#when mr. avoidant attachment meets mr. anxious attachment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

absurdthirst · 2 years ago

Text

Surrogate Love {Dave York x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.9k

Warnings: Surrogacy, mentions of impregnation, emotional distance, fighting, drowning feelings, mentions of masturbation, crossing boundaries, technical infidelity, vaginal sex, ovulation, sex to procreate, cock warming, cheating, oral sex (female receiving), pregnancy, divorce

Comments: When Carol cannot have anymore children, she and Dave turn to seeking for a surrogate. Finding you, Dave grows closer to you as Carol seemingly pulls farther away. Leading to a discovery that will alter the agreement between you and the Yorks and allow you and Dave to fall deeper into a complicated love.

Co-written with @pedropascalsx

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|| MasterList || Dave York MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Surrogate Wanted! -Family of four looking for a surrogate to help complete our loving family. -All medical and additional pregnancy related expenses covered. -Plus a fee for carrying the child! -Looking for a young, healthy woman to commit to carrying our child, temporarily moving into our space whilst pregnant and for a few months afterwards to breastfeed. -Must be willing to undergo routine medical testing. -Contact us below if you’re interested!

You read the advertisement over and over before sending an email. Attaching your latest medical and a few details about your family history. Money is tight. Unbelievably tight. And doing this would not only help your financial strain, but you would be doing something wonderful for a family.

What’s the harm in applying? You mumble to yourself after hitting send on the email. Unsure if you’ll even get a response.

“Honey, look at this one.” Dave looks up from his computer to find Carol leaning over his shoulder, reading the email already. “What do you think?” He asks. There have been a few other emails, but they were all unsuitable and this woman has already started providing medical information. And a picture of how lovely she is.

“She looks nice,” Carol says with a roll of her eyes, trying to seem interested as she pulls on her new dress, ready for a girls night out. “Invite her over for an informal interview.”

“Okay.” Dave frowns as he looks over at Carol. “Are you still going out?” He asks. “I thought -“

“My sister needs this,” she says with a pout, “I can’t let her down. It’s just a few hours with the girls. Drinks and karaoke.”

“Okay, yeah sure.” Dave sighs but he nods his head. Carol says that she’s interested in this, she was the one to suggest it. Hiring a surrogate so that third dream baby could happen, but so far it’s been Dave doing all the leg work on this.

Carol lightly pecks Dave's cheek as she grabs her purse ready to go. “Don’t wait up, honey.”

****

Your phone pings with an email alert, asking if you’d be interested in an informal meeting to see if it could potentially be a good fit.

‘Hello, Mr. York.

Thanks for the prompt reply, I would love to arrange a meeting. There’s a cafe just outside the National Mall called ‘Cherry Blossoms’, If you’re free tomorrow we could meet there?

Kind regards.’

The polite response makes Dave interested in meeting the candidate and he quickly sends a reply, agreeing to the time and place. After he does that, he pulls out his work laptop to do some background checks on the person who might be carrying his next child.

‘See you and your wife tomorrow at 1pm.’ You send back, anxious about meeting them but excited about the same time.

****

Arriving at the cafe, Dave sighs and rolls his shoulders back. Aware that the meeting might go horribly sideways since his wife couldn’t drag her hungover ass out of bed to do more than puke in the shower. She was in no condition to come and he had to smother his irritation since he hadn’t told her about this meeting this morning. Instead of dwelling on that, he steps up to the counter and orders a coffee and a muffin, since she hadn’t arrived yet. A quick glance around had told him that.

You walk into the cafe and make your way up to the counter, ordering a hot chocolate before looking around to see if you can spot the couple. A very handsome man puts his hands up and waves to you and you assume that he must be Dave York.

Prettier than he had noticed in the pictures, Dave stands up as you walk over. “I’m sorry.” He starts out, introducing himself and offering his hand. “My wife couldn’t make our meeting this morning. She’s….under the weather.”

You reach out and shake his hand and offer him a warm smile, before taking a seat. “Poor thing, I’m so sorry to hear that! Is she okay? Would you like to reschedule?”

He is surprised that you don’t want to cancel. “Only if you would rather wait to meet my wife?” He flashes you a grin. “Make sure I’m legitimate?”

“I’m happy either way,” you say, before thanking the waitress who’s handing you your drink. “I mean we’re both here, so a chat couldn’t do any harm.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” The background checks on you have come up clean but he wants to know more about you. “What questions do you have for me?”

“If it’s not too personal… Why surrogacy?” You ask before taking a sip of your hot chocolate and humming in delight at the taste.

He had expected that question so he is pulling out his wallet, flipping it open to show you a picture of his family, taken last Christmas. “My youngest, Molly, when she was born, Carol had a lot of complications.” He explains. “She ended up needing a complete hysterectomy.” He had hated it, but it was that or lose his wife and he would rather have her. “That’s my oldest daughter, Alice.” He points to the older girl.

“They’re gorgeous,” you say, peering down at their smiling faces, “I’m sorry to hear about the complications your wife went through. I’m glad to see that both your wife and your daughter are okay though. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Are you okay with using your egg?” He asks seriously. “That would be required, or you would have to go through implantation.”

“Yes, I’m fine with that. Happy for the testing as well… uh… my periods are like clockwork. And I have an app that tracks ovulation.”

“Okay, good.” You don’t seem to think that it’s odd. “All your medical care will be taken care of.” He promises.

“Good to know,” you clear your throat before asking the next question, “If you were to select me, I’d have one hard rule.”

Dave arches a brow and nods. “What is that?”

“You said that you’d require me to move in, I would like at least 4-6 weeks notice before you’re ready to move away from breastfeeding. So I have sufficient time to find myself somewhere to live.”

“Of course.” That’s more than reasonable. “And if you find you would need more time because of the market at that time, I’m sure we can work something out.”

“That sounds good,” you say with a smile, “Just so you know, I am employed. 24 hours a week, I work from home. But I’d be more than happy to help around the house, babysit so you and your wife can have time alone and so on. I graduated college and I majored in computer sciences and I work for a social media company and stay on top of their coding.”

He nods and if he thinks that the hours are low, he doesn’t mention it. Your finances and work are not his concern. It might be good for you to work less while you are carrying the baby. “But so you know, you aren’t obligated.”

“It’s an entry position job,” you say after noticing his reaction to your low hours, “Money is tight and it’s an industry that you’ve got to climb. I took what was available. But i’m an honest hard worker. And I know, I also don’t want you to think I’d expect you to offer me anything until I've met your family and after the medical is done.”

“We pay for the medical, you live with us and breast feed the baby - if you can.” Dave knows that sometimes the baby doesn’t want to latch or milk isn’t plentiful. “And we would pay you eighty thousand dollars.” He holds up a finger. “But no dating or sex during your pregnancy. I don’t want to risk the baby’s health.”

“Yeah I don’t date,” you say with a giggle, “I uh, I’m not the most confident person and casual sex isn’t something I’ve ever had any interest in. $80,000? Perfect. That’s enough to start my life and find somewhere comfortable to rent once the baby is born.”

Now comes his own questions. "Why are you willing to do this?" He asks you, leaving forward and watching you carefully. "And will you be able to give up the baby once they are weaned?"

“Financial stability,” you say honestly, “And yes. I’ll sign anything that’s required.”

"Obviously I'd want you to meet my wife first." Dave leans back, confident that you are what he is looking for. "Once we agree, we could start insemination procedures the following cycle."

“That sounds great. Name the time and place, I’d love to meet your wife.” You say before eyeing up his muffin and trying to work out if you want one. “So what is it that you do Mr York?”

“I work for the DIA.” He sees you eyeing the muffin and takes the knife to cut it in half. He offers it to you and smiles. “Government bureaucrat.”

“Thank you,” you say with your brightest smile, “It’s a bit too early for me to be stealing your food, I don’t have the pregnancy excuse yet. I’m sorry. And whoa. That sounds intense.”

“These muffins are huge.” Dave chuckles and gives a small shrug. “It’s got its moments, but it pays well.”

“Nice,” you say before taking a bite and moaning at how delicious and moist it is. “This is heaven.”

"It's a good little treat." He agrees, finishing off his own half in two quick bites.

“When and where would you like me to meet your wife?”

"Can I call you to schedule a time?" He asks, pulling out his phone. "I don't know when she will be feeling better." It's better you believe that she's sick than just hungover.

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t think,” you say with a flood of embarrassment. “And is there anything you’d like me to do in the meantime? I could schedule an appointment with my gynecologist?”

"Don't worry about that." He shakes his head and gives you a smile. You are a little awkward but it's endearing in a way. "I'll text you when I figure out how long it will be and we can arrange something? We can schedule doctor appointments after everyone's met and you can give your final decision on if you would like to do this for us."

“That sounds good,” you beam, “Yeah, you can text me anytime.” The next set of words slip out of you mouth before you’ve even realized you said them and it’s in that moment you’re convinced you’ve blown it. “God. I never thought i’d have the baby of a man who looks as good as you inside of me.”

He's shocked by your honesty and for a moment he freezes, but he grins at the mortification that is riding over your face. "You think I look good, huh?"

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, Mr York,” you groan, “Of course I do. Shit. You’re gorgeous. I didn’t mean to… Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

"That's okay." Dave chuckles and shakes his head. "Attraction is normal. The first thing I noticed was how attractive you were."

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your entire face as he compliments you, “Thank you, Mr York.”

"Our DNA will produce a very attractive child." He hums, sending you a playful wink.

****

Almost a month since the initial meeting has passed and everything has been great. You met Carol a few days later and the girls a few days after that. Dave had arranged for you to be seen by the most fought after gynecologist in D.C. and all your tests came back great. He had loaded you up with ovulation tests and the decision for home insemination to reduce stress had been made. Dave and Carol would spend time alone together and once he was about to ejaculate he would finish in the pots provided and Carol would bring them down to you and help with the process.

Dave had just helped bring your last box into the basement they had converted that would be your home for the foreseeable future and you were excited.

"Do you need anything else?" Dave asks as he sets the box down and looks around. "I have changed the locks on the basement door, rekeyed them to the rest of the locks in the house." He fishes a set of keys out of his pocket for the walk out door to the side yard. "So you can go out that door if you want."

“No. This is perfect, Mr York,” you say as you look around your new home, “I insist on buying dinner tonight to say thank you.”

He chuckles and shrugs. "It's Friday, we normally order Chinese." He admits with a grin.

“Let me know what to order and where to collect,” you say before giving him a brief thank you hug. Clearly surprising him in the process.

"Oh- uh, you're welcome." He pats your back awkwardly and shoots you a grin. "The girls are easy. Sweet and sour chicken and fried rice for both of them." They had been introduced to you and had immediately found that you were the most fascinating person they had ever met and had a million questions for you.

“And for you and Mrs York?” You love the girls. They have already made you promise to watch a disney movie with them tonight and you’re honestly excited about it.

"Carol likes vegetable lo mein and spring rolls." He tells you with a small shrug. "Me- I like General Tso's shrimp."

“Got it,” you say with a grin. “Consider dinner sorted. And afterwards once the girls are in bed, we can start the process tonight? I mean I'm ovulating and there’s no point in missing a cycle right?”

Dave nods. "Yeah. We can do that before bed." He rolls his eyes and sighs. "I know it's stupid and superstitious, but would you tilt your hips up with a pillow for at least an hour after it's injected?"

“Of course!” You say excitedly, happy to make this happen for them. “Can you believe that part of you will be inside of me tonight!” You say without realizing just how filthy it sounds.

He bites his lip, trying not to say something dirty in return. He knows that you want to help give him and Carol another baby and it’s not going to work if he gets too close to you. “Hopefully, we’ll get lucky on the first try.”

“Fingers crossed, Mr York.”

****

"I have already told them that I'm going out." Carol huffs as she looks at Dave with a pout. "I can't back out now. I'm supposed to pick them up." She shrugs a shoulder. "I thought we would let the poor thing at least unpack before we start shooting her full of your sperm."

Dave huffs and rolls his eyes. "She's ovulating, Carol." He reminds her. "It's not like we can reschedule that."

“I can’t reschedule this. She’ll still be ovulating tomorrow, honey, we can do it then. And make sure you don’t order me food,” she says as she goes back into the bathroom, “We’re getting tapas.”

It's been fucking months. Months of every ovulation cycle he jerks off into a cup and Carol quickly rushes downstairs to inject it inside you. Months of disappointment when your period comes. You have apologized and apologized, cried about it and offered to go back to the doctor for the fifth time, but Dave can't blame you. He sighs and shoves his hand through his hair. "Do you even want to do this?" He demands, feeling like his wife is just brushing this off when it was her idea in the first place. "It doesn't seem like it."

“Of course I do, sweetheart,” she grits out, before rolling her eyes. “These things can take time. Look I know she’s ovulating now, but why don’t we skip this month. Let her destress and pick it up next month. Plus it’ll mean she can take the girls to their after school clubs for me this week, if you’re not obsessing over her cycle.

Dave sighs and shakes his head. "She's not the damn nanny, Carol." He reminds her, having noticed that there have been a lot of 'favors' his wife has been demanding of you despite Dave telling her that she shouldn't be. You weren't here to fucking pick up the girls. You were here to try to give the family the third child both of them said they wanted.

“She’s being paid $80,000,” Carol snaps, “She can do some work for it. I’m not arguing with you. It’s girls night. I refuse to leave the house stressed, or thinking about your goddamn cum, David.”

"You've been having a lot of goddamn ‘girls nights’, Carol." Dave snaps back, clenching his jaw. "Why don't you stay home for once and be a fucking wife and mother?" It's gone from a couple of times a month to two, sometimes three times a week and he's sick of it.

“I need to support my sister, she’s going through a rough time,” Carol repeats for the hundredth time this week, despite never elaborating and her sister always being in high spirits when she visits the house. “I probably won’t be home tonight. Tanya has suggested we go back to hers after food as her husband is away. I’ll be back mid-morning.”

That hazy suspicion niggles in the back of his mind but he doesn't voice it. Instead he sighs and shakes his head. "Just- you still want to do this, right?" He asks again, this time trying not to accuse her. "If you changed your mind, you just need to talk to me."

“Of course, I do,” she says again, “But you’ve gotta be more patient. It takes time. And sometimes it just doesn’t happen. We can give it a few more months… And if it doesn’t happen then… we can tell her to move on and we will have $80,000 to spend on a dream vacation.”

"We could always have her egg harvested and do IVF?" Dave suggests, still not ready to give up on the idea of having that third child that they had always talked about. He was trained to find solutions and this was something he wanted.

“Let’s just keep trying it like this,” she says before grabbing her phone and her purse and getting ready to leave. “She’s bathing the girls right now, tell them Mommy will see them in the morning.”

His jaw clenches as he watches his wife stroll out of their bedroom as if there wasn't a care in the world to be had. Irritated that she was using you to take care of the girls once again. By the time he leaves the bedroom, the front door is closing and he sighs again, moving towards the bathroom where there is a lot of splashing and giggling.

“Hey,” you say as Dave enters the room, and sees you’re just as soaked as the girls. “Made the mistake of letting them play with their water pistols in the tub.”

“Daddy, are we still watching Frozen tonight?” Alice squeals excitedly as he kneels down in front of the tub.

“Of course, sweet pea.” Dave nods as he looks over at you. “I’ll finish bathing the girls if you want to go dry off.”

With a raised eyebrow you keep looking over at Dave and lean down to whisper to the girls with a sneaky look on your face. “Daddy looks awfully dry doesn’t he, babies.”

The adorable giggles that start to fill the room again makes your heart soar as they turn to face a skeptical Dave. And without a second's hesitation they blasters are being pointed in Dave’s direction, their tiny fingers hovering over the trigger.

"Don't you do it." He warns softly, shooting them a faux stern look. "You don't want to start something you can't finish, little girls."

“3 against 1,” You say with a laugh, “He’s bluffing. We’ve got this… 3,2,1… shoot!”

Dave growls, ducking his head when three streams of water start to soak him and he reaches out to slap his arm through the bathtub to send a wall of water across the tub and the instigator of his attack.

You yelp before bursting into a fit of giggles, “I yield, I yield,” you choke out, as the girls continue to soak Dave.

Dave grabs your water gun and turns it on the girls with ruthless glee as they start to shriek and try to avoid his one barrage.

Watching Dave with his girls reaffirms how badly you want to do this for him, he’s the most loving father and it just warms your heart to see how great he is with them. You watch happily for a few minutes as the excitement dies down and the girls start to get restless and want out of the bath. You take Molly as he takes Alice, getting them dried and dressed into their pajamas before sending them downstairs to get comfortable on the sofa so you can set up the movie.

After you’re all dressed in your pajamas and the movie is playing you in the background you whisper to Dave, “Where’s Carol? I got some tips to help with insemination. I thought we’d try tonight.”

Dave sighs and turns to look at you, honestly hurt that his wife has pushed this off. He wants this so bad and he's starting to become frustrated. "She's out. Something about her sister again." He doesn't tell you that she suggested taking off this month, not willing to speak on it. "Do you think you could....do it yourself?"

“Oh,” you say quietly, “I mean I could try. I read somewhere that inserting it slowly rather than pushing it straight in is a better method. Also I read something else that’s supposed to help, so I can try that at the same time.”

"What else?" He frowns, wondering if there's something that he needs to get you or order you. He's been reading everything he can get his hands on but if you've found something, he's all ears.

“Uh,” you say quietly, before looking over at the girls and checking their still engrossed in the movie, “I read an article about um…” Shaking your head, you reach into your pocket and pull out your phone and bring up the article on clitoral stimulation helping the insemination process.

Dave takes your phone and purses his lips as he starts to read. His brows change, lifting and his expression shifting as he delves into the writing and hums. "I- I don't see why you shouldn't try it." He clears his throat and tries not to think about you playing with your clit or anything sexual. This is just supposed to be for making this baby. "But...." He sighs. "That syringe is really long." He frowns, unsure why Carol had decided to pick up a new type when the supplies had run out, but he can't blame her for not wanting to get too close to another woman's vagina. He personally thinks that she is harborning some resentments that she can't carry the baby and is just unwilling to admit it. "Are you sure you'll be able to handle it?'

“I’m not sure,” you say with a shrug, “Maybe I’ll just focus on the syringe. I just can’t really do the other thing with Carol around as it would be uncomfortable for us both. I just really want to do this for you. The worst thing that can happen is I need to change my sheets I guess.”

"If-" He starts and shakes his head. "No, that would be too much." He blows out a disappointed sigh, aware that another opportunity will most likely be lost.

“Tell me,” you say with a raised eyebrow.

"Only if you're comfortable with it...." he stresses, not wanting you to feel pressured in any kind of way. "I could help you." He offers quietly. "Not like I haven't made two kids before. Just not quite with a glorified turkey baster." He huffs, trying to make a joke of it.

“If you’re sure?” You say, “I mean it’s not like it takes long. I could make sure I’m ready and it’ll be over and done with in a few seconds.”

"Do you think -" He sighs and leans in closer to you. The girls are absorbed in the movie but it almost seems wrong to even think about what he's going to say next. It definitely crosses a line but he's tired of jerking off in a cup. "I could do it there and just....transfer it." He suggests. As it stands right now, he's jerking off upstairs and Carol is then taking the cum downstairs to the kitchen, filling the syringe and then carrying it down to you. Maybe something is happening in transit. "I mean, I could use your bathroom?"

“I mean it’s usually cold by the time Carol gets it in the syringe,” you say with a shrug, “So yeah, downstairs is fine.”

Dave frowns, wondering how long it takes for the sperm to cool down, but then again, it's always cool to the touch a couple of minutes after he cums on Carol's tits. "Only if you're comfortable with it." He reminds you. "I don't- don't want you to feel like I'm pushing boundaries."

“We’re making a baby, right? That’s the endgame here. I think sometimes different measures are necessary. When the girls are in bed, we can go downstairs and go from there.”

Dave nods, thankful that you are taking such a rational approach and he shoots you a smile. "Thank you." He whispers softly. "I know that it's not easy for you."

“I just hate that I’ve let you down so far,” you say, a lump forming in your throat, “I just want to make you happy.”

"You haven't let me down." He reaches over and covers your hand with his, squeezing it gently. "Without you, we wouldn't even have this hope. So don't ever think you are letting us down."

The past few months you’ve gotten closer and closer to Dave, spending most evenings eating together and watching a movie. It’s hard not to feel softened by him, despite his tough exterior he’s always so kind and your heart leaps at his touch. “Thank you, Dave.”

The rest of the movie flies by and before you know it the girls are giving you a kiss and hug goodnight. “I’ll see you in the morning, babies,” you promise.

Dave looks at you and you nod, signaling it’s okay for him to join you in the basement once the girls are asleep.

Dave waits until he knows they are asleep, checking on them and closing the bedroom doors as he walks down the hallway. He checks the doors and sets the alarm since Carol isn’t coming home and swallows slightly as he makes his way down to your basement apartment and knocks on the door.

“Come in,” you say with a shaky breath, you’re sitting cross legged on your bed. “How do you wanna do this? If you need porn while you… uh, yeah, I can wait in the hall and you can set it up on the TV.”

“No.” Dave shakes his head. “I don’t need porn.” He bites his lip. “I know you said you wanted to…masturbate before, so where do you want me to?”

“Wherever you’re most comfortable,” you say before biting your bottom lip, “I’m happy to follow your lead.”

He shifts, the idea that pops into his head makes his eyes widen and his cock twitches. He can’t suggest that. It would be completely wrong.

“We could watch each other,” you say, before looking down at your hands, not wanting to see rejection in his face.

Dave’s heart leaps and his head whips around to look at you. Wondering if he had actually heard that for a moment but you are so fluster it must have been. “It’s just to make the baby.” He reasons. “Right? You’ve seen a dick before.”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod of your head, “It’s not like we’re touching each other.”

“Yeah.” Dave frowns slightly, knowing Carol wouldn’t be happy but Carol’s not here and he doesn’t want to waste an ovulation day. “You can use your wand or hand or whatever and I can-“ he grins. “Old fashioned way for me is best.”

“I’ll use my hand… Do you want to see my tits?” You ask softly, not wanting to assume that he’ll want you to fully strip off.

His mouth goes dry and he tries to swallow. “It’s not like I won’t see them when you're breastfeeding.” He reasons again. “But it’s up to you. However you feel comfortable.”

“Will it help you get off? I don’t mind.”

“I like tits.” He admits, rolling his eyes at himself. “But I don’t have to see them.”

“Okay. I’ll stay up here and you can kneel at the bottom of the bed? Will that be comfortable for you.”

“That will work.” He agrees, raising his brow. “Do you want me naked?” He asks. “Or to just pull my cock out?”

“Naked.”

Dave nods, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it onto the floor. “Okay.”

The sight of his broad shoulders and chest makes your moan, and you follow suit. Pulling off your t-shirt, undoing your bra and pulling your sleep shorts and panties off in one clean sweep.

You’re attractive. He knows this. He’s attracted to you, and there’s nothing wrong with that. He’s not trying to sleep with you. He’s not trying to cheat on his wife, he’s trying to make a baby so he and Carol can complete their family. He unzips his pants and pulls them down to kick off.

You can’t keep your eyes off of him, he’s known from day one that you’re attracted to him. You open your legs and reveal your glistening pussy to him, already drenched at just the thought of watching him alone. And you gather some of your slick and drag it up to your clit before drawing slow circles around it.

His boxers come off next and he kneels on the bed, hard cock already bouncing as he does. Eyes fixed on your cunt as he spits in his hand and starts to coat himself in it.

“Fuck,” you mumble at his filthy action, only slightly increasing the pace in which you circle your clit. You don’t want to cum too quickly, you want to enjoy this moment.

