younger brother.

“It depends on how much you want to offer...” Grayson said, recovering from his shock with a soft smile.

“How much did you buy it for?” You asked, cutting off your brother before he could jump in.

“$75,000...” Ethan said, folding his arms as he walked forward. “But we’re selling it for 74, plus $100 since Grayson took the time to build it up nicely.”

You gulped. You glanced at your brother who had fallen silent. That was more than what was in his bank account at the moment. You definitely couldn’t afford that.

“It’s less than the Tesla...” Grayson offered with a soft laugh.

You watched as your brother’s eyes widened, followed by the slump of his shoulders. You sighed. Great, now your brother felt like a loser because he couldn’t afford these fancy cars.

“If you’re done flaunting, it would be nice to start the video.” You rolled your eyes.

“Y/n...” Your brother frowned. “Don’t be rude.”

Your jaw dropped behind your mask as you looked at your brother with shock. You were being rude? They were the ones making your brother feel inferior!

“No, Miss Y/l/n is right.” Ethan said, walking past you to the tiny shed where they were going to film the video. “We should get this show on the road.”

You knew he was making fun of you for calling Grayson Mr. Dolan, but you didn’t care. The faster you could get out of this house, the better.

Just as you were getting started filming, Ethan got a call. He left to answer it, but then ran back in with haste.

“Gray, we gotta go! The interview has been moved up to this afternoon.” Ethan announced.

“Wait, what?” Grayson asked, looking at his watch. “What time?”

“4pm.” Ethan answered.

“Damn...” Grayson stood up. “We need to leave now if we’re gonna make it. Sorry, man. Can we take a rain check?” Grayson looked at your brother sumpathetically.

Your brother nodded, disappointed, but he clearly understood. You, however, did not.

“How do they move up an interview last minute?” You asked.

Ethan frowned. “It was a mistake made by my assistant. She mixed up the dates.”

“I thought you said it was moved up?” You questioned.

“I didn’t think I needed to give the gory details.” Ethan groaned. “Honestly, I don’t have time for this.”

“Well, sorry!” You put your hands up in defense. “Excuse the fact that we don’t actually live around here and had to taken an Uber 2 hours to get here. The least you could do was make our time worth it. But no, go to your interview.”

“Y/n...” Your brother whined. “...it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!” You argued, looking at your brother. You could feel your face soften when you saw the embarrassment in his eyes. You felt like your mother humiliating him in front of his classmates.

“Sorry...I’m not myself today.” You said, more to the boys than to your brother. “Let’s reschedule.”

“No...” Ethan said, clearly a mix of annoyed and amused, “Come with us to the interview and we will finish filming after. It’s not like we need daylight or anything. Does that work for you, Miss Y/l/n?”

You looked at your brother who nodded, so you nodded as well.

You rode in the Tesla to the studio where the interview was taking place. Your brother was texting you and you did your best to not let your annoyance show on your face.

Y/b/n: Can you stop being so mean? What’s up with you??

Y/n: ME???? I’m not the one treating people like second class citizens. They are such jerks.

Y/b/n: Why because they have nice cars? Because they have busy schedules?

Y/n: Because they are PHONY. How do ignore to people sitting right in front of you? How do you claim to be down to Earth and sell a teenager a $74k van?

Y/b/n: Can you just stop? You’re blowing it out of proportion.

You sat back in the seat with pursued lips as you looked out the window. Your brother did the same, looking the other way. You knew the conversation was over for awhile.

You watched from the sidelines as the twins did their interview, scoffing every now and then. You would occasionally see Ethan looking at you and you did nothing to hide your disdain. He didn’t say anything about it until your drove back to the house. Now around 7pm, Grayson offered to pick up food for you all to eat. Your brother volunteered to go with him and before you knew what was happening, you were left alone with Ethan Dolan in his kitchen.

“What was so funny during the interview?” Ethan asked, his eyes dark and his jaw set. His hands were on the counter top supporting his weight as he looked at you. His blue medical mask was tucked a bit under his nose, adding emphasis to the glare in his eyes.

“I just couldn’t get over how easily you lie.” You shook your head with a sarcastic laugh.

“Oh?” Ethan asked, quirking a brow. “When did I lie?”

“Well, for one thing, they complimented you on your manners, but little did they know how poorly you treated your guests today.” Your eyes narrowed.

“Huh, okay.” Ethan nodded slowly, his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. “But that’s a matter of opinion, no?”

“I don’t think...” Your voice faltered as you realized it really was. But who was he to tell someone that they should not feel upset about how he treated them?

“Please, continue.” Ethan folded his arms on the counter, lifting one up to rest his cheek on his palm. “This is fun.”

‘What a condescending prick.’ You thought.

“Fine.” You humored him. “How about the fact that you claimed to be observing the covid procedures, but the first time I saw you whip on a mask today was right before we walked in to the studio. Not to mention the countless times we see you online around people without a mask.”

“I stood six feet apart from you until we were in the car.” Ethan said, defensively.

“Sure, fine.” You agreed. “But what about the second point? You should take responsibility to at least quarantine with people if you are going to be regularly collaborating.”

“Am I supposed to quarantine with every single person I am less than six feet away from without a mask?” Ethan asked with a smirk.

“Yes!” You said, incredulously. “Have you been ignoring the news?”

“So, are you saying that you do?” Ethan asked. “Little miss perfect?”

You rose your head proudly. “Yes, I do.”

When Ethan didn’t say anything you stood up taller and continued. “I can’t tell you how to treat others, but I think you are being socially irresponsible to not at least adhere to the health rules set by the state of California. Most of your fanbase is incredibly young and you are setting a poor example for them.”

“I see.” Ethan leaned over the counter to touch your hand. “This is about 3 feet.”

He looked up at your through his long lashes with a bright, mischievous grin. “You, young lady, have forgotten to put on your mask. What does that make of you?”

Which leads us to where we first started. As you recalled the fact that had put your mask in your pocket when you guzzled water from your water bottle, you suddenly realized in the confusion of ordering dinner, you forgot to put it back on. Ethan who was now standing on the same side of the counter as you from six feet away, stood there mockingly.

“Ethan...” You started, as you put on your mask.

“Oh, I don’t get a Mr. Dolan?” Ethan tsked. “How rude.”

Your stomach turned. You wanted to vomit. The thought of apologizing to Ethan Dolan revolted you. You met his eyes, putting on a false air of confidence.

“I was wrong. While I try to consistently follow the rules, even I can make mistakes.” You didn’t say sorry, but you hoped it would be counted as an apology nonetheless.

“So,” Ethan smirked walking a step closer. “By your rules, and the rules of the state of California, doesn’t that mean that we should quarantine together?”

You felt face flush and your eyes go wide. You stammered your reply. “Of course not! I have to self-isolate myself, but why on Earth do we have to do it together?”

“Am I supposed to believe you can self-isolate at home?” Ethan asked.

You looked down. You couldn’t. You and your brother were currently staying with a few friends while you tried to find a place of his own. It would be, to use your own words, socially irresponsible, to go back to a friend’s place without taking the proper safety precautions.

“Grayson and I are actually staying at an Airbnb. As you can see, our house is currently under construction” Ethan gestured to the tarp on some of the furniture. “We have a spare guest room for you and your brother. You can stay there, we can film a few videos with your brother, and you can make sure everyone is safe.”

“I--”

Before you could respond, the door opened. Grayson and your brother walked in with a feast of food for you all to share. They instantly recognized the tension between you two and Grayson looked to Ethan for an explanation. With the largest, phoniest smile you had ever seen, Ethan declared, “Y/n and Y/b/n will be staying with us!”

“What?” Your brother and Grayson asked in unison.

“I’ll explain .” You told your brother as you walked over to him. You started to push him toward the front of the house to speak to him privately. You turned around to look at Ethan and said,

“We will not be imposing on you for free.” You said, sternly. “We can talk finances after I talk to my brother.”

It was your fifth day staying with the Dolans and it felt like an eternity. You decided on paying $500 for your two week stay, far cheaper than any place in California would request for two people. To make up for it, you offered to do some of the cooking and most of the cleaning. Since you were able to work online, you would use your lunch break and after work to prep the meals.

Food was the only thing you and Ethan could agree on. He would compliment your meals, as he could only really make breakfast. You were grateful for the times he would present you with pancakes while you worked.

Outside of food, you bickered all the time. You didn’t like his attitude, his unsolicited advice, and cocky smirk. He apparently didn’t like your temper and your over-protectiveness of your brother that caused you to butt into conversations that did not concern you. On the other hand, Grayson and your brother got along quite well. They frequently worked out together and went surfing together. It was the most happy you had seen your brother since he moved to LA. You still wanted to leave the Dolans, but you hoped that Grayson would still be a good friend to your brother after you both had left their residence.

After all, you had no intentions of staying in Los Angeles forever. Unlike your brother, there was nothing drawing you to the city. It was one of the reasons you were being so harsh on your brother. If he was going to be out here alone, he needed to be taught how to spot those who had his best interest at heart. There was no doubt in your mind that Ethan Dolan could not care less about anyone but himself and his brother. He was the absolute worst.

It was Saturday and thus your brother and Grayson went to surf. You were surprised when you emerged in the kitchen to see Ethan cooking pancakes. You assumed you were in the house alone.

“Why aren’t you surfing with them?” You asked, standing in the doorway.

“Yes, good morning Miss Y/l/n. I am doing well, thank you for asking.” Ethan remarked, not looking up from the frying pan he was coating with coconut oil. “For your information, I don’t like surfing.”

“Oh.” You shrugged, opening the fridge. As you pulled out the water bottle you had chilling overnight, you felt Ethan’s eyes on you.

You became incredibly aware that you were wearing a night set that was in the luggage your friend dropped off the first night of your stay. Since you thought you were alone you didn’t bother to change, but now you felt embarrassed. It was one of those cartoon print night sets with a tank top and matching shorts. The top was quite large so it covered the top half of the shorts, but the shorts were small and didn’t cover much of your behind. It looked a bit ridiculous, but it was surprisingly comfortable.

“Cute set.” Ethan commented.

You turned to look at him, expecting to see some kind of tease in his eyes, but you didn’t. He was staring at you almost blankly, as if he was waiting for your reaction.

“Thanks.” You said, sipping your water bottle.

Ethan placed a small pancake on a plate and used the fork on the side to cut it. He blew on it gently, bringing your attention to his full, pale pink lips. He walked over to you and held out the fork.

“Tell me what you think, new recipe.” He asked, cupping the fork as he brought it to you.

You removed the bottle from your mouth and opened your mouth to receive the pancake. Ethan’s hand rested on your chin and you blushed. You chewed slowly and put a thumbs up of approval. You covered your mouth before saying,

“It’s really good. Like you don’t need syrup or anything.” You reviewed.

Ethan’s eyes lit up and for a second, you saw the YouTuber you witnessed on the internet. He didn’t seem like the monster you had been arguing with the last few days.

“I”m glad you like it.” Ethan grinned. “You inspired me to try new things with your unique recipes.”

“Uh thanks...” You said, the right side of your body leaning on the counter.

You watched him cook in silence, before realizing you could help by doing the dishes in sink. The sounds of pancakes cooking and the water hitting the dishes was the only thing that filled the room before Ethan broke the silence.

“Pancakes are done. Let’s eat ‘em while they’re hot.” Ethan suggested.

You turned off the water and dried your hands as Ethan put the plates on the table. You sat across from each other and began to eat. You usually didn’t eat together, as you were both usually working while eating. You noticed Ethan wincing without touching his food and you looked up.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“You chew really loudly.” Ethan said, annoyed. “I hate the sound of chewing.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You asked. “How am I supposed to eat without chewing?”

“You could chew less obnoxiously.” Ethan suggested.

“Or maybe you can stop being a little bitch and stop whining about stupid stuff.” You stabbed a piece of pancake and chewed it loudly.

“Real mature.” Ethan said, covering his ears backing away from the table.

You didn’t care. You followed him, chewing as loudly as you could, even into the living room. When you didn’t have any more left to chew, you continued to smack your lips.

“God, you’re so f*cking annoying.” Ethan yelled.

“I’m annoying?!” You repeated. “HA! You, Ethan Dolan, the most spoiled, self-righteous, arrogant person I have ever met. You are the absolute worst.”

You slammed your finger into his chest as you spoke. Ethan seized your hand quickly and your eyes widened.

“Why don’t you call me Mr. Dolan?” Ethan asked, a darkness in his voice.

“Because you don’t deserve my respect.” You said, you eyes wide with indignation.

Ethan chuckled. “Do you have a complex about me or something?” His grasp on your hand slipped to your wrist. “Cause it seems like you just want to f*ck me sometimes.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You scoffed, pulling your hand from him.

“Oh? Let’s find out.” Ethan said, cockily. Ethan leaned in, caressing your cheek gently making you freeze. You could feel your heart racing as your mind went back to how soft his lips looked. Your eyes danced upward to look at the ceiling. Your body seemed to move on it’s own toward him and you realized, you kinda did want to kiss him and punch him in the face at the same time. You resigned to the former and your eyes fluttered close. You waited, and nothing happened. You opened your eyes to see Ethan staring at you with a smug smirk.

“Hm, told ya.” Ethan said, backing up.

Tears stung your eyes with humiliation, and you bit down on your lower lip. “You’re such a f*cking asshole. I’ll say it again, you are the worst person on this whole planet. I can’t stand you.”

You turned to run back to your room. You were going to leave this place even if you had to live a tent for the next nine days.

Ethan lurched forward and grabbed you. Turning you in his arms, he cupped your face and kiss you deeply. You gripped his shoulders as his tongue slid expertly into your mouth and began to play with yours. As much as you wanted to resist, it felt really good. It was like something inside of you was put to rest and another part of you was coming alive. When your hands dropped from his shoulders, Ethan’s own hands went down to your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into the kiss, letting your tongue explore his mouth. Your tongues fought for dominance, but for once you didn’t care who won. Ethan’s hands gripped your backside and you let out a soft moan. You felt Ethan’s body tense and he suddenly scooped you up.

“Jump,” He commanded, breaking the kiss to do so.

You were still in a daze, as you stood on your tiptoes and your pelvis pressed into his.

Ethan lifted his hand to give your butt a smack. “Jump.”

You did and he carried you to the couch. He tossed you on top of it, admiring you from above. His hand reached out to grab one of your breasts, confirming his suspicion that you were not wearing a bra. You arched your back toward and he smirked at you.

“Does this mean you want me?” He asked, grinding his hips into yours.

“I can tell how much you want me.” You smirked back at him as his ever growing bulge pressed into your hips.

“I’m going to make you say my name...scream my name.” Ethan warned, slipping his hands under shirt to cup your breasts. “Just tell me you want it.”

“I’m not going to beg for it.” You arched you back as his thumbs circles your nipples, hardening them with ease.

He rested his head in the crook of your neck, still teasing your nipples and grinding into your hips. “God, I just need you to say it. I need you to say, you want me to f*ck you.”

There was something arousing about hearing him sound so needy yet so dominant in your ear that you succumbed.

“Please f*ck me, Mr. Ethan Dolan.” You practically moaned.

Ethan gave your neck a sloppy kiss, followed by a light suck earning a free sighs of pleasure from you. You tugged on his tank top and he leaned back to pull it off. He also took the liberty of raising your shirt to reveal the breasts he had slowly been making the acquaintance.

“God, these are beautiful.” He remarked making your blush. “Shame they belong to such a troublesome woman.”

“Hey--” You started to protest, but soon one of your nipples was between his lips and getting kitten licks from his tongue. You let out a loud moan as put your hand on the back of his head to hold him down. One of his hands was holding your back up while the other slipped past the crotch of your pants to tease your slit through your underwear.

You gasped and Ethan took the opportunity to kiss you again. This kiss was even hungrier than the first, his tongue desperate to taste every bit of you. Meanwhile, his middle finger was doing a great job of adding the right amount of friction to arouse you. Ethan smiled softly as he felt the dampness on his finger, taking it as an invitation to rub your folds without a a barrier.

“Ah, Ethan...” You moaned, as he slipped his middle finger inside of you while letting his thumb play with clit.

His mouth went to your other breast to give it the same attention as the previous one. His other hand tweaking the already hardened nipple to keep it aroused. Ethan relished your pleasure as you squirmed under him, moaning his name like it was the only word you could remember. He rewarded you by inserting his ring finger inside you as well. Your hips bucked and he chuckled at the sudden reaction.

Ethan let go released your nipple from his lips with a pop before commenting. “Someone is eager.”

“Let’s hope your dick doesn’t disappoint.” You said at him, with half open eyes.

“God, it’s like you like riling me up.” Ethan growled. “I can’t stand you.”

He pulled his hand out from inside of you and you couldn’t stop the whimper from leaving your lips. Either Ethan didn’t notice or he didn’t bother teasing you about it, because he didn’t make a remark. He pulled down your shorts and underwear in one motion. He admired your clit for a moment and you spread your legs teasingly.

“Wanna eat it?” You asked, biting down on your lower lip.

“You don’t deserve it.” He teased. “But, I’ll grace you with the pounding of a lifetime.”

Ethan pulled down his pants to his knees and did the same with his underwear. Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock: large, hard and proud, an audible gasp leaving your lips.

“I’m guessing it doesn’t disappoint.” Ethan smirked up at you.

“Just because you got the equipment, doesn’t mean you know how to use it.” You retorted.

Ethan leaned forward to hover directly over you. His eyes were controlled and filled with lust when he said, “We’ll see about that.”

You couldn’t think of a response and even Ethan was surprised he stunned you. He decided to take the opportunity to get you in the right position.

“Get on all fours.” He commanded, and he was shocked again to see you follow him so readily.

There was something alluring about seeing you with cartoon printed night shorts pooled at your knees and your shirt raised up your back to reveal your moist slit and perky butt eagerly waiting for him. He would never be able to look at that outfit the same.

He positioned himself at your entrance, rimming you to get his tip wet.

“Should have put that loud mouth of yours to use and get me all wet.”

“You don’t deserve it.” You retorted.

Ethan smirked, but his smirk turned to a loud moan when you pushed back on to his dick letting him penetrate you. He had to grip on to you to not fall on top of you in pleasure. If he wasn’t already on his knees, he would have dropped to them. You felt heavenly to him, so wet and tight, like you were made for each other.

Ethan snapped out of it quickly. He had to show you how good he was and not that he was only someone blessed with the right equipment. He pulled his hips back before slamming them roughly into you. You moaned out, but it wasn’t the kind of moan he was looking for. So, he did it again from another angle. This moan was a little closer, but not quite. He did it a few more times until he found the spot. The spot that made you scream his name from the top of his lungs.

“E-Ethan, oh Ethan, right there.” You moaned. “Please, Ethan, again...”

He did it again, just to make sure and you gripped the couch arm for balance. He continued to ram into you with the speed and strength to hit the same spot over and over again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you almost started drooling. You did your best to push back against him and he grunted each time you did in response.

“Ah, Ethan...I’m gonna...” You warned.

Ethan could feel you clenching around him. “Damn, already?” Ethan let out a chuckle. “It’s almost like I’m good at this or something.”

“Shut up, Dolan.” You growled.

“What was that?” He asked, slowing the rhythm of his hips.

“God, Mr. Dolan.” You relented pushing against him at the previous speed.

“Hmm” Ethan kept his dangerously slow pace. “I”ll give you what you want, only if you explain why you hate me so much.”

“What....” You whispered harshly.

Ethan’s hand slipped around you waist to massage your clit as he pumped into you even slower. Your head collided with the couch cushion as you groaned loudly.

“Why now?!” You yelled, mostly to yourself. Speaking was hard enough as he stimulated you, and it mostly came out in gasps. “I didn’t like the fact that you made my brother feel small, okay?”

You tried in vain to push back against him, but he was strong and controlled the pace. He did move a bit faster.

“I-I really didn’t mean to...” Ethan said, he also sounded out of breath. “...I guess I was kinda trying to impress you guys. But then you were being such a bitch.”

“Well, you had a shitty way of showing your interest.” You scoffed.

“And you have a bratty way of telling someone to be better.” Ethan retorted.

“Can you please just f*ck me now?” You begged. “Please, Ethan...I need it.”

“I thought you weren’t going to beg me...”

“ETHAN FOR GOD SAKE!” You yelled, making him laugh.

“Fine fine....” He said, as though he was doing a small favor and not plowing you on the couch in the living room.

He grabbed both your hips and slammed into you with an even faster speed. He pulled you down on to him, hitting you from a different angle while still managing to hit your spot each time. You leaned back, your back hitting chest and you bounced on top of him.

“Oh yeah....” Ethan groaned. “That’s it, baby...”

“Baby?” You asked.

Ethan pulled your head back to meet his eyes. “Look at those eyes, you’re mine now, baby girl. Don’t deny it...”

You couldn’t if you wanted to because he instantly bent down to kiss you, slipping his tongue into your mouth. While the action slowed down your ability to bounce on him, Ethan was some how able to continue pushing up into you; driving you to your climax. You weren’t sure if you would say you were his, but you were pretty damn sure this was going to be the best sex you’ve ever had.

As your orgasm rolled over you in waves, you shuddered as you felt Ethan pull out of you. With all the strength you could muster, you turned around and grabbed his dick to hold it steady for your waiting, open mouth. The sight alone made Ethan release and he watched as his seed hit your tongue. He held your head, entangling his fingers in your hair to keep you steady as you took in all of his following spurts. You looked up at him to meet his eyes, and Ethan swore the last spurt of cum was because of that alone.

“That was so freaking hot...” Ethan commented.

“I guess you deserved that.” You grinned, after swallowing the last of his seed while licking the reminisce off your lips.

“Well, now you’ve spoiled your breakfast.” Ethan teased.

“Only fair you spoil yours too.” You teased back. You leaned back on the couch opening your legs making Ethan chuckle before he obliged.

After making you orgasm again, you and Ethan awkwardly laid on your sides as you stared at each other.

“So...” Ethan said, slowly.

“So...” You mimicked, before continuing. “I’ll go first.”

“No, I will...” Ethan argued.

“Can we not argue for once?” You groaned.

“Fine...” Ethan sighed.

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions about you and Grayson. To be honest, I think I wanted to hate you a bit.” You admitted. “I was jealous of what you had achieved, not on my behalf, but my brother’s. I didn’t want him to get discouraged or worse, look up to you guys and become douchebags...no offense.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Ethan groaned. He absentmindedly rubbed circles on your cheek with the back of his hand. “I guess, me being rude when you first walked in was just my toxic habit of not being able to stop working. It was something related to the company and I wanted to just get it done. I’m working on improving and focusing less on work. But, the bragging, I didn’t mean to do it. I just become a bit preach-y sometimes.”

“I get it.” You smiled. “To be honest, I was kind of nitpicking these past few days. I never thought I would admit it out loud, but I kind of like it here...with you.”

“Well, I do give killer head...” Ethan teased, making you laugh.

“God, don’t start.” You pushed him lightly.

Ethan leaned in and kissed you softly, no tongue, just enjoying your lips again his. You stayed like that for awhile, giving each other little kissed before slowly sitting up.

“We should get dressed before Grayson and my brother get back.” You said, putting your clothes back on. “I think this would scar him for life.”

Ethan laughed. “You’re right. We should change...”