“You rub your clit.” He groans, spitting again and wrapping his hand around his cock to start slowly stroking it. “Does it feel good?”

“Feels so good,” you say, as moans start to slip through your lips, “You look so good stroking your cock. It’s so big,” you start to murmur, “So thick. You’ve got a gorgeous cock, Dave.”

It’s been a long time since someone paid him compliments, making him feel like they mean them. His and Carol’s sex life has dropped off drastically and she claims it’s just because wanting to save it for when you’re ovulating.

You watch the way his wrist expertly flicks as he strokes himself, and reach up to soft palming your tit with your free hand. Needing so much more than you can get, you start to rub your clit faster and faster, feeling arousal dripping from you as you bite down the urge to moan his name.

“Shit.” Dave hisses, watching your hand tease your breast and he grunts as his hips rock forward into his hand. This isn’t about wanting to bite your tit and suck on it. It’s about cumming quickly and filling your womb up with his seed.

You watch the pre-cum leak from his top, groaning when he swipes it with his thumb and spreads it down his cock, “Dave,” you moan, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Good.” He grunts, shuffling closer to see, although the cup is right there for him to grab when he’s ready. “Open up your pretty little cervix to let my cum in.”

Your fingers speed up as you chase your high, his name falls effortlessly from your lips as you’re thrown over that edge. “Oh fuck.”

“Good girl.” He grunts, twisting his wrist and groaning as he feels the first blurry edge of his orgasm start to take hold. “Gonna cum.”

“Put it inside,” you beg, “Just the tip, baby. Fill me up.”

Dave groans and he knows it’s wrong, but he does it anyway. Pushing his cock down and pushing the fat tip into your cunt, he starts to cut almost immediately. Filling you with spurt after spurt of his cum as he tries desperately not to push deeper inside you. Knowing that would be so wrong and go against what you just asked him to do.

You clench down around the tip of him, loving the way he’s stretching you open. “Fuck, put a pillow under my hips.”

Tilting your hips up with his hands pushes him deeper inside you, making him groan as he reaches for the pillow. “I- fuck.” He closes his eyes and tries not to react to how good it feels.

You can’t help the moan that leaves you as he pushes deeper and presses against the spot inside of you. “Your wife might be the luckiest woman alive.”

Dave exhales roughly and breathes out. “This is just….it’s easier to do it this way, right?” He asks. “Faster than the turkey baster.”

“Yes, and more efficient.”

Dave agrees and looks back down at you. “That article said orgasms before and after male ejaculation helps conception.” He reminds you. “We could- I could stay like this and you can cum again.” He offers.

“I can play with my pussy whilst you’re still inside of me?” you ask, wanting to make sure that’s what he’s saying.

“And…” Dave bites his lip. “If I get hard again, maybe I can try again? Make sure you

ve got a good load inside you?” He knows he will get hard again, that’s no question for him.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Really good.” You say as you run a finger through your slit, before lightly teasing your clit.

He watches, telling himself again that this is only to make the baby. That way he knows if it doesn’t happen, every possible variable has been accounted for. It’s the back up plan. And if he happens to find it sexy that you are rubbing your clit while the first three inches of his cock are inside you, that’s an added benefit.

You circle your clit with a delicious intensity, biting down on your lip as you watch his face. His eyes focused on your pussy, watching your fingers play with your bundle of nerves and listening to the soft moans that fill the room. You can feel him start to harden inside of you, and you wonder how it would feel to have him filling your needy little cunt.

“Shit.” Dave breathes out, leaning over slightly as he tries not to surge deeper inside you. “Does it feel good? Playing with your clit with me inside you?” He reaches down and wraps two fingers around the base of his cock and starts to pump, trying not to touch you out of respect.

“Feels like heaven,” you say, “How does my pussy feel?”

“Like it’s going to make me cum,” Dave grunts. “Then you’re going to carry my baby for me. Our baby.”

“Fuck,” you say, rubbing your clit even faster, feeling your pussy start to flutter around his tip. “The things I want you to do to me.”

Dave hisses and closes his eyes. Knowing that it’s straying into dangerous territory. “Cum for me.”

Within seconds of his command you’re clamping down around him, your clit pulsing with pleasure as you flood his cock. His name is now a chant that you repeat over and over again.

“Shit, shit.” Dave groans, his own jerky pulls on his cock pushing him closer. “Fuck, gonna fill you up again.”

“Do it, fuck your baby into me.”

It pushes him over the edge and Dave can’t help but push completely into your cunt, filling you up as he starts to paint your walls again. “Fuck- I- I’m sorry.”

“Fuck,” you moan, “Feel so fucking good.” You pant as his cock twitches inside of you, filling you up with his warm seed.

He shouldn’t have ground into you. He shouldn’t have filled you up like that. It was cheating. Dave closes his eyes and pulls his hips back. “Are you okay?” He asks awkwardly.

“I’m okay, are you?” You say, seeing the guilt on his face and feeling your heartbreak over it.

“I’m good.” He promises you. “I just- I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, I didn’t ask.”

“I was practically begging you.” Reaching over you gently press your hand to his cheek, “We were just making a baby. Nothing else.”

“Yeah.” Dave nods, reminding himself that it’s not like he was trying to fuck you. “Hopefully it takes.” He shoots you a grateful smile.

“I hope so. Best daddy ever.” You say with a smile.

He is grateful that you think that as he shuffles off the bed to put his clothes on. “I should let you rest.” He hums.

“You should rest as well, I’ll stay like this for a half hour and then I’ll go get some water before bed.”

“Okay.” Dave nods, biting back the urge to offer to get you the water. He hadn’t been doing things like that before he stuck his dick in you, doing it now would make it weird.

“You sure you’re okay?” You ask as he starts to make his way towards the door.

“I’m good.” He turns and shoots you a reassuring grin, “just worn out.” He lies. “Baby making is tiring and I’m an old man.”

“You’re not old,” you say with a small smile, sensing his discomfort. “Goodnight, Dave. Let’s hope we just made a baby.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” Dave turns back around, “get some rest, okay?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, letting himself out of the door as he curses himself for being such an idiot. He should have known he was going to fuck this up.

Guilt floods you. You practically begged him to enter you, and the regret that he’s wearing so clearly on his face makes your heart hurt. You don’t think he’ll ever forgive you, and you’re not sure you deserve his forgiveness. All you can do is hope you just made a baby.

Upstairs, Dave showers and tries to reassure himself that he didn’t take things too far. You had asked him to put the tip in, and thought you asked for more but he was caught up in the moment. Still, he shouldn’t have done it without making sure it was okay.

Almost 45 minutes passes before you tiptoe upstairs and get yourself a much needed bottle of water and a snack. Deciding that you’ll get to early and make everyone breakfast, you make your way back downstairs and curl up in bed. Praying you haven’t completely fucked everything up.

****

Dave doesn’t sleep. Not because of the situation with you, but because he texted Carol and she didn’t respond. And she’s turned off her location. Not that he tracks his wife, but what if something happened to her? It makes him suspicious and he doesn’t like being suspicious. Not with the line of work he is in. So when he hears the stairs creak, he’s already nursing his second cup of coffee and the oven is warming up for cinnamon rolls.

Creeping into the kitchen, you’re greeted by the unexpected sight of Dave. Your heart once again breaks at the look on his face, clearly regretting ever hiring you and before you have time to process what you want to say, the words are slipping through your lips. “Oh god, Dave, I’m so sorry. I took advantage. You just wanted to make sure that it took, and I was so delirious with pleasure that I didn’t think. I’m so sorry. I let my attraction to you cloud my judgment. Please forgive me.”

"What?" Dave frowns, turning toward you and seeing how distraught you look. You look like you are about to cry and he stands, moving towards you to hug you but then he stops. Unsure of how to touch you right now without it turning into something else. "I took advantage." He reminds you. "I'm the one who shoved it in."

“I begged you to,” you say, tears now streaming down your cheeks. “I’m so so sorry.”

Dave walks over to you and pulls you into his arms, hating that you are crying. "We just got caught up in the moment." He decides, rubbing your back gently. "You don't need to be sorry." It was a moment, a fluke where both of you were acting impulsively.

“I just want to give you a baby, Dave, I see how badly you need this.” You sob into his shoulders, “I promise I won’t overstep anymore boundaries.”

"It's okay." He shushes you, comforting you like he would if you were one of his girls. Although you aren't one of his girls, he shouldn't feel the things that he does about you. But you are so important to him, you are going to give him a baby.

You wrap your arms around him a little tighter and try to ignore the way your traitorous heart leaps at his touch. “I’m sorry, Dave.”

"No," Dave shakes his head and he kisses your hair. "Don't be sorry. It's my fault. You didn't do anything wrong." He sighs. "Carol wanted to skip this month, I'm the one who pushed. This is all me."

“Why would she want to skip?” You say, as your head tells you to loosen your grip but your heart just wants to hold on.

"I don't know." He frowns slightly. "She didn't come home last night." He reveals softly. "And she's turned off her location."

“Oh,” you say, stepping back but letting your hands linger on him. “Maybe something happened with her sister? Have you tried calling her?”

"Tried when I came downstairs to make coffee." Dave motions to his phone. "Goes to voicemail. Texts are delivered but not read. She's got her phone off."

“What about calling her sister?” You say as you rub his shoulders, trying to reassure him.

"No." If there's something else going on, he doesn't want to discover it today. Call it putting his head in the sand, but he has other priorities. "I'll deal with it later when she comes home."

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Nothing.” He promises with a small shrug. “Unless you want to help me make breakfast.”

“Bacon and eggs to go with those cinnamon rolls? Or sausage and biscuits?”

“Bacon and eggs.” The turkey bacon and eggs always go over well with the kids. Especially with cinnamon rolls.

“On it,” you say with a smile, “Do you want more coffee?”

“There should be half a pot left, but why don’t we fill up our cups and make another?” Dave suggests with a smile, walking back over to his cup to snag it off the table.

“No coffee for me,” you announce, “Caffeine intake is being sliced. Orange juice for me!”

“I’ll make sure to pick up some more when I go to the store.” He appreciates your dedication to this.

“Thank you, Dave. Should I wake the girls or wait until breakfast is ready? I was gonna cut up some strawberries.”

“I’ll go wake them.” Dave turns and then pauses. “Carol’s been having you do a lot around here and I just want to remind you that it’s not necessary.”

“I like it,” you admit, “I love the girls. Spending time with them is one of the best parts of my day.”

"Okay." He murmurs slowly. "I just don't want you to feel like you have to."

“I know, Dave.” You start to slice the strawberries and focus on that, ignoring the tension that’s floating in the air.

"Thank you again." He says before he turns back around. "For everything."

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, before finishing up breakfast and waiting for the girls to come down.

Dave wakes the girls up, chuckling when they grumble at him but they are quickly roused from their bed by the promise of an indulgent breakfast and a morning of cartoons in their pjs. Laughing to himself when they thunder down the stairs with their stuffed animals in tow.

“Hi babies,” you say as they make a beeline to the table, “Do you want milk or juice?”

"Milk!" Molly chirps while Alice simultaneously shouts "Juice!" Dave rolls his eyes at the way the girls are so very obstinate. Unlike each other in so many ways but then so alike in others.

“So milk for Alice, and juice for Molly,” you tease, before pouring the correct drink in each of their cups. “Your daddy was just telling me about how much he enjoyed the water fight from last night and how he thinks you should do it more often. Right, Daddy?”

"Oh sure." Dave nods, cutting his eyes at them. "Next time I will be fully armed." He promises with a grin that makes their little eyes widen in delight and possibly a little bit of fear.

“We can take him. Girl power. 3 against 1. He doesn’t stand a chance,” you say as they begin to giggle.

"Keep it up and I'll get the water hose out." He warns with a dark chuckle.

“Ooh, I’m so frightened,” you tease back, “What do you girls want to do today?”

"Where's mommy?" Molly frowns, looking exactly like Dave as she does.

Sensing the discomfort in Dave you answer for him, “She is out having some girl time with her friends. I bet she’s missing her babies though. So we better have a super fun day so you can tell her everything when she’s home.”

“Can we bake?” Alice says between mouthfuls of her food, “Daddy’s favorite. Chocolate cake.”

He's grateful that you answered for him and he grins. "Daddy's favorite, huh?" He asks, raising his brow. "I think it's Ms. Alice's favorite, more than mine."

You laugh as you watch their little back and forth, “Daddy, it’s your favorite because it’s my favorite. You’re so silly.”

“That’s right.” Dave snaps his fingers and looks so disappointed in himself. “I’m so sorry for forgetting, baby.”

The rest of breakfast is spent watching Dave and his girls joke around, and silently hoping that you’re going to give this man the baby he is yearning for. The girls accompany you on a trip to target for baking supplies while Dave stays home and clears up. With a cake baked and half eaten, endless episodes of Bluey streamed and a dance party that the girls had insisted you join in with over, it’s almost their bedtime and you’re just as exhausted as they are.

You take the girls up to bed as he dishes out the Indian takeout that he had ordered for you both. Carol clearly wasn’t coming home today, and seeing as she hates Indian food, he decided to indulge in his favorite as a treat.

Dave looks over at you as he eats his curry and catches your eye. “So what are your plans after the girls go to sleep?” He asks.

“Netflix I guess,” you say with a shrug, “What about you?”

“Hopefully the same as last night.” He admits, watching you carefully.

Your breath hitches, “Let’s hope they fall asleep soon then,” you reply softly.

He watches you for a moment and then nods. He's not sure if Carol will come home tonight but he doesn't care right now. "I'm sure they will."

“You want to just put the tip in again?” You ask, as the need between your legs grows.

Dave clears his throat and bites his lip. "What do you want?"

“You.”

Huffing quietly, Dave understands what you mean but he pretends that he doesn't. "My seed you mean?"

“If that’s what you’ll give me,” you say as your heart sinks, clearly having misread the situation. “Let’s make you a baby.”

Dave murmurs your name quietly to have you look at him again. “We can- I- I don’t know what you want.”

“I want you to put the baby you want in me,” you say, before looking back down at your plate and pushing your fork around.

“No.” He shakes his head. “You said you wanted me.”

“I know what I said,” you say, before pushing your chair back and standing up, “Sounds like the movie has finished. I’m going upstairs to check on the girls.”

"Wait-" He sighs as you dart out of the room and he knows that he's blown everything. He doesn't understand what is going on and he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Opening his contacts and selecting his sister-in-law's number.

The girls are fast asleep, but snuggled up to each other and gripping onto their favorite stuffed animals. You lean over and gently kiss both of their foreheads before tucking them in, seeing no use in moving Alice to her own bed when she’s quite content with her sister. Switching the TV off and turning on the nightlight, you sneak out of the room, leaving the door open slightly and making your way downstairs.

Dave's jaw is tight, his phone nearly crushed in his hand, he's gripping it so hard. Closing his eyes as he resists the urge to put his fist through a wall, or destroy something in a rage. It wouldn't do any fucking good and it would scare the girls.

“Hey,” you say, as you enter the kitchen, seeing the expression on his face. He looks furious and heartbroken at the same time, and you’re not sure whether to immediately give him space or go over and console him.

He shakes with anger, vision going white and for a moment, it sounds as if you are muted. Underwater and sounding like you are miles away as the pressure from the blood pounding in veins rushes through his ears.

You look over to the door of the basement and look back at Dave trying to gauge what the best thing to do here is. The sadness seems to have drained from his face and been replaced with sheer anger.

It takes Dave another minute before he gets ahold of himself. Purposefully thinking about something else and recalling his breathing techniques as he closes his eyes and slows his rushing heart down.

“Dave,” you say softly, as you approach him, gently reaching out and gripping his wrist, “What happened?”

"I called Maria." He tells you quietly, his voice low, nearly inaudible. "Carol isn't with her. Hasn't been with her." He inhales roughly. "She's not been out to a girl's night with her sister in nine goddamn months."

“Oh shit,” you say, before pulling him in for a hug, “Dave, I’m so sorry. Hopefully she’ll tell you the truth when she gets back.”

"She's cheating on me." Dave growls. "Maria told me everything. Carol told her that I had 'opened our marriage'." He rolls his eyes. "Told her that you were my live-in girlfriend."

“Oh, honey,” you say, letting him go and taking a step back, “I’m so so sorry.”

"Fucking bitch." He hisses, shaking his head. "We talked about this. She must have decided that I would be so fucking busy trying for a baby that I wouldn't pay attention to her bullshit."

You don’t know what to say to console him, so you just stand there and be the listening ear he needs right now. You reach out and gently rub his shoulder.

Dave closes his eyes and sighs, shaking his head. "It's obvious that the idea to have a baby with her is done." He admits. "I'm going to be getting a divorce."

“Oh,” you say, “That makes sense. I’ll contact my Mom in the morning and see if I can crash at hers for a while. Get out of your hair.”

"No." His hand reaches out and he grabs your. "No, don't- don't do that." He asks, opening his eyes and staring at you.

“I don’t want to get in your way, Dave,” you sigh, “Do you think you still want this? Going through a divorce and juggling a newborn as a single father. It’s a lot to think about.”

"You don't have to be in my way." Dave can't possibly think rationally right now but he knows one thing, he still wants you. "I wanted to fuck you last night." He admits. "I wanted to fuck you and not fucking jerk off and cum inside you."

“Fuck,” you say, “You wanted me?” You shake your head, knowing he’s just had news that’s turned his entire life upside down right now, and no matter how you feel for him, you can’t act on it. It would be taking advantage.

"I want you." He corrects.

“Dave,” you mumble, unsure what to do. Your heart says kiss him, let him take out his pain on your body by demanding it gives him pleasure, but your head says let him go to bed. Sleep on it.

"If you don't want to, walk away." He warns you after a second, his eyes turning darker. "Go downstairs and I won't follow you. But the smallest part of you does want to, go up to my bedroom."

After staring him down for a few minutes, feeling your arousal begin to drip down your thighs, your feet make the decision for you. Turning towards the stairs and taking each step carefully. Walking to the end of the hall and pushing open the door to the master bedroom.

It's wrong on so many levels and yet, Dave doesn't feel guilty. He looks down at his hand and contemplates for a moment before he reaches for his ring to slide it off his finger. Setting it down on the kitchen table, he turns around and walks out of the room and rushes towards the stairs.

You watch him as he strolls in the room, closing the door behind him and turning to look at you. “If you want this, Dave, if you really want to fuck me... Prove it. Undress me. Lay me down and show me just how much you want me, and if I'm satisfied I’ll let you fill up this little cunt.”

Dave hums, smirking slightly at the bossiness of your sudden change of attitude. "Is that how this is going to go?" He asks, raising a brow. "I have to prove it to you?"

“I’m not the one who’s leaving a multi-year marriage,” you say before perching on the edge of the bed and watching him.

"How do you want me to prove it to you?" He asks, starting to strip all of his clothes off. "I'm thinking about what I used to imagine when I was jerking off into that cup." He admits. "You sitting on my face. Smothering me in your pretty little pussy."

“That’s what you were thinking about yesterday or before?” You ask, wanting to confirm that he’s been wanting you for a while.

"Since the first week." He admits. "It's something I wanted to know. How you tasted. It was all I thought about while fisting my cock and spilling into a cup. Giving you my cum to insert into that cunt."

“Fuck, you wanna taste my pussy?” You mewl before standing back up, “Undress me and I’ll take a seat on that gorgeous face.”

Dave reaches for you, already nude and hard, his hands eager as he pulls your clothes off. Not caring if he stretches or rips something in his haste to strip you down.

Once you’re fully naked in front of him, you grab his hand and slowly drag it up the inside of thighs, letting him feel just how much you want him. “Since you said you wanted a repeat of last night, my pussy has been dripping for you. Soaked my panties within seconds and since then it’s been spreading down my thighs.”

"Do you know how good you felt?" Dave groans. "I felt bad about it, because I wanted to do it again. I wanted to cheat on Carol." He twists his fingers and slides them through your folds. "But now, now I'm just going to fuck you and not feel bad about it, I'm not married anymore. The rest is just legal bullshit."

“Fuck me then, York,” you challenge, “You knew from the second I first saw you that I wanted you.”

Instead of saying anything, Dave grabs you and pulls you down on the bed. Laying down and pulling you on top of him.

“You want me to ride that face or your cock? I’ve never sat on someone’s face before…”

"Face first." Dave groans. "Then my cock."

You hesitate for a moment, a little uncertain of how to make sure you don’t hurt him before you move up. Lowering yourself so you’re hovering just above his mouth.

He can tell you are hesitant and he reaches up to grab you hips and yank you down onto his mouth greedily like he is man starving and you are his last meal.

“Dave,” you yelp as he pulls you down onto his face. You reach out to hold on to the headboard as you patiently wait for him to start tasting you.

He chuckles and doesn't hesitate to slide his tongue through your folds, groaning at the tangy taste of your cunt and arousal. Gripping your hips tighter and making sure that you don't move away from his greedy mouth.

“Oh, Dave,” you whimper, as he starts to lap at your clit before moving down and pushing his tongue into your cunt. “Oh, fuck.”

He groans, spearing his tongue up into you while his nose presses against your clit. Rocking you back and forth to provide some friction.

“Dave,” you pant, over and over, as you start to rock your hips. The sensation is new, you’ve never really been with anyone who makes your pleasure a priority and he’s eating your pussy like a man starved.

Your taste, your moans has him aching as he gets exactly what he wants. Letting go of one of your hips, he reaches down and starts to wrap his fist around his cock. Groaning into your cunt like he is pained.

You rock your hips faster as you near your high, his mouth working magic on you. You throw your head back in pleasure and as you do you catch a glimpse of something moving, turning your head slightly you see him fisting his cock as he groans into your pussy. “Fuck, my pussy taste that good, baby? That you’ve got to fuck your own fist?”

He can't answer you because it means that he would have to pull his lips away from your cunt. Not willing to pull his tongue out of your warmth for a single second while you are dripping into his mouth. He groans, doubling down on his efforts to make you cum.

The only word you’re able to speak is his name, it falls out of your mouth over and over as he works you towards your high. Your thighs tighten around his head, as you start to cum. Hands gripping onto the headboard as you flood his face.

Dave hisses, his fist tight around his cock and squeezing so that he doesn't cum. Nearly ready to from the sweetness of your release and your cries.

“Fuck,” you murmur as you lift yourself off of his face, “Hi, baby.” You giggle as you look down at his soaked face.

"Hi." He smirks, a little pussy drunk and he lets go of his cock so he can stroke your hip.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask, as you run your hands through his hair, loving how blissed out he looks.

"Yes." He nods as he looks up at you. He's wanted to kiss you, and now there is nothing to stop him.

Wasting no time, the second he gives you permission you smash your lips against his. Not caring that they’re still damp with your arousal, you lick across his bottom lip as a silent plea for entry.

It's been years since Dave has kissed someone besides Carol. The pecks on the lips with the girls don't count. Years since he has kissed someone like he was going to devour them. And that is exactly what the kiss between the two of you turns into.

You moan freely into his mouth, letting him take the lead as he kisses you with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. Reaching down you grip his cock, giving it slow languid strokes.

"Fuck." Dave groans, twitching in your fist but he thinks of something and pulls away. "Do you- do you want me to wear a condom?" He asks breathlessly.

“Fuck no,” you say before pulling him back for another kiss.

He moans into your mouth, needing to be inside you now that there is nothing stopping him. "Ride me." He begs.

“Yes, sir,” you giggle, lining yourself up with him and slowly sinking down. Moaning from the stretch of him. “Fast or slow, baby?”

"Fuck." He groans. "You could just stay right there." He promises, watching you as you adjust to him in this new position.

“You just want me to keep your fat cock warm?”