By the time Grayson and your brother came back in, you thought you covered up everything you both did. You were both in your usual lounge wear and finally eating the breakfast Ethan prepared, though you did have to reheat it.

“How was the surf?” You asked your brother as he washed his hands at the sink behind you.

“Good.” He grinned. He pointed between you and Ethan sitting across from each other. “You two become friends or something? You’re not arguing.”

“Oh, uh...I guess you could say that.” You said, blushing.

Ethan smirked, thinking about the multiple times you begged him earlier not to make any comments about your interaction to your brother. You weren’t sure if you and Ethan were going to be more than friends just yet, and you didn’t want your brother to know you banged guys so readily.

“Judging by the size of the hickey on her neck, I’m guessing they are a little bit more than friends right now...” Grayson remarked, emerging from the right side of the kitchen.

Your eyes went big as you stammered a response. You watched as your brother’s smile from his laughter at Grayson’s “joke” faded into shock as he saw the bruise on your neck. Your hand shot up to cover it, not helping your case at all. You looked at Ethan for help, but he was red as a tomato. For someone who talked a lot of smack he was just as awkward about this as you were.

“Oh my god...Y/N...I can’t believe you slept with one of my idols.” Your brother groaned, covering his face. “You are the absolute worst!”

#dolan twins #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins scenario #dolan twins smut #dolan twins fluff #dolan twins fanfic #ethan dolan #ethan dolan scenario #ethan dolan smut #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan x you #ethan dolan x y/n #r-writes-fic

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

Text

No Light, No Light (Claire’s Anthem)

A/N To recap where we’re at in the Metric Universe, Jamie and Claire are living separately while their building gets repaired after a fire. Jamie has confessed to loving Claire, and she hesitantly agreed to give a romantic relationship between them a chance. The dates have gone well. Really well. Maybe a bit too well... Rated M, because they deserve it after all I’ve put them through.

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The amazing song by Florence + The Machine (another guest artist!) that inspired the title and features in a few lines can be heard here: https://youtu.be/HGH-4jQZRcc

August 24, 2018, Scottish Highlands, Scotland

Outside the train, the landscape slid by in an emerald smear. It had been raining earlier, but as the sun dipped westward it broke from beneath the clouds, setting the greens afire. The view was violently beautiful, but Claire stared instead at her face, pensive and wan, reflected in the smudgy window. There was an almost laughable lack of connection between herself and the taciturn man to her left.

It hadn’t started out that way. After a near-idyllic summer dedicated to their mutual enjoyment of each other’s company, this trip to Scotland was meant a culmination of sorts. A validation that they were moving towards something momentous. A delineation between their past as friends and their future as... something more.

Jamie had first mentioned the idea in passing while they waited in line for a gelato in the shadow of the Gherkin on a hot July day.

“T’would be braw tae introduce ye to Lallybroch before ye return tae yer studies, Sassenach,” had been his exact words. Claire had learned to appreciate Jamie’s deft navigation of the shoals of her caution. An invitation to meet his family would have garnered an immediate negative response, but an invitation to his family home received an ambiguous hum.

Several weeks later, they were searching Netflix for a movie they could agree on while cat-sitting for Joe and Gayle. Said cat was lounging on the sofa cushions between them when Jamie casually raised the ante.

“Tomorrow I’ll be buyin’ my ticket home for the August bank holiday. The trains north will be packed, so I was thinkin’ I’d grab a second seat. Just in case, ye ken. T'is refundable, sae there’s no harm.”

By the end of the evening, the cat had fled the room, Claire’s shirt was down to its last button, Jamie’s summer tan couldn’t mask the flush of blood that raced beneath his skin, and the idea of spending a weekend away together sat like an unopened present on the closet shelf of their minds.

Last Monday, between her day shift and his graveyard, they had met for coffee to discuss the details of moving back into their flat.

“Jamie, my name is on this lease.” Claire set down her cup rather abruptly on the table, spilling a few hot drops over her fingers.

“Aye, tis. I asked the landlord tae include us both. Considering all the delays an’ the nuisance, tis the least they could do.” Pausing to hand her a napkin, he balanced his fingertips over her scalded knuckles. It’s yer flat too, Sassenach. No matter what.”

The gravity of the moment hung heavy in the air. Neither spoke for a while, letting the hum of ambient conversation dull the edges of their nerves. Claire slid an unsigned copy of the lease into her satchel.

“I, uh, I ken this mayna be the best time tae be bringing this up, but I’ll be away home come Thursday, back on Monday. There’s still a ticket in yer name, should ye wish tae come wi’ me.”

She looked at him then, so earnest and open and hopeful, the sunlight from the street burnishing his hair coppery-gold. He’d crept in like a thief, disturbing the tidy boxes of her life and leaving traces of his passage on her heart. A thief who gave instead of took, and whose only crime was to love without recompense.

“What would it mean, if I went to Scotland with you?” she asked quietly.

“It would mean everything to me,” he admitted.

That hadn’t been what she was asking, but it was her answer all the same.

The day before they were due to depart, Claire had been eating a late afternoon snack in the hospital cafeteria when a familiar tall form in running gear caught her eye. She couldn’t suppress the frisson of delight she felt as he made his way towards her table, a whiplash of appreciative female gazes following in his wake.

His infectious smile of greeting faltered and then disappeared as he caught sight of what she was reading.

Oh.

The monthly rental property magazine had been left behind on her table, but she’d be lying to say she was browsing it purely out of idle curiosity. The weight of seeing her name next to Jamie’s on their new lease had been pressing down on her since Monday.

On the one hand, it was a tremendous relief - no longer could the outcome of their courtship render her homeless - not that she could imagine Jamie ever being as cruel as Frank. But it also implied a commitment, a state of permanence between them, that quite frankly scared the shit out of her. And so she had been perusing her options, not with any serious intent, but because it gave her comfort to know they existed. Jamie had dropped by unannounced at the worst possible time.

A crowded cafeteria wasn’t the place to start making excuses, so after a stilted exchange about meeting the next day at Euston Station, Jamie departed, a small storm cloud of ire floating above his head.

By the time they met the following morning, that cloud had darkened to a gale, blowing all hope of casual conversation before it. Jamie’s disposition was generally sanguine, but when he put his mind to it he could glower like the Viking gods he resembled. It made for a silent journey.

“Ye can just go ahead and say it, Claire.” When it came, his voice was diminished by resignation.

“I’m curious what it is you want me to say,” she replied.

“That ye willna be moving back inta the flat next month. If that means we willna be seeing each other at all, well, I’d rather ye tell me before I go introducing ye tae my family as my girlfriend like a fool.”

When she turned to face this accusation, the first thing she noticed was the absence of light behind his typically radiant blue eyes. It neutralized the acid on her tongue.

“Those are awfully dire conclusions to be drawing from some rental adverts, my lad,” she quipped. Then, almost begging. “You promised to be patient with me.”

“Aye, I did. But ye also promised tae try, Claire. I canna help but feel that ye’re just marking time, waiting for me to fuck up badly enough that ye can say, well, that’s that then, another disappointment, and retreat tae yer solitude.”

It wasn’t far from the truth, although she’d never have stated it so baldly. As with every emotional conversation she had with Jamie, his words left her feeling naked and exposed. He saw her so well. She didn’t doubt the sincerity of his love for her, because what else kept a man coming back once all the ugliness was on display?

“I hear what you’re saying, Jamie. I think you know this isn’t easy for me. Just being here with you on this train, Christ. I almost called you twice this morning to say I wouldn’t be coming.”

“But ye didna. Why?”

“Because the only thing that scares me more than being with you,” her voice rose in pitch, “is being without you. I’m here, but it’s taking bloody everything I have. So please do not ask me for more,” she pleaded.

A strong arm wrapped around her shoulder and she came to nestle against him willingly.

“I would never ask ye for that, a ghraidh. I only want ye tae learn tae let go of yer fear, as it serves for nought. I learned that the hard way with my accident. T’wasn’t anything I earned nor deserved, but it happened nonetheless. We canna chose if we win or lose. We can only chose how we fight.”

She listened to his heart, steadily thumping beneath the muscles of his chest. To think, he could have been taken away before she came to know the dimensions of its strength. It sent a chill down her spine.

“I ne’er told ye, that first night we met a’ the pub, how ye reminded me of a fierce lioness. All golden eyed and imperious. An’ when I saw those same eyes, peering at me o’er a surgical mask the night of the blast, I understood I would live, because ye did. Ye’re a fighter, Sassenach. I kent it from the start.”

“God, Jamie, I was an utter shambles at the time,” she confessed. His faith in her was overwhelming.

“Aye. But ye were goin’ down swinging.”

***

Ian Murray, Jamie’s best friend and brother-in-law, met them at the train station in Inverness. As they navigated the country roads, his conversation with Jamie had the ease and teasing short-hand of timeworn friendship. Claire was content to sit quietly and listen, the inconclusive discussion on the train looming large in her peripheral vision.

It was well past dark as they arrived at Lallybroch, giving the structure an air of timelessness as yellow light bathed the courtyard from windows high above. The battered wooden entrance swung open to the welcoming chaos of barking dogs, children’s laughter and lilting Gaelic voices spilling into the night.

Claire hung back, pretending to help Ian with their bags as Jamie jogged forward to embrace a dark-haired woman who barely reached his shoulders, lifting a giggling toddler from her hip and high into the air. The dogs spun around his legs, practically tripping him as he tried to climb the stairs and answer his sister’s rapid fire questions all at once. Halting before the door, he handed his nephew over before Jenny disappeared inside, the dogs at her heels.

Feeling absurdly nervous, Claire mounted the stairs and accepted his outstretched hand.

“So, this is it?” she asked inanely.

“Aye, this is it. Welcome to my home, Sassenach.”

***

They’d eaten on the train, so after a hasty introduction to the rest of the family and a promise to become better acquainted over breakfast, Jamie and Claire headed upstairs. It occurred to her on the second landing that she had no idea where he expected her to sleep. Their status as temporary lodgers in other people’s homes back in London had made the question moot.

Visceral memories of their increasingly heated goodnight kisses caused Claire to trip on braided rug. Jamie turned as she was righting herself.

“Aye, well, here we are. The lavatory is jest across the hall. If ye need anything, the laird’s room is up these stairs.”

“The laird’s room? Wait, who’s the laird in this story?” she was momentarily distracted from her agitation by this unforeseen detail.

“Well, me. But dinna get any grand illusions. Tis only a leftover title from when Clan Fraser ruled o’er these parts before the Rising.”

Her mouth was moving before she fully considered her next words.

“And does that make me your lady?”

Instead of laughing off her glib comment as she hoped he would, Jamie’s face grew somber.

“Nah. Tha’ position is presently unfilled. In this house, the laird sleeps next tae his lady, always. G’night tae ye, Sassenach.” And with a soft kiss that barely ghosted her lips, Jamie retired to bed. Alone.

***

The next two days were a glimpse into a way of living whose existence Claire had previously discredited. Communal mealtimes, where each family member had an assigned role, from buttering the bread (Jamie’s three-year old nephew and namesake) to clearing the table (Ian, and by their second meal, Claire). Morning and evening chores that left the adults drowsy and smelling slightly of the chicken coop. Siblings bickering, slamming doors and then laughing about it by suppertime. Outings to local landmarks in the rain, a cheerful row of matching Wellingtons and wax cotton jackets tramping along well-worn paths. Visits to neighbours, carrying a Pyrex dish of some culinary offering and returning four hours later, stuffed to the gills and carrying a different Pyrex dish loaded with leftovers.

Seeing Jamie take his place at the centre of this family dynamic was a shock. She’d only ever known him in an urban setting, where he was one man among millions; noteworthy for his decency, his peculiar fondness for blood pudding, and because he was hers. At Lallybroch, he grew before her eyes, taking on new dimensions that challenged and teased her understanding of him.

This was his concept of home.

This was his template for love.

***

On Sunday afternoon, the clouds had lifted to reveal a robin’s egg sky. Claire accompanied Ian on a circuit of the upper pasture. A border collie named Jem bounded down the hill ahead of them. Ian was an easy companion, and they were mid-conversation about the impact of the Scots in the history of medicine when Claire pulled up short, words evaporating in her throat.

There in the hay field just below stood Jamie. Long rows of golden sheaves that had been cut the past week were now drying in the late summer sun. Armed with nothing but a pitchfork, Jamie had obviously been working for some time. He wore boots and loose trousers, but his shirt was long abandoned. Sweat glistened in the fine russet curls that covered his breastbone and over the sun-kissed curves of his shoulders. He was so beautiful, it hurt to breathe.

“He’s himself again,” Ian remarked. “It lightens my heart tae see it.”

Claire tore her eyes away from Jamie. Ian was watching her with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

“Well, he obviously loves being here, with his family...” she dodged.

Ian shook his head.

“Nah, t’isn’t that. Since his accident, he’s been... altered. Jamie was always the golden one, ye ken? Smart, strong, funny, kind. He wore it well, but it gives ye a sense of... invincibility, maybe? Tha’ blast ripped apart more than his back. I think it made him doubt who he is on the inside. Ye’ve helped him find tha’ man again, Claire, and for that we are in yer debt.”

She couldn’t look at Ian then, for fear that he would see just how much she wanted what he was saying to be the truth. To be essential to someone who meant so much to her, to be enough purely by being herself, it was more than her feelings could contain.

It was what Jamie had been trying to tell her all along.

***

The third stair between the guest room and the laird’s bedroom creaked, and Claire froze, eyes darting guiltily down the corridor to where Ian, Jenny and their children slept. Nothing stirred beyond the drumming of her heartbeat, so she crept the rest of the way, tapping quietly on the solid wood door.

Jamie’s voice was alert as he beckoned, “Come in, Jenny.” She clutched a thin sheaf of papers to her chest and entered the room. The only illumination came from the hearth, where a low fire still blazed. It cast its light on a large, masculine room, with deep blue wallpaper, heavy damask drapes and an immense four poster bed. Jamie sat up against the headboard, the glow from his iPad echoing in his downcast eyes.

“It’s not Jenny. It’s me,” she whispered.

With a visible flinch, the iPad fell to his lap.

“Claire...”

He stretched her name out like honey from a jar, trickling sweetly from his mouth.

She wanted to run. From this plush room, this welcoming home, this uninvited sanctuary of tenderness. Her legs quivered with the impulse. Instead, she plunged forward into the room, right to the edge of the bed, and thrust her offering towards Jamie, who followed her movements as though she was defusing a bomb.

“Whas’ this then?” he asked, peering down at the document.

“It’s our lease. I signed it. And faxed a copy to the landlord.”

There, she had done it. The pebble that would start the landslide. There was no turning back now, and it was pure relief.

Jamie was silent for so long, staring down at her signature, that she began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. When he looked up again, his eyes were glassy.

“Are ye sure, Sassenach?”

A drunken encounter in a pub. Agony radiating from his bright blue eyes on a hospital gurney. Her rain-soaked salvation. A roommate. A friend. His steady patience as they tentatively grew closer. And now something more, something bigger than she knew how to articulate, sneaking around the margins of her fear.

She wasn’t sure of much, but she was certain that Jamie’s love could never hurt. The rest, the panic that she could lose him or disappoint him, that was just the price of paradise.

Instead of answering the question directly, she walked around to the opposite side of the bed and gestured to the empty mattress beside Jamie’s long body.

“Is this place still vacant?”

His smile was radiant.

“For ye, Sassenach, always.”

***

It was like no other sex she’d ever experienced. Intimacy, up until then, had been a transaction, an exchange of debits. This was a cancellation of accounts, an obliteration of any mutual debt. They loved each other with the pure, mindless joy of a wave meeting the shore.

Which isn’t to say that it was perfect. It felt strange to touch Jamie in more than a friendly way. Not at all unpleasant, but strange. Like going to the theatre to see a well-loved play, and suddenly being thrust onto the stage. The hesitance behind Jamie’s touch told her he felt something similar.

In a particularly awkward moment, they were jostling and bumping to remove each other’s pajamas when her hair got caught in the buckle of his watch.

“Ouch!” she yelped. He pulled away, stammering apologies, which only made things worse. After a few failed attempts on Jamie’s part, she reached up and unclasped the watch band, giving him two hands to work with. By this point they were both giggling, the gravitas of the moment lost.

“Ye’ve a great deal of hair, mo nighean donn,” Jamie groused as he lay the offending watch on his nightstand.

“Complaining already, Fraser?”

“God, no. Ye’re... would it be sentimental tae say ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”

She was lying naked, but for a pair of skimpy knickers, the firelight caressing her limbs where they were splayed against the dark sheets. Jamie’s visual perusal of her body held a potent combination of lust and reverence that warmed her blood.

“I suppose I can tolerate a bit of sentimentality,” she conceded, rolling towards the bulwark of his naked chest. Her fingers played down the corduroy ripples of his flank.

“You’re beautiful too, Jamie.”

The mood in the room shifted again. Soon they pitching across the mattress, trying to touch in as many ways possible. Their skin grew slippery with sweat. At some point, underwear must have been removed, because she could feel the coarse abrasion of his pubic hair against her thigh, alongside the tensile ridge of his erection.

“Claire,” he gasped as their hips ground together in frenzied pulses. “If ye dinna want me tae go any further, I need ye tae tell me now.”

She reached between them, taking the heft of him in her palm, feeling a spasm of need shudder through his frame.

“There’s nothing about you that I do not want, James Fraser.”

A cavernous groan, a frantic search for a condom in the bedside drawer, the tearing of a foil wrapper, and then a breathless hesitation. She opened her eyes to see Jamie looking down as though she was the morning sun. There was nothing left inside her but dazzling hunger, filling the spaces where her fear once resided.

Here was the start.

#my writing #outlander

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yetanotherreader · 4 years

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One Day

Fic Type: Stand-alone/One-Shot

Genre: Drama (Heavy Angst)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N

Characters: Dean Winchester, Y/N Y/L/N, Sam Winchester, Joseph Hughes (OC)

Word Count: 3,032.

Warnings: Angst, Depression, Anxiety, Marital Abuse, Mentions of marital rape, abusive marriage, physical violence.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS AND DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THIS IS TRIGGERING FOR YOU.

Mobile app doesn't support the cut, so pardon for the no read more thingy.

A/N: Hey guys. I know I went on this little(big) break and I haven't updated useful in a while. I'm going through a writer's block again, trying to write and stopping after a while. and I have so many college projects to do during quarantine. I hope y'all are keeping safe. I wrote this one shot in hopes of getting back at writing. Woke up all night writing this, so I really hope you all will like it. But again, since I woke up the night writing this, it may or may not be up to your expectations. Please heed the warning above, girls. I really do not want any of you going through more stress during these stressful times.

Also, I used the same tag list as Useful in this one too. I don't know if everyone of you will like to be added to any of my other works so let me know if you want your name removed or added. :)

-------

His eyes were locked on the big gates of the hall, both waiting for and dreading the moment that particular person entered who he'd been missing for months. He gave a once over to the venue. This place was gorgeous, a palace in fact. A big chandelier graced the double ceiling and there was a colorful fountain in the garden outside. The lights were the right amount of bright and the drinks tasted just about perfect. Even the waiters wore their uniforms more expensive than his suit. It was something Dean had always seen in those Disney movies which, don't tell anyone, were his guilty pleasure.

He and Sam had come here for a case—the only reason that gave them the privilege to get into a place like this one. People have reported weird occurrences happening around here, followed by the abduction of everyone who saw it. Turned out, it was a serial killer and the police had taken care of it even before they reached.

Something about that place, though, made him want to stay. For some reason, he didn't make a U-turn and go back. Maybe it was the fact that it was the annual ball of the city where only the rich and reputed were invited, that he wanted to feel reputed for once, or that here he would see someone he hadn't seen in a while, someone he missed everyday he lived. He knew it would shatter his heart when he saw her, but he was willing to take a heartbreak if it meant seeing her once. Sam didn't say a word against it, but Dean knew better than to think he was okay with him going through all that torture.

Just when his eyes reached back to the doors, he saw, once again, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. The woman who made his heart flutter and break at the same time, the woman he loved the most. She was dressed in rose gold, the drape hugging her curves as perfectly as he remembered. Her hair was up in a messy bun, which only she could pull off that good, with few softly curled strands coming out to shape her face. Her lips were colored wine red, as tempting as ever, and her face was covered in a darker make up than he ever remembered her wear. In a better shape than when he last saw her, her posture screamed royalty. She looked breathtakingly gorgeous. The only thing was, she wasn't herself. Or at least, her old self. Does time change people that much? It took him all his power to remove his gaze from her, her arm entangled with the other man's, helped.

She wasn't his to call anymore, she never was. Maybe the only woman who he liked but never kissed, the only woman who made him go all hot and bothered but he never dared touch her the way he desired. The only woman he loved enough to not make a move. He knew his feelings were mutual, he saw it in her eyes when they sat on the hood of the impala, chatting through the sleepless nights. He saw it every time she laughed at his piss poor jokes or narrowed her eyes at the women who flirted with him. He saw it when she cried for the first time in front of him and yelled at him because she thought he got himself killed. He saw it when he felt her heart accelerate everytime they hugged, like his own, and when she refused to leave him in the worst. He saw it when he saw her build walls to hide her broken heart after he asked her to leave. He saw it in her indifferent expression and a lone tear escaping her eyes when he told her he'd be better off without her.

And boy did he regret every word he said. He called her as soon as he realized what he did. That in order to save her, he might have just given her the biggest of the insecurities. It was a month later that it happened. He apologized to her, told her he never meant whatever he said, tried to explain why he did what he did. And she forgave. He couldn't believe his ears when he heard her say those words, he wanted her to yell at him, hate him, punish him for what he did but she said nothing more than a 'It's okay, I understand.'. And maybe that one sentence hurt him as much as he hurt her. She didn't even think of him good enough to be mad at. She shouldn't have understood, she should have argued. He might have lost the best thing that ever happened to him like that. And his fear proved right when he saw her photo in the newspaper, two months later, with a man. Joseph Hughes, a big name, apparently. The man he ran into, not so long ago, in missouri.

"Mr. Winchester." He heard the deep, masculine voice as it approached him, "Didn't know we'll meet again so soon."

If running into that man earlier made his heart heavy, meeting him with his arm around Y/N's waist made it fall down with a thud, "Mr and...Mrs Hughes. Fancy seeing you here, too." He shook his hand with a firm shake, forwarding it toward the man's wife to do a similar action. Instead, she folded her hand in a namastey greeting, as she looked at him shocked, and scared. Maybe she didn't want her husband to know about him.

"I would ask how did you know she was my wife, but I guess you read newspapers." The man said in his smooth accent with a laugh, which Dean returned halfheartedly.

"Got that one right," he smiled at Hughes, his eyes lingering a little longer on Y/N, "Your wife is beautiful."

At the comment he saw her husband's hold tighten around her in sudden possessiveness, his fingers almost digging into her flesh as she flinched a little. He tore his gaze away from her, reminding himself she was someone else's wife and he had no right to be staring at her. But something about this whole situation felt wrong, that touch felt wrong.

She didn't look at him once after that. The tension in the air suffocated them both, and he was sure the shorter man in front of him felt it too, "Let's get you meet some of my friends, darlin'. If you could excuse us?"

Dean gave them the way, as he contemplated whether his decision of staying was even right. It crushed his heart seeing the woman he loved in someone else's arms. He felt like throwing up. Seven months ago, he couldn't have thought there'd be a day like this. He hated himself for that.

"Dean, do you want to go?" Sam's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"N-no," He cleared his throat when his voice came out rough and hoarse, "No, I guess I'll just go to the washroom. Go find some hot chick for me " he winked at Sam, who clearly saw right through it but didn't say anything. He stayed in the bathroom for a while, to calm his aching heart. People knew Dean as a man, as strong as an alpha, but here he was, falling weak.

After splashing water on his face a few times, he got out of the bathroom just to see people frozen in their spots. His eyes went to his brother, immediately worried about his safety only to find him silently, but furiously glaring something, his hands were fisted like a beast about to attack its prey. When he followed his line of sight, he felt something similar inside of him. There stood Joseph Hughes towering his wife, glaring her down and his nails digging into her, now pale, arms, "I said, Tell. Me. The. Truth."

"I told you. He w-was a f-friend." Dean heard her voice for the first time in a long while, and his chest hurt at how small and scared it was. Y/N wasn't a hunter but she was fearless and brave. She had put her life on her palms so many times to save him and Sam without hesitating. That was one of the reasons he pushed her away, but here seeing her so helpless and terrified, he didn't know how to react.

"A friend, huh? A friend shouldn't look at you like that." His voice came out in a growl, audible in the pin drop silence, that sent visible shivers running down her spine, "That's why I don't leave you around men, you pathetic whore. I'm done being okay with you slutting around-"

Dean charged forward, enraged at the man's audacity to even let those words out of his mouth, but before he even took two steps, Y/N pushed that douche with enough force to make him stumble, pausing Dean mid-walk.

"You're done being oka-I AM DONE BEING OKAY!" Y/N raised her voice, violently shaking out of fear and rage. Joseph looked shocked, as if he never expected her to speak like that, as if she never spoke to him like that. The thought alone made Dean's eyes tear up, what had that monster done to her, "I am done being okay with the things I'm not okay with! I am done being okay with you touching me without my consent and I'm done being okay with getting slapped everytime I say no! I am done being okay with you locking me in and I am done being okay with you hitting me with whatever you find! I AM DONE WITH YOU!" She broke down into tears as she was done with her little speech.

"You are saying this here on purpose. You want me to lose my reputation." He said low, his eyes trying to scare her down.

"Y-yes, I'm saying this here on purpose because if I said it at home, you'd beat me to a pulp." She said, trying to sound low, but the eerie silence in the room making her damn well audible to his ears. Dean saw nothing but hot, white rage. Seeing Y/N so scared, so broken, Dean wanted nothing more than to break the bastard's bones, every single one of them. And when Hughes charged at Y/N, he lost whatever little control he had on himself jumping at the said man. Sam, immediately, went to Y/N's side as she hid in his chest, shaking like a dry leaf. Sam had never seen her so scared and so vulnerable. He felt a sharp pain in his heart seeing the sight of his best friend so broken, as he tightened his hold on her. Dean kept on hitting the man, like an animal that got out of its cage. His knuckles were bloodied, with which he didn't know was his blood or the other one's but he wasn't stopping. After what felt like forever, Dean was stopped by two strong arms around his own, from behind.

"Dean, stop. You'll kill him." Sam's calming voice fell into his ears, "stop"

It took Dean a while to register, as he tried to release his hands from his brother's still kicking the battered man that lied in front of him, "I don't care."

"Y/N wouldn't want you to kill him, Dean." And at that, he stopped. Y/N. Where was she? He stood up and searched for her, seeing her frozen at the same spot as earlier, zoned out and shaking violently. His heart hurt so bad seeing her like that, he couldn't stop tears from welling in his eyes.

"Y/N," he whispered as he took a few long strides to reach her and pull her into a careful hug.

She went stiff under his touch, as he loosened his hold on her, scared he might scare her before he heard her, barely, speak out, "Dean.." as she clinged to him for dear life. Hearing her say his name again wasn't as pleasant as he'd imagined a million times before, rather it was gut-wrenching. It was painful, because this was the last thing he had imagined that made her say his name. He wrapped his arms around her fully and spoke comforting words to soothe her.

"Let's go home, Y/N."

It had been a week she returned to the bunker, moving into her old room. Hughes was arrested, and divorce agreements were signed. He got to know that the thing between Y/N and Joseph was more of a business arrangement than a marriage proposed by her father, who had no idea about his son-in-law's abusive habits. Sam and Dean kept a positive atmosphere around the bunker, not going out for any cases, but there was no change in Y/N. She, mostly, kept herself locked up in her room, not talking to anyone. They thought it was necessary to give her her space but that was just deteriorating her health more. She ate too little for survival.

Dean stepped into her room with the plate of her favourite food. She loved it when he cooked for her, he just hoped to God, she still would. His eyes fell on her form, lying down on the floor, her back resting by the bed. She looked into a distance, zeroing her vision. As he went and sat beside her, keeping the plate on the floor, she spoke up, "He'll come back for me, Dean. He'll take me and he-"

"He won't," Dean cupped her cheeks and made her look at him as he met with the broken sight. Her eyes had sunken in, dark circles forming around them, face paler and her natural blush around her cheeks gone, "I promise I will not let anything happen to you."

She looked at him like she wanted to believe, but a sudden wave of anxiety stopped her, "No..no no no no, Dean! You don't understand! He..he will come back and he won't leave me. He'll beat me and...and those chains. He'll tie me up again and he'll...he'll-

She stopped mid-sentence, a horror coating her features. This new piece of information startled Dean, breaking his heart into two..enraging him, too. He didn't know how to react to it, so he did what his impulse told him to, he hugged her tight, hiding his face in her hair. More than comforting her, it was for himself. He wanted her close and safe, "He used knives, Dean. He said he loved seeing me bleed..it was so painful" Dean shut his eyes tight, trying to push away the horrifying images from his head, as he let the tears flow free. What all she had endured because of his one mistake. She sniffled as she continued in a small voice, "you won't be able to do anything, Dean. He's very powerful. You can save me from monsters, you can kill them..but him-"

"I'll kill him if he laid his finger on you ever again." Dean spoke with determination.

"N-no...No, Dean. You won't kill him. Don't kill him please, don't be like him." She shook her head violently in his chest, "not like him..no, no, no.."

"Hey, hey," he soothed her rubbing a hand on her back, "I won't. I won't be like him, okay? Shh.." It took Y/N a few minutes to calm down, while he rocked her in his lap, "You hungry?"

She shook her head, mumbling into his chest "I never feel hungry."

He sighed, "Okay. Eat a little, with me? Please? Because I'm starving."

Her eyes sparkled a little when she saw the food, "You made it?" He smiled and nodded, proudly, "Can I..can I eat the whole thing?"

He chuckled, heartily, "madam, all yours." She smiled up at him, hesitantly. As if trying to remember how to smile, at which his eyes softened, "when did you eat this last?"

She dug into the food, liking the taste of it. The taste of home, "with you. He didn't let me eat this, wanted me to look good like his wife should."

Dean clenched his jaw at this, wanting to practically undo that man's existence. The things he did to her, he was sure if he saw him someday, that'd be his last.

Y/N looked at him, a little scared and a little more sheepishly, "Can I get some more?" Dean smiled at her and got her some more. He looked at her eating, his eyes filled with unshed tears. She was so, so pure, only if he could take away all her pain, make her forget those dark months. Only if he could give her all the happiness in the world, because there was no one he knew who deserved it more than her.

Later that night, Dean asked Y/N if he could stay with her because his nightmares scared him. He knew she understood what he meant, and the fact that she didn't deny made his heart flutter. Y/N hadn't slept in days. Either she would wake up from a nightmare, yelling, or not sleep at all. He just wished she'd have a goodnight sleep in his arms, and she did. But he didn't miss what she said just before she fell into the slumber, something the Y/N he knew would never say. Something that hurt his heart and made him make a silent promise to her, and himself.

"Dean, don't send me away ever again. Please."

Never. He would never let her out of his sight again. He'd save her from every monster, supernatural or not. He didn't know long will it take her to fall for him again, or if she'd ever fall for him again. All he knew was, he'd shower her with so much love, she would forget every pain that son of a bitch caused her. He'd love her so much that she'd start loving herself one day. He would hold her so dear, that her scars would stop scaring her.

One day. One day, he'll make everything okay.

------

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profoundnet · 4 years

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PROFOUND MEMBER MASTERPOST FOR SEPTEMBER 2020!

Featuring Destiel/Gen works by @friendofcarlotta, @nickelkeep, @castielslostwings, @haybibiboi, youfoundmykeys, @goldenraeofsun, @aishitara, @vaudelin, @one-more-offbeat-anthem, @shealynn88, Feathers7501, @sketching-fox, @mittensmorgul, @andimeantittosting, sapphirecobalt, shadowkat83, @maleyah-givemetomorrow, Endellion, ArielAquarial, @allmystars-i, @darcydelaney!

Join us on Discord!

Masterpost below the cut.

FriendofCarlotta - @friendofcarlotta - FriendofCarlotta

The Heroes’ Journey (E, 36k)

When you perform a spell to defeat God himself, there’s bound to be side effects — such as every version of Team Free Will getting zapped to an alternate universe. The former residents of the Endverse find themselves in an underground bunker full of the kinds of food they haven’t seen in years and clothes that magically fit them. As Dean adjusts to life in a world where Croatoan never got out of control, he faces some tough questions: Can he forgive Sam for saying yes to Lucifer? And is his relationship with Cas really beyond saving? The residents of the bunker, meanwhile, wake up as employees of HunterCorp, whose CEO is one John Winchester. Being around people Dean lost years ago is no picnic, and it’s changing the dynamic of his relationship with Cas in ways he never expected. But is the change meant to last, or will they fall back into old patterns when they return to their own universe?

Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Slow Dancing, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Recovery From Drug Addiction

Home (G, 2.2k)

This is the story of a car, and the boy who loves it so fiercely, it becomes a home. As the boy grows into a man, his car is the one constant in his life. Until, one day, he meets an angel, and "home" takes on a new meaning.

Tags: Canon Compliant, POV Impala, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff, Kid Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester Are Great Dads

nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep

Huckleberry, Cherry, or Lime (E, 5.7k)

Two men. Two Identical injuries. For Dean and Cas, is that where the similarities start or end?

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Smut and Humor, No Angst, Minor Injuries, Stitches, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort

Text Me in the Morning (T, 2.7k)

"Just blowing off steam?" Sam glared at Dean. "So, you haven't been honest with him, or you haven't been honest with yourself?" "Excuse me?" Dean set his mug on the table and crossed his arms, staring at Sam. "It means that you're in love with Cas, and won't admit it. Figures my brother is a coward."

Tags: Canon Compliant, Established Castiel/Dean, Secret Relationship, Long-Suffering Sam, Sam is a Little Shit, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean, Misunderstandings, Texting, Castiel and Dean Need to Use Their Words

castielslostwings - @castielslostwings - Castielslostwings

After the End (E, 27k)

In 2014, Dean Winchester led a raid on the asylum in Detroit where a Sam-wearing-Lucifer was waiting for him. Everyone knows what happened next: the Chitaquan soldiers who accompanied Dean died horribly at the hands of Lucifer’s minions while Lucifer murdered Dean in the garden below and warned the Dean from days past that no matter what he tried, he would always end up there. There were no survivors. Or were there? This story picks up where “The End” leaves off, from Castiel’s perspective from inside the asylum, a twist of fate, and conditional divine intervention no one saw coming. It details what happens after Lucifer dies, Dean lives, and the world doesn’t actually stop turning. A canon-compliant “fix-it” fic for the Endverse and a Dean and Cas who deserved better. Or: "The End" was not the End. This is the story of what came after.

Tags: Endverse fix-it, Happy endverse, temp MCD (dean's canon death in the rose garden), low-angst, canon-compliant (I swear, this is a happy fix-it), explicit sex, s15 tie-ins.

Wait For It (E, 44k)

With Chuck out of the picture and Jack stepping up as the New God, Team Free Will suddenly has to face the most difficult mission they've ever tackled: moving on. Change is tough, that's a given. What's not new? Dean's coping mechanisms being the absolute worst. Problem is, this time, his stubborn refusal to leave the past where it belongs lands him in hot water that's so deep, even Castiel may not be able to pull him out in time. An epic post-canon love story about a hunter who can't seem to look forward and an ex-angel who is done looking back.

Tags: Post-canon, Alternate ending to Season 15, illustrated, getting together, love confessions, hurt/comfort, kidnapped Dean, BAMF Castiel, explicit sex, very happy ending. Accompanied by art by @ladyrandombox.

lovemuppet - @haybibiboi - lovemuppet

“How Do You Like Them Apples?”: A Co-Pearenting Fic. (T, 1.4k)

based on a prompt by Cryptomoon: "Neighboring long time orchard owners, Dean of Winchester Family Apples and Cas of Eden Farms have been bitter rivals their whole lives. Eden Farms grows pears and Dean thinks that's absolutely stupid because it's Eden, they should grow apples. But that's beside the point. They've hated each other since they could walk. Now they each have taken over their family's farms and do their best to civilly ignore one another. Until! Some trees on the edge of their properties spontaneously cross breed and they are forced to figure out what to do with these co-parented Pearapples. Applepears?"

Tags: Enemies to lovers, au where pears and apples are the same genus, affronts to god and science, jokes? about homicide.

“The Only Rest You’ll See For Hours” (G, 441 words)

Prompt by saltnhalo: 30 minute speed writing based on knightiesart sky doodles. (I used the two desert looking ones)

Tags: post series band aid, no one dies, everything's fine

youfoundmykeys - reafre

grip (SFW)

“You’re the one who gripped me tight, and brought me back to light...” art by reafre date: 18-23 September, 2020 tools: pencil, watercolour, pearl watercolour on paper.

Tags: video, hands, soft, anniversary

goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

Ridin’ the Quarantine Out (E, 8.5k)

“Like I said,” Dean says, chuckling, “no one’s ever died from blue balls. So you can't go out there and break quarantine to bang some rando.” Cas doesn’t find this funny in the slightest. “No human has died,” he clarifies. “What the hell are you talking about?” Dean narrows his eyes. “If you think some weird fact about guinea pigs is gonna sway-” “I’m an incubus,” Cas interrupts. “I will literally die if I don’t feed.”

Tags: They were quarantined, incubus!cas, virgin!cas, first time, top!cas, bottom!dean, dom sub undertones, mentions of COVID-19, mutual pining

aishitara - @aishitara - aishitara

K-I-S-S-I-N-G (M, 3.9k)

Sam’s been breathing down his neck about every little thing lately. He eats too much bacon. Drinks too much beer. Drives too fast. Avoids Cas like his life depends on it. Dean huffs out a breath. Sam hasn’t actually called him on /that/ part, but if the conversation they’d had a few days ago about… that time Castiel was dead was anything to go by, he was certain his brother was going to corner him any second now and point out how Dean had been doing such a good job of hiding from him and Cas. He wasn’t… he wasn’t hiding, okay? He just… happened to be anywhere at all in the bunker that Cas wasn’t. Not on purpose. Just. Because. Of reasons.

Tags: Fluff, a wee touch of the angst, Sam Ships It, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Sort Of, Feelings, Dean just doesn't want to talk about it ok

vaudelin - @vaudelin - vaudelin

a world well done (M, 54k)

After five years of being overlooked for the job title of his dreams, Dean has grown accustomed to his fair share of disappointment. But the guy who got the position, a nepotistic hire named Castiel Novak, is really pushing the boundaries of his patience. Too bad the guy’s a dud, but the legacy project has survived worse. Castiel can be as antisocial as he wants and hide out in his office all he likes; Dean will just batten down the hatches and ensure his team weathers the storm coming their way.

Tags: AU - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings & Miscommunications, Slow Build

one_more_offbeat_anthem - @one-more-offbeat-anthem - one_more_offbeat_anthem

Roll With It, Baby (T, 13k)

August 1987. Indianapolis, Indiana. The Pan-American Games are back again, and professional roller skaters Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester are supposed to be teammates--and friends. Over their six years on the US team, they’ve done their best to get along, but with Cas as a roller figure skater and Dean as a roller hockey player, they sometimes miss the mark. But something’s different this year, at their second Pan-American Games. Maybe it’s the sultry end-of-summer heat over the main stadium at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Maybe it’s the competition. Maybe it’s Rick Astley's recent hit single "Never Gonna Give You Up." Whatever it is, the next two weeks are going to change things…potentially forever.

Tags: 1980s, the mixtape, professional roller skating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, first kiss, mild homophobia

shealynn88 - @shealynn88 - shealynn88

The Light Will Guide You Home (E, 4.6k)

Dean is visiting his long-distance friend for the first time. He knows what he wants, but does Cas feel the same? Dean laughs. “Cas, is that you? Can I…?” He reaches out for a hug, then draws back in embarrassment. The human-like form throws him off, but he knows it’s impolite to initiate physical contact with a Luminate, he’s studied the culture for over a decade.

Tags: consentacles, sci-fi AU, alien!Cas, human!Dean

Feathers7501 - Feathers7501

Dreams of Blue (G, 1.1k)

Dean is leading his best life... or is he?

Tags: memory wipe

sketching-fox - @sketching-fox

Along My Restless Palms (NSFW)

Comission done for Kat, the first of my bidders on @ficfacers 2020! Her request was to illustrate this specifc scene (where Dean dreams about Castiel in the Highlands - YES, they are wearing kilts) in the Fic Along My Restless Palms!

Tags: highlands, kilts

Caring for the wings (SFW)

Comission for Jennifer, one of winner bidders on @ficfacers 2020! Her request was the fluffiest thing ever: Chibi versions of Dean and Castiel, and Dean taking care of Cas´s wings, with the feathers all fluffy, like those little dogs after a bath and air drier on the Pet Shop.

Tags: chibi art, wings

mittensmorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittenWraith

Happy Resurrection Day (T, 3.7k)

The world didn't end, and Dean and Cas finally get to choose each other. It only took twelve years and a little road trip back to where it all started.

Tags: post canon, road trips, getting together, first kiss, anniversary

andimeantittosting - @andimeantittosting - andimeantittosting

A Gentleman’s Inheritance (M, 11k)

For the Supernatural Regency Bang. Castiel Shurley has always done his duty by his family. When his father dies, Castiel inherits not only the title of Viscount, but also deep debts. At his aristocratic mother's behest, he agrees to court Miss Celeste "Charlie" Middleton—a wealthy heiress, but the daughter of cits. Though they are not in love—and though he secretly has feelings for her cousin, the charming Dean Winchester—Castiel and Charlie soon agree to wed. But Castiel's life is upended by the arrival of his scandalous Aunt Amara, who reveals that he is not the son of Charles and Naomi, but illegitimate, taken from his unwed mother to serve as Charles’s heir. When she carries out her threat to reveal the truth to the world, Castiel loses his title, his home, and his place in the world. Feeling honour-bound to break off his engagement, he finds himself invited to stay instead, as a member of Dean and Charlie's unconventional household, and learns the meaning of freedom.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Disinherited Castiel, Forced Adoption

sapphirecobalt - sapphirecobalt

The Bee Knocker Story (M, 7.2k)

Dean recalls the infamous bee knocker that started it all. Or, the one where Cas is upset and Dean goes to great lengths to cheer him up.

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic fluff, emotional hurt comfort, Artist Dean, gardens and gardening

shadowkat83 - Shadowkat83

Sober (G, 605 words)

Dean leans against a tree trying to come to terms with what he is seeing and feeling. How did everything end up like this? Lyrics Sober by Bad Wolves

Tags: Endverse, Songfic, angst, implied relationships

Maleyah (Katherine_Kat) - @maleyah-givemetomorrow - Maleyah

Hot Wings Cas (SFW)

Yoga teacher Castiel for my fic Hot Wings and Magic Hands

Tags: yoga teacher cas, idiots in love, wing tattoos

Take A Breath (SFW)

Time for a breath and a break. The ending they deserve with Sam, Gabe, Charlie and Jody in the background (if you squint)

Tags: the end of the road, married, breathe boys, cuddles

Aceriee-art’s DTIYS (SFW)

Art for Aceriee-art's DTIYS challenge

Tags: dtiys, aceriee-art, sassy Dean, blatant use of emojis

Thank You Cas Kisses (SFW)

Cas blowing kisses at the viewer, cause thank you

Tags: thank you, cas blows a kiss, tiny bee

Endellion - Endellion

You Make Me Want to Stay (G, 1.5k)

A teenage Dean meets a boy named Castiel at one of the many high schools he goes to and this time when his dad says it's time to move on, he doesn't want to.

Tags: implied/referenced homophobia, AU no hunting, AU highschool

Brutus (G, 216 words)

Sam and Cas and a dog. Dean can't resist Cas' puppy dog eyes.

Tags: fluffy, cute

ArielAquarial - ArielAquarial

The Right Kind of Motivation (E, 2k)

Alone in the house for the first time in months, Dean is having trouble finding the motivation to clean. Castiel decides it’s time to bring out the big guns, and Dean is more than willing to play along. Can be read as a standalone.

Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic, Alternate Universe, Dick Pics, Masturbation

allmystars - @allmystars-i - allmystars

Brownies and Blowjobs (E, 2.3k)

"It’s fucking 2020, I should be able to watch Netflix nude while making brownies without you getting preachy about it." Dean wants Castiel's attention, but he doesn't know how to ask for it, so he bakes brownies... completely naked.

Tags: Blowjobs, Handjobs, Friends With Benefits, Smut, Naked Baking, Porn Without Plot

darcydelaney - @darcydelaney - DarcyDelaney

Bookworm (T, 2.1k)

Cas asks Dean to spend the day reading with him at a brewery. It's not Dean's ideal date at first, but it doesn't stop him from falling in love with Cas all over again.

Tags: Brewery, Date Night, Fluff

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #spn #profound monthly masterpost #profoundnet #september masterpost #member art #member fic

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

Note

“It’s our mutual friend’s wedding and they keep shoving us into each other because we’re the only ones at the ceremony who are single” AU. from the au post with edmund pevensie please !

YESSSS :D Love my boi.

————

“Princess!” You huffed, chasing after Rose as she bolted down the hall, the guards meant to escort her far behind as they struggled to keep up.

“Soon to be queen, my dear Y/N!” She sang as she glided down the hall, every bit the royal she was born to be. Her marriage to the king Peter would be one of the most highly celebrated unions since the four rulers had arrived. Peace had already been won, years passing as Peter and his siblings ruled strongly.

Rose skidded to the left and you struggled under the weight of all the dresses you were carrying for her, blocking your line of sight as you tried to follow the sound of her excitement. Unfortunately, you hit something sturdy and fell to the ground, all of her finely pressed dresses falling down around you.

In horror, you realized that you had run straight into the King Edmund the Just. He was scowling, having fallen himself. You gaped and scrambled to your knees, bowing with your head hung low. “I’m so sorry!” You stuttered. You’d been severely punished for less before Rose took you as her “right hand”, even if that just meant you were her glorified maid. She called you friend, however, and you would go to the ends of the earth for her because of it.

“What’s going on?” Rose said, head popping back around the corner she had disappeared from after she had realized she had left her entire entourage behind.

“I-It was my fault I didn’t see where I was going-” You said, as Rose went to your side instead of the King’s. Her future brother in law, for god’s sake. She helped you up and you immediately went to picking up her things just so you wouldn’t have to look at the King on the ground.