You could, he wouldn't have any problem with you just sitting on his cock all night but he thinks you want more. "Later." He groans, pushing your hip with his hand, urging you to move. "Remember that I can't keep going if you make me cum too quickly."

“You can use your mouth and fingers though,” you say before grinding down on him, loving his filthy groans. “How often did you play with cock and think of me?” You ask as you rock your hips back and forth, nice and slowly.

"Every fucking time." Dave grunts, bracing his feet on the bed and starts to roll his hips up to meet yours. "Every fucking time I jerked off."

“Fuck,” you groan, before increasing your speed. “I think about you too,” you admit, “Those fucking shoulders. Imagined you putting my legs over them so you could fuck me deeper.”

Dave hisses, rocking his hips up harder. "Yeah?" He asks. "You knew how big my cock was before last night?"

“It’s honestly bigger than I was imagining,” you say before gasping, “And I was imagining a big cock.”

He grunts proudly, grabbing your hips and pulling you down to make sure he grinds deep into you. Wanting to make you feel every inch of him.

“You gonna make me cum on it,” you challenge as you snap your hips forward.

"Fuck yes." He hisses, gritting his teeth and snapping his hips up hard enough to make you bounce.

“Dave,” you gasp, as he forces the air out of your lungs, you bounce up and down on his length, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on your tit.

Dave palms you tit and squeezes it, grunting at how perfect it fits in his hand. Watching as you ride his cock like you had imagined and yet, it is so much better.

He fucks into that delicious spot with ease, making you almost delirious with pleasure. With a few more rolls of your hips, you find your walls fluttering around him, before clamping down, choking his cock and cumming hard.

Dave groans, wrapping his arms around you and he takes over. Feeling that you can’t move anymore and he starts thrusting up into you like his life depends on it.

“Fill me up,” you plead, grateful for the change in power right now. “Please, baby.”

"I will, fuck, I will." Dave groans out your name. Starting to chant it with every thrust of his hips. Until he finally pushes deep and starts to cum, filling you up just like you begged him to.

You love the way he overwhelms you, everyone of your senses are on fire in the most delicious way and it’s because of him. “Fuck,” you groan as he finishes filling you up, “So many nights of imagining this, and it was a million times better than I ever could have imagined.”

He nods, panting as he closes his eyes. "I- I shouldn't' have wanted it, but I did." He admits, holding you close. "It's so much fucking better than I ever thought of."

You giggle, loving the way he reacts to it. Still buried deep in your pussy, and groaning as your flutter and clamp down around him. “You wanna wake me up with your cock?” You ask before pressing a kiss to his lips.

“I can do that.” He doesn’t motion for you to get off him, and sighs softly. “I need to ask you a question though.”

“Should I be worried?” You ask, as you shuffle off of him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, instead of climbing in next to him.

“No?” He frowns, shaking his head and looking down at his hands before he starts talking. “Now that- now that Carol and I aren’t going to be staying together….if you wanted to stop this…surrogacy, I understand.” He tells you. “I know it’s not what you signed up for.”

“What do you want?” You ask, before running your hands through your hair. “I know how good of a dad you are, and despite what I said earlier, if anyone could juggle a newborn and all of this… it would be you. And I'd be here to help and breastfeed for as long as you need me.”

He blows out a small sigh and he shakes his head. “You don’t want what I’ve discovered I want.”

“What do you want?” You say, confusion evident on your face.

“I want to do this with…..with a partner, but you don’t want to be a parent and I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” He’s not saying things right and he shakes his head. “Just forget I said something. It’s not a good idea.”

“If you’re asking me to have a baby with you, you’re going to have to at least take me out to dinner first.” You say, before giggling and moving your face up to his, “Kiss me, idiot.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head but he leans in to kiss you. “I don’t know when I started imagining raising the baby with you.” He confesses. Maybe it was all the time you spent together, but he hadn’t imagined you leaving after the baby was weaned.

“Can’t pretend my heart didn’t stutter when you said ‘our baby’ last night,” you admit, “But we have to be smart here. The girls. Carol. The fact we haven’t even been on a date yet… And honestly I could be pregnant right now… We need to sit and have a conversation out of this post sex haze.” You climb into bed next to him and lightly press a kiss to his lips, “Right now I know two things… 1. How badly I want you. 2. We have a lot to figure out.”

“We’ll figure them out.” Dave promises, wrapping his arms around you, “I want to figure them out.”

“Me too. You wanna be the little or big spoon, baby?” You ask before you pepper a kiss on his shoulder.

It’s been a hard day and he chuckles to himself. “Would you think less of me if I wanted to be the little spoon?”

“Not at all, baby.” Letting go of him, so he can shift around in your arms.

Dave turns over and sighs when you wrap your arms around him. Finding comfort in the fact that you care about him. Carol cheating on him is going to change everything in his and his girls life, but it might be for the better. He might get to have you.

“Goodnight, my love,” you mumble against his warm skin, placing a few kisses between his shoulder blades and wrapping your arms just a little tighter.

****

When Dave wakes up, he smiles as he feels your arm still around him. Apparently neither one of you moved during the night. He hums, shifting slowly as he turns to face you.

You wake up to Dave shifting in your arms, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. One of his hands slowly rubs the bottoms of your back as you move a little closer to him, “Good morning, you sleep ok?” Your mumble sleepily.

“Never woke up.” Which for him was a miracle. He smiles, admiring the way that you are struggling to keep your eyes open. “You look beautiful first thing.”

“Flatterer. And good, I’m glad, I didn’t either. Slept like a baby.” You say as you press yourself up against him. Grinning when you feel how hard he is already.

"Good." You had said you wanted him to wake you up on his cock, but you managed to open your eyes before he could get into position. So now he leans in and kisses you while rolling you onto your back.

You let him mould your body as he pleases, his mouth refusing to leave yours as he climbs on top of you, his fingers snaking between your bodies and slowly circling your clit.

Instead of rush through things to push inside you, Dave decides to take it slow. He's got all morning, the girls won't be up for at least another hour and on Sundays they liked to watch cartoons before the designated brunch time.

“Feels so good,” you moan as he plays with your clit, his lips lightly ghosting your neck as you moan his name. “You want me to stroke your cock, baby?”

"No." He kisses along your neck and nuzzles your pulse, inhaling the scent of you. Warm and soft with sleep, arousal now mixing with it. "Gonna slide inside you of you soon enough."

“Sounds perfect,” you say quietly, loving how perfectly you fit together, “Keep the pace nice and slow.”

"Lazy lovin' Sunday." He hums, smiling against your skin.

“Sign me up for more,” you say with a soft laugh, “All of them.”

"Yeah?" He huffs quietly, rocking his hard cock against your mound slowly. "You want to do this every Sunday?"

“Baby, I want to do it everyday,” you say as his fingers rub a little harder, your orgasm just teetering over the edge.

“Don’t know if I could do it everyday.” He chuckles. “Getting old.”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me,” you choke out, as pleasure explodes behind your little bundle of nerves, cumming with a soft moan of his name, as he whispers soft praises in your ear.

When you come back down, Dave pulls his hand away so he can slide between your thigh. Pressing against you and slowly rocking his hips forward as he starts to sheath his cock in the tight walls of your pussy.

One of your hands gently holds onto the back of his head, while the other one grips onto his hip. The heft of him a glorious stretch, as he pushes himself in, taking his time and giving you a moment to adjust once he’s filled you to the hilt. “Could stay like this forever.”

"Have to eventually eat." He teases, nudging his nose against yours and then kissing your lips.

“You’re gorgeous, did you know?” You say after he softly kisses your lips.

"Distracting me." He hums, kissing you again. "You are the gorgeous one." He murmurs quietly, starting to slowly move. "You were going to sacrifice your body, your womb to give me a baby."

“Oh, you feel so good,” you whine as he starts a slow but delicious rhythm, notching against paradise. “How could I say no to those big brown eyes?”

"Ask everyone who turned me down." He hums, flashing you a small smile and trying not to let Carol's betrayal affect him, affect this. He shouldn't have fallen in love with you, but he did and he's not going to apologize for it.

“Their loss is my gain,” you say, “But no one else but me and you exist right now.” You whisper into his ear.

"No one else." It might be ironic, promising fidelity when he is technically cheating on his wife, but he feels single. Or at least his emotional attachment to Carol severed the moment he learned about her affair.

“Make love to me,” you whisper softly into his ear, “Please.”

It's soft, sweet. Dave takes his time and doesn't try to push anything but the softest sounds out of you. Each slow thrust accompanies a kiss and some praise.

Your hands trail the expanse of his shoulders, dipping down his back and finding home on his hips, you can feel that delicious pressure building but you don’t want to let go just yet, needing desperately to fall off that ledge at the same time.

"Baby." Dave groans quietly in your ear. "Need you to cum for me."

“Call me baby, again,” you say, before clamping down around him, “Cum with me.”

"Baby." He grunts, pushing his hips a little harder. "Baby." He feels his body tensing. "Baby." He chokes out before he buries himself deep and pours himself into you.

You clamp down around him hard. Cumming with the softest, sweetest whimper of his name. Your arms wrap around him as he groans your name once more, before dropping down and capturing your lips in a bruising kiss.

He pulls away only when he finally needs to take a breath, humming softly as he reaches up and caresses your cheek.

“You know I’m going to expect you to exclusively call me baby now I know how good it sounds?” You laugh as you push his hair back out of his face.

He chuckles and nods. "Figured."

“Sorry to darken the mood, but she’s probably going to be home today,” you sigh, “With work tomorrow. You want to spend a few nights downstairs with me until it’s all figured out?”

Dave sighs and he hates to acknowledge that but he nods. "Yeah." He leans down and kisses you again. "Just until I can get her ass served with divorce papers."

“At least we can be loud down there,” you say as you nuzzle your nose against his, “That’s if you’re not ‘too old’ to go again later.”

He snorts and shakes his head. "Might be." He jokes, nudging his nose against yours. "But you need to shower." He smirks at you playfully. "You smell like sex."

“So do you.” Kissing his lips once more you gently push him off you and climb out of bed, “Wanna join me?”

"I shouldn't." He admits, sitting down on the bed. "Just in case she comes home or the girls wake up."

“Guess it’ll just be me and my imagination then,” you say with a fake huff, “I’ll see you after, we can make the girls breakfast again.”

"Hey." Dave calls out and smirks at you when you turn to look at him. "I love you."

“I love you too.” You say, before slipping downstairs to shower.

****

The morning goes by in a blurred frenzy, Molly tells you that she needs 36 cupcakes to take to school with her tomorrow, and with Carol not back it’s down to you to bake them.

It’s only once you’ve finished frosting the final cake that you hear her car pull up onto the drive and Dave flashes an annoyed glance in your direction.

"Girls, why don't you go upstairs and play?" Dave suggests, ignoring the way they whine and try to stall, but he breathes a sigh of relief when they disappear to go upstairs. He turns towards you and watches you carefully. "Do you want to go downstairs?"

“Do you want me to? I can go if you want or stay and support you. Either way is fine.”

"I'm not going to confront her about everything." He tells you. "But I don't want you to face her wrath if she gets pissy."

“I can take it, but if you want me to go, I’ll go, baby.” You say before reaching out and caressing his cheek, sighing at the sound of her key turning in the door. Peppering the quickest of kisses on his lips.

He should send you away, but he doesn't. Realizing how much you care about him because you are willing to face whatever mood Carol is in just to stand beside him. He looks at you softly before his eyes harden as the door opens and Carol calls out. "In the kitchen." He calls back, voice flat.

“You’ve got this,” you whisper before briefly squeezing his hand. You both say nothing as she waltzes back in the house, tossing her car keys down on the counter and immediately going to the refrigerator and getting herself a bottle of water.

"Where have you been?" Dave asks quietly, sitting at the table watching as she twists the cap off the bottle and guzzles down half of it.

She giggles before slamming the bottle down, “Oh, Dave, you won’t believe it,” she says with a roll of her eyes and a huge grin splashed across her face, “Me, Maria and Tanya had one too many and ended up in Atlantic City! Of course I didn’t have my charger so I couldn’t contact you, but it was so great! Exactly what Maria needed.”

"Is it?" At least Maria hadn't lied when she told Dave that she wouldn't breathe a word of their conversation to Carol. She had been horribly apologetic, nearly tearful when she realized her sister had lied to her. "Is she feeling better now, then?" He asks.

“So much better,” she says before finishing the rest of her water, “I can’t believe we ended up there… The AmTrak really shouldn’t run at that time of night. Anyway I should shower…” She turns to look at you, “Could you have lunch ready when I get back downstairs? I’m starved.”

"She is not the maid." Dave reminds his wife. "Fix your own damn food."

“Excuse me?” Carol says, raising her eyebrow, “She lives here rent free, she can fix me a damn sandwich. What is your problem, David?”

"My problem is that you were supposed to be home two days ago, Carol." Dave doesn't raise his voice, he doesn't shout or throw anything. "You didn't call, you didn't give a fucking shit if your husband or your children knew if you were okay. You waltz back in and ask our surrogate to fix you a fucking sandwich."

“I told you I couldn’t call. Maria needed me, Dave. This is my home, she’s living here for free in exchange for me pumping her full of your cum. A sandwich won’t kill her.”

"Don't say it like that." Dave huffs. "You agreed that that was what you wanted. Have you changed your mind?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically, and she shakes her head. “No honey, you could just be a little more accommodating when it comes to the needs of my family.”

"Go take your damn shower." Dave tells her. "I'll fix you a fucking sandwich."

“No, she will fix me a sandwich. I need you to pack me an overnight bag, Maria wants us to go to the spa tonight. Last minute deal on groupon.”

“Carol.” Dave frowns at his wife and shakes his head. “It’s Sunday. I have work tomorrow. I’m not going to a spa.”

“Oh, honey,” she says with a laugh, “I meant me and Maria. Not ‘us’.”

Dave’s hands are on his hips and he contemplates just packing her a bag and letting her go. Taking the easy way out but he shakes his head. “Sure, Carol. Whatever you say.”

“Dave,” you say, as he lets her walk over him, “You deserve better than this.”

“Excuse me?” She scoffs at you, as you continue to focus on him. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I talked to Maria yesterday.” Dave announces, staring at Carol.

“What?” She splutters, “When?”

“Don’t worry about when.” He huffs and grits his teeth. “Where were you really?”

She sighs and walks over to Dave, wrapping her arms around his neck and pouting, “I just needed a few days to myself, baby, this whole surrogacy thing is so stressful. I’m sorry.”

He pulls away from her, knocking her arms from around his neck, “you owe me at least the fucking truth, Carol.” He hisses. “Be honest. For fucking once.”

“Leave,” she hisses at you, “You’re the reason I felt like I needed to escape my family for a few days.”

“Oh, that wasn’t Robert that made you feel the need to leave?” Dave sneers.

“What exactly did Maria tell you?” She says, clearly relenting and sitting on the stool behind her. “Make her leave and we can talk honey, we don’t need her meddling in our business.”

“She can stay.” Dave shakes his head and scoffs. “Maria told me enough, don’t worry.” He promises her. “My lawyer’s already been called.”

“Saline.” She says with a smirk, “You were right. I didn’t want another baby, but I knew you were adamant you wanted us to try surrogacy.” She turns to look at you and laughs, “Looks like he has no use for you anymore either, no chance you’re knocked up with salt water.”

He nods, furious but at least he knows why it didn't seem like the inseminations were working. "How long have you been fucking this guy Robert, Carol?" He asks, holding up his hand when you start to speak.

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs, “He ended it last night. The spa trip was a cover up to go and get some of my stuff I left at his.” She admits, no point in lying anymore.

"How fucking long?" Dave demands, his voice hardening slightly and his eyes dark.

“Just over a year,” she scoffs, “Does it matter? Do we really need to be having this conversation in front of her? She should have started packing her bags the second I told you both about the saline.”

"No, but you can pack your bags." Dave tells her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Get out of my house, Carol. We are done."

“No, we are not,” she shrugs, “We can find another surrogate and try again. We will have the baby and move on together.”

“No,” you say, courage coursing through your veins, “He will have a baby, but it will be with me. And I’ll spend the rest of my life doing the one thing you were too stupid to do, and I’ll show him how appreciated and loved he is.”

Dave lifts a brow at your impassioned speech and smirks at the way Carol's jaw drops in surprise. "I've already given my lawyer the evidence, Carol." He tells her. "Just like I'm going to forward this video of you confessing to adultery to him."

She ignores Dave and instead sneers at you, “You’ll get bored of him. Just like I did. I’d run if I was you, get out of here as quickly as you can.”

“I’m good,” you say before reaching out and grabbing his hand, “Fell in love with him that very first day in the cafe. Fell even harder watching how incredible a father he is, fell some more when he made love to me this morning. Will continue to fall harder and harder for the rest of my life.”

"Get out, Carol." Dave tells her quietly, squeezing your hand and looking over at you with soft love in his eyes. "I'll tell the girls you will be there to see them this weekend, but I want you to go. You made your choice, so I've made mine." His choice is you. You and his girls and whatever kids you might have together.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she scoffs before grabbing her keys, “And i’ll be ready for you to apologize, so we can move on from this. Make sure that little slut is out of our basement before I get back.”

He sighs and shakes his head, watching her walk away and doesn't flinch when the door slams behind her. "Gonna have to change the fucking locks." He sighs before he looks over at you and grins. "You heard her. You need to be out of the basement by tomorrow."

“I heard her loud and clear, baby,” you say before pulling him in for a heated kiss, “I’m just thinking about how you’re planning on fucking this little slut tonight.”

"Might be too tired from moving all your stuff into the master bedroom." He smirks, wrapping his arms around you. "Unless you're still ovulating."

“Oh I think moving can wait until the morning,” you smirk, “Save that energy ‘old man’, Daddy is going to be railing the fuck out of this little pussy tonight.”

“Sounds good to me baby.” Dave smirks and pulls you close. “Tonight we’re going to make our baby.” He promises.

“Keep calling me, baby, and we can make our baby right here and right now.” You tease, before kissing him hard and slow. “I was telling the truth by the way, fell in love with you the second I saw those big gorgeous brown eyes.”

He hums, knowing that you mean it. His hand slides down and he cups your ass. "I started falling in love with you while you've been living here." He admits, knowing you will understand that. "But I think that it's fair enough to say that I am completely in love with you, baby."

“Good,” you say before scrunching up your nose and nuzzling it against his, “Guess now I can tell you about the sex dream I keep having.”

"Tell me all about it." Dave pulls you close and closes his eyes. He's still hurt about Carol's betrayal, about her tearing their family apart. But he also has to thank her for it. If she hadn't been unfaithful, he wouldn't have met you, he wouldn't have fallen in love with you and he wouldn't be planning on creating a life with you.

“Keep dreaming about slowly riding your cock, your lips wrapped around one of my nipples, tasting the milk I make for our baby. Listening to you telling me how sweet it is. How sweet I am. Before tasting more.”

“That sounds more like a prediction than a dream.” Dave murmurs. He had already thought about watching you breastfeed and seeing your tits full of milk, and how he won’t have to deny those thoughts. “Let’s see if we can’t make dreams come true.”

“I would love to. I love you, Dave York.”

****

[SIX MONTHS LATER]

You groan at the clock next to you, reading 4:23AM. Your pregnancy cravings refuse to let up, but your aching and swollen feet makes it too difficult to get up and out of bed.

You don’t want to wake him, he’s been so supportive, so wonderful and spends a good forty minutes every evening luring you to sleep with his tongue. Knowing it’s the only thing that relaxes you enough to sleep. But you had made the decision to attempt to ignore your craving after dinner and it’s come back to bite you in the ass. You groan again as you think about the rocky road in the freezer, calling your name.

Wordlessly, he sits up and presses a kiss to your forehead and before you can apologize for waking him, he’s shushing you and getting out of bed.

A few minutes later he returns with a pint of ice cream, two spoons and two gatorades.

“What did I do to deserve you?” You say softly, feeling tears spring up in your eyes and immediately start to stream down your cheeks. Pregnancy hormones make you a lot weepier than usual.

"You answered an ad." He teases, setting down the gatorades and reaching up to wipe away your tears. "I knew you were going to want ice cream." He teases, leaning in and kisses your lips softly. He motions to the ice cream. "Go ahead and have your ice cream baby, I'm going to talk to him."

“God, I love you,” you say, ripping the cover of the ice cream and digging in. Watching as he gently rests his head on your tummy and starts to talk to your unborn son. The immediate kicking as soon as he hears his Daddy’s voice makes you both smile. Answering that ad had been the best decision you had ever made, you reach down and caress his face after finishing up the ice cream. “I love you so much. Love our girls. Love our boy. I love you, Dave.”

"Love you too, baby." He promises, kissing your ice cream flavored lips with a smile. "Thank you for our son, thank you for loving me and the girls." There's a ring on your finger, not quite yet a wedding ring since you want to wait until after the baby is born, but the divorce was finalized last month and he can't wait to make you Mrs. Dave York. "Love you so much."

“Me too, baby. I love you.”

#pedro pascal #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x f!reader #dave york smut #dave york fanfiction #dave york equalizer 2 #dave york imagine

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solreznik · 2 years ago

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Council Meeting 7/25/42

Transcript of the meeting where Sol filled in council on 1) campground community he made contact with, 2) group of savages he took out, and 3) increased rumors and talk about mutant zombies. Council approved Sol traveling again, this time heading west, with Ginny accompanying.

@ermanodelgcdo

@isaacapatow

@salemcampbell

@ginnypark

@tristan---miller

Ermano: thank you all for coming. i think we are all anxious to hear about Sol’s adventure outside of these walls. -looks to Sol- Floor is yours.

Sol: -mustering up the nerve for public speaking- Well, like I proposed, I headed north. Overall estimate? I think things are pretty clear. As far up as Clarksburg, I didn’t see or hear of any major settlements…which is good or bad, depending on your outlook. I’ll leave smarter minds to decide that. Three noteworthy things went down.

On the way back, I scouted a campground that supported about a dozen folks. Two main families, and some solo survivors. They welcomed me right in, which surprised me. Figured by now, folks’d be taking a little more precaution.

Ike: A campground? No fortifications to speak of?

Sol: They’d put up some wire fencing, cans and shit. Seemed more worried about biters than bad folks. But it was a nice campground, the kind that’s almost like a motel? So I think they were relying on locking doors.

Ike: Gotcha. So they unlocked their doors for you, seeing as you're not trying to chomp anybody.

Ermano: I'm surprised they aren't worried about the savages.

Ike: Maybe they've been lucky enough to avoid 'em.

Sol: -wringing his hands a little- I asked ‘em if they’d run into unsavory types and they seemed shocked by the proposition. Naive, maybe? Or just real isolated.

Ermano: can’t be too isolated if you found them.

Salem: I'll be honest, not running into any shitty people after 5 years? Sounds hella unlikely.

Ike: -rubs a hand over his mouth to hide a smile at how discomfited this is all making Sol- If they've been nomadic and lucky then they could be on the up-and-up. These mountains and hollers got all sorts of places to hide out from trouble.

Sol: Well I’ll admit to an unfair advantage, working for the parks service before all this. Happened to have it in the ol’ mental map. Gonna be honest, these seemed like the type of folks that were already living near off-grid in the before times. Four of ‘em were kids, three had to close to 80. Damn granny made me take candy with me after I fixed their plumbing.

Ginny: [suddenly looks up from her note taking] Do you still have the candy?

Sol: -blushing- Sorry Miss Ginny, it’s been spoken for.

Ginny: Damn. Well, no worries, Mr. Sol. Carry on. [gets back to writing]

Tristan: Do you think we should open our doors for them? Thinking they could be allies of some sort?

Sol: See, that’s the odd part. I didn’t promise anything, but I figured I’d float it when they asked where I was from. Told ‘em we had a school for the kids, plenty of food…they had no interest.

Ike: So maybe they are wary of outside groups. Or did you catch something that made you suspect something more than that, Sol?

Sol: Not really? Hill folk can get real odd, it’s probably nothing more than that. But I will say that a couple of the solo folks without attachments there gave me looks when I was leaving. So I’d say don’t be too surprised if one of ‘em shows up. I didn’t give directions, but if someone’s determined enough, they’ll find this place.

Ermano: We can put an extra detail on outside security and up on the outpost. If anything, I'll do it.

Salem: Sounds like a good idea. We should keep an eye on that.

Sol: Second thing was less pleasant. Killed a trio of…what are we calling ‘em, savages?

Ermano: So you did come across some? How far away was this?

Sol: Used it as my turning back point, so about two weeks walk on foot? I was looking real haggard by then, think they took me for easy pickings.

Ike: -ears perk all the way up, eyes sharpening- Well shit. In my experience they form distinct packs. Some of em like wearing identifying clothes or markings. You catch any of that, Sol? Or was three all that there was?

Sol: Seemed to be an isolated group. Not all there in the head, from what I could tell. Drugs maybe? Whatever passes for drugs these days. I managed to question one when he was on the way out. He said they’d come from west a ways, near the Ohio border. Whether he’s telling the truth or not, anybody’s guess.

Ermano: In that cause, extra security will be needed and an extra pair of eyes in the outposts. I'll ask around and see if anyone would be willing to volunteer their time.

Ike: Y'know ... David mentioned there's been a migration of bigger game animals into this area lately. Wonder if they're sweeping in from the west too.

Ermano: Good point.

Sol: What concerned me most was something that happened during both incidents.

Ike: Don't keep us in suspense. kemo sabe.

Sol: -frowning and shaking his head- There’s a fucking myth stirring up around mutant zombies. Now I know they exist, I get that they’re real. But the kids at the campground asked me if I’d ever seen one. One of ‘em said he has dreams about ‘em for christ’s sake. And one of the savage guys practically begged me to kill him, said he had the mark of the chosen, he’d just come back as a mutant and take his revenge. I mean…I don’t want to start stirring up unnecessary shit, but what the actual hell?

Ermano: -runs a hand through his hair- Dios mio. Mutant fucking zombies

Ike: -even more intense now- And you're SURE they didn't have marks on 'em. None that you could see?

Ermano: No brand on their skin? Tattoos?

Sol: -wide-eyed- I mean shit, I don’t know, I didn’t strip search ‘em. Nothing obvious. For what it’s worth, the other two dudes looked at the one guy like he was nuts, too.

Ginny: So when they say ‘mutant’, they’re not talking, like, X-Men. They mean… what, revived? Killed then brought back as… whatever this is? If they’re talking…

Ike: Orion and me ran into some kids who had some sort of fixation on mutant zombies. Emzees, they called em. They had-- -rustles out a piece of paper from his pocket, showing them- They had this thing branded on them. Just the sun outline, not the face part, but we found a note that had this image.

Sol: -under his breath- Shit. Kids? See, that’s why this had me fucking uneasy, this cult shit.

I didn’t see nothing like that though, with or without the face.

Ike: -all but growling as he shoves the note back in his pocket- God dammit. Catch me up when I come back -- I gotta go check on something. -lopes out, quicktime-

Sol: Where the fu—where the fuck’s he going? Do we keep going if he leaves?

Ermano: At this point Isaac does, what Isaac does. -he sighs- Something we do need to take into consideration is if savages are cannibals. I've heard stories of them killing survivors for flesh. If that's the case, eating too much flesh can make the brain not work properly.

Ginny: Uhhh… I’m not sure how to make a note of this in the minutes. Isaac Apatow jogged out at 18:52? Isaac Apatow peaced out? Isaac Apatow yeeted out? Man, remember that word? What a good word.

Anyway: it’s probably worth considering who else knows about this. If people start throwing the word ‘mutant’ or ‘cult’ or God forbid both around willy-nilly, that’s a mess. So outside of us it’s, what, Orion? Is that it, Sol?

Ermano: -looks at ginny- You can say he stepped out. I think he's said he's grabbing something.

Sol: Yeah, I didn’t tell a soul til now. Has anyone here at Redwood encountered one the mutant zombies? I was under the impression they were real, but hell, is that just a myth, too?

Ginny: I’m gonna say peaced out.

No one has mentioned mutant zombies. At least not to me. But gossip’s got power, especially in a context like this. If word like that spread fast, no wonder people believed it. Yet you’re saying the mutant’s so-called friends looked at him like he’s crazy.

Ermano: Not that I’ve heard. And I’m sure someone would’ve said something about mutant zombies.

Salem: We should probably ask the other raiders about it. Orion doesn't seem like the type for gossip, but not sure about the others. But if anyone's seen anything it's them.

Ginny: That’s risky. What if word travels?

Salem: I mean don't have to ask them outright about mutants. Just prod and pry to see if they've seen anything strange or unusual.

Ginny: Good point.

Ermano: Raider, hunters. Hell, I’ll round security and talk to them.

Oh, and the graveyard shifts.

Ginny: I’m basically in the graveyard anyway. I can poke around there.

Salem: Ike should probably be the one to ask the raiders. Probably seems less suspicious if the head raider wants to know if anything weird is going on.

Ermano: Heard.

Sol: I’ll leave all the specifics to y’all. Last thing I got to say is that I wanna go back out there. Not right away—got some projects around here that need tending to. But next time, I wanna head west. I think if there’s trouble to root out, it’ll be in that direction.

Ermano: Heading out West, you think you'll need back-up this time? Someone to have your six and vice-versa? Just in case?

Ginny: [so, so quickly] I can go.

Sol: You wanna spend a month on the road…in the wild…with me?

Ermano: Didn't know you wanted to get away from us that bad, Gin. -slightly narrows eyes at her- I was thinking more David or Ryan, even.

Ginny: [she's suddenly backtracking] I mean... choose whoever you think is best for the job, of course. I'm only saying that... I'm willing and I don't have much going on. So.

Ermano: As long as it's okay with Sol to have company, we can find someone. And of course as long as we as Council agree on it as well. I just think if we're worried trouble might be on the horizon, back-up would be appropriate.

Ginny: ...Sure. I can step out. For the vote.

Ermano: We have to wait for Isaac anyway. -turns to Sol- What are your thoughts?

Sol: I mean, I won’t pretend to be great company. Kinda keep quiet when I’m traveling. But I wouldn’t mind Ginny coming along. She’s gotta bring a weapon and be okay with using it.

Ike: -coming back in hot on the tails of the conversation- Take Ginny if she wants to go. If you're trying to ingratiate yourselves as being non-threatening she's a better bet and we'll need David around here for weapons training.

Salem: And he's back. Why did you suddenly run out anyway?

Ermano: -looks to ginny- And you're sure you want to go?

Ike: -gives Salem a look- Didn't know I had to account for all my comings and goings to you, Mother.

Look, these mutant zombies ... they've just been rumours at the fringes, whenever I've head of them. Figured it was just drifter bullshit, stories raiders tell each other around camp at night. It still could be, I've never seen one or evidence of one. But clearly there's some people out there taking it seriously enough to do crazy shit.

Ermano: -he quietly chuckled to himself, shaking his head- If only Oliver was here. He'd be all over that shit.

Ginny: I’m sure. [to Sol] when do we leave?

Sol: Aim for a week from today? Gives me a chance to do some repairs, catch up on some things around here, and resupply.

Ginny: Sounds good to me. If you need a hand, let me know.

Ike: The girl Orion and I ran into -- they're teenagers -- she had ... she had filed teeth.

I don't know if they were the only ones, but if you run into anybody else with the sun markings, they might have 'em too.

Sol: -visibly bristling- You think they did that to themselves? Or you think somebody's doing it to them?

Ike: -after a moment of hesitation, uncharacteristic- I don't think any children come up with these things on their own.

Sol: 'Course...we'll keep an eye out. Helps now that I know what I'm looking for.

Ike: -rocks back on his heels for a moment, then nods- Good on you both for taking this on, you and Gin. -after a moment, slaps Sol on the shoulder, then ranges out again-

Ermano: That's the most emotion I've seen from him. -he shakes his head- Glad to have you back, hermano.

#tfh.councilmeeting

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 2 years ago

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Around the World in 80 Days by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXVIII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT DOES NOT SUCCEED IN MAKING ANYBODY LISTEN TO REASON

The train, on leaving Great Salt Lake at Ogden, passed northward for an hour as far as Weber River, having completed nearly nine hundred miles from San Francisco. From this point it took an easterly direction towards the jagged Wahsatch Mountains. It was in the section included between this range and the Rocky Mountains that the American engineers found the most formidable difficulties in laying the road, and that the government granted a subsidy of forty-eight thousand dollars per mile, instead of sixteen thousand allowed for the work done on the plains. But the engineers, instead of violating nature, avoided its difficulties by winding around, instead of penetrating the rocks. One tunnel only, fourteen thousand feet in length, was pierced in order to arrive at the great basin.

The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at the Great Salt Lake. From this point it described a long curve, descending towards Bitter Creek Valley, to rise again to the dividing ridge of the waters between the Atlantic and the Pacific. There were many creeks in this mountainous region, and it was necessary to cross Muddy Creek, Green Creek, and others, upon culverts.

Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on, while Fix longed to get out of this difficult region, and was more anxious than Phileas Fogg himself to be beyond the danger of delays and accidents, and set foot on English soil.

At ten o’clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station, and twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the valley of Bitter Creek throughout. The next day, 7th December, they stopped for a quarter of an hour at Green River station. Snow had fallen abundantly during the night, but, being mixed with rain, it had half melted, and did not interrupt their progress. The bad weather, however, annoyed Passepartout; for the accumulation of snow, by blocking the wheels of the cars, would certainly have been fatal to Mr. Fogg’s tour.

“What an idea!” he said to himself. “Why did my master make this journey in winter? Couldn’t he have waited for the good season to increase his chances?”

While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky and the depression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing fears from a totally different cause.

Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up and down the platforms; and among these Aouda recognised Colonel Stamp Proctor, the same who had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the San Francisco meeting. Not wishing to be recognised, the young woman drew back from the window, feeling much alarm at her discovery. She was attached to the man who, however coldly, gave her daily evidences of the most absolute devotion. She did not comprehend, perhaps, the depth of the sentiment with which her protector inspired her, which she called gratitude, but which, though she was unconscious of it, was really more than that. Her heart sank within her when she recognised the man whom Mr. Fogg desired, sooner or later, to call to account for his conduct. Chance alone, it was clear, had brought Colonel Proctor on this train; but there he was, and it was necessary, at all hazards, that Phileas Fogg should not perceive his adversary.

Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and Passepartout whom she had seen.

“That Proctor on this train!” cried Fix. “Well, reassure yourself, madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg; he has got to deal with me! It seems to me that I was the more insulted of the two.”

“And, besides,” added Passepartout, “I’ll take charge of him, colonel as he is.”

“Mr. Fix,” resumed Aouda, “Mr. Fogg will allow no one to avenge him. He said that he would come back to America to find this man. Should he perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a collision which might have terrible results. He must not see him.”

“You are right, madam,” replied Fix; “a meeting between them might ruin all. Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg would be delayed, and—”

“And,” added Passepartout, “that would play the game of the gentlemen of the Reform Club. In four days we shall be in New York. Well, if my master does not leave this car during those four days, we may hope that chance will not bring him face to face with this confounded American. We must, if possible, prevent his stirring out of it.”

The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was looking out of the window. Soon after Passepartout, without being heard by his master or Aouda, whispered to the detective, “Would you really fight for him?”

“I would do anything,” replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed determined will, “to get him back living to Europe!”

Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame, but his confidence in his master remained unbroken.

Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a meeting between him and the colonel? It ought not to be a difficult task, since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and little curious. The detective, at least, seemed to have found a way; for, after a few moments, he said to Mr. Fogg, “These are long and slow hours, sir, that we are passing on the railway.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Fogg; “but they pass.”

“You were in the habit of playing whist,” resumed Fix, “on the steamers.”

“Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither cards nor partners.”

“Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all the American trains. And as for partners, if madam plays—”

“Certainly, sir,” Aouda quickly replied; “I understand whist. It is part of an English education.”

“I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game. Well, here are three of us, and a dummy—”

“As you please, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to resume his favourite pastime even on the railway.

Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward, and soon returned with two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf covered with cloth.

The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and even received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg. As for the detective, he was simply an adept, and worthy of being matched against his present opponent.

“Now,” thought Passepartout, “we’ve got him. He won’t budge.”

At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of the waters at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four feet above the level of the sea, one of the highest points attained by the track in crossing the Rocky Mountains. After going about two hundred miles, the travellers at last found themselves on one of those vast plains which extend to the Atlantic, and which nature has made so propitious for laying the iron road.

On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams, branches of the North Platte River, already appeared. The whole northern and eastern horizon was bounded by the immense semi-circular curtain which is formed by the southern portion of the Rocky Mountains, the highest being Laramie Peak. Between this and the railway extended vast plains, plentifully irrigated. On the right rose the lower spurs of the mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources of the Arkansas River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri.

At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of Fort Halleck, which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky Mountains were crossed. There was reason to hope, then, that no accident would mark the journey through this difficult country. The snow had ceased falling, and the air became crisp and cold. Large birds, frightened by the locomotive, rose and flew off in the distance. No wild beast appeared on the plain. It was a desert in its vast nakedness.

After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his partners had just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard, and the train stopped. Passepartout put his head out of the door, but saw nothing to cause the delay; no station was in view.

Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to get out; but that gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant, “See what is the matter.”

Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers had already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.

The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way. The engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man, whom the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place, had sent on before. The passengers drew around and took part in the discussion, in which Colonel Proctor, with his insolent manner, was conspicuous.

Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, “No! you can’t pass. The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would not bear the weight of the train.”

This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a mile from the place where they now were. According to the signal-man, it was in a ruinous condition, several of the iron wires being broken; and it was impossible to risk the passage. He did not in any way exaggerate the condition of the bridge. It may be taken for granted that, rash as the Americans usually are, when they are prudent there is good reason for it.

Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard, listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue.

“Hum!” cried Colonel Proctor; “but we are not going to stay here, I imagine, and take root in the snow?”

“Colonel,” replied the conductor, “we have telegraphed to Omaha for a train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow in less than six hours.”

“Six hours!” cried Passepartout.

“Certainly,” returned the conductor, “besides, it will take us as long as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot.”

“But it is only a mile from here,” said one of the passengers.

“Yes, but it’s on the other side of the river.”

“And can’t we cross that in a boat?” asked the colonel.

“That’s impossible. The creek is swelled by the rains. It is a rapid, and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find a ford.”

The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway company and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious, was not disinclined to make common cause with him. Here was an obstacle, indeed, which all his master’s banknotes could not remove.

There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who, without reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge fifteen miles over a plain covered with snow. They grumbled and protested, and would certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg’s attention if he had not been completely absorbed in his game.

Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what had occurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning towards the car, when the engineer, a true Yankee, named Forster called out, “Gentlemen, perhaps there is a way, after all, to get over.”

“On the bridge?” asked a passenger.

“On the bridge.”

“With our train?”

“With our train.”

Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer.

“But the bridge is unsafe,” urged the conductor.

“No matter,” replied Forster; “I think that by putting on the very highest speed we might have a chance of getting over.”

“The devil!” muttered Passepartout.

But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the engineer’s proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted, and found the plan a very feasible one. He told stories about engineers leaping their trains over rivers without bridges, by putting on full steam; and many of those present avowed themselves of the engineer’s mind.

“We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over,” said one.

“Eighty! ninety!”

Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything to get over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too American. “Besides,” thought he, “there’s a still more simple way, and it does not even occur to any of these people! Sir,” said he aloud to one of the passengers, “the engineer’s plan seems to me a little dangerous, but—”

“Eighty chances!” replied the passenger, turning his back on him.

“I know it,” said Passepartout, turning to another passenger, “but a simple idea—”

“Ideas are no use,” returned the American, shrugging his shoulders, “as the engineer assures us that we can pass.”

“Doubtless,” urged Passepartout, “we can pass, but perhaps it would be more prudent—”

“What! Prudent!” cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed to excite prodigiously. “At full speed, don’t you see, at full speed!”

“I know—I see,” repeated Passepartout; “but it would be, if not more prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more natural—”

“Who! What! What’s the matter with this fellow?” cried several.

The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.

“Are you afraid?” asked Colonel Proctor.

“I afraid? Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman can be as American as they!”

“All aboard!” cried the conductor.

“Yes, all aboard!” repeated Passepartout, and immediately. “But they can’t prevent me from thinking that it would be more natural for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come after!”

But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have acknowledged its justice. The passengers resumed their places in the cars. Passepartout took his seat without telling what had passed. The whist-players were quite absorbed in their game.

The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam, backed the train for nearly a mile—retiring, like a jumper, in order to take a longer leap. Then, with another whistle, he began to move forward; the train increased its speed, and soon its rapidity became frightful; a prolonged screech issued from the locomotive; the piston worked up and down twenty strokes to the second. They perceived that the whole train, rushing on at the rate of a hundred miles an hour, hardly bore upon the rails at all.

And they passed over! It was like a flash. No one saw the bridge. The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other, and the engineer could not stop it until it had gone five miles beyond the station. But scarcely had the train passed the river, when the bridge, completely ruined, fell with a crash into the rapids of Medicine Bow.

CHAPTER XXIX. IN WHICH CERTAIN INCIDENTS ARE NARRATED WHICH ARE ONLY TO BE MET WITH ON AMERICAN RAILROADS

The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption, passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass. The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey, eight thousand and ninety-two feet above the level of the sea. The travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains, levelled by nature. A branch of the “grand trunk” led off southward to Denver, the capital of Colorado. The country round about is rich in gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already settled there.

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days and nights more would probably bring them to New York. Phileas Fogg was not as yet behind-hand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the territories of Wyoming and Colorado. They entered Nebraska at eleven, passed near Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge. Two powerful locomotives, carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road, stopped at this point; cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees performed an imitation Indian battle, fireworks were let off, and the first number of the Railway Pioneer was printed by a press brought on the train. Thus was celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a mighty instrument of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and destined to link together cities and towns which do not yet exist. The whistle of the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion’s lyre, was about to bid them rise from American soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching Omaha. The road followed the capricious windings of the southern branch of the Platte River, on its left bank. At nine the train stopped at the important town of North Platte, built between the two arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and form a single artery, a large tributary, whose waters empty into the Missouri a little above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one—not even the dummy—complained of the length of the trip. Fix had begun by winning several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself a not less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg. During the morning, chance distinctly favoured that gentleman. Trumps and honours were showered upon his hands.

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of playing a spade, when a voice behind him said, “I should play a diamond.”

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel Proctor.

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once.

“Ah! it’s you, is it, Englishman?” cried the colonel; “it’s you who are going to play a spade!”

“And who plays it,” replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the ten of spades.

“Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds,” replied Colonel Proctor, in an insolent tone.

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played, adding, “You don’t understand anything about whist.”

“Perhaps I do, as well as another,” said Phileas Fogg, rising.

“You have only to try, son of John Bull,” replied the colonel.

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold. She seized Mr. Fogg’s arm and gently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the American, who was staring insolently at his opponent. But Fix got up, and, going to Colonel Proctor said, “You forget that it is I with whom you have to deal, sir; for it was I whom you not only insulted, but struck!”

“Mr. Fix,” said Mr. Fogg, “pardon me, but this affair is mine, and mine only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I should not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it.”

“When and where you will,” replied the American, “and with whatever weapon you choose.”

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective endeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master checked him. Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed him upon the platform. “Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, “I am in a great hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be greatly to my disadvantage.”

“Well, what’s that to me?” replied Colonel Proctor.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg, very politely, “after our meeting at San Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I had completed the business which called me to England.”

“Really!”

“Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?”

“Why not ten years hence?”

“I say six months,” returned Phileas Fogg; “and I shall be at the place of meeting promptly.”

“All this is an evasion,” cried Stamp Proctor. “Now or never!”

“Very good. You are going to New York?”

“No.”

“To Chicago?”

“No.”

“To Omaha?”

“What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?”

“No,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“It’s the next station. The train will be there in an hour, and will stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots could be exchanged.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg. “I will stop at Plum Creek.”

“And I guess you’ll stay there too,” added the American insolently.

“Who knows?” replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as usual. He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a request which the detective could not refuse. Mr. Fogg resumed the interrupted game with perfect calmness.

At eleven o’clock the locomotive’s whistle announced that they were approaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix, went out upon the platform. Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a pair of revolvers. Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second. But just as the combatants were about to step from the train, the conductor hurried up, and shouted, “You can’t get off, gentlemen!”

“Why not?” asked the colonel.

“We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop.”

“But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman.”

“I am sorry,” said the conductor; “but we shall be off at once. There’s the bell ringing now.”

The train started.

“I’m really very sorry, gentlemen,” said the conductor. “Under any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you. But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we go along?”

“That wouldn’t be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman,” said the colonel, in a jeering tone.

“It would be perfectly so,” replied Phileas Fogg.

“Well, we are really in America,” thought Passepartout, “and the conductor is a gentleman of the first order!”

So muttering, he followed his master.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the cars to the rear of the train. The last car was only occupied by a dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would not be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen had an affair of honour to settle. The passengers granted the request with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for their purpose. The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle, and fire at their ease. Never was duel more easily arranged. Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-barrelled revolvers, entered the car. The seconds, remaining outside, shut them in. They were to begin firing at the first whistle of the locomotive. After an interval of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen would be taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack. They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage cries resounded in the air, accompanied by reports which certainly did not issue from the car where the duellists were. The reports continued in front and the whole length of the train. Cries of terror proceeded from the interior of the cars.

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted their prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous. They then perceived that the train was attacked by a band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than once they had waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of them had, according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop.

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer and stoker with blows from their muskets. A Sioux chief, wishing to stop the train, but not knowing how to work the regulator, had opened wide instead of closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive was plunging forward with terrific velocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to hand with the passengers. Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged it, throwing the trunks out of the train. The cries and shots were constant. The travellers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars were barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

Aouda behaved courageously from the first. She defended herself like a true heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows whenever a savage made his appearance. Twenty Sioux had fallen mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell upon the rails as if they had been worms. Several passengers, shot or stunned, lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the train was not stopped. Fort Kearney station, where there was a garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney and the station beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell. At the same moment he cried, “Unless the train is stopped in five minutes, we are lost!”

“It shall be stopped,” said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the car.

“Stay, monsieur,” cried Passepartout; “I will go.”

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and while the struggle continued and the balls whizzed across each other over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience, and with amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on to the chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes, creeping from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus gaining the forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender, with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar, had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out. The train, now detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for several minutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped, less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman, whose devotion had just saved them.

#around the world in 80 days #jules verne

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bwbatta · 4 years ago

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six - confessions

Abstract: Draco and you are just friends so doing him a favour and pretending to be his girlfriend wouldn’t effect your friendship right?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst

Word count: 2960

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one, turn it upp! ...I won’t lie, i’ve been putting off writing this purely because I don’t want to stop writing this. Anyway, the final part is finally here and I’m so happy to be sharing it with you all!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 5

Draco signed his name quickly and looked back at the letter he’d written. It was simple enough to get his point across, yet the repercussions from sending this could be huge.

The blonde heir was adamant though. If this is what it took, then he would gladly accept whatever consequences came his way. He could figure it out, he always did.

Taking a breath in to help stabilise his thoughts and nerves, he quickly put his quill down before he wrote anything else that wasn’t needed. Reading it through once more, he made sure his words were enough for now.