Edmund helped himself up, brushing off his trousers, momentarily chatting with Rose before he grabbed the last dress off the floor. “Maybe if I take half, you won’t run down anyone else,”

Your ears burned but you nodded as he took half of the heavy dresses from you. He didn’t really smile but you saw the corners of his lips turn up. You kept your head down as you followed Rose to her room, happy when Edmund laid the dresses on her luxurious bed, welcomed her one more time with a reminder of the celebratory ball that night, and then left.

“Dear god Y/N!” Rose giggled as the rest of her belongings were shipped into her bedroom. “Your as red as well, a rose!” She burst out into more giggles at her silly joke and you rolled your eyes. “Might you fancy the king?”

You nearly choked, “No!” You hadn’t even noticed the adorable way he had scrunched up his nose when he had stood you how his eyes had a gleam to them that you couldn’t put your finger on or how his hair fell in beautiful, wild curls around his ears, brushing the sharp angle of his jaw.

“I’m just embarrassed I ran into him,” You explained, hanging up her things as she sat in front of her new vanity, brushing through her hair while she prepared for the ball. It was in a couple of hours and she always needed at least half a day to decide what outfit she deemed appropriate for the occasion, along with makeup and hair. She hit a particularly stubborn knot and you heard her huff in frustration.

“Here,” You said, grabbing her comb from her as you brushed through her hair more gently, starting at the bottom and working your way up the the top.

“You take such good care of me Y/N,” She said with a smile on her lips. You hummed and couldn’t fight your own smile. “You know I always want you to be happy, right?” She continued and you were suspicious to where this conversation was going.

“Of course,” You finally answered, continuing to brush through her sun kissed locks.

“I wouldn’t be mad if now that we were in a different land, one full of magic and possibilities, if you were to- if you wanted to leave me,” Rose said, gaze now unable to meet yours as you paused completely. “I’d let you go with no repercussions,”

“What are you talking about, princess?”

“You’re my friend, I don’t want you to waste your good years bowing to my every whim, you are a person and I cannot be the one who keeps you from living as you wish,” She said and your heart warmed at the sentiment.

“I am happy by your side, I think I’d be quite lonely without you. You’re my best friend, princess,” You admitted. “Besides, how would you survive without me?” You teased and she playfully swatted you in retaliation.

“You’re my best friend too, Y/N,”

As you finished brushing her hair, a comfortable silence having fallen down around you two, Rose practically jumped from her seat, eyes wide with an idea. “Attend the ball with me!”

“I will be there,”

“No, I mean, not just standing to the side until I need something, I mean borrow a dress of mine, be my equal,” Rose had always been so kind, so welcoming and you loved it but sometimes the future she hoped for seemed impossible.

“Princess, you know that isn’t realistic,” You said, trying to mask the sadness you felt at the truth of your words. Rose pouted and fiddled with her skirts.

“Well why not?! I’m going to be a queen, shouldn’t I have a say in how I treat my servants and the servants who are soon going to be my citizens as well?”

“You do, and you can do what you wish, but sometimes leaving things as they are is the best. There is a reason for this hierarchy. Serving you and your family has been my entire life, what do I have outside of my duties and the shelter I am provided, the clothes, the food? I don’t speak for everyone yet I don’t know who I’d be or what I would do if I weren’t your simple maid,”

“Oh Y/N, you are far too happy to let others dictate your life…” Rose sighed but she squeezed your hand. “As long as I know you will be there watching out for me, that is all I can ask for,”

When you two got to the ball, Peter was immediately at her side, escorting her to a table that stood above the floor. Queen Susan had a straight back with watchful eyes, mirth painting her features in a warm light. Queen Lucy was giggling with a mouse that had found it’s place on their table, a tiny sword strapped to his side. For an adult, albeit a young one, she had a childishness about her- yet you had heard the tales of her strength and heart. King Edmund looked bored frankly, not displeased, just bored. He rolled his neck and stretched in his seat.

His eyes skimmed the crowd similarly to his sister yet they stopped on you. Or you thought they had before he was averting his gaze anywhere else. Maybe you were mistaken. Rose’s words were getting to you. You looked for your princess and found Peter pulling out her seat for her, by his side at the grand table that overlooked the narnians.

You stood and let your mind wander as you knew it would be a very long night of doing very little but standing off to the side. Everyone had their fill of food before an impressive orchestra played lively music, encouraging everyone to join the floor. Lucy dragged Susan and Rose did the same thing to Peter. Edmund was left looking unimpressed yet he swayed gently to the music in appreciation of it. Your friend and princess looked lively and overjoyed. The king on her arm looked smitten and it made you smile. They would have a happy marriage if he always looked at her with such unabashed adoration. You hadn’t realized Edmund had moved from his spot until you caught his eye as he awkwardly maneuvered around a woman who was trying to dance with him.

He finally broke free of the wave of people but Rose was there, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards you, you realized with alarm. You couldn’t just disappear but you nearly almost hid underneath one of the buffet tables.

“My friend here has no dance partner! Why don’t you dance with her Edmund?” Rose grinned, Peter now behind her, watching with some confusion. “You two are already acquainted so we’ll leave you to it!” Just as quickly as she had come, she was now gone.

“Friend huh?” Edmund spoke.

“Come again?” You asked, confused by what he meant.

“She calls you friend, even if you are just her maid,” He said simply. “It’s strange.”

You bristled at his words and he seemed to notice because he quickly scrambled to save himself. “It’s not a bad thing! I just rarely meet a royal who has respect for others that are less than them, well not less, no person should be held above someone else, yet we are- I um. Sorry, I ramble at gatherings like this.”

A king was standing before you, apologizing for saying that no person should be put on a pedestal like he had been. That there was nothing wrong with being a maid. That it was strange, but he quite liked the fact, that Rose considered you a friend. It was endearing, it showed you that he had a good heart. It made sense why he was considered the Just King.

“It is strange, but she has always insisted that i was a friend, not just her servant,” You felt him staring at you and you suddenly felt like you had been too relaxed. “Your highness,” You added, just in case yet you weren’t prepared for him to wince.

“She has the right idea, please, Edmund is fine. I hate the title.” He grumbled and you nodded.

“I know it isn’t exactly normal, but why don’t we dance?” He finally added as an uncomfortable silence was pushed upon you.

“No disrespect, your high- Edmund. But why not one of the girls that have been vying for your attention this entire event? They have a much better standing than I do, I don’t wish to bring any shame on your good name,” You spoke honestly.

“That’s all bullshit,” Edmund said, shocking you with his language. “And besides,” He grinned a wicked grin. “They may have better standing but I’m positive that not one of them have half the personality you do,” The last bit was whispered into your ear and you couldn’t help but become intoxicated with his closeness. He smelled of cinnamon and some gentle musk that must be a cologne he had. You were positive you were as red as a tomato when he gave you your personal space back.

“Lady Y/N,” Edmund smiled, extending his hand. “Care to give me this dance,”

Lady. He called you Lady! Your mind screamed as you took his hand. It was oddly comforting to have your hand encased in his.

“It’d be foolish of me to say no, your highness,” You added, and he nearly scolded you yet stopped when he saw the teasing smile on your lips. His heart pounded uncomfortably at the sight. You were quite pretty, weren’t you?

You could leave your statuses behind for at least one dance.

#edmund pevensie x reader #edmund x reader #ask #request #au #edmund pevensie #narnia #drabble

193 notes · View notes

kukkahattumursu · 3 years

Text

Got tagged by @violasmirabiles, thank youuu <3

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs you want to know better.

1. Name/Nicknames: Sara. My only "nickname" is Sarde but only my brothers and their friends use it lol

2. Gender: woman

3. Star Sign: cancer

4. Height: 167 cm

5. Time: 2:46 pm

6. Birthday: july 19th

7. Favourite Band: AC/DC

8. Favourite Solo Artist: Alice Cooper

9. Song Stuck in My Head: Don't Cry by Guns N' Roses

10. Last Movie: I think it was The Shining, I need to watch more movies, it's been a while lol

11. Last Show: Anne with an E. Started it last night and ugly cried all the way through

12. When I Created This Blog: in 2014 I think, when I started high school

13. What I Post: I mainly reblog stuff, and my blog is full of all kinds of random shit: memes, (finnish) shitposting, some important stuff, cute pics, funny videos, text posts etc.

14. Last Thing I Googled: lautanauha (= tablet weaving) cuz it's pretty and I wanna learn

15. Other Blogs: this is my only blog where I dump EVERYTHING

16. Do I get asks?: sometimes, not too often

17. Why I Chose My URL: it's a dumb joke really, I drew a walrus with a flowerhat in high school and thought it was funny (that's what my url means in finnish lol)

18. Following: a lot of different kinds of blogs: mutuals, other finns, shitposters like myself, fandoms etc.

19. Followers: 399

20. Average Hours of Sleep: usually around 8 hours. although school kind of fucks that up for me when I need to get up early.

21. Lucky Number: dont really have one, but I like 3, 7 and 21

22. Instruments: i have an acoustic guitar, but i can't play it. yet. maybe someday I'll learn, it would be dope to play it, and it would be a useful skill in my future job as an early childhood education teacher. When I'll learn to play it maybe I'll get an electrical guitar and try to be cool

23. What I Am Wearing: a huge Def Leppard hoodie (it's 3 sizes too big so it looks like I stole it from my dad), blue sweats and black socks with cherries on them. stylish, I know

24. Dream Job: my future job kinda is my dream job I guess, so early childhood education teacher. But I kinda want to be an artist too

25. Dream Trip: at the moment I just wanna go to my family's summer cottage in the woods.

26. Favourite Food: idk, anything tasty i guess. a proper burger would be nice rn

27. Nationality: finnish

28. Favourite Song: there's too many to choose an absolute favorite! but I really love "Poison" by Alice Cooper, it's the song that really got me into the kind of music that basically gives me life these days

29. Last Book I Read: The last book I finished was "The Shining" by Stephen King, unless I count in the childrens books I had to read for a school assingment, in which case the last book I finished was "Hui Kauhistus!" by Mauri Kunnas. I'm currently still reading "The Stranger Beside Me" by Ann Rule and "Rage/The Long Walk" by Stephen King.

30. Top 3 fictional universes I would love to live in: the Pirates of the Caribbean universe for sure, the Moomins universe and the one where I'm a hot rockstar's girlfriend in the 70's

Tagging @tultamunille @elvenfireworks @malcolmyoungofficial and anyone else who wants to do this :) no pressure tho

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dacrethehalls · 5 years

Text

After Party

Summary: Delaney gets drunk at a after party and tells her crush how she feels. Word Count: 1.6k Fic Playlist: Click Here A/N: *REPOST FROM MY OLD BLOG* This is like, literally the only steve fic I have ever written lol

“Laney...DELANEY.” I snapped out of my trance looking over at my friend Jonathan.

“What?” I asked resting my chin on my hand. “You’re staring at him again” He mumbled

“Am not.” I let my gaze shift from my friend Steve who was across the courtyard to Jonathan giving him a small smile.

“Why don’t you.. I don’t know, tell him how you feel?” It’s not like you haven’t known the guy your entire life.” Jonathan said

I sighed dropping my head to the table.

“Because, I doubt the feelings are mutual. I mean look at him he’s beautiful and I’m-” “Also beautiful. Delaney you won’t ever know until you try”

I let another groan out standing up. “I have to get to practice before the game. Are you and Nancy coming to the party tonight?”

Jonathan grimaced forcing me to hold my hands up in defense “You don't have to come if we lose but if we win, I better see you there.”

“Fine. I’ll drop Will and my mom off after the game and come. But only if we win” he said making me smile.

“I mean, as captain of the girls lacrosse team, I can assure you that it’ll be a win plus I’ll need you there for emotional support in case I talk to Steve about how I feel and it gets awkward.” I said with a wink walking off towards the practice field.

I walked into the party as the crowd starting cheering and chanting my name. I waved to some of my friends while high-fiving others making my way to the drink table.

“Hey beautiful. You were awesome out there tonight getting the game winning point. Ready for that date yet? A king needs his queen you know” Billy Hargrove said leaning on the counter next to me.

“Eww. You wish Hargrove. Isn't it about time to go wax your mom’s back hair?.” He rolled his eyes pushing off the counter mumbling something- more than likely calling me a bitch before walking away.

I grabbed a cup dunking it into the red liquid as I watched Steve walk up beside me. “Delaney Henderson! Look at you being all social tonight.” He said making me laugh.

“Well, what kind of game winning lacrosse captain would I be if I didn’t show up to the after party?”

He chuckled grabbing my hand. “Let’s go dance” he pulled me out to the living room as ‘welcome to the jungle’ by Guns N’ Roses blared through the speakers.

Everyone started cheering as Jimmy, the kid that wore the Tiger mascot costume jumped on the counter and let out a pitiful roar starting another round of people chanting my name.

I threw my fist up in the air a few times as I continued to dance with Steve.

Steve and I took turns refilling our drinks and dancing through the course of the night. We both would take occasional pee breaks and at some point I ran into Jonathan and Nancy while going to the bathroom.

“Heeeeeey.” I squeaked leaning on the wall by them. “Having fun with Steve?” Jonathan asked a smirk growing on his face.

“Yes! I always have fun with him! I really have to pee. Will you take me home later?” I asked in one breath making him laugh.

“Yes I will. We’ll find you when we’re ready to leave”

I high-fived Nancy after she congratulated me the team’s win.

I walked out of the bathroom spotting Jonathan sitting on the steps on the front porch. I walked outside plopping down next to him

“Remember earlier how you told me I should tell Steve how I feel? I figured out exactly what I wanted to say. I just thought of it when I was peeing. ready?” I cleared my throat

“You’re so beautiful. I want to play connect the dots with my tongue and your freckles. Like I think God chiseled you from diamonds and bestowed you on the earth just for me to gawk at,” I said as I drank what was left in my cup.

I had more than enough to drink so I had decided that that was my last one.

“That’s good right? Jonathan, I think I’m a little drunk. Your hair looks nicer than normal what did you do to it? You know I also probably shouldn't tell Steve I want to stick my tongue on him. But I digress, back to telling Steve,” I cleared my throat again

“-I have loved you since that one day in in fifth grade when Tommy H stuck gum in my hair and you tried beating him up. Remember? He ended up kicking your ass and my mom had to cut all of my hair off making me like a boy. You told me I looked pretty and you liked my hair while everyone else made fun of me. I knew then mmmhmm. I knew then that I loved you.” I said laying my head on Jonathan’s shoulder letting out a small hick up.

“Should I tell him how I sometimes practice signing my name with his last name? Nah. probably should leave that one out too.” I hiccuped again with a groan.

“Jonathan can we leave now. I don’t feel good and it’s probably best that I don’t tell Steve how I feel being as drunk as I am and where’s Nancy?”

I heard a laugh as a jacket was draped over my shoulders and I was scooped up bridal style. I looked up at Jonathan smiling “You’re such a good friend.” I mumbled as my eyes grew heavy and I drifted off to sleep.

“Thanks for getting me home Saturday night” I mumbled sitting on the floor of the dark room.

“I didn’t take you home... I thought Steve did.” He said looking at me concerned. I vaguely remember talking to Jonathan about Steve that night and having a lot to drink.

“I sat out on the porch Saturday trying to sober up and we talked about Steve and then I asked you to take me home?” I said dreading what I knew actually happened.

I had mistaken Steve for Jonathan so everything I said was to Steve.

“You were outside with Steve. I figured you told him how you felt and you two left together” Jonathan said

I groaned laying on the floor bringing my knees up to my chest. “I thought that was you not Steve. I drunkenly told him I wanted to lick his neck freckles. I can’t be seen in Hawkins anymore I have to leave and move as far away as I can”

Jonathan try hiding his laugh at my humiliation. “Well at least he know how you feel now”

“Shut up. You are in no way helping me Byers.My locker is next to his. What even is my life right now?” I said making Jonathan lose all control of his composure.

“I’m so happy you find amusement in this. I’ll be back in here during lunch hiding if you need me”

I stood at my locker trying to pretend I didn’t notice Steve walking my way.

“So… Henderson..we have some stuff we need to talk about.” He said leaning against the lockers next to my own.

I could feel my cheeks grow warm. I looked over at him nervously.

“Do we? I’m embarrassed enough over this”

He ran his fingers in his hair smiling “So fifth grade huh?”

I groaned hitting my head on my locker door. Neither Jonathan nor Steve will ever let me live this down.

“Hey! Stop that! Delaney. seriously, it was cute.”

“You thought drunk me droning on about how much I love you was cute?” I asked looking up at him.

“Yeah.. I mean, we’ve always be friends even more so now that Dustin thinks of me as a brother or role model or whatever. Why haven't you ever said anything to me? Would have saved me the year I wasted with Nancy. I’ve always had a thing for you too, I just never thought you’d think of me in that way.”

“I guess we both had the same fear of ruining a good friendship by confessing our feelings towards each other.” I said as Steve leaned in closer to me.

“I guess so… but now that we’ve talked about it and our feelings are out in the open it’s okay for me to do this”

Steve leaned in pressing his lips to mine softly. My heart fluttered as he put his hand on my hip pulling me closer to him deepening the kiss.

We broke apart as the bell started to ring both smiling at each other.

I grabbed my books shutting my locker as Steve intertwined our fingers leaning over planting another kiss on lips.

“Let’s go cutie. We’re going to be late for class”

“That’s not what I asked. STEVE. Do. You. Feel. The. Electricity.” Dustin yelled at Steve.

“Dustin. Get out of my room!” I said pushing him out and shutting the door.

Dustin had caught us making out on the couch and he followed us to my room yelling at Steve like the idiot he is.

“What the hell is he talking about?” I asked looking at Steve as my door flung open.

“Listen here shithead. She’s my sister and I know she likes you because she talks about you in her diary. A lot. And I just-” I cut him off by taking his hat and smacking him in the face with it.

“Out. Now. or I’ll tell all your little friends what really happened at the Christmas party.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Dustin scrunched his nose looking between Steve and I pointing his index finger from his eyes to Steve.

“Goodbye Dustin.” I said shutting my door and locking it.

“Where were we?” I asked walking back over to Steve. He pulled me closer to him kissing my nose.

“I believe you were about to lick my freckles?” I groaned dropping my head to his shoulder. “You’re going to hold this against me forever aren’t you.”

“You bet I am.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x OC #stranger things #Stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #Stranger Things fanfic

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 5 years

Text

Sunflower ~ B.D. (Part 1)

A/n: This song is hella short but I listened to it and needed to write it and then thought of this so it’ll be like a mini song prompt, much shorter than how long they usually here. Hopefully you’ll still enjoy all the same :) Also I’m sorry this is so long and rushed it has to cover the whole movie OOF. Things will definitely slow down from here...

Anon: Pidge

Word Count: 4654

MASTERLIST

Rose girls in glass vases: Perfect bodies, perfect faces. They all belong in magazines, those girls the boys are chasing, winning all the games they're playing. They're always in a different league...

“Hey!” The voice was unexpected and no one knew who they were referring to, so everyone looked. Just in time to see a fist plant squarely into Marcia Fadden’s jaw, causing her two bitch friends, Greta Bowie and Sally Mueller, to stumble back with dropped jaws and wide eyes as Marcia tumbled to the ground. “Come near my little sister again with your ugly perms and fake smile I promise I’ll do more than just leave a bruise on you pretty face. I’ll break that big fat nose of yours and you’ll look even uglier than you already do. Got it?” There was a slight pause and the new girl in the bathroom - who had interrupted the three girls in their end-of-the-year bullying of Beverly Marsh - bristled. Marcia groaned on the ground, struggling to sit up, which scared Greta and Sally enough not to test the girl who had put her in that condition. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” The girl screamed.

Greta stepped forward, trying to look brave even though she was faced with someone she wasn’t sure she could take on. Someone bigger than her. Confident and demanding. A face she didn’t recognize and therefore had no idea on her limits or lack thereof. “What sister is that?”

The girl glared. “Secily Smith,” she sneered. “You can mess with me and I won’t stop you trying to make yourself feel better by messing with your peers, but do not - I repeat, DO NOT come near my sister. Is that clear enough for you or do I actually have to break one of your noses?”

Sally grumbled, “We get the fucking point. God.”

The girl smirked. “Good.” And then she turned around and waltzed out of the bathroom. Beverly, still in the stall, shook her head to overcome her shock at hearing someone stand up to Greta and her bitch gang s boldly, taking the moment of silence and no movement to bust open the stall, stalking out after Y/n without a fault in her stride as if she had expected every little detail of what just happened.

When Beverly got outside, she looked up and down the hall but none of the facial expressions or ways anyone was walking gave off the kind of confidence and power the mystery girl in the bathroom had shown.

How had someone like that gone unnoticed by... everyone? All year? Or- years? As far as anyone knew, Ben was the only newby.

Secily Smith. Hm. That was a name Bev could work with.

While Bev planned a way to find out the source of a possible friend, Y/n L/n was walking home with her eyes on the ground, trying to even out her breathing. She was hopped up on anxiety from confronting Greta like that, but the fleeting moment of rage-fueled confidence was all she’d needed to scare those girls into leaving her sister alone. Okay, well, STEP sister, but it’s all the same right?

As Y/n neared the elementary school, she sighed. She’d stopped by on her way like every other day, but this time for the last time before Summer. She waited the few minutes until the younger kids got out, looking around at the parents waiting for their kids. Once upon a time, Y/n would hide behind a tree as Bill Dembrough waited for his younger brother, George. She would admire him and the cute embrace they would have before the older brother shoved the younger away playfully, messing his hair up as they both laughed.

Secily, who knew of Y/n’s infatuation with the sweet boy everyone else knew as Stuttering Bill, thought it was silly to hide and had even befriended George in order to force Y/n closer to Bill. The two kids had really hit it off and Y/n had run been forced to run into Bill a lot more often.

Picking up Secily from school, where the two younger kids were attached at the hip, forcing Y/n over. Picking up Secily from George’s house, often running into Bill in the process. Lunch dates or play dates or hang outs. Dropping off, picking up, running into each other in small towns, where George would notice Secily or Secily would notice George and they’d call to the other, bringing their families together once again. At George’s funeral, where Secily has clung to her older sister with their parents nowhere in sight, hiding her face so her sobs wouldn’t be heard.

That had been a rough while. Secily wasn’t as talkative anymore. She didn’t socialize as much and her attendance at things she’d always dragged Y/n to had all but completely disappeared. For so your a child, she was incredibly sad and reclusive and quiet.

That’s what Y/n was thinking of when Secily made her way to where Y/n waited for her, eyes on her feet. Y/n opened her arms and Secily moved into them. “Hey Sissy,” Y/n whispered, rubbing the younger girl’s back. “How was school.”

The younger girl mumbled incoherently, burying her face in Y/n’s stomach and refusing to move. Y/n sighed, stepping back and offering her arms in more of a way to pick her up than hug her. The six year old smiled briefly, allowing Y/n to carry her. It was only a fifteen minute walk to their house and Sissy was tiny as heck. Y/n could bare the weight to give her sister some comfort. She walked, Sissy bouncing a little on her back as Y/n talked to full the silence.

“We’ll have all summer now,” Y/n mused softly. “We can stay up late and have camp outs in the living room in our couch forts all we want... I can get candy. Snickers, your favorite.”