Father,

I apologise for not responding sooner to your previous letter, I was at a loss for a while as to what to write.

I understand our family values and as much as I uphold them for our family’s benefit, my relationship or any of my relationships are my choice. Whilst she is not pureblood, she is not muggleborn either and both of her parents have magic, which is why I ask you to at the very least consider giving Y/N a chance.

With respect, I will not determine my relationship on your opinions, especially since you haven’t met her.

You understand there aren’t many things I would go against you on, but this is something I feel particularly strongly about.

Regards,

Draco

Nodding his head, he quickly folded the letter and attached it to his family’s owl. With a screech, the bird took off.

All Draco could do now was wait.

“Please?! You’re the best person at charms that I know, you would be my favourite person on earth?!”

“Blaise-”

“Y/N please, Flitwick might push for me to be kicked out of Hogwarts if I don’t pass this test”

You snorted unattractively as you walked down the corridor, arms riddled with books. On your way to the Herbology greenhouses for your afternoon lesson, you were blitzed by Blaise who had been trying to convince you for the last five minutes to help him write his essay which was due in a couple days time.

Blaise and you had nearly made it into the greenhouses when Professor Sprout stopped him at the door.

“You’re not in my class today Mr Zabini, I suggest you get heading towards your own class before you’re late.”

The elder witch gave him a stern look to which he smiled at, trying to lower her strict exterior.

“I just need to talk to Y/N about something really important really quickly, Professor. It’ll only take a minute?”

“No” she rolled her eyes at the boy, “you can do that in your own time.”

“But, Professor-”

“No buts Zabini-”

“Alright Blaise, I’ll do it” you finally caved, seeing as the boy would most likely be reduced to ash from Sprout’s harsh stare otherwise.

“Astronomy tower, 8pm?”

“Wait-”

“Okay bye!”

Without another word he turned and rushed off back inside the castle, heading to whatever his next lesson was, leaving you partially annoyed, partially awkward at the look Sprout was now sending you.

“Inside” she cocked her head towards the doorway and with a defeated look you headed into the greenhouse.

You hadn’t been back to the Astronomy tower, despite classes, since that fight between Draco and you and you weren’t too keen on returning. Blaise however, had given you no choice in the matter as you probably wouldn’t see him until that time you’d agreed to meet. This meant you’d have to suck up your anxieties about the tower and get over yourself.

If only it were that easy.

Your free period was rather quiet today you reckoned but you couldn’t put your finger on why it was so quiet?

The twins weren’t around and neither were Harry and Ron, yet that was normal since you were studying in the library with Hermione. Though Hermione didn’t really talk much when you two studied, something still felt off.

Not to mention the other thing which was bothering you was how Blaise acted earlier? He was normally the most relaxed person you knew, but his earlier rushed and fretted actions also seemed wrong.

You snorted at the thought in your head; imagine if he was trying to set you back up with Draco at the astronomy tower later?!

Another sigh left your lips as you continued to try and figure out what else felt off. Hermione’s eyes darted from the essay she was writing to you sat opposite her.

“Is there something bothering you?”

You met her stare awkwardly and shrugged slightly.

“I don’t know, does something feel off to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s too quiet, you know? I can’t put my finger on what it is though.”

“Maybe it’s because that blonde tumour isn't attached to your side anymore?!” Hermione snorted as she turned back to her work, leaving you staring at her with an unreadable expression.

Ignoring the remark of how the witch had described Draco, she was right in the way that he did used to surprise you while you were studying.

Was that it? You were missing him being near you?

You hadn’t really spoken to the Malfoy, only small comments in class when you were next to each other but apart from that, he wasn’t constantly next to you anymore and that bothered you.

You had to admit you did like fake dating Draco, but that was over, it was a joke, a favour, nothing more. So why the hell would you accept anything to go back to him annoying you, him being at your side constantly, or his arm around you 90% of the time?

Then you froze.

You knew exactly why.

Holy shit, you loved him. Like actually loved him.

Slowly starting to freak yourself out, you sat back in your chair as your mind whirred around that fact.

He’s Draco.

He’s one of your best friends and now everything was so messed up because he’s Draco.

Stubborn, bratty, arrogant Draco.

Who likes Draco?!

And then it hits you again. You do, you really really do.

Because he’s Draco.

Because he cares about you and would do anything for you. Just like you’d do anything for him. He might be stubborn, but so are you. He might be bratty and spoilt because of his parents, but he actively spoils you just because he can. And he might be arrogant to everyone else, but you know how humble he could be and acts around you. His reaction after you opened your Christmas present proved that enough.

Holy shit.

These feelings are going to ruin whatever’s between you, friendship or not, because how the hell could you keep this to yourself? How the hell could you not tell him you loved him?

The only thing was... you were the second person to ask yourself that today.

Draco paced in the tower, a letter held tightly in his hand as he waited for you to show up. Guaranteed it wasn't 8pm yet, but he was still so anxious for when you did actually turn up. Were you going to turn up?

A lot of things had flown through his mind today, some putting him on edge as to whether his plan to get you back would work, yet nothing had made him as anxious as when the letter arrived from his father earlier that day.

It was slightly wrinkled now from how much he had fiddled with it in his hands and with a frown, Draco tucked it back into his pocket, forcing himself to take a long breath as he did so and run his hands nervously through his hair.

Not even a moment passed before he heard the door below slam shut and your footsteps approach. A brief flash of panic flew through his body like he’d been electrocuted, what if this was a bad idea? What if you didn’t want him like he wanted you and he would just look like a complete idiot?

All the thoughts in his head however vanished as soon as you reached the top step and your eyes locked on his.

Neither of you said anything at first and the silence was almost deafening.

“Fucking Blaise,” you rolled your eyes at yourself. “Earlier I bet myself he’d do something like this.”

“It was actually my idea”

“...I see”

“Surprised?”

You snorted

“No.” You hid your grin at the look of offence present on his face, “I knew one of you would come up with something like this. I had my money on Blaise as he was the one I spoke to earlier. Despite how much you love being mysterious and complicated Draco, you’re like an open book to me.”

The wizard let out a snort, he had a feeling she would figure something was up. They really did know each other well.

The silence stilted in the air again and felt heavy despite the fresh air surrounding them.

You looked down, avoiding the blue eyes that watched you. Despite being in love with him, you had no idea what to actually say to him. Luckily he took the lead.

“It was really stupid.”

You frowned, before you forced yourself to glance towards him, eyes catching on how he was looking at you.

“What was?”

“The fact we thought we could pretend and fake an entire relationship with no consequences.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I mean let’s be honest,” Draco scoffed a laugh, “we really thought that everything would go back to how it was before? That was stupid. Also the fact that the whole ‘having a fake girlfriend’ thing wasn’t really working for me.”

He paused to assess your reaction for a moment before continuing on.

“We were great as a fake couple, sure. We were also great at being friends, I mean... that was before I kissed you and fell in love with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the confession. A smile grew faintly on his face as he took in your reaction. After realising you weren’t going to bolt, he took a couple steps closer until he stood right before you, his toes almost touching your own.

“This whole fake dating thing was so stupid in so many ways except for one; how it made me realise how much I genuinely want to be your boyfriend.”

Draco shrugged sightly like it was no big deal, but inside he had to remind his lungs to work.

Why hadn’t you said anything yet? Maybe because he can’t stop his mouth from talking? Should he stop talking? His mouth opened again before he could stop himself.

“I want you. I want us. But I want it for real, not some half-assed, pathetic excuse of relationship which is all just an act and makes us question where we stand with each other.”

His voice lowered to a whisper but you heard him perfectly.

“Draco... I want nothing more than to be with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, but I can’t help the fact that I’m not a pureblood and your parents won’t accept me-”

“Wait, okay, hold on.”

Digging his hand into his pocket, he fished out the crumpled letter and attempted to flatten it out slightly.

“I sent my father a letter in response the one you read the other day and I got this back earlier today. Just... just read it.”

He held the letter out at you with such a serious expression causing you to frown, you took it from him wondering what was in it. Opening the parchment, your eyes immediately flicked back to the blonde once more, only to find him watching your every movement.

“Draco,

I don’t believe you understand the seriousness of what you’re asking from your mother and I. You have a duty to this family to uphold and despite the notion that you wouldn’t disobey me with much, this is still a vital factor of those duties.

Nevertheless, you expressed your seriousness for this girl, coupled with your mother’s bickering about at least meeting her, I will give you one chance. We will meet her if she values the seriousness and significance of our values. If she does not however, then you will end whatever you have with her.

You understand in the near future, things will change. You need to be as prepared as possible.

Regards,

Lucius Malfoy”

You read the letter once through, then twice, then once more. Your mind was in a flurry at the words, taking them in and the weight they held. Draco’s parents had agreed to give you a chance, however it came with a price and one you were in two minds about taking.

On one hand, you could be with Draco and support him through whatever hell was coming your way, as long as you abided by their blood purity mania, which, if Harry was right, meant Voldemort. On the other hand, it meant not having the Malfoy boy in your life.

Your eyes finally left the words and flicked back up to meet Draco’s own. His expression was unreadable as he waited for your reaction.

“Well, that’s intense”

“You can’t really expect anything less from my father.”

“I gathered that.”

Your eyes landed on the elder Malfoy’s name once more and you bit your lip slightly.

“I said once I would be willing to get mixed up in this for you, and I stand by it, Draco. I don’t know whatever's going to happen in the future but I know I want you by my side through it.”

“I can’t ask you to do that-“

“You’re not asking me, I’m telling you I want you and I’ll do whatever it takes to be at your side.”

“Y/N-”

“Draco, I love you, let me do this for you. I can play whoever your parents want me to be.”

Draco didn’t say anything more but stared at you with a half smile on his face. Your eyebrows knitted together as you caught sight of it, not really sure where the expression came from. Talking about faking your views on blood purity and Voldemort wasn’t really a cause for smiling.

“What?”

“Say it again?”

“Say what again?”

“You love me.”

You realised then. You’d told him you loved him in amidst all that but you hadn't even realised it. Well, that’s one way to admit it.

“I love you,” you said with no hesitation as a smile grew on your own face. “I want you, for real. No fake relationship, just us.”

As quick as you’d finished speaking, Draco’s lips were on yours. It was chaotic, unscripted and messy, but it was real.

Your hands slid to the back of his head, fingers burying themselves in his hair as his hands gripped your waist tightly, pressing you to him. He kissed you with such passion you swore your heart stopped for a split second.

How the hell had you both faked this for so long?!

Taking a break, he pulled away but rested his forehead on yours, not wanting too much distance.

“If you’re all in Y/N, so am I. I’ll protect you with my life, you may’ve been my friend first, but you’re everything to me now.”

His lips pressed against yours again, much softer this time like he was trying to memorise and convince himself you were really there. That this was really happening.

“Draco Malfoy, I’m all in.”

You were surprised the next day for two reasons.

One; for how many people had actually bet on Draco’s and your relationship. George got his five galleons back from Fred again after the news reached them. He happily took the money from his brother before lifting his glass to you from across the hall in thanks.

Both Crabbe and Goyle owed Blaise 10 galleons, though you supposed he had an unfair advantage, (not that you’d tell the duo).

But the second thing which surprised you was the letter you received at lunch from the headmaster himself.

Dumbledore had barely even looked in your direction, let alone spoken to you personally, so the note you got from him asking to meet him in his office later spiked your anxiety.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Hermione shrugged before lowering her voice to a whisper. “It’s probably something to do with the DA or Umbridge.”

“Hermione, I didn’t even think he knew I existed, now he’s asking me to come have a chat?”

“Just go, you’ll never know otherwise and you’ll keep fretting.”

The rest of your day passed quickly and you found yourself before the headmaster’s office later that evening. Taking another quick look at the note in your hand, scribbled at the bottom was a comment about him liking sherbet lemons which stuck out to you.

“Sherbet lemons?”

The gargoyle surprised you by jumping out the way, opening up the staircase to you. Without another thought, you climbed the stairs and knocked on the wooden door.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, Dumbledore turned to face you as you entered the room. With a smile, he greeted you and offered you the seat opposite him as he took his own.

Sitting, your knee started to bounce while your anxiety kicked in wondering what the hell was going on.

“Y/N- can I call you Y/N? Relax, you’re not in any trouble at all, don’t worry.”

“Can I ask then, why am I here sir?”

“Well, I actually have a job for you if you’re interested? I understand you’re in a unique position where you’re willing to do anything possible to be with the young Mr Malfoy.”

You immediately frowned, how the hell did he know that?!

“What kind of job?”

“A job to join the Order of the Phoenix. I want you to act as a spy for me within Voldemort’s ranks.”

#Draco Malfoy #dating Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy series #Draco Malfoy Headcanon #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco #draco malfoy imagine #draco imagine #draco malfoy x you #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter headcanon #harry potter x you #harry potter series

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earliebirb · 4 years ago

Text

nosedive

steve/tony, fluff, (newly) established relationship, 3250 words

Tony stares absentmindedly out the airplane window as he puts his phone up to his ear, watching people run back and forth, performing last-minute engine checks. Some of the guys look sweaty and out of breath.

From the comfort of the air-conditioned Stark Industries private jet, he feels a slight twinge of sympathy for the people having to suffer in the humid summer heat.

He loosens his tie and sinks deeply into his seat, closing his eyes with a massive yawn as he listens to the ringing tone. He hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout his five-day stay in Tokyo, too anxious about the contract to rest properly.

The ringing tone goes on for a few more seconds before ending with a click, replaced by an achingly familiar voice greeting him in his ear.

“Hello?”

Tony’s eyes spring open. Outside, an aircraft marshaller walks by, speaking rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

“I had a blueberry muffin for lunch today. One single blueberry muffin.”

“...What?”

“It didn’t even taste that good. I couldn’t finish it. Too dry.”

“Tony, that’s not good. Is that all you had for lunch? You should really eat—”

“The meeting went well, by the way. Mr. Watanabe finally signed the contract, everything went as planned. My ride to the airport, however…”

“I told you things would go smoothly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re a brilliant negotiator—”

“The traffic? Fuck. I had to keep shifting in my seat to avoid pins and needles.”

“That sounds awful, are your legs okay—”

“Did you know that Tokyo is number nineteen on the list of cities with the worst traffic congestion in the world? I know that, because I looked it up on the way to the airport. But boy, did it feel like it deserved the number one spot. I think I lost feeling in my ass.”

“I did not know that. And, uh, is your ass okay—”

“Thank God for my private jet. These plush seats are the best things I’ve ever spent my money on.”

“That’s objectively not true, and you know it—”

“Then again, I think these seats in particular were Pepper’s choice? We remodeled the airplane’s interior like… two years ago. I couldn’t be bothered to meet with the airplane seat people and I just told her to pick whichever looked best. I had much more important things to tend to, like sewing up the holes in JARVIS’s Christmas stocking.”

“I am concerned about how you sort your list of priorities—”

“Hm, that’s right. I think it was around two, three weeks before Christmas and I didn’t want JARVIS to be upset about the whole stocking thing, you know?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have—”

“Also, you’re right, the single blueberry muffin was a bad idea because now my stomach won’t shut up. So I’ve ordered some pasta for my in-flight meal. Robbie’s making it, you’ve met Robbie—”

“I’ve met Robbie, yes, he’s—”

“Larry’s replacement after he resigned. Gotta say, I was sad to see Larry go. Guy worked for me for seven years. But then there was that thing with his grandma, and he had to leave, so… But! Robbie makes a mean carbonara, maybe even better than Larry, don’t tell Larry I said that—”

“I don’t even know Larry like that, how would I—”

“Mr. Stark, we’re ready to go.” The pilot—Paul—emerges from the cockpit, staring at him in anticipation.

Tony nods and makes a few rapid gestures with his free hand that he supposes Paul is only able to interpret perfectly after years and years of working for Tony. The gestures roughly translate to something like “Copy, I hear you, just let me wrap this up and then I’ll let you know when I’m done. Capiche?”

Paul—bless him—just gives him a curt nod and retreats back into the cockpit.

“Anyway,” Tony takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out with the exertion of his exhale, “I called because… I got a feeling, Steve.”

“A… feeling?”

“Just— A gut feeling. A feeling in your gut. Inside of me. Like a hunch?”

“Okay,” Steve says patiently, his voice low and warm, “what are you feeling?”

“I… got a bad feeling. Today. A few hours ago. The feeling came to me when I was sitting in traffic, and I just— I feel like something bad’s gonna happen today, Steve. I can feel it in the air. In my heart. In my gut. In my joints.”

“Your joints? Like… the feeling old people get when it’s about to rain?”

“Okay, maybe not in my joints. Also, are you calling me old, grandpa?”

“I did not, you told me you felt something in your—”

“Anyway, so yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Feeling. Bad feeling. Like, like, I don’t know, something bad’s gonna happen. Like an accident. Like a plane crash.”

“God, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me, Tony.”

“And I guess, I just called because I… I feel like I need to do this before the plane crashes and I die a violent and fiery death.”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen, Tony—”

“Like, if I didn’t do this today, maybe I’d never get to do it, you know? And, uh, okay, I’ve honestly been ranting to stall for time, but the longer I keep it in the more nauseous I feel, so maybe I’m just gonna do it now so I can die in peace—”

“Do what? And stop saying that—”

“Look, I’m trying to be brave and honest here and— Wait, actually? Maybe I’m being a coward because if the plane actually does go down, I won’t have to face the consequences of my actions, so I guess I’m just going to say fuck it, and say that I love you.”

“The plane is not going to— Wait, what?”

“I, uh. Love you. I’ve known it for a while now. And, uh, I know we’ve only been dating for like, a week, but—” Tony blinks. They’ve only been dating for a week.

“...Fuck.” Tony can feel his own pulse starting to race. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Tony?”

They’ve only been dating for a week. What is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do this.

“Fuck. Shit, I mean— Uh, I’m sorry. That was super weird, huh?” Tony laughs nervously. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and cursing his stupid brain. Of course it’s weird. He always gets too attached to people way too quickly. No wonder Pepper was his only long term relationship. She was the only person who could put up with him—everyone else just got weirded out. “Uh, see you tomorrow? Or not. Fuck, sorry, I’m just gonna hang up before this gets—”

“Tony, wait.”

“...Yeah?” Tony says, hyper-aware of how breathless he sounds. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Everything is going to be fine. Right? Right. The worst thing Steve could do is… break up with him.

Oh, God, that is the worst case scenario. He really should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut.

“Tony, are you freaking out? I feel like I can hear you freaking out from all the way over here.”

“No, I’m not, of course I’m not. Who says I’m freaking out? You have no proof. I am calm, I’m calm as a clam, is that the saying? Did I get it right? Or was it happy— Anyway, I am absolutely calm, I’m the calmest I could possibly be. Any calmer and I’d be asleep. I’m—”

“Tony. Breathe.”

Tony forces himself to drag in a slow breath as he grips the arm of his seat with his free hand, focusing on the soothing hum of the airplane’s engine.

“Look, Tony, I—”

“No, listen. I’m sorry I jumped the gun, I hope I haven’t weirded you out or anything. You really, really don’t have to say it back to me. I mean it.”

“Tony—”

“No, in fact— Please don’t say anything. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”

“But—”

“Drop it, Steve. Please?” Tony pleads. Clearly, his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. That is the only reason that could explain his temporary lapse of judgment. “Look, I feel like talking about it more right now is going to send me spiraling into a panic attack.”

“...Okay. Fine.”

“Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you when I get home. If I get home. If the plane doesn’t crash. Haha.”

“Would you please stop saying that? It’s not funny.”

Tony latches onto the change in topic like a lifeline. “It is objectively true, you know. In order for me to be able to see you tomorrow, the plane has to land safely, and unfortunately, some things are just beyond my control. Like, who’s to say the plane won’t explode mid-air and—”

“The plane is going to land safely and you’re going to come back home to me in one piece. This is non-negotiable, Tony. You hear me?” Steve demands, his voice all hard authority and no-nonsense, like there will be Consequences should Tony fail to comply.

As if he could ensure Tony’s safety with the force of his willpower alone.

Come back home to me.

That sounds good. Really good. Tony closes his eyes and pictures Steve’s baby blues in his mind’s eye. Warmth flowers in his chest.

“I hear you.”

“Great.”

“Awesome. I, uh, I gotta go now.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Tony hangs up and lets Paul know that he is done with his phone call. The jittery feeling left over from his call with Steve refuses to leave him, however, so he pulls up the drawing application on his phone and begins sketching something just to give his brain something else to fixate on.

He tends to lose track of time when he is hyperfocused on a project, so he isn’t exactly surprised that the next time he becomes aware of his surroundings, the plane is already well up in the air, his sketch of what looks like a flying coffee pot is almost finished, and Robbie is placing a plate of spaghetti carbonara on the table in front of him.

“Spaghetti carbonara. With extra cheese.”

Tony’s mouth waters as he eyes the mountain of grated Pecorino Romano sitting atop the pasta. He sighs dreamily and smiles up at Robbie.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Enjoy, Boss.” Robbie grins and slips back into the kitchen.

He only realizes just how truly famished he is after taking his first bite, and proceeds to finish the rest of his meal with gusto. Afterward, he spends the majority of the remaining flight time sleeping, the result of post-carbonara food coma and his sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him.

It’s well past two in the morning when Tony finally makes it to his floor in the Tower, which is why he is surprised to see Steve sitting on his couch, one of Tony’s fantasy novels open in hand.

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Tony frowns. “Actually, why are you awake at all?” He is usually an early sleeper, unless—

“Nightmare?” Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. It wouldn’t be the first time. In the early days of their friendship, Tony and Steve would sit together in the living room whenever they had trouble sleeping, talking to each other until the sun came up.

Steve shakes his head, closing the book with his eyes still trained on Tony. “No, I was just… waiting for you.” Tony blinks.

“It’s…” Tony glances at his watch. “Half past two. In the morning.”

“I know, I just…” Steve stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He ambles over before coming to a stop right in front of Tony. “I wanted to see you.”

Tony stares at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ll see me later anyway.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you first,” Steve says, low and earnest. His gaze wanders around Tony’s face, as if he were cataloguing each and every facial feature and trying to locate any changes he might’ve missed during his absence.

“Oh.”

Steve steps closer, arms snaking around Tony’s waist and pulling him close. His next words are whispered against Tony’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d make it home safely.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You were wrong.”

“I was… wrong.” Tony swallows. “Uh, turns out the bad feeling completely disappeared after I woke up from my nap on the plane, so I suspect that perhaps the bad feeling I got was due to my severe hunger and sleep deprivation. I mean, I’ve heard about hallucinations caused by hunger or exhaustion, but this was—”

Steve presses a soft kiss to the column of Tony’s neck, effectively cutting off Tony’s ramblings.

“Tony,” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Yeah?” Tony squeaks.

“Please don’t call me before a flight and say that you think the plane is going to crash, ever again.”

“Right. Noted. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, pulling away slightly and loosening his hold around Tony.

Tony allows himself to relax, letting out a quiet sigh. This thing with Steve is so new and delicate that every single physical contact still sends his heart fluttering, butterflies going crazy in his stomach.

Which makes, in retrospect, his abrupt love confession—as truthful as it was—that much more insane. God, Stark. Never do that again.

Except, it turns out that Steve only pulled away to slide his hands down the back of Tony’s thighs, wrapping his hands around them, and then lifting him up without warning.

Tony yelps, and in his alarm, promptly locks his ankles around Steve’s waist. When Steve begins moving, Tony quickly wraps his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve says, calm and nonchalant, as he begins walking away from the elevator.

“Um— Wait— My suitcase—”

“Leave it. It’ll still be there in the morning.”

Tony blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at his lonely suitcase, abandoned by the elevator. It becomes smaller and smaller with every step Steve takes.

“Where are we going?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Why are you carrying me there?”

“Because I want to.”

“You know it’ll be faster if you just let me walk, right?”

“Maybe. But you won’t be in my arms.”

“Um.”

“Bear with me, will you? I missed you.”

“I, uh, missed you too.”

Steve hums, satisfied. Tony lets himself settle more comfortably in Steve’s arms.

When Steve has successfully carried him to his bedroom, Tony fully expects Steve to deposit him on the bed.

That is not, in fact, what happens.

Instead, Steve turns around and begins walking backwards towards the bed before sitting down on it. Tony, still seated on his lap, swallows and pulls back slightly to look at Steve.

“Look, Steve, as much as I’ve missed you, I’m kind of tired right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This whole carrying thing? Great. Very romantic. Ten out of ten. But I’m just not in the mood for sex, you know? Like, I’m not even sure I would be able to get it up if—”

“We’re not going to have sex.”

Tony blinks.

“We’re not?”

“We’re not. I’m just here to tuck you in.”

“Oh.”

Steve reaches up and begins undoing his tie. After setting it aside on the bed, he begins to unbutton Tony’s shirt. He takes his time, one button at a time.

“So…” Steve begins with a deep breath as he unbuttons the final button. “Did you mean, uh, what you said to me? On the phone?”

Tony closes his eyes, feels his own cheeks heating up. “Steve—”

“I’m sorry, Tony, I know you told me to drop it. But— I feel like if you did mean what you said, I owe it to you to… set the records straight.” When Tony opens his eyes again, Steve is looking up at him, blue eyes solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We have only been together for a week. Well, eight days. In fact, we’ve only been on one date. And it was interrupted. By giant lizards.” Steve chuckles incredulously.

Tony remembers that day very well. They were in the middle of dessert at Tony’s favorite Italian place when they received the call to assemble—something about giant lizards wreaking havoc in Central Park.

The lizards had green, gunky blood that got into the nooks and crannies of the suit. It had taken forever to clean.

“But Tony…” Steve gathers the material of Tony’s unbuttoned shirt in both of his fists, pulling him closer until their noses are only inches apart.

The second their eyes meet, Steve smiles the sweet, lopsided smile that never fails to make Tony’s stomach flip.

“I need you to know that… I didn’t have to date you to know that I loved you. I figured that a long time ago.”

Tony stills, breath frozen in his lungs.

“I guess, what I’m saying is… I love you too. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Tony. Even way before—” Steve breaks eye contact, looks down as he clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight. “Way before we got together. I’m talking… years before.”

Tony still finds it hard to breathe. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, the word more breath than sound. He meets Tony’s dazed gaze. “So you don’t have to worry about… jumping the gun. Not with me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels a lightness growing inside of him, spreading outwards to his extremities.

“Good.” Steve smiles, warm and impossibly fond.

“...Glad we’re on the same page.” Tony’s gaze drops down to Steve’s lips.

“We are.” Steve inches closer, nose brushing Tony’s. He then tilts his head ever so slightly and takes Tony’s lower lip between his, kissing him so tenderly Tony’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with it.

Steve’s warm hands slide up Tony’s naked back under his open shirt, sending goosebumps breaking across his skin. Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and relishes the feeling of the soft strands caught between his fingers. They stay caught up in each other for a few moments, capturing and releasing each other’s lips until the need for breath becomes too unbearable.

They break apart eventually, accompanied by soft chuckles. Steve smiles up at him, lips slick and cherry red, courtesy of Tony. He reaches up to caress Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, fleeting and affectionate.

“Get some rest, okay? You must be really tired. I should probably go to bed, too.”

Tony looks down at his lap, clearing his throat. “Uh, I know that we haven’t done this before, but…”

Steve waits patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, hands stroking up and down Tony’s sides.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony finds the courage to meet Steve’s eyes, holding his breath.

Steve’s blue eyes are gazing at him intently, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his sole, undivided attention.

Tony swallows. “No sex. Just to sleep. If you—”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels his own lips slowly curve up into a smile, wide and unbridled.

“Good.” Steve nods, lips twitching, his eyes never leaving Tony’s.

Tony grins, feeling near giddy with delight. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We are, sweetheart.” Steve looks up at him, blue eyes fond and smile radiant. “We definitely are.”

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something

180 notes · View notes

mcwriting · 4 years ago

Text

A Science Project for the Ages

Big thanks to this anon for this request! Sorry it's taking me longer to fulfill my requests from when I was in quarantine but I'm trying to get those done soon!

This is a slight continuation of lab partners but can definitely be read alone :)

Ship: SoftNerd!Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1883

Warnings: one blink-and-you'll-miss it bad word

⚛︎

There was a loud buzz as your phone vibrated against the wood table in the science library.

You quickly picked it up, trying not to disturb the few other students around as you looked down at the screen.

Tom.

Though you were together now, he very rarely called at this time. He knew you always studied here before dinner time and respected that.

You grabbed your notebook and bag and shuffled into the hall to answer.

"Tom? Is everything okay?"

"Hey, um. So sorry to bother you, but you've finished your science expo project, right?"

You furrowed your brows as you slid down the wall to sit and stuff your notebook back in your bag. You knew this conversation was going in a weird direction already. You could hear a faint beeping in the background.

"Uh, yeah..?"

"Right, and what was that project over again?"

"I did an analysis on light absorption of different common solutions and then compared them to the color they turned when I lit them on fire. I thought we already talked about this the other day..?"

"Yes, yeah, sorry. So one more question before I tell you what's up. Do you happen to know how to bake?" Tom asked quietly.

Suddenly you remembered what all his project was on.

He was doing a food chemistry project, explaining certain phenomenons that happen when you bake. He had hoped giving people baked goods would make them like his project more.

"I- Tom I told you I would help you but you said it would be fine," you said flatly."

"Well..... Now it's not fine, and Alex isn't here to help me. He went to his girlfriend's."

Tom's roommate. He was usually pretty patient with Tom's clumsiness, but sometimes he just had to get out and enjoy a day off, too. Tom understood, but now the burden fell on you.

"Fine, I'll be there in a little bit. Text me if you need me to bring anything."

⚛︎

You walked in to the smell of burnt. It was overwhelming and you choked as you rushed to the window to air out the apartment.

"Hey, sorry about the smell," Tom said nonchalantly from the kitchen.

You turned to see the situation at hand, which was definitely... a situation.

It was like something out of a movie. Messy bowls and utensils littered the sink. There was cake batter splattered across the counters. Finally, the culprit still sat in a muffin tin on the bar: a dozen very black cupcakes.

You sighed.

"Forgot to set the timer?"

"Yep."

"And let me guess. This was your first experience with baking?"

"That's exactly right."

"Of course," you muttered, but then clapped your hands together enthusiastically. "Well, then. Let's try and fix this, shall we?"

You leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to Tom's cheek, then brushed past him to grab the tray.

"First on the agenda, we are going to take off the papers and chuck these off the balcony to let out some frustrations, alright?"

You were lucky in that Tom's apartment was on the top floor, and his balcony faced a wooded area. The only thing he could hit was a tree and the food would eventually biodegrade into the soil.

You both tossed them, competing to see who could throw the farthest. It let Tom blow off some steam, and also gave more time to ventilate the place before you went back in.

After the last cupcake (if you could call it that) was tossed, you got started on cleaning everything up. He had used a lot of bowls for one boxed cake mix, but you didn't ask.

It took a while to make sure things were sufficiently clean, but finally everything was ready to make a new batch.

"Oh one other thing before we start. Have you ever made a meringue?" Tom asked as he preheated the oven, which you carefully supervised to make sure it was right.

"I mean, I've made some before. Why?"

"Well part of my project was talking about how egg proteins bind. They sound pretty easy. Just eggs and sugar, right?"

Your hand covered your eyes in disappointed surprise.

"What? No. Tom, meringues are like, notoriously one of the hardest things to get right. They land just before macarons, and meringue is one of the main parts of a macaron!"

"What are you talking about? How can something with two ingredients be that hard to make?" he tried to argue, but you weren't about to let him trick you into making something so difficult.

"Did none of your research explain how moisture, temperature changes, utensils used, and method of cooking affect the outcome."

"...Uh... no."

"Were you planning on using the Swiss, Italian, or French technique?"

".....I didn't know there was more than one."

"Well then you might go do a quick search to add to your presentation while I cover the cupcakes."

While he did that, you made up the batter and got the cupcakes in the oven (set at the right temperature for the right time), then got started making some frosting.

"Hey, y/n. Did you know you aren't supposed to make meringues in a plastic bowl?"

"Yep. Plastic can retain lipids which prevent proper binding. Same reason you can't whip the yolk."

"That's what this says! How did you know that?"

You shrugged.

"I like to bake. By the way, you better credit me as your pastry chef on the presentation."

"Will do."

He made some edits on the page and found a recipe claiming to be the easiest method, so you caved and agreed to help him make them when the cupcakes were done.

As you measured sugar and got the whisk attachment ready, you looked over and admired Tom as he meticulously separated the eggs.

You couldn't help but fall head over heels for him all over again seeing how he did each step carefully, all his focus on each little egg.

Sure, he was a little clumsy sometimes, but he was precious and cared about whatever he did.

It took what seemed like hours to get the egg whites whipped properly (and lots of arguing with Tom about what "stiff peaks" meant), but finally you had them in a piping bag and on a pan to bake.

You couldn't help but wait by the oven in anxious anticipation for the meringues to come out, even though they'd be in there for a while.

Tom sat right next to you on the (surprisingly) clean kitchen floor as you stared at the oven.

"Babe?" he asked softly, leaning into you.

You hummed a response, taking the opportunity to rest your head on his shoulder.

"Thank you for coming and helping me. I know you value your library time."

You smiled and sat back up, looking Tom in the eyes.

"You know, I wasn't really studying anyways. I was watching youtube videos with my headphones in because I didn't want to go home yet."

Tom had a mischievous grin and furrowed brow.

"So you just go there as an excuse to get away from me?!"

You laughed and knocked into him slightly.

"No! I just got done with my homework and wanted to hang around campus for a while... and I had a feeling you'd call eventually."

Tom gasped.

"You didn't trust me!?"

"Now that I can answer truthfully..." you started, causing him to pout. "I'm not saying I didn't trust you at all, it's just that I had never once heard of you baking and figured I would prepare myself accordingly."

"Does this mean that Alex knew too?"

"I can't speak on his behalf, but I'm glad it was just us anyways. I like getting to spend time with you like this." You paused to peck him on the lips. "Want me to read over your project? I know those spelling errors can slip by sometimes."

Tom grinned, wordlessly getting up and offering you a hand.

⚛︎

The expo was in full swing and you nervously stood on the other side of the room as your project to watch people walk by and observe your findings.

You had already given your presentation to the judging panel and now the expo was open to the public, so you tried to avoid stressing too much as you talked with some friends.

Suddenly a pair of warm arms came around your stomach and Tom's scent enveloped you.

"Hey baby, how ya feelin'?" he asked, resting his chin on your shoulder as your thumbs rubbed over his hands instinctively.

"You know me. A little nervous." You flipped in his arms to face him. "And what about you? The judges like our sweet treats?"

"They sure seemed too. Dr. Grand liked the meringues so much she asked for another."

You smiled.

"Well either way, I'm proud of us both."

"Thanks again for helping, I couldn't have done this without you. I made sure to emphasize how difficult meringue making is during my presentation thanks to you."

Finally your friends had enough of the cutesy bullshit and convinced you and Tom to rejoin the conversation, both of you with arms around each other as you conversed.

Time passed and eventually they gave prizes to the best projects of the expo. You knew you wouldn't win anything, there were some far better projects out there that included heavy research.

"And in first place, 'Science around us: the chemistry of baking' by Mr. Tom Holland! Congratulations! If all of our winners could come pick up their ribbons and get a photo for the newsletter, that would be great."

Tom stayed casually next to you, so you had to shake him and get his attention.

"Did you hear that Tom? You won!"

Tom blinked a few times, then gasped.

"I won!? I mean, we won!!?"

You rolled your eyes and pushed him forward.

"Go on, get your blue ribbon, baker boy."

He excitedly rushed up to the table where his prize awaited (tripping a few times, but you ignored that) and bounced on the balls of his feet as someone pinned the ribbon to his shirt.

You could see the sheer delight on his face as the winners took a group photo, and he practically skipped back to meet you.

You and your friends gave him congratulations as he happily looked down at the blue piece pinned to him.

He then unpinned it and tried to hand it to you.

"Now, don't congratulate me, y/n gets all the credit for making everything."

"No, no. It was your idea and you did the research. You deserve that more than anyone else. And plus, you were right. Baked goods did give you an edge over the competition."

"Well I say it was a science project for the ages!" he exclaimed, holding up the ribbon. You and your friends cheered to that.

"How 'bout we go celebrate your win over lunch, hm? The cupcake I had isn't holding me over and I'm starving."

"Sounds perfect, darling. Lead the way."

You happily headed off towards the nearest place on campus, completely oblivious to the fact that Tom had pinned his blue ribbon to your backpack.

He quickly made up time and slipped a hand into yours.

If nothing else, he was the boyfriend of the ages.

⚛︎

A/N: thanks to the anon who sent the request for this! I really enjoyed writing it! I think I could've improved some things but overall I'm pretty satisfied with it, and I hope you are too!

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slkw · 4 years ago

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Completely and Utterly - Part 2 (Peter Pevensie x Reader)

Part 1 Part 3

summary : after the evening y/n and Peter spent together, would anything change between them? Or will Peter’s disappearing act cause further tension between the two?

y/n - your name

There will definitely be more parts to this story but for now here is part 2! :)

I woke up to the cold air and the covers lazily bunched around my hips. I turned my head expecting to see Peter’s sleeping self – but all that laid there was the slight indent of where his body was and creased sheets. Pushing myself up onto my hands to see if he was possibly changing in the bathroom or if he was on the balcony but, to no avail, Peter was not here. He had just left me to wake up by myself.

I mean – maybe he had something scheduled or a meeting? Or maybe he regretted letting me stay in his room? I attempted to push all the causes of my lonesome away and left Peter’s room. The cool wooden floor made me pull my thin dressing gown around myself tighter and soon I was once again in the confines of my own room.

During the summer, we usually ate breakfast outside in the courtyard, this was one of the only meals we ate together just the five of us. So, when I stepped outside I at least expected Peter to be sitting alongside his siblings, but his seat stood empty. The other Pevensie siblings greeted me with warming smiles that almost seemed brighter than the sun itself. I took my space at the table and began to eat.

‘Have you seen Peter today?’ I questioned.

‘I was going to ask you the same thing, I haven’t seen him since the ball,’ replied Susan.

‘I would have thought he would be with you y/n,’ Edmund said, a grin spread across his face.

‘No, I haven’t seen him since well,’ I paused to stop myself from letting anything about the events of yesterday evening slip, ‘last night.’

‘He did seem quite upset last night, maybe he is just running late,’ added Lucy with her constant positive outlook on life.

As if by magic, as soon as Lucy had said this, the sound of the grand doors opening reached our ears. Peter’s figure emerged from the shade, shooting me a nervous smile before quickly looking down.

‘Nice of you to join us Peter,’ Susan remarked.

‘Sorry, I was down by the beach,’ said Peter, his eyes still attached to the floor.

The other three siblings looked at each other as though this was a perfectly good reason for his unpunctuality and carried on eating their respective breakfast.

I excused myself before everyone had finished eating and made my way to the library, desperate to avoid Peter. He acted as though nothing happened last night and although he most likely had a good enough excuse for his absence in his bed this morning, it still hurt.

The library was one of the places at Cair Paravel that was completely silent if no one else was present and it eased the doubt gnawing at my mind. I ran my fingers along the spines of the worn books and let out a deep breathe I did not realise I had been holding. Just as I was about to pull out a book from its slot, I heard the doors swing open behind me. Worried that the person who had just entered the library was Peter, I continued to feign interest in the names that lined the books until a hand rested upon my shoulder. I turned my head to see Susan’s gentle expression meet my anxious one. Susan carried her title of ‘the Gentle’ with pride, and it fit her demeanour perfectly. She sent a comforting smile my way and said, ‘Is something the matter y/n? You left breakfast rather abruptly.’

I glanced at the ground. I did not want to lie to Susan.

‘There is something on my mind is all.’

It was not the complete truth, but it was not in fact a lie. Her facial expression changed to that of a demanding mother and I could not help but spill what really was taking up a substantial portion of my mind.

‘Peter.’

As soon as the word had fallen from my lips she instantly seemed to understand its meaning.

‘You like him, you don’t you?’ Susan said this in a way that was not teasing or as though it was already knowledge to her – she said it in a way that soothed my mind but made me realise my feelings for the blonde-haired boy even more.

I just nodded my head to confirm her question that was actually closer to a statement. Susan did not pry at what had happened between us, she just pulled me into a hug and softly stroked at my hair. When she released me from her embrace, she took my hands into hers and said, ‘He’ll come around and remember I am always here if you need.’

I nodded my head in acknowledgement and thanks and she turned on her heels and made her way out of the vast room but not before sending me a cordial smile. Aslan knows what I would do without Susan. Although not much was said between us in that brief encounter, I trusted the words she had spoken and continued to browse the expansive selection of reading material.

That afternoon, I travelled to Beaversdam with Lucy and enjoyed lunch with Mr and Mrs Beaver. It was a joyous journey, and I appreciated the time spent away from Cair Paravel. As Lucy and I rode up to the front steps of the castle, I could see Peter sitting atop the last step. His head was in his hands and he looked the image of misery. Lucy glanced at me with a knowing look and I dismounted my horse. While I approached Peter, Lucy slipped through the front doors of Cair Paravel – giving us some space. I took the place next to him and allowed the silence to sit carefully between us.

After a few moments passed us by, Peter spoke, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’

He pulled his head from his hands at my words. ‘For just upping and leaving this morning. I got nervous and didn’t know what to do, so I just left and that was wrong of me.’

All the words that fell from his lips fell ever so softly as though a misplaced word or deeper tone would shatter the very ground beneath us. Each syllable was treated with uttermost care and each pause was completely covered in kindness.

‘And then I went down to the beach to clear my head and then I lost track of time and before I knew it an hour or two had passed – I can’t remember – and then I realised I was late to breakfast and I had also completely left you in my room by yourself after I had invited you to stay the night and I just feel like I have completely messed up and I didn’t even say sorry at breakfast and- ‘

His flurry of words and the abundance of the use of ‘and’ was hastily cut short by me saying, ‘Peter, slow down, you need to breathe.’

I lightly placed my hand upon his arm to calm his worried self. He leaned into the touch and I laid my head against his shoulder. A comfortable silence stretched between us.

‘It’s okay Peter, you needn’t fret. I understand.’

He nodded his head and the placed it atop mine. I took his hand into mine and intertwined our fingers. Lifting my head from his shoulder, our eyes locked. It seemed as though he was slowly leaning in, so I reciprocated the action and just as I felt his lips almost ghost over mine the sound of steps behind us broke us from our lovesick haze. We quickly created some distance between us as though we had never between within a foot of each other and turned towards the interruption. Edmund stood there with a smug grin but also with a look on his face that shouted ‘sorry’.

‘Um I- Peter the King of Archenland is here for his meeting with you,’ Edmund managed to stutter out, obviously feeling bad for his intrusion.

Peter rushed to his feet. ‘Shoot, I almost forgot.’

He turned his head back towards me, ‘I’ll see you later, I promise,’ and then he was gone.

Edmund followed behind him through the large doors detailed with small carvings, each one telling a story. Once the brothers had disappeared through the doors, I faced back to the long pathway that stretched far into Narnia.

I almost kissed Peter. My Aslan. I could swear Peter was the one that leaned in first. That must mean he feels the same. I mean he did let me stay in his room last night, but I guess friends do that too, right?

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merakiaes · 5 years ago

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Claim Me - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. Let me know what you think and please send in more requests xx

Wordcount: 2460

Summary: Spooky has a crush on you and comes clean about it by claiming you in front of everyone when another Santo tries to get with you and he gets jealous.

The day of Spooky’s annual end of the summer party had come and the backyard of the Diaz residence was bustling with mingling people.

Most of them except Mario and a few other exceptions were Santos and their rucas, and you were sure you had seen Cesar and his friends lurking around behind the fence a while ago too.

You were neither a Santo nor one of their rucas, but having been Spooky’s best friend since you were mere children made you an honoree guest to pretty much every get-together he hosted.

On any other day, you weren’t a very big party-person. You couldn’t hold your alcohol even if you tried and more often than not ended up either getting nauseous and going home early or passing out before the night was even close to being over.

But tonight… tonight you were looking forward to letting your hair down and having some fun. More specifically, you were looking forward to getting some action after the guy you had been seeing for the past three weeks had ran away screaming two days prior courtesy of your over-protective best friend.

No matter how good-mannered and respected the guys you would be seeing were, Oscar would always scare them away in some way or another.

Most times you didn’t even know what he told them seeing as he always pounced on them when you weren’t present, and when you would ask, neither them nor him would say.

The guys would only tell you they weren’t ready for something serious right now or that they needed some time to figure themselves out and that they promised to call, but shocker, they never did. And Oscar… Oscar wouldn’t tell you shit, only smirk and shrug.

To a start, you only figured it was because he was being an overly protective best friend and that he didn’t want to see you get hurt by falling in love with the wrong person. But when he started putting his nose into your one night stands too, where no feelings whatsoever were involved, you had started to get suspicious.

Either way, it was getting tiring not to get what you wanted because he was being an ass and kept getting in the way, and you were adamant on not leaving alone tonight.

Mario hadn’t wasted any time in making a move on you at the start of the night, and his game was strong. He was charming, good-looking and you had known him for a long time so you knew he would be good to you.

But even though you were only looking for a no-strings-attached fuck for the night, he had just gotten dumped by Angelica and you weren’t about to be his rebound. He needed to sort himself out.

Luckily, he got the hint pretty quickly and left to call Angelica, again, leaving you open for everyone else. And it hadn’t taken long for someone to slide in beside you where you were sitting in one of the sofas.

Carlos was a relatively new Santo, having been jumped in only a few weeks ago. He was Sad Eyes’ cousin so he hadn’t had to do much to prove himself, basically being a Santos legacy.

He was a year older than you but he was shy, not even close to being as brave as Spooky, Mario and his cousin when it came to women. However, alcohol seemed to change that completely as he had been shamelessly flirting with you for the past twenty minutes.

And you were enjoying it, even though you briefly found yourself thinking there was someone you would rather be in his spot.

It was an all too familiar and often reoccurring thought and just like every other time it entered your head, you forced it to the back of your mind and locked it away, focusing on the man sitting in front of you.

“Man, why you gotta look so fine all the time, (Y/N)? I can barely keep my hands to myself over here.” Carlos flirted, his arm resting on the back of the sofa behind you.

You returned his flirty behavior with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Who says you have to?” You questioned, touching the collar of his green and black flannel and leaning closer to his face. “You can touch me all you want.”

He bit down on his lip, and you watched as his eyes traveled from your eyes and down to your lips. “And risk getting beat up by Spooky?” He chuckled. “That’s a dangerous game to play, mami.”

Raising an eyebrow, your smirk widened. “You’re a Santo.” You purred. “You shouldn’t be scared of taking a little risk.”

He hummed, leaning even closer, his eyes still flickering back and forth between your eyes and lips. “You make a good point.” He answered, smirking, and finally began leaning in.

You wasted no time in following his example, tilting your head upwards to hurry the process up, but just as your lips were about to meet, there was a tug on the back of his shirt, and just like that he was gone again.