“I miss Georgie.” Y/n stopped abruptly. It had been nine months. Almost a year, and Sissy had not said it out loud once. She had not voiced her sorrow or pain that someone so young should be feeling nowhere near. Y/n wasn’t good with her own emotions, but someone else’s? Sissy held onto her sister tighter. “Never leave me okay?”

Y/n’s grip on Sissy’s ankles tightened. “I wouldn’t leave you if they put a gun up to my head and tried to force me.”

“What if they put a gun up to Bill’s head?”

“Then the Denbroughs would suffer two lost children.” Y/n moved Sissy around to hold the young girl in her arms, against her chest. “No one will ever take me from you. And no one will EVER take you from me. I promise Sissy. I give you my word.”

Sissy was quiet for a few seconds before Y/n felt her nod. “I believe you.”

“He used to take me here all the time,” Sissy gushed as she dragged a smiling Y/n behind her up the cliff to the edge. “We have to jump off! Come on PLEAAAAAAASE!”

Y/n laughed and dropped her bike, nodding. “Okay okay okay! But we have to be really careful and I want to go first.” Sissy nodded and Y/n sighed before simply pulling her shirt over her head and then tugging off her shorts after kicking off her shoes. Sissy stripped in the same way, until they were down to their underwear, and then they walked to the edge of the cliff. Sissy looked thrilled that Y/n swallowed her fear and forced a grin on her face. The adrenaline started pumping and Y/n took a deep breath before screwing up her face and jumping. Her breath caught and her mind went blank. She hit the water and sunk, pausing. It was so quiet down there. So serene that Y/n almost wanted to never leave. Just sink to the bottom of the Quarry and stay there.

But she had made Sissy a promise. She wouldn’t leave. So instead of disappearing into the dark depths, Y/n pushed to the surface. “Okay, tour turn!” Y/n called. Sissy smiled as Y/n swam backwards to get out of her way. Then the tiny girl jumped and every part of Y/n’s body tensed. She was so small and fell so much slower. It seemed that the fall would kill her, surely. Y/n counted to two before panicking after Sissy big the water but then the young girl broke the surface, water falling between her teeth as she broke into laughter before she’d been implement out of the water.

At the girl’s giddiness, Y/n brightened and loosened up too and soon they were both dunking each other and pulling each other under and playing water games like Marco Polo and pretending they were mermaids.

They’d come quite early, set on staying at the quarry the whole day. They’d even packed a basket for a picnic lunch when they were done swimming, and Y/n had brought a book she was reading aloud to Sissy over the summer.

Right about noon, when Y/n was thinking about taking a break because it was near lunch time and Sissy was obviously getting quite tired - her mom would thank her for tiring out the little girl, surely - there cane voices from the woods. Y/n paled, not up for trusting anyone other than the little girl she knew it couldn’t be. She ditched the idea of saving heir stuff, pulling Sissy against her and hiding in the side of the cliff, trying to see who was approaching without giving away where they were if it was someone dangerous. Who else used the Quarry during weekdays?

It was Beverly’s voice that gave them away, even before Richie had the chance to.

“Hey, I think someone’s already here.” Her voice echoed off the cliff and Y/n bit her lip, unsure of who Beverly would be with, since the last time Y/n had checked Beverly and her were as much both mutually alone as they were both girls. That’s where the similarities would stop though. It seemed, though, she was definitely talking to someone.

Then Richie spoke, his voice loud and unmistakably his own. “Looks like a date. Bet if we look around we can get a peek at some people getting DOWN.” He snorted but when no other sounds came, Y/n concurred the others were ignoring him.

“Where are they?” Eddie asked, his voice shaking with worry. “Looks like two girls. Are they, um, okay or whatever?”

Y/n dismissed his concern as disliking to be around a dead body in case things had gone truly awry with the two girls he didn’t know.

There was a pause. “HELLO?”

Y/n’s heart stopped, her eyes widening and her body loosening in shock. Bill. Sissy, taking her chance, shoot forward, turning so her face looked up at the Losers. “HI!”

“Holy shit,” Richie cursed in surprise.

Sissy shot a look to Y/n who slowly moved to where the others could see her. “You guys gonna come in?” Sissy called, grinning from ear to ear. Y/n brightened- Sissy hasn’t been this happy since George had died. “What are you waiting for, you scared?”

Something about a six year old insulting their bravery pushed all of the Losers to quickly join them in the water, shedding their clothes and jumping off the cliff. Sissy interacted with all of them as Y/n kept her head down, suddenly shy and quiet. Sissy finally rolled her eyes, pulling Y/n over by her hand- straight to Bill.

“Hey-ay-“ Bill stuttered, smiling warmly.

I swallowed, struggling too hard with speaking to even te a word out. I admire his ability to speak around his stutter. I nodded, feeling about ready to cry. I was anxious and exposed and had not expected other people to show up. But they had. And I was hating it.

“She’s shy,” Sissy eased. “You’re pretty shy too. Maybe help me out with her?”

Richie moved next to Sissy’s side, cackling as e threw an arm around the little girl. “See these shy babes will never understand what it’s like for us, Kiddo.”

Sissy rolled her eyes. “I may only be six, but you’re only eleven. It’s not like you’re thirteen or anything, don’t act all grown up.”

Richie’s eyes widened, a grin lighting up his face. “I like you! Next time we’re hanging out at the arcade, there’s a few games I have to-“

“Next time?” Everyone looked at me as I spoke for the first time. I blushed under their gazes. In order to shift the focus, I offered a, “I don’t even know your names.” Which was a COMPLETE lie but a good segway nonetheless.

Bill took the opportunity to step forward, introducing Mike, Ben, Stan, Richie, Eddie, and then... “And this ih-is Bev.” His gaze softened as he landed on her and she blushed, her smile warm and adorable.

My stomach turned as all of the other Losers rolled their eyes, obviously only too aware of whatever chemistry was between the two. Meanwhile, my heart was shattering. Thankfully I wasn’t the only one who heard the break.

Sissy took my hand, leaning her head against my neck. “Y/n/n, I’m really tired...”

Thankful for my ever perspective younger sister, I began moving us toward shore. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, but we have to be going. It’s this one’s nap time. We’ve been here since like 7am so...”

“Yeah,” Mike eased as he looked at me with an analyzing gaze, sensing there was something past what I was giving away and trying to decipher it.

“See you next time?” Richie called.

I pretended not to hear him as Sissy and I gathered our stuff and left as fast as we could.

Stretching toward the sky like I don't care, wishing you could see me standing there. But I'm a sunflower, a little funny. If I were a rose, maybe you'd want me.

I'd avoided the Losers successfully for a very, very long time. Eventually they seemed rather preoccupied and stopped caring, forgetting about me altogether. I wasn't complaining. Being friends with them meant opening up endless possibilities to have someone realize that I had whatever feelings I had for Bill, and with the obvious goings on between him and Beverly, I didn't want to be on the unrequited side of the Love Triangle of Pain and Misery.

That all got messed up when I saw Greta being a bitch to Eddie and lost my shit. Greta alone was enough to boil my blood and ring out the aggressive side no one knew about me, when I was confident and an unbridled spit fire. But Eddie of all people? Eddie wasn't perfect but he was so small and easily scared and I felt a burning need to protect him. I didn't know what it was about him but he ignited mama bear inside of me on a level with Sissy.

So when I saw her offer to sign Eddie's blank cast as I was grabbing antibiotics (Sissy was sick), getting Eddie all excited just so see her glare level on him as his smile slowly faded...

"What the FUCK is your problem?" I seethed aggressively. Greta jumped, my authorative town putting her on edge even though it had almost been three full months since I cornered her and her friends in the bathroom after they'd tugged on Sissy's pigtails she'd been so proud of until the little girl felt ashamed and pulled them out, returning to her usual single ponytail. "Are you so lonely and miserable that you so strongly feel the need to drag everyone to your level?"

Eddie stared at me in awe as I slapped down money to pay for the medicine I was buying before letting my glare fall after lingering a second longer, then softly laying a hand on Eddie's arm, letting him know I wanted him to follow me. He did.

He took me to his house where I met his mother. She seemed suspicious at first but my usual charming timidness and unwavering politeness and well practiced flattery wiggled her down eventually.

After introductions, my eyes landed on Eddie's cast, my smile disappearing. "Will you excuse us for a moment?" I asked Mrs. K. She smiled, waving us off to return to her show and I nodded toward the kitchen. "Come on, I need to do something." He followed me once again. I motioned to a chair where he sat. Propping his cast up on the table. "Where do you keep your marker?" He directed me and I shuffled through. He only had one red marker and I supposed that was better than any other since it would mostly just blend into the the other letter. I sat down next to him, looking at the cast for a second.

LOSER.

I had meant to just sign my name, but then I smiled as I scrawled a messy, rushed V over the S. Then I signed my name under it.

When I looked up our eyes locked and we both smiled. "Thank you," he whispered. I shrugged. "You know I thought you were shy and hated us... but I don't think that's true."

My smile faltered. "People don't like a smart girl who takes control and stands up for what she believes in. Look at Beverly." There was a pause. "I'm really hot headed and my mom said that if I didn't get my temper under control then she would ship me off, and... Sissy and I couldn't bare the thought of being separate. So I just... stifled all of it. Muted myself."

Eddie placed his good hand over mine and we smiled again. Whether I liked it or not, we were friends now. Really, though, I couldn't even lie and say I did mind it all that much without sounding completely ridiculous.

That's when Eddie got the call, and the stretch of complete Hell and trauma in my young life started. At first he tried to leave without me, but now that I'd made my first friend I refused to let him go into any danger that made him look as scared as he did without as much backup as possible. He faced down his mom (I gave him a congratulatory high five and he didn't stop smiling for a few solid seconds... until I asked what was going on) and then we got in our bikes, peddling to Neibolt as Eddie explained the most insane story I'd ever heard.

Maybe I was just as crazy, but there was a look in his eyes that I just couldn't deny. He wasn't lying. So I went with him. The Losers were surprised to see me but Eddie told them to shut up so they did, focusing instead on updating me on absolutely anything and everything Eddie might have missed.

Bill stood, offering me a pipe as he took in my shocked expression as I processed, trying to work around my doubts which were considering surfacing. The looks in their faces were the same as Eddie’s had been- none of them were lying. With lives on the line, there wasn’t time to get proof. So I was trying to take a keep of faith... but even with my open mind, this was a lot. “You doh-don’t have to come in,” he eased, meeting my eyes with a reassuring smile, easing the pressure I knew was still there.

I took a second, looking at the house and swallowing. “Beverly’s in there,” I mumbled. “And this thing is just going to keep killing people...” My resolved snapped into place as I met Bill’s eyes. “And like you said, the more of you there are, the weaker IT is.”

“Us,” Eddie piped up. I looked at him with question written all over my face. “More of US there are, the weaker IT is.”

Richie threw an arm around me. “You scare easy, but... Welcome to the Loser’s Club, Kitty Kat.” He snickered. “Get it? Cause you’re a scaredy cat?” I shoved my elbow lightly into his ribs and he stepped back, pretending to smile. That’s all the joking was. False, fake. But I was officially a Loser, so that was cool.

Then we went in. There was Stan’s hesitation, going down the well, Henry almost killing Mike and then plummeting down to his death into the depths of the bottom of the well that none of us could see, and then we were waiting for Mike to come down the well when everything went from bad to worse.

“Y/n.” The name was low and garbled but I spun around, sure that it had been none of other than my stupid little sister who had called me... even though it did sound a little off. “Y/n.” There it was again.

IT had gotten Georgie nine months ago, Bill was sure of it. Now that shit face of a clown had my goddamn little sister. Well, not on my watch.

In hindsight, running off after Sissy was the single dumbest thing I had ever and would ever do. I didn’t know what IT was capable of in person, but I did know that I would get killed unless I stuck to the group. Yo be fair to me, though, I wasn’t used to having people to rely on. I wasn’t used to having friends or even acquaintances. Sissy was all I had left. Our parents didn’t count as dependable, loving, or responsible- without Sissy I was all alone again, like before they’d married and I’d had her come into my life. So, without a second though I took after her by myself. I didn’t notify the other Losers- I didn’t pause long enough to even consider it.

What do you expect from an eleven year old facing the prospect of losing the six year old sister that alone stands between complete loneliness and true companionship? I loved her more than life itself. I think I proved it then.

Whipping hair and bright colored dresses that were distinctly Sissy’s lead me to a chamber with pipes along the wall. It was expansive and dark and I used the flashlight to try and find where Sissy or IT was. Trying to find something, anything. “HEY!” I screamed. “WHARE IS SHE, YOU PIECE OF FUCK? WHERE’S MY SISTER?”

My flashlight finally landed on glowing yellow eyes and I jumped back, crying out in surprise. IT was exactly like the others had explained it, except... I had been wrong about the eyes. Not even yellow, they were a crystal blue. Must have been the reflection of the flash light. IT smiled at me, tilting It’s head. “Looking for your little Sissy?” It mewled, surprising me without calm and reasonable the voice was. I found myself feeling as if I was facing any adult or bully. Just another piece of shit standing between me and Sissy.

The one way anyone could ever make me upset? Hurt someone I cared about. It had scared the Losers and physically hurt a few of them too. It had killed Georgie and COUNTLESS others over the years. It had taken Beverly. And, worse of all, it had taken Sissy.

I brandished my flashlight like it was a club. “Where,” I demanded with slit eyes. “Is she?”

IT smiled wider. “I don’t have her.” He came at me and I felt the breath knocked out of me as IT grabbed my throat, slamming me into the wall. “But I have you.” The voice seemed to come from a whole new person, now lower and teeming with a sense of madness that out me on edge.

My anger overruled my fear. Whether or not IT had Sissy, it didn’t lessen all the other crimes IT had committed, and justice was demanding to be met. “I’m going to make you pay,” I spit with the last breath in my body. “I’m going to make you writhe and squirm and BEG, and then I’m going to fucking kill you. I’m going to see you die you stupid ass clown.”

The smile IT had never failed to done faltered and IT looked at me a split second before pulling me closer, sniffing me in the most inhuman, disturbing way before huffing through IT’s nose like IT had sniffed pepper instead of my scent. What did it have against regular store brand shampoo and soap? “You’re not scared,” IT growled.

“I’m scared,” I admitted. “I’m just more angry.”

IT looked at me like I was something IT had never seen before. A discovery that fascinated IT. “Not normal anger though,” IT mused.

The hands around my throat loosened to give me air but not enough to let me free. “I use my anger to protect people,” I reasoned huffily. “I don’t use my anger to destroy. I’m not-“ My head suddenly went blank and the fear seeped in again.

That’s what IT had been waiting for it seemed. IT didn’t even bother to turn into my grandfather, simply settling to get right to the eating me part. I understood why as I heard the screams of the Losers in the tunnels. My friends. MY FRIENDS! GOD I was such an idiot! While I was sitting here making small talk with a murderous demon clown who was now about to eat me, I was distracting from saving Beverly.

IT’s jaw unhinged and I screamed, fear suddenly threw only thing I could feel. I had never been more horrified in my life, the rows of teeth and general horror in front of me worse than my even most active imaginings could ever conjure. I closed my eyes, turning my head as I screamed, clawing at the wall like I used to when my grandpa would attack me. Suddenly there was commotion and the hand loosened as I fell to the floor, my body shaking. Eddie was there first, pulling em to my feet and making sure I was okay.

We didn’t have time to really make sure, though, because suddenly Bill had pulled the same dumbass move I had and run off. So now we were running after him. Finding him with a disturbingly accurate looking Georgie. Fighting IT, where my new friends got to see my grandfather sneer at me as IT grasped at the only thing IT knew I was afraid of before I slammed my pole into IT, showing off my angry side to my friends for the first time. Then IT was gone and Bill found Georgie’s coat and we were leaving, holding each other close and trying to get the full story from everyone’s point of view. They were disturbed to hear about Bev’s idea of the future that she’d sort of seen while under the influence of the deadlights and even more so by my far too casual conversation with IT. And then Bill was standing, ready to get us to vow to all come back. Bev and I looked gazes before standing up. We had dealt with IT more, so I applauded her for standing up with as much confidence as I did.

I was one of the last ones to leave, but the obvious tension between Bill and Beverly was obvious, and I would get an earful from Bev about it later, who was only too excited to have another girl in the group to talk about her feelings too. Especially when, it seemed, they included the boy I liked. Not that she meant it to be that way...

I didn’t care though. Sissy and Bev were safe and IT was gone. For now. There were pieces to pick up before I could even start to think of romance, and years to live that held plenty of time to figure it all. For now, I had to say goodbye to one of my first new friends only a few weeks after I had gained her friendship. Right now, everything else could wait.

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holdyourbreathuntilyouseelight · 5 years

Text

The Bodyguard - Chapter 3

Summary: Magnus is a dancing popstar sensation whose popularity continues to climb. Alec, an ex-Secret Service agent, is hired on as a professional bodyguard in charge of Mr. Bane’s personal security by insistence of Magnus’ manager. Despite their initial differences, Magnus finds himself falling for Alec the more time they spend getting to know each other and relies on him for more than physical security as his safety gets threatened. Loosely based on the 1992 film The Bodyguard.

Rating: M

Genre: AU, Everyone is Human AU, Celebrity!Magnus, Bodyguard!Alec, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Romance, Eventual Smut, Mutual Pining

Author: holdyourbreathuntilyouseelight

A/N: I'd like to credit the amazing Malec AU series 'Stars Aligned' by Lecrit for some inspiration for some of this. I happened to come across that fic and it solidified my decision to put Magnus on my favourite talk show, even though I could only hope to write it as in character as that incredible author. If you haven't read it, please do yourself a favour and do so - it is incredible and so in character and a mix of fluffy, funny, smutty and just plain perfection. You can read part 1 of 3 here.

Can also be read on AO3. Thanks for reading!!

Previous chapters on tumblr: Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

Alec settled back further into the pillows, smiling to himself as he read over the most recent text he received.

It had only been a few days since Alec had 'moved in' with Magnus, and so far it hadn't been so bad. Magnus had an extensive evening and morning routine, but since Alec was typically low maintenance when it came to daily prep, they managed to make it work.

Alec typically was awake first, showered and sipped at coffee while Magnus got up later and took a luxuriously long shower, exfoliated, moisturized, and did a bunch more things that Alec tuned out whenever Magnus prattled on about it when he made a comment about it.

Have you met any celebrity pals of Magnus' yet?

Alec rolled his eyes at his sister's curiosity.

No, Iz. Been a little busy trying to, y'know, do my job.

Spoilsport.

He chuckled. Another text came through shortly after.

I miss you.

The three words made him sigh.

I miss you too. I wish the tour allowed me to take a visit home at some point but it's so busy. And with everything going on, I don't want to leave Magnus vulnerable.

I know. You always do what's right. Your brothers miss you too. Max is already taller. And he's acting more like you every day.

I miss them too. How is Max like me? I thought he'd end up more like Jace when he was younger to be honest. Too curious for his own good sometimes.

Oh he definitely has his mischievous side. But he's got a good head on his shoulders too. He looks up to you so much. He may want to be Jace's best pal but he wants to BE you.

I have no idea why. He'll grow out of it, I'm sure.

Alec! Don't be stupid.

Yeah, yeah, love you too.

You know I love you, dummy.

Before he could respond with some other mocking jest, a rap of knuckles on his open door startled him out of his texting.

"Hey. If you want the bathroom, I'm done."

Alec slipped off the bed, grabbing his clothes and sending Magnus a smile. "Thanks. I won't be long."

Magnus let him by and turned to head to his own room, using one hand to dry his hair with a towel, until a noise caught his attention.

It only took him a moment to track it to Alec's cell phone on the bedspread that he left behind.

Curiosity brewed under his skin, and the second vibrate made him skip over to pick up the device. Maybe it was urgent?

He swiped to open the recent texts and stumbled upon his conversation with someone named Izzy.

He read back a few messages, his brow furrowing, especially once he got a look at the icon attached to her contact.

His eyebrows rose into his hairline. The woman was beautiful. Gorgeous.

Did Alec have a girlfriend? How had he never mentioned her?

To be fair, he couldn't recall Alec sharing much of anything to do with his life. He was a rather quiet figure, except when it came to barking orders.

If his text conversation was anything to go by, they clearly were serious, what with the playful banter and exchanges of missing each other. The casually dropped I love yous. And it sounded as though she was close to his family—making comments about his brothers the way she did, as if she had been seeing them regularly despite his absence in their lives.

It wasn't that surprising that someone had snatched Alec up. After all, Magnus wasn't blind. Alec was an attractive guy. A little too serious and uptight at times, but his appearance was certainly lacking in faults. Although, with the quiet temperament of the man, it likely took a special someone to break through his walls.

Magnus didn't know why it made his chest feel heavier.

It caught up to him when he heard the faucet running in the bathroom, that Alec could be done any moment. He quickly replaced the phone where he found it and skittered away from the bed, not wanting to be caught snooping. Alec's personal life was none of his business.

Maybe he was just bothered about it because of the other night with Camille. Alec seeing a vulnerable piece of his relationship past, and Magnus not having a clue that Alec had a present one. He had felt closer to Alec since that night, and once he revealed to him the real reason he hired him. It made him feel like he could trust him. And Magnus wasn't one to hand out trust like that to just anyone.

He didn't realize he was still hovering at Alec's doorway until the man returned, surprise on his face.

"Uh… is something wrong? Did something happen?" Alec asked, going into business-mode immediately.

His face looked freshly clean, the evening stubble shadowing his cheeks, and Magnus found himself distracted at the sight of him so casually dressed in pajamas pants and a t-shirt that he almost forgot that he was expected to speak.

Izzy's one lucky lady.

"Uh… sorry. I…"

Magnus corrected his throat.

"I was just thinking back to the other night. With Camille. I was a little too dumbstruck to say it then I think, but I wanted to make sure I had thanked you for stepping in and removing her from the building."

"It's my job, remember?" Alec teased, and Magnus felt the tightness in his chest lift a little. Their banter was what he had been enjoying since that night. The side of Alec he only got to see snippets of, when he let his guard down.

"I know, I know. But not just that. What you said… I don't know, it stuck with me. So thank you for that too."

Alec leaned against the door jamb, looking a little amused. Before Magnus could ask, he explained, clearly catching the question in his expression.

"Words aren't really my specialty. Just sort of ironic, considering. But I appreciate it."

"Why, Alexander, words aren't your specialty? Since when?" Magnus asked, mock-incredulous, and Alec rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I should really run for office with my way with words. I'm sure the public is ready for a socially awkward introvert to lead them to greatness."

Magnus threw his head back and laughed at that, finding Alec's eyes sparkling with mirth right back at him. Alec certainly had a mischevious side to him too.

The trait made him pause and think back to the conversation he peeked at.

Right. Alec was… involved. He shouldn't be this playful with him. Some might take it as flirting, and he wasn't interested in being that guy. Even if Alec hadn't confided that he was in a relationship and he could feign obliviousness. He supposed he'd have to reel back his purposeful flirting now too, despite the lovely blush his words always forced on his companion.

He straightened up and forced a smile. "Well. I should head to bed. Goodnight, Alexander."

He slinked away, not wanting to look back in case Alec could sense the disappointment in his face.

"Night." he called back, before closing his bedroom door.

Alec crawled into bed, plugging his phone in and texting a quick response to Izzy before lying down to sleep.