Your glare instantly found Oscar who was now standing behind him, but he didn’t even look at you, glaring down at Carlos who was now looking like he was about to piss himself.

“You, get out of my sight.” Oscar ordered him, and after sparing you one final glance, Carlos stood up and walked off to where his cousin was chilling at the other side of the backyard, leaving only you and Oscar.

The latter was now looking right at you with a distasteful look in his eyes and nodded his head to a more secluded corner, away from all the other people. “You, over there. Now.”

You rolled your eyes at his bossy tone, but he left no time for you to argue, already starting to walk away from you with a cigarette hanging from his lips. You stood up begrudgingly and followed behind him, watching bitterly as he leaned his head down to light his cigarette.

The two of you came to a stop in the corner he had pointed out and he instantly turned to you, staring you down. “You ain’t no zorra, better stop making it seem like you are before you start something you can’t finish.”

He took a drag of the cigarette and you raised an unimpressed eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back against the fence behind you.

“What, you gonna stop me from getting laid now, too?” You asked, clicking your tongue. “Talk about coitus interruptus.”

He raised an eyebrow to match your own, looking awfully amused. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

You snorted through your nose, narrowing your eyes at him. “It’s a fancy word for cockblocker, estúpido.” You said, but could feel the corners of your lips twitching. “I thought you were supposed to be smart, Mr. Straight-A-Honor-Roll-Student.”

He gave you a playful smile, taking another drag of the cigarette and you watched as he breathed out a thick cloud of smoke, and kicked yourself off the wall in order to walk closer to him. He watched out of the corner of his eye as you leaned on the wall beside him and smirked up at him.

“So are you going to tell me why you’ve been so adamant on not letting me get lucky lately? Because it’s starting to get on my nerves.” You admitted, clicking your tongue again.

Oscar suddenly turned tense, turning his head to the side to avoid your gaze, which only made your suspicions grow.

“I’m just looking out for you.” He answered shortly, shrugging his shoulders and taking a particularly large drag of the cigarette, fiddling with the white stick of tobacco, something you knew that he did when he on the rare occasion felt nervous or anxious about something.

You weren’t stupid. You could take a hint and you could also read him like an open book. You saw right through his bullshit, but you kept pretending to be clueless, crossing your arms over your chest and smirking at him.

“I hardly see how it could be harmful for me to get my needs satisfied.” You hummed, teasing him. “You be fucking hynas every day and you’re as healthy as ever. How is it any different for me?”

“I haven’t been with no hyna for months.” He answered awfully quickly, and you couldn’t deny that this revelation shocked you.

For as long as you had known him he had always gotten around, so to say you were confused as to why that had changed was an understatement.

“Really?” You questioned, narrowing your eyes. “Why?”

You knew why, of course, but at the same time you were confused why he was suddenly going to such extreme extents when he hadn’t before.

“I’ve got more important shit to deal with.” He said, rolling his lips.

This caused you to snort. “What’s ever been more important than getting your dick sucked for you cholos?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

When he didn’t answer, you pushed yourself off the wall and reached your hand out for his cigarette just as he was about to take another drag. He watched with a sour expression as you took it from between his fingers and tossed it to the ground, putting it out with the heel of your shoe.

You then took his chin in your hand and forced him to look at you, taking in the way his adam’s apple bobbled when he came face to face with your mocking smirk.

You raised an eyebrow and held his chin in place. “Why don’t you cut the shit and tell me why you’re really not wanting me to get with anyone?”

He glared down at you, obviously not very happy with the games you were playing and spoke bitterly. “It sounds like you already know.”

Putting on a feign clueless look, you dropped his chin and threw your arms out. “I don’t, that’s why I’m asking.” You said innocently. “Why do you insist on cockblocking me every day?”

“You gonna make me say it?” He asked, eyes narrowed into slits by now. But he wasn’t angry, you knew. He was just uncomfortable as shit from being put on the spot like this, and you were having too much fun with it.

Rather than answering his question you simply raised your eyebrows as to challenge him, and after closing his eyes and taking a long, annoyed breath through his nose, the words finally left his lips.

“Because I love you, that’s why.” He spoke through his teeth, opening his eyes to look at you again. “And I don’t want you being with no other fool.”

Ah, there it was, what you had suspected for a long time now but not been sure enough about to make the first move.

Your smirk fell from your face, your lips instead pulling into a sincere smile. “You love me?” You asked.

But even though you had now turned sincere, a playful hint of teasing still remained in your voice, which only made his glare harden.

“I ain’t repeating myself.” He told you stubbornly, clenching his fists at his sides; another sign of how uncomfortable he was. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me you love me too, or some shit.”

You grinned up at him, nodding. “I could do that, but I’m having so much fun watching you squirm.” He turned his head to the side with a scoff and you aww:ed. “Aw, are you blushing, Oscar?”

He kissed his teeth and shook his head. But he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He was indeed blushing, his neck and ears taking a red tint as a result of your merciless torture.

He chuckled, pulling his hand over his mouth and chin, muttering under his breath. “Pendeja.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall again. “Is that any way to talk to your girl?”

At the sound of your words, he turned back to look at you, a smirk now growing on his face. “My girl, huh?” He questioned, and you smiled, moving forward.

“I’ve always been your girl, Diaz.” You confessed, taking a hold of the collar of his plaid shirt and straightening it out before looking up to meet his gaze through your eyelashes. “I’ve just been waiting for you to grow a pair and step up and claim me.”

You shrugged, a small teasing smile playing at your lips. “But you know, you better hurry your ass up if you want to claim me before Carlos does. He seemed to like me an awful lot back there.”

A glare fell on his face and his hands were suddenly on your hips, pulling you flush against him. “You’re mine.” He seethed, leaning his head down closer to yours.

Your faces were now only inches apart, your arms wrapping around his neck and the feeling of his hands squeezing your sides making your insides flutter and causing your heart to nearly beat out of your chest with excitement and anticipation.

Tilting your head up ever so slightly, your lips brushed over each other’s for the shortest second, but you stopped yourself before they could touch properly, giving him a seductive look and whispering: “Prove it.”

And that’s all it took for Oscar’s confidence to come flooding back, his lips pressing against yours the next second with such intimacy you were getting weak at the knees.

You gripped at the back of his neck and you desperately tried to pull each other closer, even though you were already as close as the physics of space would allow.

Around you, people were whistling and hollering, telling you to ‘get it’. The sound brought a smile to your face and you couldn’t keep the laughter in for long, forcing you to break apart.

Oscar was wearing a satisfied smirk of his own and once everyone had quietened down, he pulled you into his side and yelled out for all to hear, “Anyone put a hand on her and they’ll have me to answer to!” He squeezed your side and turned to look down at you affectionately. “Ella es mi ruca.”

He was still talking to the others when he said the last part, but with the way he was staring down at you, it felt like it was meant just for you.

Everyone made some kind of sound of agreement and went back to their business, and you chuckled, placing a hand on his chest. “Alright, papi. No need to get all macho on them.”

The grip he had on your waist tightened and before you had time to react he had turned you around so you were standing in his arms again.

He leaned his face down close to yours and looked at you with dark eyes. “Call me that again and I’ll show you just how macho I can get, princesa.” He spoke lowly, his accent more evident than ever, and you wasted no time in pressing your lips to his in another kiss; the second one and not by far the last.

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years ago

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𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

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The next morning found all the townhouse residents asleep, Celaena decided to take her leave of her brother—how she marveled at the word—through a note, citing prior obligations that needed to be attended though he was welcome to visit her in the evening if his duties could spare him, which she left with the efficient butler, who assured her the message would be delivered. The ride back home was unexpectedly short considering the roads were teeming with entourages of families returning from their country estates for the London Season or ladies running off to modistes to have their wardrobes updated with the latest fashions before the invitations started rolling ko in.

Her relief at returning was great, though she purposefully hid from her parents—or her elder sister, Eleanor—attending diligently to her correspondence. It was a miracle the stack of letters thinned at all, considering how preoccupied her mind was. Two hours after the torment of trying to focus on her letters, Celaena gave it up in favour of returning Countess Lieven's visit from last week. There was a considerable difference in age, personality and social ranks between them but both enjoyed each other's conversation, and the russian ambassadress was excellent company. Celaena did not expect to find the woman alone—the countess' drawing rooms rarely ever were—but she did look forward to sensible conversation about politics and such and was thoroughly displeased to find that esteemed lady attempting to look interested in Lady Jersey's—another lady patroness of the Almack's and a social leader whose favourite pastime was gossip—rants about the latest love affairs of Lady Caroline Lamb, and Mrs Burnwell among other ladies, who though a sensible lady did not look much pleased with Celaena, though she could not tell if it was because of her rank or her public insult to the lady's beloved niece—Lady Perrington—at the dinner party the other day. Despite the former's thrice professed hatred for the topic, Lady Jersey lament about Caroline Lamb extensively and with all the knowledge of one well-informed of her activities. The other ladies listened keenly and with interest, and by the end of their visit, Celaena felt she knew Caroline's social life better than her own and the countess looked ready to pull her hair out.

"I cannot stand her hypocrisy," said Her Ladyship once they were alone, "condemning Caroline—as obnoxious as she is—for her 'love affairs' when her own mother-in-law is so infamous a mistress to the Prince of Wales. If she thinks it is different just because the Royal House of Hanover is involved—oh, I cannot countenance her. It is a pity she should be such a public figure that I cannot avoid her, or I should happily see the back of that one. Come, my dear," said she, noticing her friend smile behind her teacup, "you came looking for an enjoyable half hour and were instead subjected to gossip and derision. You cannot have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence?" this said with a tone that indicated she did not know how anyone could have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence.

"I cannot defend her, but I can understand why she thinks the situations are different—it's not because the prince regent is involved, but rather Caroline's utter lack of discretion. I could easily forgive her affairs if they caused harm to no one but herself, but alas, as it is, her husband's standing in society is affected by her behaviour." This was said in reference to Lady Heathcote's ball in July, 1813 where, after being publicly insulted by her—former?—lover, Lord Byron, she had slashed at her wrists with a broken wineglass and only her mother-in-law Lady Melbourne's prompt thinking and quick intervention had kept her from serious harm. When it became clear she had no suicidal tendencies, the whole affair attached such a ridiculous air to all the parties involved, it could not have been in anyone's favour.

"You would condone her actions if she were only being discreet?" asked Countess Lieven, surprised.

"Perhaps not condone, no," said she, "but I would not object to them. Really, she and her husband are both adults in a marriage that is less a marriage and more a business contract based on terms and conditions. If both decide between themselves that the other can look for love—or rather, a lover—outside their household, and if they can manage it discreetly, what is the harm in it? Viscount Melbourne admits himself he does not care for his wife, nor she for him. If they must remain in a marriage neither wants, I do not see the harm in looking for satisfaction outside with both spouses' consent."

"But you would not act in the same way in her place," accused she.

"If my marriage was more like hers?" she wondered aloud. "I would hope to reach an understanding with my husband we can both be happy with." Seeing her friend look unconvinced, she said, "Really, I strongly believe that if something makes you happy, you must ask yourself if it harms someone? If it does not, I would not hold myself back out of respect for society's ridiculous edicts; not at the expense of my happiness."

"Adultery would be a disrespect to one's marital vows."

"Oh, certainly," agreed she, "but are they not already disrespecting their marital vows by vowing to love each other? I would rather a husband and wife live by an arrangement that keeps both happy than be miserable trying to respect marriage vows they never truly meant."

Countess Lieven who herself was faithful to her husband—a rarity among the upper ten thousands, whose own marriage was arranged and who lived—if not happily, than in a content state of harmony with her husband, could have nothing more to say on this subject, so she steered the conversation away from it. "I suppose you are thinking of the Whitethorns when you mention that example? I admit I was surprised to hear from Mrs Burnwell earlier Mr Whitethorn appreciated your company so—oh, do not be offended, dear—it is only that I have never seen him appreciate anyone's company at all, though I say he has fine taste if he does indeed show you preference."

Celaena had been thinking of him in relation to the subject, but denied it. "I do not think their troubles can be solved simply by taking lovers." Celaena put her teacup down and leaned forward, more to stop drinking the overly sweet concoction than to show interest in the subject. "I had the impression those two do not get on because she is not suited to the duties his rank and station entails and he is not equipped with enough knowledge or patience to know how to guide her in it. They are bound by constraints of society in a marriage that makes both miserable."

Countess Lieven looked at her speculatively before the subject was dropped.

A perverse curiosity drove her to mention meeting Mr Galathynius and Lord Fenrys, which had the happy effect of inducing the countess to volunteer information about that family.

"The House of Galathynius," said she, "has been suffering from a lack of inactivity. Lord Rhoe lost a child some years ago and has not been the same since. His father abdicated his title after a severe bout of influenza in their county, but he soon recovered. The damage was done; Rhoe, the poor man was not prepared for the title and his estates and position suffered for it; now his sons take care of the properties while he pursues politics. The grandfather constantly battles them for power but he does not have half the influence as Viscount Layton—that is the elder brother, hardly social at all, so solemn and reserved but he is a responsible man. Far better than the rakes and dandies of town spending their days in the club, neck deep in debts of honor."

"Viscount Layton? I have not heard much of him at all, aside from his fondness for the written word."

"So you would not, for Galathynius is a name that does not appear in the tabloids often. The younger son does not have the trademark grave countenance of his forefathers—he inherited the ashryver charm from his mother and the elder is so antisocial, he hides himself in the country. For two boys who lost their sister and mother at an early age and were brought up by an uninterested father, they grew up to be fine indeed."

"The Countess of Narrowcreek, yes. Mrs Burnwell told me she was a fine lady."

"Lady Helen was, not pretty but so well-mannered and polite! She died of fever an year after her daughter, though some say it was the heartbreak that killed her."

"They are a big family, are they not? You said something about the ashryvers? I met one of them."

"Yes, the cousins," said she, "fine young men, all either determined bachelors or trapped in poor marriages. The ashryvers don't have their Galathynius cousins' impeccable reputations but the natural ashryver charm easily accounts for that." The Countess smiled knowingly and she shifted in her seat at the silent implication that she was interested in one of them—god forbid—and not wanting to further this idea, Celaena was obliged to put an end to this line of inquiry and introduced a generally neutral topic of conversation. Though Celaena was far too aware of the speculative look on the countess' face everytime she looked at her, the visit ended pleasantly on both sides, with one party anxious and the other intrigued with the subjects of conversation introduced.

That afternoon, Celaena was admitted into Lysandra's modest apartments by a housemaid who bade her to wait in the drawing room. Impatient to her own detriment, she thought nothing of barging into her friends' room and was wholly unprepared for the sight she was met with.

"Oh, no," said she, stupidly, "I-I came to talk, I didn't know—Captain Ashryver, I-I-oh."

Celaena flushed, prompting the colonel to fish for his clothes while he clutched the bedsheet in an attempt to cover his lower-half. The poor man looked ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff, which soothed her mortification somewhat. Like all englishwomen of respectable birth, Celaena had a suppressed but prurient curiosity that was only encouraged by the books available in her father's well-stocked library. Her odd fascination with the ladies of the demi-monde had been one of the initial reasons she extended an acquaintanceship with the courtesan who was now her dearest friend, though she soon learned to love the lady for her own merits. However, all education in that area did not prepare her for exposure to such a sight. She colored, gaped, stammered an incoherent excuse about needing air and fled the room. Her distress increased when Captain Ashryver stepped out of the room first, properly dressed to the boot.

He bowed formally, which seemed absurd given what had passed before.

"Captain Ashryver."

He flushed. "Miss Sardothein. It is—it is actually Colonel Ashryver now."

Celaena murmured vague congratulations, studiously avoiding his eyes. "I thought you were still with the army, sir, in Brussels—I am surprised to find you here. Do you know yet how long you will stay with us?"

"Six months," said he, looking away.

"Aedion," called she, startling him with her address of his given name, "I hope you know you are as dear to me as a brother. If there is anything you wish to talk about, I would happily listen to you."

Hesitation warred with trust in his eyes, and he looked cautiously towards the bedroom.

"I will not betray your confidence to anyone," she assured him firmly.

Aedion looked at his hands, blonde strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. "I was offered a posting here in London and—and I am not sure if I can accept it."

"It must be hard," she observed, "to give up a career you spent half your life pursuing."

"It is, and yet, it is not the only reason. I didn't choose to go to the army—I—when my grandfather found out about my inclinations," this word was spat out with enough venom that she knew what he thought about the man, "he sent me there and I accepted it as my lot, as if I were a second son. I don't know if father knows why I insisted on joining the army but, gods, I did belong there, with my men—there were some others from aristocratic families like mine who hoped any unusual proclivities would be beaten out of us there. It was just part of a job—killing people was not a good thing or a bad thing—it just was. But I was at Hougomont, Celaena," this being one of the chateaus in the village of Waterloo, "and by God, I never saw so much death as I saw there, so many friends dead, their wives widowed, their—their children orphans. I did not—if I have to see a war half so drastic as that again, I do not think I will survive it."

Celaena reached for his hand, frowning. "Then why hesitate?"

"I did not go there by choice; he—my grandfather, that is—forced me into it and he will not be pleased if I am against him. If he decides to cut off my allowance, on a colonel's payroll alone, I will not have nearly enough to pay off Lysandra's debts."

"I can help with that—"

"No." His voice was soft, but firm.

"Aedion, don't be foolish. You haven't much choice. You said yourself you could not survive another war and I could—"

"I said no."

"Pride goeth before a fall, colonel."

"Pride!" exclaimed he, looking resentful at the implication. "It is hardly that. You know what Arobynn did the last time you tried to pay off those debts—and whatever you can spare from your allowance, you need to save for your own future. Lysandra is not the only one bound to a monster by law."

She did know, but because she felt like being difficult, Celaena scoffed. "Say what you mean, sir. You do not wish to have help from a woman. If it had been a male friend offering instead, you would have jumped to accept—"

He threw his hands up. "You are putting words in my mouth."

"I am saying what you are too proud to admit out loud."

Aedion did not take the bait, replying calmly that he would not save one of his ladies from the Hamel's fire only to throw the other in it. Celaena could find nothing snappish to say to that, but having gotten over her own embarassment, she was determined to be difficult. "This is all well and good," said she, "but I hope the next time you will lock your door."

"The maid knew to leave you here," argued he. "If you had followed the instructions—"

"Instructions!" cried she. "This is not an army camp, colonel, and I am not a fellow soldier under your authority."

"I say, a good thing you are not. You have not the discipline for a soldier's life."

"If all your men are as disagreeable as you, I am happy to have missed the chance." Clamping down on the very inappropriate desire to stomp her foot on the ground, she turned her face away. "At least I am well-mannered enough to not lay blame on others for my own faults."

"Fine manners you have indeed, walking into someone's bedroom unannounced."

"The door was open," argued she, weakly.

"The latch broke last night," he flushed and she decided she did not wish to know how. Celaena felt a pair of accusing eyes fixed on her. "But the incident was a fitting punishment for you—I hope you will think twice before doing that again."

To no one's surprise, they retreated into a calm silence while their tempers cooled off. Both were impulsive and hot-headed, too similar to never fight and too prideful to give in, and they had surprised everyone—including themselves—by striking up a lasting friendship that had suffered through time and distance. Propriety dictated an unmarried woman could not write to a bachelor, so she had her father address it for her; society said they would be ruined if they were found together without a chaperone, so they started meeting in each other's homes, where they could not be found at all; decorum demanded they speak not a word of love untill the gentleman offered marriage—and that the lady should not at all say anything but a polite yes, so they talked of everything but marriage. Their showdowns with each other were frequent something to watch—and friend was not at all an ideal title to assign to an eligible gentleman; it raised many an eyebrow at balls and dinner parties where the Colonel was so attentive to her, and all felt certain a marriage proposal was not far away. Speaking materially, it would be a splendid match—with his rank as the penniless second son of an earl—and her, an accomplished society woman with an inheritance big enough for all to overcome the worst of their prejudices about trade. It would have been a splendid match; if he wasn't taken and if she was more amicable to the idea of marriage, that is. Celaena thought guiltily of all he had done for her, fending off suitors determinedly like a dutiful elder brother all the while pretending to be one, and she wondered shortly what he would say if he knew who she was. Did he know her brothers, or Lord Fenrys perhaps? He would be sceptical at first, she knew, and then he would be pleased she was close to being free of Arobynn's shadow. Celaena looked up to do something—to tell him perhaps or to apologise? But there, he had his eyes fixed on her already—his eyes, thought she, were turquoise blue ringed with gold. Oh.

Celaena rose from her seat, saying unsteadily, "Forgive me, but I just remembered I have an appointment at my modiste."

"I can drop you—"

"No, no," she was already out of her seat, donning her cloak, "I came in my carriage. Pray, tell Lysandra I will return tomorrow."

The carriage ride back home was so short, she hardly felt it. Celaena had not much time to ruminate on her present realisation, but she felt stupid at her distress a few minutes ago. Her new family—a reality which had seemed like such a surety this morning—was now shrouded in doubts. Aedion had not recognised her as his cousin for years, and if he who was practically her mirror image by all accounts, did not, no one else could be expected to believe her claim by one look at her face. But what other proof had she? It was with near trepidation that she entered her house, and was happily recieved by her brother who had been waiting in her parlor for a half hour.

"I thought," said he, "I should personally come to you with an invitation to a dinner party tonight at my home—our home, rather. I should like to reintroduce you to relations who are already in town—they have all been waiting so long, Aelin, if you like? You are acquainted with most of them already, and I know father wishes to apologise."

"He does? I hope he is feeling better after that—that attack." Celaena thought ashamedly how little consideration she had given him except to worry the others might follow his lead, believing her to be a fortune huntress.

"He is," assured James, "He refused to believe me when I told him—and then to see you, looking so much like mama, he was overset. But he is fine now, and very remorseful, dearest. I hope you will not hold that first impression against him for long—we had all quite lost hope, and it seems fragile still, like I would look away from you for a moment and you would disappear into the mist, he was being cautious."

"I will try my best," she promised in an attempt to appease.

Celaena knew she was blessed with a handful of attractive features that compensated for the majority of average ones; and, by early adolescence, she had discovered that with the help of cosmetics, these average features could easily match the extraordinary assets. Vanity she had always acknowledged freely to be her chief sin after pride, and she felt her nerves ease at the familiar ritual of having herself pushed into a pretty dress, her hair tugged and pulled before an event. By the time she was dressed in a fine evening gown of soft pink muslin, golden curls pinned atop her head with diamond pins gifted by her brother—a family heirloom, apparently—she was almost beaming on her brother's arm. In the carriage, she distracted herself by asking him questions about his involvement in the House of Lords, their father's health and had the immense pleasure of hearing him talk about meating Madame d'arbley who wrote Cecilia, which had been her favourite novel since she first read it. The talk soon turned to the night's guests and she inquired after their identity.

"You already know Fenrys and the younger Mr Whitethorn; Fenrys' parents will be there, as will our father and Rowan's parents, his elder brother is out of town and his younger sister, Mrs Parkinson and her husband could not attend, and the little Whitethorn boys will come too; though their mother holds the traditional belief that children should eat in the nursery until they are fifteen, so I do not know if they will be present at dinner."

"Rowan—that is Mr Whitethorn's given name, yes? I met his children before," said she, "in the park yesterday. They were sweet, well-mannered boys."

Her brother allowed it to be so, regaling her with anecdotes of their youth and Celaena felt she had never spent a half hour half as entertained before.

"Really, Rhoe," said Lady Meave, rising from her seat, "you are being absurd. I would think thirteen years of grief would make you accept it, but you are starting to grow more deranged with time."