He wondered what had gotten into Magnus. They seemed to be in a good place, but then he started acting odd. Did he do something wrong? Push too hard?

The troubling thoughts eventually cradled him to sleep.

Early mornings were not Magnus' thing.

Ironic, considering how often he had to get up at an ungodly hour to either make some talk show, start rehearsals, or begin travelling.

Still, despite his experience, he still had to drag his feet and grumble under his breath until at least after a hot shower and mug of strong coffee.

Alec, on the other hand, appeared like he did at any other time of day; bright, alert, and ready for anything. Magnus would have assumed he would be the grumpier of the two of them, but it seemed that mildly irritated was Alec's general state of being and it didn't exceed that just because of the early hour.

The only thing that seemed to really increase his irritation was Magnus himself.

Then again, Magnus could probably work on giving him less of a hard time or not pressing so many of his buttons, but it was so fun.

"Mr. Bane, please return to the inside of the vehicle." Alec said through a heavy sigh.

Magnus poked his head through the open roof. "Keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times." he imitated an amusement park ride operator robotically.

"Magnus… you are exposed out there. We don't know if who is stalking you is dangerous to your physical well-being and they no doubt know about your appearance on Ellen."

"My fans are also aware of my appearance and expect to get a glimpse of me on my way there. I can't disappoint them."

"They will be even more disappointed if you get a bullet in your head." Alec pointed out.

Magnus huffed and climbed down from his perch, collapsing back into his seat with his arms crossed. "You really know how to dampen a mood, Alexander."

"One of my many charms." Alec quipped, going back to his tablet.

Magnus tried not to watch him too closely from the corner of his eye. It was hard not to notice that Alec was actually an incredibly attractive man, somehow more noticeable now that he knew he had an equally attractive partner. Or so he assumed. Alec had still not mentioned anything about having a girlfriend. If he did, he still hoped that Alec followed his sexuality spectrum more—at least if he was bisexual, he couldn't write off something happening between them someday completely off the table.

Then again, Alec also was infuriating at times, stubborn and callous, even though the softer side he had seen lately could melt his heart.

"We're here." Alec said as the car began to slow.

Magnus jumped up immediately and Alec's hand shot out to grab him.

"Remember what we talked about." Alec said exasperatedly, like he was dealing with a hyperactive child.

Magnus pouted and slunk back to his seat. He hated being told what to do and bossed around, but he knew that Alec knew what he was doing and it was important. After the other night, he wasn't looking to be risky at any venue, even one as well secured as Ellen DeGeneres' Warner Brothers studio.

Alec immediately went into Head of Security mode, directing the security team and going to meet with the main security person for the studio before even letting Magnus out of the car.

It would be boring if it wasn't so hot watching him take initiative and order people around with the cool confidence he exuded while he was working.

Still, Magnus was anxious to get inside and get prepped for the show. It was his favourite show to be on and he had only been on once before after he had won first place on the show. He loved watching Ellen even before he was famous. She always treated every guest equally, like they were a long-time friend, and he loved how comfortable he felt despite the millions of eyes on the pair of them and her unexpected questions or turns.

A moment later, Alec was opening the door for him.

"All right. All clear." Alec said warmly, gesturing him ahead.

Magnus reached out to clasp his arm for support to stand up. "Why thank you, Alexander. Such a gentleman." he teased, sashaying past him to head inside.

Alec rolled his eyes but he was fighting a smile.

Magnus heard an explosion of screams upon his exit from the limo, and he grinned brightly in direction to the fenced off area where fans were losing their mind over the sight of him.

"Can I go say hi?"

"I don't think that's a good idea. There has been no regulation of who is over there and if they're carrying any weapons…"

But Magnus was already skipping off to greet people, waving excitedly and embracing the ones he could reach.

Alec sighed as he trotted after him. This man was going to be the death of him.

Magnus took countless photos with exuberant fans and signed any paper thrust into his hand.

Finally, he pulled out his own phone. "I'm on Ellen today – and look at the beautiful sight that greets me!" he shouted into the camera, holding his phone far away to capture the rows of screaming teens jumping up and down. "You guys are amazing! So excited to meet more of you on this tour! Love you all!"

He ended the video as Alec put a hand on his lower back.

"Magnus, we're on a schedule. Time to go inside."

Magnus nodded. "Sorry, my bodyguard is a buzzkill. See you lovelies later!" he chirped at his audience before letting Alec lead him away back to the studio.

The screams didn't get cut off until the door of the studio closed behind them.

"Magnus! We've got to get you to hair and make-up." Raphael said, looking at his watch. "You're the second guest on the show so we need to get going."

Magnus waved a hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear you. I was giving the fans a little something they likely waited hours for. And now I have something to post to my Instagram story."

Alec met Raphael's eyes and shrugged one shoulder, admitting defeat at his ability to keep Magnus in line.

"You're fine with that, right? Since both my people and Ellen's show have been promoting my apperance here all week, so it's not as like some stalker will get new information that I'll be here today." Magnus said as he sat in the make-up chair.

Alec nodded. "Yes, exactly. It's like with your tour venues. Everything is posted well in advance, which is why we have to take such extra precautions when here, but not so much with social media."

Magnus grinned, not used to his approval, but also realizing belatedly that he never used to look for it so openly.

A well dressed woman came into the room then, wearing a headset and holding a clipboard, and her eyes went wide upon seeing the man standing off to the side of the star.

"Oh my god. Alec Lightwood?!" the blonde squeaked.

Alec's body language changed entirely. "Lydia? Hey! I didn't realize you worked here." he said as she pulled him into a big hug. She was very small compared to his tall form.

"I'm just filling in mostly, while their usual person is on maternity leave. Helping direct the show's schedule and keep things running smoothly. I thought you were working in Washington?"

"I was. But now that Trump is in office…"

"Ah. I'm sure he has certain specifications for his Secret Service team." Lydia said knowingly.

Magnus felt a little confused. Alec had implied something of the sort before when they met, but he didn't know what he meant by it. He figured he just wasn't a Trump supporter. Now he felt like he was missing something. Maybe Alec followed a disapproved religion? Or was an immigrant?

"Well, I also wouldn't want to protect someone who was against the safety of so many others just because they are different." Alec admitted. "It's really good to see you."

"You too." she said, smiling brightly up at him. She then seemed to remember there were others in the room. She clasped her hands together. "Sorry! Magnus! It is amazing to meet you. I'm Lydia."

"Nice to meet you too, Lydia." Magnus replied, kissing her proffered hand.

She giggled at his chivalry. "Let's get started with the plan for today, shall we?"

"You're not going to escort me out there, are you?"

"No. But I will be here on the sidelines to make sure nothing goes awry. I've got people stationed in different areas that I can direct from here."

"Good."

"Have fun out there." Alec said, pressing a hand to his headset to listen in to the voice talking to him. He nodded at Magnus when Lydia gestured him to go on, so he assumed Alec had gotten the all clear from the others.

Magnus headed out to the stage as the music swelled and Ellen's voice announced his presence.

He danced in his spot for a moment, giving a twirl, before crossing the stage to hug Ellen and settle in the armchair across from her.

"Well, no surprises that you are a world famous singer/dancer. We should hire you to do dance solos every show! We can just kick Twitch out!"

Twitch laughed from his spot at the DJ booth, eyes sparkling with mirth.

Magnus laughed along. "I wish. I am so very lucky to get to do what I do each day. I am forever grateful for the talent reality shows growing in popularity so that people like me have a chance to be discovered when we never would've had the resources otherwise."

"Yes, there is a lot of talent in America and beyond, and it is so great that these incredible people reaching their dreams."

"Definitely." Magnus agreed, sipping at the mug of water in front of him.

"Speaking of dreams, how is your tour going? This is, what, your third US tour? Any plans to go further?"

"It's been incredible. We have a beautiful country that I get to see so much of and it is amazing to be able to meet so many fans from all over. I'd love to go further, like Europe or another continent, but there are a lot of logistics to work out when going that far. Also need to be sure the demand is high enough to warrant it."

"Oh come on. There has to be enough demand around the globe. You're amazing!"

The audience cheered alongside her sentiment.

Magnus wasn't great at taking compliments, and he was grateful his dark skin didn't show his blush well. "Thank you. We'll see. Hopefully next tour."

"So what is new this tour? I know you have a couple dates in Canada this time around, and obviously you're promoting your newest album, but I see you've also found yourself a bigger security team."

Magnus nodded. "Yes, my manager thought it would be wise to have people with better qualifications than a previous bouncer at a bar, given the magnitude of this tour."

"And your head of security, Alec. I met him earlier. He seems to know what he's doing."

A photo of Alec appeared on the screen behind them, his head bent to murmur directions in Magnus' ear as they moved through a crowd of people all trying to get a handful of the star. It was at one of the concert venues last week. His eyes were intense, one of his big hands on Magnus' lower back, but he was every bit as gorgeous as ever.

The audience certainly seemed to think so, if their sudden cheering was anything to go by.

Ellen grinned. "He's not for me, of course, but everyone here seems to think what my staff tell me – he's… pretty."

Magnus rolled his eyes. "Pretty infuriating, but sure."

She laughed. "Is this the old-married-couple bickering I've heard rumors about? The tabloids seem to catch the pair of you arguing a lot."

The photo on the screen changed to one of him and Alec clearly in the middle of some spat, Alec's eyes mid-rolling while Magnus' mouth was twisted in an irritated scowl.

"I wouldn't call it that, but yes, we argue a lot. He's a bit uptight and bossy and I've never been good at being told what to do. Makes for interesting interactions. But I do know what he is doing is important and he is good at what he does."

"So you trust him at least?"

Magnus nodded. "With my life."

There was a series of aws throughout the studio and he wrinkled his nose at the audience.

"Well, he works my security! I should hope he can protect my life!" he said exasperatedly to the group.

Laughter broke out through the studio and he shrugged at Ellen for her amused expression.

"You make a good point. It is important you feel safe. How does he do that? Lots of wrapping you in his big arms?"

Magnus shot her a warning look, which only made her laugh.

"Not quite. It typically means me sitting on the sidelines while—"

But his spiel was interrupted by the table next to them bursting open with a shriek and a glittery disco-ball-looking costumed person running away off stage.

Magnus had startled so badly he had moved without thinking and found himself half-straddled on the back of the chair before burying his face in the cushion.

"Ellen! Why?! I thought I was in the clear since you didn't scare me last time!" he shouted at her amongst the eruption from the audience at the scene.

She was cackling in her seat, wiping her eyes. "I didn't get you last time because I wanted to make sure you came back."

"Oh, I see, so you built my trust up just to break it?!" he said hysterically, climbing back into his seat.

It was when he was resettling that he spotted Alec losing it off-stage and he flipped him his middle finger.

The audience roared with laughter again.

"Sorry. Forgot this was day time TV. That is not a nice gesture to do, kids." Magnus said directly to the camera before turning back to the host.

"I see you were right about your relationship with your head of security."

Magnus shrugged. "We're complicated, but I think it works." He glanced back at Alec to see him smiling, small and private, aimed right at him. He felt something in his chest flutter.

He dragged his eyes back to Ellen to see him watching him knowingly and he corrected his throat.

"So now that my heart has restarted, shall we continue?" he asked.

"Speaking of your heart, anyone stolen it these days?"

He knew she wouldn't let it slide. She was a successful talk show host for a reason. She had incredible observation skills, a heart of gold, and knew how to ask direct questions without hesitation.

Magnus chuckled. "Not at the moment. This tour is keeping me pretty busy. I barely have time to FaceTime my cats."

"Nobody on your team? No one you travel with and stick close to their side…" she trailed off, glancing pointedly in Alec's direction, and he laughed.

"Nope. Just me."

Ellen sighed heavily, throwing him a forgiving grin, and then thankfully moved on to asking him about his inspiration for his most popular new song.

It was mid-morning the next day when Alec got a call from Izzy.

"Hey big bro. I saw Magnus on Ellen yesterday." she said teasingly, and he could tell it was going in a direction he didn't like.

"Glad you enjoyed the show." he said as he zipped his suitcase closed.

"Oh Alec, don't be like that. Be honest - is there something going on between you two?"

"No? Of course not! He's my client. And even if he wasn't, we bicker more than we talk. I told you—he drives me crazy some days."

"I know, but I figured that the best sex always starts with a little tension."

"Jesus, Izzy!" Alec groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

She laughed. "Well, was he honest on the show? I know some fans still stupidly want him back together with Camille, but he never looked happy with her. Is he still single?"

"You know, I didn't take this job so I could be your spy on all things Magnus Bane." Alec said irritably, pushing his arm through his leather jacket.

Magnus was walking by when he heard it, and he couldn't help the swell of pride in his chest along with pure amusement at Alec's irritability. He nudged the door open further with a knock of his knuckles and held out his hand for the phone.

Alec sent him a look, but Magnus simply gestured for him to pass it over and Alec sighed as he gave him the phone.

"Magnus Bane speaking. Now, may I ask who's asking about me before I spill all my secrets?" Magnus said cheekily, eyes locked on Alec.

Alec was smothering a grin with difficulty, going back to getting ready. He knew his sister was about to lose her mind, especially since Alec hadn't been able to give her any warning. She had watched every episode of that damn reality show and had loved Magnus ever since. She was so excited when Alec told her he had been hired on to work with him.

"Holy shit." The female voice on the other end of the line breathed. "Hi. Sorry, I'm Isabelle. Or Izzy. Whatever you prefer."

The photo from Alec's phone popped into his head, along with the conversation he peeked at. So this was Izzy.

"Nice to make your acquaintance. Alec never told me he had a lady friend." Magnus said, slipping a little away from the bedroom now so Alec wouldn't necessarily hear.

To his surprise, Izzy broke out into loud laughter. "Yeah, well, Alec doesn't really do 'lady friends' of any kind. Regardless, I'm not his girlfriend—I'm his sister."

Magnus' eyebrows shot into his hairline and he couldn't help the grin that formed on his face by the news. He felt stupid for not considering that possibility before. Thinking back to her photo, the family resemblance was obvious.

"So you can't tell me about any top secret skeletons in his closet?"

Izzy laughed. "Not much to tell in the relationship area, if that's what you're after. I'll leave it to my big brother to fill you in on any… um… closeted details."

Although he knew her wording was a nod to his, he figured her awkwardness about it meant that maybe Alec was gay. He had hoped in his wildest dreams that it was a possibility, given the way Alec blushed so spectacularly at any flirting hew threw his direction and the way his eyes never followed even the most gorgeous of women that walked past, but after seeing him reacquaint with Lydia the day before, he was wondering if they were old flames.

He was enjoying this phone call more and more.

"Well, enough about your brother. Tell me about you. And you can ask me anything you want to know."

Meanwhile, Alec finished getting ready and came out to find Magnus chatting animatedly with Izzy on the phone like they were old friends. He was sprawled out in the armchair, legs flopped over the armrest, and he seemed perfectly at ease.

Alec never would understand the ease at which Magnus could communicate with people. He never seemed nervous or worried about saying the wrong thing—it was like he knew exactly what to say or ask with everyone to keep them interested, entertained and above all else – feeling special. It was fascinating to witness, especially since all Alec had ever managed to do was make people feel afraid of him or just plain uncomfortable.

Alec met Magnus' eyes and twirled his finger in a 'wrap it up' gesture, pointing to his watch.

Magnus rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Izzy. Your brother is giving me the finger."

"Hey!"

Magnus grinned, clearly pleased with himself for his choice of wording. "I'll text you my number, Isabelle, and we can continue this conversation later."

He said his goodbyes and tossed the phone back to Alec. He looked down to see Izzy had already hung up. Sheesh. She had called to talk to him originally and she hadn't even bothered to say bye.

He supposed that was the magic of Magnus though. He had the ability to make you feel like you were the only person in the world at the time.

"All right. Let's get going then." Magnus said, grabbing his bag and hoisting it over his shoulder. "I like your sister by the way. She had a lot of interesting things to say about you, too."

Alec blanched. "Wait, like what?"

Magnus continued walking out of the door, not turning back.

"Magnus! Like what?!"

Continue to Chapter 4

#malec #malec au #malec fic #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #the bodyguard fic

12 notes · View notes

moirasimagines · 6 years

Text

closer | william (westworld) x reader

a kiss prompt from @transowenharper turned into a full-fledged one shot lmao. william’s shitty evening takes a turn for the better when the reader shows up.

word count: 1,900

warnings: none!

you’d been out of grad school for about two years. it was a strange, almost liminal space. gone were the sleepless nights penning your thesis and the grueling internships and the bullshit. you hardly knew how to live without all of it. the universe, however, was keeping its eye on you.

there was new bullshit to deal with now, thank you very much.

you had never really been lucky in love. it was frustrating. people were always supportive, telling you that eventually you’d meet the right person, or that everyone was foolish not to see how special you were. you did your best to believe them–– you did believe them, usually.

sometimes, though, it was difficult.

for instance, tonight your roommate had dragged you out to a bar, insisting you give it a go even though all you could think about was the profile you were working on for the end of the month.

it was about a man named logan delos, the heir to an incredibly successful business empire. once he realized you had no interest in sleeping with him, he began to blow you off almost without fail. you ended up spending more time with his brother-in-law, william. he, at least, had no ulterior motives, being engaged to logan’s sister. and he actually seemed interested in helping you get something published.

even so, you felt like the biographer of a biographer. the more william told you about logan, the more you knew about william. you’d begun to toy around with the idea of taking an entirely new angle to your editor: delos incorporated’s inside outsider. you were sure they’d laugh you out of the office if not the building itself.

it made you crazy, how little recognition someone like william got in the business world. he was genuine and smart and kind. he was a rare breed, and you seemed to be the only one who could recognize it. the logan deloses of the world would never capture your readers’ hearts the way william could. the way he’d captured yours.

but he was engaged, and so you didn’t give it a further thought.

well… sometimes you did. he didn’t seem all that happy. he hardly spoke about his finacé, and when he did, it was with a conservative and withdrawn respect. it was admirable, but hardly the stuff true love was made of.

so even when you were consumed with work, a part of your heart was consumed with william. how could you resist falling for the first person in ages who really took you seriously? who seemed to think you had what it took to make it? sometimes you thought you’d never get the damn article written.

even with all that stress, there you were at the bar, perched in a corner, your roommate scanning the crowd. he knew your type all too well, and since you clearly weren’t going to do the work yourself, he spotted someone for you.

“hey,” he murmured, nudging you to get your attention. “check that guy out over there. looks like he was made for you.” you looked up half-heartedly from your drink and your eyes widened.

“jesus christ, i know him.” your roommate raised an eyebrow.

“how?”

“from work. he’s the brother-in-law of the guy i’m supposed to be writing about.”

“jeez. that explains why he looks so miserable.”

“i’m gonna go talk to him.”

“hitting on a subject? that’s bold, even for you.”

“what? no, i just want to see if he’s all right, you perv. and he’s not the subject. even if he should be.” you gave your roommate a pointed look and he chuckled at you as you walked off. you rolled your eyes at him over your shoulder, and he swiftly began looking for a place to crash overnight–– just in case you needed a little privacy later.

william was tired. he was a little sad, sure. scared, even. but above all, he was so goddamn tired. with his gaze pointed towards the ground, the tips of your shoes were what first alerted him to your presence. he looked up, already prepared to get out of someone’s way or to politely excuse himself from the bar because he was bumming out the patrons. he was surprised to look up with apologetic eyes to find you standing at his barstool.

“oh, y/n. hi,” he said straightening up and smiling. “how are you?”

“i’m all right,” you replied. “i, uh... just wanted to come check on you. i saw you over here and it... looked like you weren’t having such a good night.” you bit your lip, hoping the observation wouldn’t offend.

he nodded, half shrugging. “you got me. ah, actually... it’s not great news for either of us. james delos fired me this afternoon.” your jaw dropped.

“are you serious? your own father-in-law?” william let out a humorless chuckle.

“no, no... not for a while now, actually.” you nodded slowly, eyes wide. “they wanted to keep it quiet. less gossip. but, ah...” he simply shook his head, at a loss for words, it seemed. you had to admit, you were a little bit horrified. sliding into the stool beside him, you laid a hand on william’s shoulder.

“i’m so sorry, william. that’s... that’s really terrible.” he gave a little wave, dismissing the thought.

“eh... nothing to be done.”

“i... i mean, you could fight it! go back, tell them they can’t just fire you because your relationship didn’t work out. they can’t fire you over nepotism–– i’ve seen your work, it’s brilliant. you’re one of the most diligent people i’ve ever met!”

his smile grew wistful as he watched you speak. the fact that you became so impassioned–– especially over him, of all people–– warmed his heart.

“it wasn’t anything like that. i think more than anything, they weren’t too happy that i was speaking with you... about the profile on logan.” your eyebrows rose.

“...oh.” oh. “holy shit,” you murmured, “please tell me i didn’t get you fired.” william’s brow furrowed.

“no, no no, god. if anything, i... i think i might have gotten you fired, actually.”

you hated to admit it, but hearing that was the biggest relief you’d had in months. “i’m sorry, y/n,” he went on, “i had no idea that they would––” you shook your head.

“no, don’t apologize. that piece was sucking the life out of me. how could i write an entire, honest article praising logan’s business practices? he’s like a schmoozing, flirting, glorified test-dummy.” this made william laugh.

“well then, maybe we’re both lucky we got out when we did.”

“i’ll drink to that.” you motioned for the bartender. “two glasses of champagne, please.” william arched an eyebrow.

“what are we celebrating?”

“freedom.”

----

when you checked your phone an hour later, your roommate had graciously elected to couch surf with a friend for the night. you frowned at the screen, half annoyed that he presumed you’d be so forward with your now-former colleague and half annoyed that he was right.

“everything okay?” william asked as he tugged on his coat.

“yeah,” you said, slipping the phone into your pocket before he could see. “yeah, just... my roommate. he met someone and went home with them and wanted to let me know.” it wasn’t the furthest thing from the truth. it was half how you had expected the night to go anyway.

“well, then let me walk you home.”

“oh, no, i wouldn’t want to put you out,” you replied, feeling guiltily like you’d laid a trap and he was falling right into it.

“don’t be ridiculous. It would be my pleasure. least i can do after you bought me a drink, eh?” you couldn’t help but smile.

“well then... how can i refuse?” he grinned in return.

“that’s the spirit.”

the night was chilly, but not overwhelmingly so. your apartment wasn’t terribly far, but the walk was long enough that it gave you time to talk.

“i really am sorry that you were fired,” you said softly. “especially for any hand i might have had in making it happen.” william stopped and looked at you, shaking his head.

“you don’t need to keep apologizing. in fact, you’ve done me a favor.” you smiled a little crookedly.

“how’s that?” you asked, head tilting to the side. you squinted, trying to get a read on him. william gestured for you to forge ahead, and he followed.

“my whole life… i just wanted to make something of myself. i wanted to be normal, i wanted to be successful, i wanted to be worth something. and i spent so much time chasing this… this american dream horseshit. and it wasn’t until now that i realized it wasn’t doing a single thing to make me happy. getting fired... i thought it would be awful–– as soul-crushing as i imagined it to be.” you slowed your pace as you approached your apartment, and william followed suit. “but it was a relief.”

his eyes were practically sparkling, and they fixed on yours hypnotically. you couldn’t tell if you leaned in first, or if he did, but within moments your lips molded to his and his hands were in your hair. he kissed you sweetly, but with fervor, like you were water to a dying man. when the kiss broke so you could both breathe, he didn’t let go of you, and you didn’t want to move. your foreheads touched gently, and you let your fingers curl in the fabric of his coat.

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, despite yourself. it still felt like you were taking advantage of him, even though the feelings you had developed for him were clearly mutual. he shook his head, nose brushing delicately against yours with the gesture.

“you are… the first person…” he said earnestly and in between breaths, “to see me in my life. in the past few weeks, i’ve felt more of a connection to you than i have ever felt... with anyone. and you are the one who taught me that i needed to be brave enough–– to take a chance, and tell you.”

you were stunned for a moment, completely unsure of how to deal with such a beautiful outpouring of emotions. his grip began to loosen in your hair, hands drifting down to your shoulders. you could feel him start to hesitate, to begin to apologize, and you pulled him closer, one hand tightening around his waist and the other cupping his cheek. this kiss was deeper, more desperate, and at once you knew where william would be sleeping tonight. your lips parted again, and this time it was your turn to speak, the words turning to vapor against his lips in the cold night air.

“i see you,” you murmured, looking at him through your eyelashes. “i see you. and i want to keep seeing you for the foreseeable future. fuck everyone else–– everyone else who doesn’t see how special you are.”

“and how special you are.”

“yeah,” you replied, bolstered ever higher by his kindness. “do you… do you wanna come upstairs?”

“you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” his voice was mischievous, and he stole one more kiss before letting go of you long enough for you to unlock the door. he didn’t let you stray much further than that for the rest of the night.

#westworld imagine #william x reader #westworld william x reader #transowenharper #im aaaa MESS

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shireness-says · 6 years

Text

The Prickly Witch’s Guide to Magic

Summary: Emma Swan tries to keep the witch thing on the down-low. But when a handsome stranger discovers her secret and begs her to teach him magic, Emma finds herself using her powers for good to try and save his brother. ~9.6K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

A/N: It’s finally here - my @cssns piece! I’m really pleased how this one turned out, and I hope you love it too.

The fantastic fic art up top was put together by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713, and will also be posted on her page. Go give her some love - she deserves it! Thanks for the edit, darling, I love it!

Special thanks also go out to my beta, @snidgetsafan; @distant-rose and @winterbythesea, who helped me come up with titles at the last minute; and the great mods for this event, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, and @katie-dub. Thanks for making this such a great event, I’ve loved getting to know folks in the fandom!

Tagging the folks I think might be interested: @branlovesouat, @awkwardnessandbaseball, @searchingwardrobes, @courtorderedcake. If you ever want to be tagged in my stuff, sent me a message.

And a quick disclaimer: my knowledge of anything medical is completely non-existant.

Without further ado: Enjoy!

Emma tries to keep the whole witch thing on the down-low.

It’s not that she’s ashamed – she’s really not. It’s just that if someone’s going to put the whole witchcraft thing into the public eye, it should probably be one of the people who view it as a way of life or whatever, instead of Emma, who tends to treat it as a hobby at best.

The thing is, she wasn’t raised as a witch, and she didn’t really actively seek it out either. She just went into the second-hand bookstore looking for a birthday present for Mary Margaret, and the old, leather-bound tome had just seemed like it was calling to her – like it was there for her and her alone. Like it wanted her more than anyone (with the exception of her best friend) ever had. So she had bought it for nearly obscenely cheap and brought it home.

(She learns later it’s technically called a grimoire, but when she first found it on the shelf, it was just a weird looking old book with a lot of funny illustrations.)

It was just messing around at first. It was pretty obvious the book was about some sort of magic, filled with discussions about the pros and cons of using wands and short biographies of famous wizards (hello, Merlin and da Vinci) and the importance of using as fresh of snake scales as possible for maximum potion efficacity. Emma didn’t take it too seriously right away, but she was finally bored enough to look through it one day, and shocked to find most of the instructions actually worked. At first, it was just little things – seeing if she could turn on the lights (she could), make a grilled cheese appear (she couldn’t, but that’s apparently less about ability and more about obscure laws of witchcraft), clean her dishes (and oh fuck yes she could, this was the best book ever; her apartment would finally be clean and Mary Margaret would get off her back). So spells go pretty well.

And then she got into potions because her cramps were fucking awful one month and she never wanted to go through that again. So she looked through the book and found a potion for curing muscle aches and made up a batch to keep on hand. And the next month, when her uterus tried to kill her again, she tried it as practically a last resort, and it worked. It worked even better the next month when combined with the potion for “intestinal distress” that she found and thought might be good for the bloating (and hot damn, it was).

So Emma Swan, who can barely feed herself, is suddenly using her stove to cook up all kinds of potions – mostly the frivolous ones for, like, shiny hair or ‘an aura of confidence’ or whatever, but still. It counts. The massive soup pot Mary Margaret got her years ago has never seen so much use in its short, somewhat sad life.

And she kind of thought that’d be it – Emma Swan gains a weird hobby, keeps Mary Margaret stocked with all the aphrodisiacs she and David could ever hope to go through. But she’s out and about at a little café one day, and that same sixth sense that led her to the book starts going off again, and that’s how she meets Belle – librarian by day, witch and magical researcher by night.

And then Mary Margaret gets her a fish and calls it her familiar as a joke, and she and Belle keep meeting to try new spells, and it sneaks up on her, just like that, that oh my God she’s totally a witch. Even if Harold the goldfish doesn’t do much more than placidly putter about his bowl instead of helping Emma channel her magic, like she thinks a familiar is supposed to (that is the idea, right? The book wasn’t particularly helpful on that subject).

Things kind of spiral from there. It’s just her and Belle for a while, until Emma has to swing by the library to print stuff one day and finds a woman in there about to hyperventilate because she accidentally froze someone’s water bottle. And even if they haven’t noticed, the woman is still standing there shaking and muttering about this being why she can’t leave the house, and Emma can’t just let that go. So Emma manages to calm the woman down enough to get her into the Bug and back to her tiny apartment, and goes about plying her with hot chocolate made with magically operating equipment (à la Mrs. Weasley, if Emma’s being very honest about how this all looks) in an effort to show her that magic can be controlled and is actually a good thing. And that person is Elsa. Emma and Belle do a lot of research and invite Elsa to all their meetings, and are generally able to help Elsa get her powers under control – especially since so much of the problem was that Elsa thought she was the only person in the world who could do magic and everyone would hate her if they learned of her abilities. In time, Elsa becomes a regular member of their little social/research group.

(It’s especially nice when, after Elsa pulls her life together, she offers to let Emma live in one of the rooms of her old Tudor-style home and just pitch in on the utilities and groceries.)

(Anna still likes to periodically send Emma fruit baskets as a thank you for coaxing her older sister out of her shell, and Emma has never been one to turn down free food, even if the whole thing makes her somewhat uncomfortable. Emma Swan is not great at thanks, ok?)

Belle is the one who meets Regina at an old bookshop, when she actually has to fight her over an old spellbook (a fight that Regina wins because Belle is a total pushover, but what are you going to do). Regina is looking for a new circle after a whole debacle with her previous group – “My batshit crazy sister turned it into some sort of power-hungry coven, and I was not there for that” – and Belle is, again, too kind to say no.

(Never mind the fact that they’re practically becoming their own little coven after Belle moves in to one of the other rooms at Elsa’s, and shit, they really are becoming witches, aren’t they? Clichés and all.)

And they’re good, the four of them. Regina may want them to stretch their wings a bit, get out there and use their magic to effect small changes in the world, but Emma is more than happy with the way things are right now, searching out new texts and comparing notes with other local witches, and finding the perfect spell to extend their rooms to include an ensuite bathroom because that is a priority if Emma’s ever seen one.

But they’re not a coven. They’re just a group of mutual friends - or acquaintances, as the case may be with Regina - who all practice magic, and sometimes get together to do some research. That’s it. It’s like… a weird book club or something. And so what if they sometimes test out some of the more intriguing spells in the house or back yard? It’s not that unusual. And honestly, some of these spell names are so smudged they have to test them somewhere just to figure out what the hell they do.

(Oh fuck, they’re totally a coven.)

Honestly, Emma tries to keep her magic inside the house. That’s not everyone’s strategy; Elsa in particular uses hers out in the world, now that she’s opened an ice cream parlor, which makes sense given where her magical strengths lie. Belle sometimes uses her magic as a research tool at the library, Emma knows, especially when she needs that one specific book that has been reshelved in the wrong place (she’s actually fashioned this impressive computer application that will give her a map showing exactly where it is, which is hella impressive and something Emma thinks they could totally capitalize upon if the magic thing becomes common knowledge). Emma really doesn’t want to know if lawyer Regina is using magic in her profession because that seems pretty unethical. And Emma doesn’t want to be in the middle of it if it’s happening. Better for her to just… not know.

So she tries to keep the magic inside the house, but sometimes, exceptions have to be made. Like when she breaks a heel while chasing one of her skips and it just seems more efficient to create something magical for him to trip over than to keep chasing. Or when the horrible ancient computer in the bail bonds office freezes up again, and she sends a little spark into its ancient guts just to encourage any kind of action. Or any of the multiple things that go wrong with her Bug.

Like now. Standing on the street, staring at a dead battery.

And yes, eventually she will have to get that new battery, but it has been a Long Day, and Emma is tired, and she just wants to get home, dammit, without calling Belle or Elsa to come pick her up. And hey, she does have a way to fix this, doesn’t she?

So Emma metaphorically winds up and lets loose a little burst of magic, just enough to get the old girl running.

Unfortunately, when she steps back, satisfied with the now rumbling engine, she notices she has an audience.

Fuck.

She should have paid more attention, checked the area, but she was so damn tired, and now some dark-haired dude is staring at her with his mouth wide open. Which, granted, is warranted, since Emma just started her car with magic.

As Emma makes eye contact, his jaw snaps shut, and she throws him a look she hopes conveys “Don’t you dare tell anyone, idiot.” It must work, because he nods frantically with wide eyes. She’ll have to take his word for it; lord knows she’s not marching over there to demand a promise and even debating a memory spell feels far too Regina for Emma’s liking.

So with a final look, Emma gets into her car and drives away, trying to forget the whole debacle.

------

The problem is, she can’t just forget it, though not for lack of trying. After taking down her latest skip, Emma gets a few days off of work, finally getting the chance to replace her damn battery and even have a little downtime. But the afternoon of her first day back, when she’s just ready to get into her car and go back home to the creaky Tudor and maybe talk her roommates into takeout, he’s there, waiting for her to show up. The guy from the other day - the guy who saw her do magic, the guy who could probably expose her secret to the world if he felt like it - standing, just leaning against a streetlight right next to her car. And it’s fucking creepy, but Emma can handle herself. She’s got her gun at her hip and a switchblade in her boot and a whole encyclopedia in her head of ways to hit a man and make it hurt.

She’s just paging through her mental catalog for precisely which move she should use to get him to hit the road when he opens his mouth and shocks her.

“Can you teach me magic?” he demands, leaving Emma somewhat startled.

“Excuse me?”

“Magic,” the man repeats. “You have magic, right? Can you teach me?”

He may not actively be a threat, but he has now been reclassified as an annoyance in Emma’s book, which is almost worse. Threats? Emma can deal with threats: shoot them, punch them, kick them in the balls. An annoyance? Well, she still wants to do all that, but can’t find any justification to act on those impulses.

So again, Emma just rolls her eyes, climbs in her car, and drives away.

------

This continues for a week.

Emma will walk out of her building to find the dark-haired nuisance waiting and ready to beg. He always keeps his distance, never makes her feel unsafe, but is a near-constant irritation that she just can’t shake, dammit.

Her week goes something like this:

Monday: Tall, dark, and irritating flashes a grin he must think is flirtatious or disarming or something, starts to say “Excuse me, Miss, if I could just ask you a few questions…” and earns a car door slammed in his face for his trouble.

Tuesday: The annoying bastard comes with bribery this time in the form of a cup of coffee and that same charming smile. Emma gives him another look and drives away without words.

Wednesday: The persistent son of a bitch tries to get personal. “Hi there,” he starts, “my name is Killian Jones, and I was hoping we could talk -”

“Still nope!” Emma tosses over her shoulder before driving away.

Thursday: Emma doesn’t go in because she has an overnight stakeout that evening. It’s a nice break from Killian(noying) Jones.

Friday: He starts to seem a little desperate. He shows up with an honest-to-god hot chocolate and one of those packaged chocolate chip muffins she loves and tries to convince her (“The lady at the cafe said this is your order, and I was hoping to have a word with you…”).

Emma is not convinced, but she does take the muffin and tries to ignore the way his face falls in disappointment that her reaction hasn’t changed. (Even if she is starting to feel a bit bad, there’s no way in hell she’s taking an open beverage from a stranger. She’s not interested in becoming the next installment of Dateline, thank you very much.)

By the time the next Tuesday rolls around, he’s resorted to outright pleading.

“Please, Miss, I am begging you, teach me something about magic.”

Even Emma and her prickly heart are a little moved and intrigued by his desperation and persistence. A little. But the thing is, even if Emma wanted to teach him magic, she can’t. It’s not something he’d be able to just… pick up. You’re either born with the ability or you’re not, and Emma’s been able to tell which, ever since she first picked up the grimoire. It’s like a magic sixth sense or something, an itch under her skin that says all is not as it seems. It’s an itch she’s probably always had - come to think of it, that might have something to do with her lie detector and uncanny talent for tracking down people who don’t want to be found - but ever since she had found the book and delved into the study of magic, she’s suddenly and acutely been aware of that instinct. It’s how she met Belle, it’s how she met Elsa, it’s how she knows that her favorite waitress at the local diner isn’t just what she appears (and why Emma tries to tip extra well at the full moon, because if working with PMS is a bitch, working before you turn into a freaking wolf has to be equally awful). But this guy? This Killian Jones? Emma’s not getting any of her little mental alerts. There’s not a magic bone in his body. And Tuesday is the day she finally snaps and tells him as such.

“I can’t, alright?” she snaps. “Sorry to disappoint.”

But of course, a man as inexplicably desperate as he just has to push, to prod, to refuse to accept her damn answer.

“Well why not?” he demands. “Too busy? Just give me an hour, I’m sure we can figure something out - ”

“Because I can’t teach people who don’t already have magic, you idiot!”

His entire body practically collapses in on itself as he registers her words, and Emma almost feels bad. Almost. Except for the part where he’s been pestering her for a week now.

“You’re a muggle, Jones,” she chuckles humorlessly, before a thought catches her. “Why the hell is it so important that you learn magic, anyways?”

------

She feels like a total ass when he tells her.

Killian Jones, she learns, has an older brother, who is his entire world.

“He’s all I have left,” he chokes out through the tears. Because Liam Jones, beloved older brother of one Killian Jones, has been in the hospital ever since a drunk driver plowed into his car a month ago. There’d been a convenient bus stop nearby with a bench on which they could sit and talk, but Emma finds that he’s having trouble meeting her eye, as if fully facing the woman he’s begging for help means facing the reality of his brother’s situation. “The doctors were able to set the broken bones and fix the internal bleeding, but he won’t wake up. They’re saying things about brain damage…” the sad, dark-haired man in front of her trails off, running a hand through his hair. Emma can’t decide whether the gesture is more absent-minded or distressed. “He’s everything to me. And they’re saying it will take a miracle for him to ever be alright again.” His back straightens, as if with new resolve, and finally fully turns to face her. “Well, I don’t have a miracle. But you have magic, and I thought if you could teach me, that might be enough.” As the memory of her earlier words catches up, he slumps again. “But if you can’t teach me…”

“I can’t,” she interrupts, hating herself for the abruptness as new tears spring to his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I won’t help.”

For the first time, she sees a flicker of hope cross his face. “Yeah?”

Emma nods, once, definitively. “Yeah. Hop in.”

------

“Dinner will be ready soon!” Belle chirps as Killian and Emma walk through the front door of the old Tudor. “I found this mac and cheese recipe in one of the new cookbooks. It’ll probably be our cause of death, but hey, what a way to go - ”

“We’ve got company,” Emma finally cuts in, trying not to chuckle as Killian looks around the entryway with eyes comically wide, like he’s expecting a stack of broomsticks in a corner or something.

(To be fair, there is currently a broom in the corner where the stairs meet the wall, but it’s one of the plastic ones and there because Emma’s a bit of a slacker when it comes to cleaning.)

Belle rushes into the living room a moment later as Emma is still trying to motion to Killian to take off his shoes (technically, she could do it for him, but using magic on unsuspecting people who don’t deserve it is rude). She looks like some picture out of a misogynistic 1950’s Betty Crocker advertisement, with her heels and carefully coiffed hair and a damn apron, for fuck’s sake.

“Company?” she asks a little breathlessly - probably what running around in platform heels will do to you - “You didn’t mention company this morning.” And then, not nearly far enough under her breath to disguise the words, “You never have company.” It earns her a glare from Emma and an even more bewildered look from Killian.

“Yeah, well this wasn’t exactly planned.” Gesturing to the man in question, Emma continues into the introductions. “Killian Jones, my roommate Belle. Belle French, Killian Jones. We’re helping him.”

Belle furrows her brow. “We? I’d love to help, Emma, but I’m not sure how much I can do to help find your skips -”

“No, not that. Magic. We’re helping him with magic.”

That catches Belle off guard, sending them into several moments of shocked silence, only broken when Killian quietly offers, “If that’s okay with you…”

Belle finally snaps back to attention. “Oh! Yes, of course! Oh Emma, this will be such a good opportunity to finally use these powers to make a difference…”

And they’re off.

------

Elsa reacts similarly to Emma’s sudden pronouncement, and Regina is practically giddy over the phone at the opportunity to finally fucking do something (and someone really needs to talk to her about interacting with people, because this is not the way to go about it). By the time Belle has the goopy macaroni spooned into bowls, they’ve brought down every spell book they own and spread them across the kitchen table.

Belle full-out cries when Killian tells the story again, and Emma knows she’ll do anything to help, what with her tender Disney Princess heart. Elsa’s already pulled out a legal pad to write down all their ideas, and Emma’s actually feeling really confident about this. Regina’s proved particularly good at locating sleeping curses and antidotes (which is, frankly, a little alarming), so that’s what they decide to try first. They all agree to meet at the hospital two days later to test their first batch of potential solutions.

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” Killian tells Emma quietly before he leaves, standing by the door and trying clumsily to put his shoes back on while juggling the Tupperware containers of chocolate chip cookies and macaroni that Belle insisted on sending home with him.

It’s the wrong thing to say, at least if he wants a real answer, because Emma Swan has spent her life looking out for herself and never really learned how to react to others’ thanks. She thinks she manages to mutter out something along the lines of, “Yeah, whatever, no problem,” but honestly there’s no telling - she’s too busy shuffling her feet and not making eye contact to really pay attention. He must sense it, because his words change from sentimental to almost business-like.

“I’ll see you Thursday, then? The main lobby at City Hospital, 6pm?”

Emma nods, grateful for the change in subject. “We’ll be there.”

He almost manages a smile. “Wonderful.” And then he’s gone.

(It’s not quite relief that Emma feels at his departure, but Killian Jones just makes her feel off balance, so it’s not sorrow either.)

------

Liam Jones looks rough.

Emma isn’t quite sure what she expected—she is coming to see a comatose hospital patient, after all - but it’s shocking all the same. She can see such a strong resemblance between the two brothers, but his frame looks diminished from a month hooked up to wires and fed through tubes, cheeks hollow and frame slim with an unhealthy, sallow tint to his skin. She can see the hint of a curl in his sandy brown hair, but it’s lank and slicked back. Overall he has the look of a man barely clinging to life, a barely breathing corpse, and it brings what two days ago in the kitchen was a theoretical problem into horrifying reality.

Maybe it’s just the harsh fluorescent lighting inside the hospital, but Emma Swan can suddenly see how awful Killian looks too. There are faint shadows under his eyes, and his cheekbones stand out in stark relief, more gaunt than they ought to be (though Emma does suspect that he always has those handsome, defined cheekbones, but this seems excessive and unnatural). Clearly, the worry over his brother is taking its toll on him.

Killian still tries to stay cheerful, plumping the pillows of a man who can’t tell one way or another and chattering away about “all these lovely ladies come to see you, you lucky bastard!”, but Emma can tell his confidence is wavering.

It’s only now, here at the hospital, that Emma realizes exactly how out of their depth they all are, how out of place to boot. They’re all here at the behest of a man they barely know, trying to help a man they’ve never met. No matter how Emma looks at it, she feels like an imposter, and even worse, a bearer of false hope for a man they may already be too late to help. Killian is trying as hard as he can to bring normalcy to this situation by making one-sided introductions, but there’s an awkward and heavy cloud that hangs over the whole situation.

It’s Elsa who’s the ice breaker, surprisingly, walking up and taking Liam’s hand like he’s anyone else she’d greet in a meeting or on the street. Emma may have helped Elsa out into the world, but she’s still a retiring sort, shy and nervous about meeting new people. But she’s the one able to take the human, compassionate approach where the rest of them have fallen into the mistake of looking at Liam as a problem to be solved.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Liam,” she says in her soft, matter-of-fact voice. “We’re going to do everything we can to help you.”

And that’s enough to focus their attention and get everyone started.

Emma’s the first up, which is nerve wracking, but she’s the best at healing spells (way too much practice on herself), and they collectively decided that would be the first theory to try. Maybe, if they’re very lucky, this can be an easy fix, and Emma can sort out whatever is wrong with Liam’s brain the same way she would deal with a sprained ankle or broken ribs. Emma isn’t particularly hopeful, but looking over and seeing the trusting look in Killian’s eyes helps.

So she holds her hand over Liam’s forehead, gathers every ounce of concentration she possesses to collect the necessary magic from that well deep inside her, and releases it all at once. And yeah, it creates a nice little glow, but Emma can tell right away that it’s not going to work. She can already feel with her magic that there’s nothing to fix. She’s sure there’s better medical terms the doctors would use, but the closest she can describe it as is a feeling that his brain is stalled, or hibernating. She can help with some of the swelling, but Emma just knows, in a way that she can’t describe, that she can’t make him wake up.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to tell Killian with words about how she’s just failed; one look at her face, and what must be an incredibly guilty look, and he nods resignedly. “Thank you for trying,” he tells her, and that hurts almost as bad as her failure itself - the way he isn’t blaming her.

“We’ve got other things to try,” she adds, whether to remind him or herself still unclear.

And they do. Regina is already stepping forward with a list of spells to reverse sleeping curses, and Emma willingly passes the proverbial baton to allow the other woman a chance to try her solutions. A concentrated blast like she had just attempted is a pure burst of energy, and Emma welcomes the chance to slump into the nearby chair, no matter how uncomfortable, and take a moment to recuperate.

Emma has to admit - Regina is good at these complex spells, where each and every word has to be pronounced just so or it all goes awry. She’s also surprisingly gentle with their patient, brushing his hair back where a gust of magic must have tousled it, and Emma is surprised and gratified to realize that Regina must actually have a heart underneath that terrifying shell.

But even her skilled spellwork doesn’t do it. Liam Jones is still resolutely unconscious.

Back to the drawing board.

------

“I know technically it’s not a sleeping curse, but it’s not like magic is the most exact thing in the world,” Regina says, pacing the front room and blatantly contradicting her many soapbox speeches about how exact you have to be in magic and spellwork. “I was so sure it would work.”

She’s disappointed. They’re all disappointed. It had been heartbreaking to leave Killian with what was still only a shell of his brother, but they’d filed out one by one, Emma the last to leave.

“We’ll find something else that will work,” she says as confidently as she can muster.

“I believe in you,” he says. It’s funny how just those four words warm her heart. “But even if you can’t, I just want to thank you for everything you’ve tried. It’s a lot more than most would have done.”

(And damn if that doesn’t make her all the more determined to find a way to fix this.)

So they’re paging through the books again.

“There’s one here for ‘opening the mind’…” Belle uncertainly offers.

Emma shrugs in return. “Worth a shot. Can’t be any worse than that thing Elsa found about reversing a soul being trapped in the wrong body.”

They’ve made it through the obvious options - healing magic, sleeping curses - so the evening has been taken up by more outlandish suggestions. Light magic used in the wrong context doesn’t backfire, thankfully, so even their more absurd ideas won’t negatively impact Liam.

Emma has just shut one book and is about to open another when there’s a knock on the door. It’s late, nearly 9:30, and as far as Emma’s aware, they’re not expecting anyone (she’d been counting on it, actually, when she’d pulled on her fleece Mario pajama pants and an old t-shirt). But none of them are in the habit of just ignoring the door, so she hauls herself up off the old couch to find out what the hell this mystery person wants.

And (of fucking course) it’s Killian, standing there on the front porch holding a collection of Granny’s takeout bags like some sort of fried food fairy. And of course he looks bashful and adorable, while Emma’s in sloppy clothes and the glasses she never lets anyone see if she can help it. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I, uh…” She can see his hand moving like he wants to scratch behind his ear, but he’s got too many bags and a tray of drinks to actually manage the maneuver. “I thought I’d buy you all some dinner as thanks for what you’re doing.”

Oh. That’s unexpected. Very sweet, but unexpected. “That’s, uh.... thanks. That’s nice of you.” She moves to take some of his load, and he gratefully hands her one of the stuffed bags. Emma can already smell the fried goodness, and she is so ready to eat (she may have forgotten to do so in the middle of all this research, a fact Killian undoubtedly knows somehow). Holding half the haul, she stands there, confused and with raised eyebrow, as the man on her porch makes no move to hand over the other half, and then some, of her dinner.

Seeing her questioning look, he smiles sheepishly. “I was hoping to maybe come in? Eat with you? I picked up something for myself as well.”

And suddenly, it clicks. He’s lonely, just like Emma used to be before witchcraft brought so many people into her life. He’d already said it; Liam is his entire world. And without Liam, he’s probably wondering what to do with himself. So she steps aside and lets him in the door.

“I hope it’s alright,” he says, “but I just went to the place down the street. They seemed to know everyone’s orders, so there wasn’t any guesswork.”

It’s more than alright. In fact, Emma’s switched her opinion and he’s clearly some sort of food bearing angel. The other ladies are in similar states of surprise and gratefulness - Regina earns a particularly baleful look for saying “Why are you here?” instead of a proper greeting - but dinner is a welcome distraction from their hours of research, and Emma is even convinced to give up part of her sprawl on the couch so the bearer of diner food can actually sit down. And then Granny is the saint, because the bags contain everyone’s favorites - some sort of salad and an iced tea for grease-phobic Regina; lasagna and a Reese’s milkshake for Elsa; a burger, loaded fries, and strawberry milkshake for Belle; and Emma’s classic grilled cheese, onion rings, and butterscotch shake. It’s just what they need to refresh their depleted energy, and offers a chance to step away for a few minutes and come back looking at things from a new perspective.

“Can I help?” he asks, halfway through his own bacon cheeseburger, and Emma can’t find any reason to say no. Especially not after he adds, “I’m surprisingly good at research.” This is an all hands on deck type of situation; another pair of eyes would be more than welcome for wading through stacks of dense text and Regina’s weird internet research.

He actually is pretty good at it, they find out. Killian Jones may not have a lick of magic in his entire body, but he’s got a knack for recognizing when some of the weirder wording might be applicable to their goal, like the “cleansing of the mind spell” that’s probably meant as a forgetting tactic or the “jolt of wakefulness” potion they could probably feed into his IV (and that Emma definitely wants to try on some of her stakeouts).

“Thank you for letting me be a part of something,” he tells her at the end of the night, his eyes hinting at meanings she’s not yet ready to understand. So she shrugs it off.

“We’re the ones who should be thanking you. You’re the one who brought us dinner, after all, and then stayed to keep looking at spellbooks. That’s not everyone’s idea of a good time.”

He smiles, a sad little thing. “Maybe not, but it’s an awful lot better than sitting at home, worrying about Liam and unable to do a damn thing.”

And she hates the confirmation that her suspicions were correct, that he’s lonely. But the good thing is, they can do something about the loneliness, because if Emma never had to be alone again after meeting her collection of witches, Killian won’t have to be either. Still, she tries to keep her words as nonchalant as possible. “Well, you’re welcome any time. Belle’s always looking for someone else to fuss over.”

He still smiles, like he can see right through her and knows Emma likes his presence too. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then, in a final maneuver she thinks must be unplanned, if the way his ears turn bright red is anything to go by, he grabs her hand to press a kiss to its back. “Goodnight, Emma.”

And then he’s gone into the night, leaving Emma wondering what the hell just happened.

------

They’re back in the hospital again on Saturday, this time at a more decent hour. Liam Jones doesn’t look any better in the full light of day, and it’s with some alarm that Emma thinks he might be looking worse. She hopes it’s all in her head, that her eye has been prejudiced by the sight of all the hospital equipment, but she can’t help but remember what Killian had said - that the doctors decreed Liam would need a miracle. It’s absolutely crucial, imperative, that one of their attempts work.

Killian is still trying to keep the positive attitude on in front of Liam, but Emma can almost physically see the frayed edges of his optimism. “The lovely ladies are going to try a few more things, Liam,” he says, adjusting blankets. “So hold still, would you?”

There is some progress. The wakefulness potion is a dud, but the spell for opening the mind does increase brain activity, so Emma’s counting it as a slight victory. Even if Liam is still firmly unconscious, Killian is thrilled to see any change in his status. But unfortunately, they still end up having to leave again without finding a real solution.

It’s a pattern that continues over the next two and a half weeks. Emma, Elsa, Belle, and Regina spend every spare moment researching, and Killian will bring them food from various local restaurants or, on a few memorable nights, cook a meal (and Emma doesn’t even really like fish but damn if that baked whatever with the lemon sauce wasn’t the best thing she’s had all year). Schedule permitting, they visit Liam in the hospital every two or three days to test out new potential cures, some with more success than others - the potion for “opening one’s eyes” turned out to do literally that, which resulted in a still unconscious Liam staring at them with unseeing eyes until Killian carefully lowered his lids again.

Killian tries so hard to hold on to hope, but Emma can see the toll this has taken on him. He’s gotten progressively quieter, his shoulders more slumped, the determined fire in his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. The more she sees his optimism fade, the more her own determination grows, until she finds herself pushing to try some of the more risky solutions that the other women are hesitant about, because anything has got to be better than making Killian just watch his brother slip away.

“I don’t understand why you won’t try these things!” she argues one night.

“Well, we’re trying to cure Liam, not cause his demise,” Regina drawls, and somehow that only makes Emma’s anger burn hotter.

“And this is better?” she demands. “Sitting around, just hoping the right solution will fall into our laps? When it hasn’t in the past three weeks?”

Belle, as always, is a voice of reason. “I think if we end up moving into the riskier options, that’s a decision Killian should make, not you, Emma. If that’s what he wants, I’ll be more than happy to try.”

All eyes turn to Killian. He’s been especially quiet and downcast today, only picking at his sandwich and fries. That’s part of the reason Emma’s pushing especially hard for a change in tactics today - it hurts in a way she can’t explain to see Killian like this. But even with so many eyes on him, he just sits there quietly, rolling a French fry back and forth between his fingers and not responding.

“Well?” Emma prods. “What do you think?” If she can just sway him to give it a try, maybe they can make this better, and maybe she can put that smile back on his face, the one he gave her when they first started this endeavor and he was still excited and hopeful…

But something within Killian must break, as he stands up and mumbles something about needing fresh air before he stalks out of the room, the front door banging shut in the distance.

Regina offers her a disapproving look that is, honestly, probably deserved for her actions. “Great job, Emma. I’m sure it was absolutely helpful to piss off Jones when he’s the one whose favor you needed to win.”

Emma glares right back before exiting the room herself, following Killian out to the front stoop and sitting down at his side. He looks a mess, honestly; his hair is all mussed from running his hands through it, and she now finds him clutching his head like he’s trying to block out everything else that’s going on. They sit there for a few moments in silence - Emma gathering her thoughts, Killian seemingly suppressing them - before she finally finds her words.

“I’m sorry for pushing,” she says quietly into the night. “I know this is all your decision, and you shouldn’t do anything that you think isn’t what’s best for Liam -”

“It’s not that,” he says, flapping a hand to wave off her concerns. “I appreciate all you’re doing, really. It’s just…” He trails off, head dropping again before he finally turns back to her and completes his sentence, so quiet she has to strain to hear. “The doctors told me today that if Liam doesn’t show marked improvement by the two month mark, the middle of next week, that he probably won’t ever. And then, I’ll have to seriously consider letting him go.”

Killian’s quiet explanation leaves Emma feeling like there’s suddenly ice running through her veins instead of blood. It’s been obvious from day one how important this is, but now they will have to contend with the fact that they’re running out of time. There’s no words she can say to fix the situation; she can’t even begin to imagine what Killian is going through. All Emma can offer is to take his hand and squeeze it gently, simply offering the comfort of not being alone.

“I don’t know what to do, Swan,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to lose him, but if we don’t do anything, it’ll still happen.” There’s a heavy pause, as he once again stares off into the darkness, lost in his thoughts, before he finds the words to continue. “I trust you, Emma, and I trust your magic. Do you think the best chance to save Liam is in some of these riskier options?”

She’d suggested it out of desperation, but the truth is, she does. They’ve gone through all the obvious and safe answers, so if they’re going to save Killian’s brother, they’re going to have to step outside their comfort zone, try other options.

So she takes a deep breath, gathers all her courage, and replies in as confident a voice as she can muster:

“I do.”

------

Regina and the others take the new direction somewhat better when the marching orders are coming from the man any issues would most affect. There’s still quite a few mentions of “If you’re sure…” but that’s more or less expected, and they continue on all the same.

They’ve really had to get creative now. It’s not entirely unexpected that they start looking for spell combinations that might work in tandem where they’d be ineffective alone, but Belle also starts dabbling in writing new ones herself, taking the useful parts of several different incantations and somehow mashing them together. It takes a skill with languages that Emma frankly doesn’t possess, but she thinks the results ought to be effective, and Belle gets excited talking about the potential for publication if any of them work.

Each of their next several tries is still woefully ineffective. Liam is stubbornly unresponsive, and all the attempts just result in utter exhaustion on everyone’s part. Killian tells Emma over and over how much he appreciates their efforts, her efforts, that he’ll remember that regardless, but they’re all tired and desperate and it’s not working.

Until it does.

It works. It finally all works. Emma is so relieved, she doesn’t have the words to properly describe it. Killian’s belief in her may never have wavered, but Emma’s faith in herself certainly had, and the last days had been plagued with the panic that maybe she wouldn’t be able to save Liam Jones after all, that she’d be forced to disappoint Killian and his beautiful hope. But they succeed.

She’s right, too; solution that ultimately works is so far outside the box that it’s a miracle in itself that they were able to devise its steps. The easiest way Emma can think of it is as the human equivalent of turning the computer off and then back on again: Elsa freezes his brain in stasis for protection, Belle enacts a complicated spell for removing the soul from the body in a shining ball of light before reaffixing it as Regina shocks his heart with a burst of magic like defibrillator paddles. Then Emma’s left to send another glow of healing magic as Elsa removes the freeze, the whole thing topped by a kiss from Killian to his brother’s sleeping forehead - a True Love’s Kiss. It’s a cheesy measure, one that makes Regina roll her eyes, but Belle had argued that it couldn’t hurt.

And it hadn’t. There’s not some ridiculous blast of rainbow light or anything, but the moment Killian’s lips touch Liam’s brow, Emma feels the world settle in a way she can’t quite explain but attributes to magic, to things setting to rights again, to a sleeping soul breathing a sigh of relief.

It’s not like the movies. Liam doesn’t gasp and sit up in bed, eyes flying open in a cinematically dramatic moment. But he squeezes Killian’s hand where it clasps his, and that’s enough to signify drastic improvement.

“Liam?” he asks, so hopefully, and while the elder Jones may still be unconscious, they all watch as his hand tightens around Killian’s. It’s conscious movement at last, and with that realization, the room becomes jubilant, exploding in a chorus of cheers.

There’s hugging and smiling and they may all be tired but Elsa lets out a little joyful screech, and it’s probably a miracle they’re not all kicked out. Somehow, Emma finds herself in Killian’s arms, and he’s smiling that smile again and there are tears in both their eyes and his face is just so close—

—and she kisses him.

It’s not planned, not at all, but her lips meet his and he’s kissing her right back, and God, she could get lost in this if not for the fact—

—if not for the fact that he’s only doing this because she saved his brother.

It’s like a bucket of cold water, that realization, and Emma steps back with wide, horrified eyes to find Killian looking at her with an unfocused gaze.

“Swan—” he begins, but Emma’s not willing to hear where that sentence ends - hear the excuses and the apologies and the buts. Almost before she knows it, she’s backing away until she’s out the door and into the hallway.

And then, Emma Swan runs.

------

She knows she’s really fucked up when even Elsa comments about her desperate exit.

“I know I’m not one to comment on others’ love lives,” she says, “but that was quite harsh, Emma. We might know about all your… let’s say struggles with dating, but the poor boy was just left there in a daze without any idea why you had booked it out of there.”

Emma really hates the picture that puts in her head, of a sad Killian just standing there with that stunned look on his face melting into confusion and disappointment. There’s a shock of guilt that accompanies that vision, but she does her best to push it aside. It was a moment of weakness on both their parts; it didn’t actually mean anything. Killian was undoubtedly just so happy that something had finally worked, which led him to reciprocate… whatever Emma’s excuse is. She’s still not entirely sure. Anyways, it was surely just a one-time thing. Her usefulness to him is effectively over, now that Liam is firmly on the road to recovery; they likely won’t ever cross paths again, now that there’s not any real reason for them to.

Of course, that’s not strictly true. Emma may not be having anything to do with the Jones brothers, and Regina is not enough of a people person to willingly pursue any further friendship without measurable advantage to herself, but Elsa and Belle are much better people who still stop by the hospital with dinner and check up on how both men are doing. It’s how Emma gets updates on Liam’s condition - how he finally opened his eyes and properly woke up two days after their breakthrough, how he’s still tired and healing and a bit out of it, but how the doctors expect him to make a full recovery, against all odds. By all accounts, he’s starting to get antsy, and Emma hopes he’ll be allowed home soon for both men’s sake.

“He asks about you, you know,” Belle contributes, and Emma can’t even pretend to not know who she’s talking about. “Whenever we walk in the room, he perks up for a moment until he realizes you haven’t come with us. Really, Emma, you’re being ridiculous.”

And she probably is. She definitely is. But she can’t get over the fear that Killian isn’t really interested in her, just in what she can do.

The weeks pass by. Elsa and Belle keep inviting her to the hospital, insisting Liam wants to meet her and Killian would just love to see her, but Emma dodges and avoids and works more hours, just to have an excuse not to go.

(She’d tried Mary Margaret at first, who had relished spending more time with Emma until she realized it was an emotional avoidance ploy. And then she’d flatly refused to be a part of it.)

At the end of the month, Liam gets to go home to the apartment he and Killian apparently share, and Emma gets to hear all about it. Elsa and Liam have apparently taken a liking to one another, which has resulted in even more visits and even more updates on all things Jones Brothers and the promise of an actual date once Liam’s well enough to drive them both to a nice restaurant. Emma’s happy for her friend, she truly is - Elsa deserves the world, after everything she’s been through - but it really throws a wrench in Emma’s plans to just never see Killian Jones again. If his brother and her roommate start dating, it’s a little inevitable that their paths will cross eventually, for better or worse.

Their latest ploy - ok, it’s not a ploy, but each invite Emma has to dodge feels like an individual attack on her resolve in some larger evil plan, so she’s sticking with ploy - is a welcome home party for Liam. Emma declines, almost out of habit now - she’ll find work or something to occupy herself, give herself a plausible excuse. The thing is, if she was to show up, it probably wouldn’t be that big a deal. They’d all talk and laugh and have a good time. Elsa’s trying to figure out what flavors of ice cream she’ll bring, and there’s sure to be cake. But Emma’s a wuss, and she might have feelings for Jones, hesitant as she is to admit it. She’s not sure she could take it if she spends an entire night in his company where he treats her as nothing more than a friend or, even worse, some sort of business associate. So she’ll stay home instead, thank you very much.

And she does have plans. They just involve executing a honeytrap on the latest jumper instead of socializing at some party. The problem is, those plans don’t last nearly as long as she anticipates, and Emma finds herself back home at the Tudor much sooner than she planned, sporting a number of scrapes from where she had to tackle her man to the ground outside the coffee shop. She’s barely limped inside and taken off her shoes, flipping through the mail in the kitchen, before she hears the awful dramatic doorbell that some relative of Elsa’s had installed God-only-knows when. Groaning audibly, she hauls herself downstairs again and throws the door open much more forcibly than she really needs to. “Look, I’m really not in the mood for whatever pitch this is,” she begins, fully ready to give whatever door-to-door salesman is bothering her a piece of her mind—

—only to find one Killian Jones standing on her doorstep.

The guilt hits her immediately as his face shifts through sheepishness to shock and then on to anger.

“You are avoiding me!” he accuses, and it takes every bit of willpower Emma possesses not to physically flinch at the words. Even if they are true. “I thought I’d come check on you tonight when you didn’t show, and thought I’d find you sick or working, or any reasonable excuse, but you’re flat-out avoiding me!”

His anger hurts, somewhat, and makes her feel guilty, but at the same time, those are fighting words. And Emma Swan has never been one to back down from a fight. Defenses raised, she shoots back with all the vitriol she can muster, “So what if I am? Most people would get the hint, or figure there’s a reason.”

“Well, as the one being avoided, I think I have a right to know the reason!” he demands, before softening once again, seemingly suddenly aware of his tone. “Look, Emma, it’s just… we kissed. And I thought it was a pretty good kiss,” he adds bashfully, scratching behind his ear in that way Emma has always secretly found adorable. “But then you just… ran off. And have conveniently not shown hide nor hair ever since. Did I do something wrong?” By the end, he’s almost painfully earnest, and Emma feels that knife of guilt dig just that little bit deeper. She still needs to stand strong, to protect herself from heartbreak, but there’s no reason for her to hurt him in the process, so she finally shakes her head, all the while avoiding his eyes.

“What then?” he asks, as gently as the situation allows. “Because I’m observant, Swan, and this? This is avoiding me.”

There’s a pause. A great, big, heavy pause. How do you tell a person the fears of your heart, when the greatest fear in your heart is letting anyone in?

He plows on, nonetheless, in the face of her silence. “I like you, you know?” he says softly, scratching behind his ear again, a tell-tale nervous tic. “I don’t know if that kiss meant something to you, but it did to me. Because I think you’re brilliant and fierce and… I like you.”

“You just like the magic,” Emma mutters. She can tell the moment her words process in his mind because he suddenly stares at her like she’s grown a second head.

“You think I just like you because you can wield magic?” he asks incredulously. He almost looks insulted, oddly enough, and it takes Emma somewhat aback. “Emma, that’s… that’s ridiculous, really. You really thought I only valued your company for what you can do, and not who you are? I mean, maybe at first…” he runs his hand through his hair in frustration, and she’d almost think it was cute, if she wasn’t anxiously waiting for his next words. “But then I got to know you, Swan, and you were much more than that. So brave, and determined, and… honestly, anyone who’s only interested in you for your magic is an idiot, love. You’re so much more than that. Well, and you treat it like some kind of bloody ridiculous hobby instead of the power it probably could be.” Killian laughs at his own joke, and Emma cracks into a slight smile too, unable to resist the sound. “But no, Swan, I find you fascinating for many, many reasons, and your magic is the very least of them.”

Tentatively, Emma meets his eyes, seeking confirmation. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t disappoint, smiling and nodding back at her with a chuckle. “Aye. You’re a marvel, Emma Swan.” His smile is so wide, so full of hope and truth, that try as she might, Emma can’t find a reason to doubt him.

She’s never been good at this part of relationships - making the first move when things are still so tentative and unsure. But she can sense that Killian’s nervous too, can practically feel it rolling off him in waves, and that gives her an unexpected boost of confidence. This doesn’t have to be like magic, be precise and exact or the whole thing will fall apart and your nose probably will turn green. It doesn’t matter how either one of them approaches this, just that they do.

So Emma gathers all the courage she can muster, and steps forward to catch his lips with hers, creating a different kind of magic altogether.

It’s a little bit fanciful (okay, a lot a bit fanciful), but Emma can’t help but feel like there’s an energy that flows between her body and his, between her soul and his, as their lips move together - at first softly and gently, but then deeper, stronger, more passionate as lips open and tongues caress and they both lose themselves in the special magic of a first kiss. Some might call it fate, or soulmates; Emma’s not quite ready to call it anything yet.

(But she very well might be some day, perhaps sooner than she thinks.)

They’re both breathing heavily when they finally separate, foreheads still touching as if connected by invisible threads.

“That was…” he begins, a smile creeping over his face.

Emma quickly interrupts. “If you say magical, I swear to God, I’ll smack you, don’t think I won’t.” She tries to look stern, but honestly, her kiss-swollen lips and mussed hair from where Killian had slipped his hand into her curls probably ruin that illusion.

“Of course not, darling,” he good-naturedly replies with a smile and what she suspects is a suppressed laugh. “Who am I to challenge a witch?”

------

Killian Jones has no magic to speak of.

But he’s a great cook and patient with all the chaos only a house full of witches can conjure up - not to mention, a damn good kisser - so Emma’s more than willing to overlook that fact.

Magic and Killian don’t always mix - he’s particularly not a fan of how Emma sets off the magical equivalent of firecrackers under their bed for April Fool’s Day - but overall, he’s so casual about the whole topic that Emma wants to laugh at herself for believing even for a second that he’d have a problem with any of it.

Things change, of course. Their relationship strengthens and solidifies and eventually relocates to their own place when Elsa decides they could all use a bit more privacy (especially since things have gotten serious between the elder Jones and herself), but their relationship is the constant. That little corner within Emma that hosts her magic simultaneously boils and settles every time she and Killian are together.

Killian Jones couldn’t perform a spell if he tried. But sometimes, curled into his side in bed and feeling her heart glow with happiness as he pulls her just that little bit closer, Emma Swan thinks he possesses his own magic all the same, one born of the feelings they share for one another.

And that’s a witchcraft more powerful than any spellbook.

#cssns #cs ff #my writing #the prickly witch's guide to magic #cs au #witch!Emma

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