The family members had all arrived a half hour ago when Rhoe explained the purpose of the meeting. James believed that the family would be informed of the situation before meeting Aelin so the element of surprise would not bring out ill-mannered reactions and accusations like this one and Rhoe had agreed to do it himself as the head of the household, though whether he did out of obligation or out of a desire to redeem himself in Aelin's eyes, Fenrys could not tell. Their cousins had more or less recieved the news with good grace, curious but tentatively delighted. The Whitethorns were curious, though Lady Mora expressed her delight at the news repeatedly and tearfully. Lord Jared was more reserved in his congratulations—a reserved disposition was a Whitethorn trait—as was his son, Rowan, who seemed more curious than anything else. His wife made incoherent noises about how nice it must be to be surrounded by all of one's relations, which made her husband stiffen. It was public knowledge Mr Whitethorn's relationship with his mother-in-law was contentious. She was a widow who lived in her father the earl's home, infamous for her very public affairs with Lord Shuttleton and the Marquess of Mowry, and did not have much regard for propriety or morals. The Earl had recently sent her back to live with her relations in Scarborough, prompting Mrs Whitethorn to insist her mother be invited to stay indefinitely in her home instead, an idea which Mr Whitethorn did not approve of. This served to increase the tension between the mismatched couple, and that Mrs Whitethorn seemed wholly unaware of it only served to aggravate her husband more. Fenrys was saved from replying when Lady Meave having finally processed the news, loudly and fervently denied it.

Rhoe did not look at all perturbed. He said, "We thought Aelin died, because we found a girl's dead body—which was unrecognizable—and an anklet near it. I am now ashamed I did not once consider it might not be her, for if I had, perhaps she would have been with us—but I do intend to make up for the lost years, cousin. I believe the anklet we procured was either circumstancial evidence or a delibrate cover-up. I have hired private investigators to look into the matters, though we have not much hope, but as it stands, I believe—no, I know—Aelin is alive and will be joining us all for dinner. Oh no," he added quickly, holding up a hand to forestall their aunt's objections, "This is not a discussion where Your Ladyship can pitch in her own two cents. If you are not prepared to acknowledge Aelin, you may see yourself out."

"You are putting a lot of faith in a fortune-hunter."

"Really, my lady," interrupted Fenrys, bemusedly, "I have met the lady on three occassions before; I can assure you she looked like an ashryver—"

"That proves nothing!" cried she, acerbically. "How do we know she is not one of your father's by-blows, hoping to extract a fortune? You are the one who put this whole idea in James' head—so perhaps, perhaps you are in cahoots with her."

"Sister!" exclaimed Mora, wide-eyed at the acid spewing from her mouth.

Poor woman—bless her gentle heart—looked scandalized her sister would even think those accusations, let alone voice them out loud. Rowan patted his mother's arm, looking pained while his father turned all sorts of blue and red. Lord Jared was offended on the behalf of his dearest friend—Fenrys' father, the Earl of Bedford. To Fenrys, the idea that his noble, stuck-up, proper and prudish father would have a mistress—let alone a bastard child—was laughable.

"Hold your tongue there, Meave," chided Lord Jared disapprovingly. "This childish petulance does not become you."

"You believe him?" Seeing none of them deny the accusation, she said, "If you are determined to fool yourself, please do. I will have no part in the downfall of this family." And so saying, she turned on her heel and left.

"If anyone else has grievances with this new discovery," said Rhoe, "they may join Meave in her self-inflicted banishment from my homes."

"Oh, Rhoe," said Lady Mora, defending her sister. "I hope you will forgive her. The news was very much surprising, and I think she was much surprised. I am sure she was only being cautious to save you from one she thought was a fortune hunter. We are all very happy little Aelin is back." Fenrys thought he would not assign so pure a motive to his other aunt's outburst but Mora was a compassionate soul, incapable to think meanly of others so he let the statement go unchallenged. Before the silence could turn awkward, he heard Colonel Ashryver say dryly, "Well, at least when Aelin comes, we can assure her there is no lack of entertainment here."

"If I recall, she was rather fond of drama as a child," agreed he.

"No, no, that was Fenrys," said a voice in the doorway. "Aelin just liked to follow him in whatever he did." James looked affectionately at his sister, escorting her inside.

Aelin smiled at Fenrys who kissed her cheek. "Welcome home, Aelin."

"It's Lady Aelin now, sir."

Two different voices called 'Miss Sardothein?!' though no one paid them much attention as Lord Rhoe stepped forward tentatively in front of his daughter.

"Aelin," he said.

Fenrys tried instead to look at Rowan and Aedion, both of whom were gaping inelegantly but failed, eyes repeatedly snapping back to Aelin who was watching the old man warily. She returned his bow with a curtsy, then rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Father."

Lord Rhoe said tearfully, "Oh, Aelin."

"It is all forgiven," said she quietly, in response, "I was surprised too."

He was almost disappointed when Aedion interrupted the father-daughter reunion. "You," said he accusingly, turning to the lady of the hour, "You knew the truth this morning?"

"Yes."

"You didn't tell me."

"With all the commotion of the morning—which by the by was your fault—I did not realize," said Aelin. "And when I did, I was too surprised to do anything more than flee."

"Wait," said James, suspiciously. "This morning? I thought you were to attend your business affairs this morning, Aelin."

Aedion's face flushed, matching Aelin's in it's hue. "Yes, well," she said, "I had, uh, some calls to return."

"You called on Aedion?" asked Fenrys, surprised.

It was terribly improper for a gentlewoman to call alone on a bachelor, but with her formerly a tradesman's daughter, Aelin did not bother to stick with the more ridiculous edicts of society; she would not have accepted their dinner invitation if she had. Besides as far as he was concerned, Aelin could grow two heads, murder someone or dye her hair lavender and he would still consider her perfect. Fenrys did not know about the others but he had missed the little spitfire terribly; pranks were not nearly enough fun without her trying to stifle her giggles by his side.

"I did not call on him; rather, on a friend he too was calling on," she defended herself. Her face was red.

James narrowed his eyes, looking between them. "You are courting each other!"

"Heavens no!" said Aedion. "Believe me, you have nothing to fear on that account." At the look of mock-offense on her face, he smirked. "You are not half as pretty as you think you are, Cel—Aelin."

"Did I permit you to address me so informally?" she asked primly. "Considering I look almost the same as you do, my appearance is not something you should be disparaging, colonel."

Rhoe huffed in amusement, "Yes, well, come along, children, there are others waiting to be introduced."

And so they did, though Fenrys could tell James was not yet convinced there was nothing between the two. Lady Mora was every bit as pleased as she had claimed, greeting her cousins' daughter with pure delight. Lord Jared was more formal, though not at all unkind. Mrs Whitethorn had a distracted air towards her, though she did smile pleasantly and Fenrys could detect no animosity in her. It was Mr Whitethorn—Rowan—whose reaction surprised him the most. He looked—pained, almost—which did not quite make sense, though perhaps that was just his discomfort with strangers shining through. The civilities were only just exchanged when the butler announced dinner was ready and the whole party proceeded inside in an informal order, Rhoe ditching the normal propriety edicts in favour of leading his daughter into dinner. He seated her at the opposite end of the long, mahogany table as himself, in the seat reserved for the mistress of the house.

Aelin's answering smile was a lot more genuine than before.

Dinner passed almost pleasantly, the seven course meal enough to sustain the conversation for some time and if the silence ever stretched, it did not stay long. With fine conversationalists like Fenrys and James at the same table, and with Aelin's lively manners the atmosphere was merry enough to overcome even the infamous Whitethorn reserve, Lord Jared expounding passionately on the fine horses in his stables on such occassions when provoked. Mr Whitethorn talked animatedly of books—but only with Aelin and only when she delibrately directed her statements to him—and even Mrs Whitethorn ventured a few shy remarks here and there. They were in the best of spirits when in the middle of the dinner by the end when the men stood up to retire to the study for port—a traditional seperation of sexes following dinner—when the door opened. The poor butler hastily entered the room behind the new addition, struggling to keep up with the man's but determined to follow the protocol, announcing to the room between pants, Viscount Preston, Lord Edward Galathynius of Graceview.

Celaena's fork clattered on the floor; her eyes were fixed on the dark-haired man, curls just barely pushed away from his face. A light pink tinted his cheeks and the tip of his nose—a result of the biting wind outside—and dust clung to the lapels of his overcoat, white cravat almost coming apart. Edward's eyes so identical to her own were entirely cold; he bowed formally to the dinner guests and she had the impression he had stormed inside unaware of them. He did not see me, she thought, embarassed as he was at having the attention directed at him. Edward's eyes went over the crowd in a quick movement and he murmured polite greetings—until they caught on her and her heart thumped wildly inside her chest. Edward's noble mein was intimidating and his features arranged neutrally and she worried the boy whose memory she had clung to for years was but an illusion until he whispered her name 'Aelin' with a quite awe and muted wonder; for the first time, it felt like hers. Then he choked on a sob; Aelin was running at him and he had his arm around her, a movement so natural like he had been doing it all his life.

Aelin buried her face in her brother's neck, trying to commit his scent to memory.

"Shh," said he, lovingly, caressing her cheek with one hand, "Please don't cry, dearest."

"You smell like horses," said Aelin, tearfully. "It's making my eyes water."

Edward threw his head back and laughed, a sound rare enough, she could feel her cousins' surprise from behind them. He sighed quietly, a small, contented noise that made her smile. "I missed you, Aelin, though I know I have no right to say that. Had I done something differently—"

"Ridiculous man," said Aelin, tenderly wiping the tears from his cheeks. "James told me you were not four and ten; what could you have done? I have long since learned not to regret what has passed and make the best of my lot. I had a good life, brother," she told him, squeezing his hands, "if not a perfect one. I—I was brought up with an education no lady recieves. It suits my disposition perfectly and you may call me selfish but I am happy I had that chance—though I wish we had more time together."

Edward smiled softly, "We have all the time in the world now."

"Perhaps not all the time," she teased with an imp-like grin, seeing the whole table's attention fixed on them, "After all, you are in dire need of a bath and if I am forced into your vicinity for another half hour, I shall faint from the horror of it." Edward too stiffened, and she realised the extent of his shyness. "Refresh yourselves, sir," ordered Aelin, in her best haughty tone, and had the desired effect of making him laugh, "and when you are ready, you may call for me. I will bring a dinner tray to you and we may talk all we like."

Edward bowed gallantly. "I am but your loyal servant, madam." He kissed her cheek and she detected in him a hesitation to leave.

"I will not go anywhere," assured Aelin, smilingly, "I promise I will not."

Edward formally took his leave of the dinner party and retired to his rooms. Aelin collected herself, joining the ladies with an enthusiasm she did not feel.

No one commented on the happy tears that flowed from her cheeks.

tags: @thesirenwashere // @courtofjurdan //@little-crow-corvere // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @firestarsandseneschals // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein // @jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @bitchy-knees // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash // @miihlovesnoone // @totenhamboys20 // @sanakapoor

#throne of glass #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfiction #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #sarah j maas

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jamilelucato · 5 years ago

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Faking It || pt. 4 [F.W.]

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader; Fred Weasley x reader.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Hogwarts Masterlist

Summary: You’re a Slytherin dating Draco Malfoy and life is pretty normal until Fred Weasley decides that the best prank against Draco involves you; this won’t end well, will it?

*gif not mine

Warnings: cheating; a bit angst

Words: 4k+

A/N: I’m so late and I’m so sorry! But here it is! Final part!

Tag List: @marvelsmalfoy @naomi02hook @elf-punk @enjoying-fantasyland21 @stuckindilemma @moosewingsimagines @happiestsparkleofall @gredvb @sillypotterheadcrus

—

After the second kiss, y/N and Fred couldn't stop anymore. Fred was thriving, of course. His plan was working like he dreamed it would, and although at first, you didn't want to talk — you planned on keeping things impersonal so you could separate Fred from your real boyfriend —, he found his way around you to keep things a little more talkative.

"So, how was your day?" he asked once she walked inside the empty classroom they had agreed to meet in.

You stopped at your tracks, not completing your action of reaching for his hair. Was he asking about your day for real? Was he interested? You stared at him for a long second; it seemed so. His eyes were looking at you eagerly, waiting for your reply.

"It was busy," you had no idea how to answer that, it wasn't like you very familiarized with the question — your family never asked, you had no close friends to bother with that and Draco never seemed interested. "Had a lot do."

"Like what?" he encouraged you to continue, placing his hands softly at your waist, not making any more movements to rush to the snogging part.

You looked down at your feet, not sure of what to say.

"I had to do homework," you started but realized soon enough how simple that sounded. "'Cause I've been avoiding it all week — I hate doing it right away, you know?"

He pulled you closer to him, supporting his own body on the empty table.

"How about you?" you asked, remembering good manners.

"Busy being the third wheel to my brother," he said with a faded smile. "Can't say I didn't miss you."

"Fred..." you said his name as a warning, and it was all he needed to laugh it off, almost like an angry laugh.

"It's the truth," he said. Although it wasn't for much — he hadn't been thinking about you all day —, he had just missed you when he had to watch his twin kissing Angelina. He wouldn't admit, but he had grown fond of your kisses.

"This is not supposed to be happening, Fred," you kept going, leaning back, finally staring him in the eye. "If you..."

"It's out of my mind; puff!" he rushed to say, miming an explosion with his left hand.

He finally kissed you and with his lips on yours, any worrying thoughts you had, disappeared.

It took around two more making out sessions for you to start talking to Fred about Draco. It never occurred to you that he could use the information for something wicked, and you had already passed the stage were only mentioning Draco around Fred made you insanely guilty.

As soon as the first tip came out of your lips — Draco and the other Slytherins Quidditch players were going to be training around one a.m. for the following week —, Fred and George started shaping their prank.

Fred was careful not to leave anything that could track back to him and his twin, so you wouldn't be able to accuse him. And you never blamed him, because most of the time, you never heard about the pranks. Draco felt too exposed if he had to tell someone what was happening to him — papers missing for no reason, homework's pages blanc just after he had done them and all the team's brooms were now having defects (he was feeling bad for this one since it was his father that gave them to the players).

So you kept meeting Fred in the middle of the nights, hiding in new spots every day and empty classrooms you never knew existed. You felt sinful most of the daytime, especially when you were having a meal next to Draco, but when the nights fell, you felt anxious, desperate and desirous.

Every night with Fred was different — you two manage to find new ways of touching each other every time, even after you made him promise he would not push for sex, at least not the proper thing. There were many diverse ways... that, well, you weren't so reluctant to try.

But that wasn't all of it. You two didn't spend every time attached to each others' throats; there were evenings that you'd meet at the Astronomy Tower to chat and eat midnight snacks. Spending time with Fred was more than carnal; it had become emotional.

That was when you knew you had to do something. You couldn't keep cheating on Draco. At any time were you correct of doing it, but at least in the beginning, you convinced yourself it wasn't so wrong. After all, it was what your relationship with Draco was missing — touches, kisses. More than before, your boyfriend had become distant for those things.

Fred never pushed you to break up with Draco so you two could be public. In fact, he even asked about Draco quite often — things of "how was Draco's day?", "is he gonna practice Quidditch this week?", or "is he gonna buy the whole team new brooms?" were questions you had answered.

A part of you believed that was Fred's way of telling you he didn't like the situation.

It was lunchtime when you decided you were going to break up with Draco Malfoy. It was going to be horrible, of course, but not because of you or him. The relationship was decadent anyway. The hard part would be listening to your parents complaining of how you let go of an excellent marriage chance, an opportunity of rising, even more, your pureblood status.

Oh, Merlin and when they would find out about you and Fred, how angry will they be! They despite Arthur Weasley and his "more muggle than pureblood" family.

You were also worried about Narcissa Malfoy; how nice and kind she had always been to you, and you were going to throw that all away for Molly Weasley — you heard a lot about her from Fred, and according to him, she would not like you at all.

But, even if it was going to be a living hell from now on, you had to do it. You were going to break up with Draco Malfoy.

***

Fred Weasley was hiding inside Harry's invisibility cloak, and the owner of it was right behind him and his twin — invisible as well.

"That was wicked," he whispered to the boys, "but now we have to rush out of here."

They walked out, slowly but steady, of the Slytherin's common room after watching Draco opening a special present they had sent him. The whole place had exploded with the worst smell of all time, and Draco even got blamed for it.

They were able to walk in firstly because they were invisible; secondly, because Fred walked you in your house last night and he happened to hear the password.

Once they were inside their common room, George breathed relieved.

"We could have gotten caught," he said, sitting down next to his twin in one of the red couches.

Harry sat in front of them, next to Hermione and Ginny, whose attentions were once at a Potions book.

"Nah," Fred replied, "it wouldn't be that bad."

"Of course it wouldn't be bad for you, Freddiekins," George said, not realizing what he was revealing before it was already out. "Your Slytherin princess would've come to your rescue."

Fred hit his brother on his neck, and George let out a loud "ouch!"

However, Ginny's and Hermione's eyes didn't even lock with theirs, as they expected.

Fred kept staring, confused.

"What?" Ginny asked. She noticed her brothers' worried looks before giggling. "As if we don't know about y/N."

"GEORGE!" Fred shouted, hitting his twin again, trying to be more painful this time.

"Stop it, mate, it wasn't me!" George shouted back, leaning away from his twin's hand.

"It wasn't him, Fred," Ginny spoke a bit louder so her brother would calm down immediately. "It was you actually."

George smirked before revengingly punching his twin.

"Me? I'm pretty sure I never even mentioned her to you."

"There was no need," said Hermione, closing the book and readjusting her posture.

"Firstly, you are very obvious," said Ginny. "Staring at her all the time, and frowning when she gets near Draco."

"Secondly," she continued, not allowing her brother to protest like he clearly did. "There needed to be an explanation of why you knew Draco's schedule from top to bottom."

Fred exchanged looks with his twin, who just shrugged in response. Harry tried not to laugh at the situation — he also knew everything about Fred's messing around.

"Besides, we caught the two of you holding hands in the hallways a couple of night ago," Hermione said, tilting her head towards Harry, making clear she had a witness.

"Okay, little Sherlock Holmes, you guys caught me," Fred sighed, leaning his back at the couch, relaxing. "But wasn't it worthy? Wasn't it super fun watching Draco and the rest of the dimwitted from Slytherin suffering?"

"It was the best time ever!" Harry celebrated, and Fred couldn't help but laugh with the boy.

"See?" Fred raised a brow to his sister. "Someone knows how to have fun."

"Oh, we had fun, Freddie," Ginny smirked, "and we will have so much more when it all blows up."

Fred pretended to be shocked, putting his hand over his heart. "Poor Draco Malfoy," he laughed.

"No, brother," Ginny continued, dropping the smirk as her tone got more serious. "Poor you."

*** Fred and George were walking side by side after Quidditch practice. They wanted to be running, but after the killer look Mr Filch sent them when he saw the two, they decided it was best to avoid it even if they were hungry.

George decided that if they simply washed their hands and faces, it'd be enough to walk in the Great Hall, so that was what they did. Their Quidditch jumper was a bit dirty, but they thought it was best to overlook it and simply eat.

Ginny, however, was running through the corridors, looking desperately for her brother. Once she found them, she had a little trouble stopping on her tracks, and her face almost ended up dirty because of George's jumpers.

"What the bloody hell, Ginny?!" Fred asked, holding one of her arms.

"Fred!" she shouted, a little breathless. "Y/N and Draco! They...!"

"They what, woman?" demanded George, rather impatient as well as his twin.

She took a deep breath before finally sharing. "They broke up, Fred. Y/N and Draco broke up."

Her words hovered in the air, Fred hoping he hadn't heard Ginny right. But there was no mistake as he noticed his siblings staring at him, both worried.

So you had broken up with Draco. Oh, Merlin, you had broken up with Draco! That completely ruined his plans! How was he going to know the Slytherin boy next steps?

"Fred," George started, slightly touching his twin's arm, "you have to do something."

"I know," Fred replied, not facing his twin nor Ginny.

"Are you ready to do it?" Ginny asked, but Fred couldn't understand what she meant. He had to tell you to forget about him; it wasn't that hard.

The three Weasleys kept walking towards the Great Hall, but George and Ginny left Fred behind when he stopped walking at the sight of you.

Ginny's question was starting to make sense as he tilted his head to the secret passage he wanted you to follow him through. He wasn't ready to break things up with you.

You followed him, no longer afraid if people were watching you. You weren't the one to blame anymore — you were, after a long year, single again.

Fred, however, wasn't patient enough to wait until you two were completely out of sight and he shouted at you as soon as you two had turned to another corridor just a few steps away from the Great Hall's entrance.

"How could you?!"

"What?" you asked, confused.

"How could you break up with Draco?" he asked loudly, finally looking at your [y/e/c] eyes. He regretted almost immediately, but he couldn't look away.

"Oh," you sighed, relaxing your tense muscles. "It had nothing to do with you."

"Really?!?" he frowned in a fake smile.

You gulped, "Well, you influenced the decision — it's true — but this doesn't mean at all that I expect you to propose or something."

He tilted his head to the left, pressing his fingers over his eyes.

"Then, why — why — did you break up with him?"

His hostile tone was turning you angry too, even though you had been feeling relieved a couple of minutes ago.

"Why?" you repeated, nervously giggling. "Oh my, Fred, why do you think? Because what I was doing was wrong! I was cheating on him! Don't you see how it was a bad thing, for both me and Draco?"

He looked back at you.

"It wasn't all that bad if we had so much fun," he wrinkled his nose and raised a brow.

"Well, Fred, it can still be fun!" you couldn't understand what his problem was. At first, you thought he was afraid of commitment, but you had assured him that he didn't need to be your boyfriend right away. Now it seemed as if he enjoyed being a love affair.

"No, it cannot!" Fred replied, shaking his head without having a good reason why.

You gulped while turning away from him. Though you didn't leave, you just needed him not to see you crying. That was when you noticed you had an audience.

Ginny Weasley wasn't watching you two; she was pushing Pansy Parkinson away from the scene. Fortunately, they were the only two present. You hid your face in your hands, waiting for Pansy's smart comments. There were none, however.

You glanced up at the Slytherin girl, who offered you her sympathetic look.

And that was how you found out.

Pansy had been telling you how on Earth the Slytherin players were so unlucky — with their brooms and all (you hadn't paid attention to that part) — and she wondered how people even discovered they were training at midnight.

Their practice hour was the most kept secret that the Slytherins tried to hide at all costs, particularly because if a Professor ended up knowing, they'd get punished, as it was forbidden.

At the time, you had ignored her remarks, as you were too distracted trying to figure out why there were so many girls around Fred, at the other side of the Courtyard.

However, now you knew. There was someone outside of the Slytherins that knew about the unusual Quidditch training sessions, and that was someone unusually notable for hate your team.

You turned to face Fred, with a killer expression, one he got afraid of at first sight.

"You used me," you said, your voice just a whisper because you didn't want it to be true.

"What?" he asked gulping.

"You used me!" you now shouted, one step away from getting your wand and hexing him.

He didn't say a thing and took a step back. Wrong move, Freddie, you thought.

"How oblivious have I been, oh, Merlin!" you kept roaring. "Draco's hair shorter one day after he left the library — he said he didn't want to talk about it—; the brooms of my team, all broken..."

You connected all the dots as Fred leaned away from you, and that was it for you. Reaching for your wand, you screamed: “Diffendo!"

Fred got his wand as well. "Y/N, stop! I don't wanna hurt you, please stop!" he screamed, defending himself from the spell. "I don't want to hurt you."

You lowered your wand, taking a deep breath. Hurting Fred wasn't going to turn back time, and you couldn't prevent yourself for having fallen for him. Shit, you had to realize it now?

"Don't worry, Weasley," you said, using his last name to sound as indifferent as you could. "You already did."

***

Your life was just going to classes and your dorm. When you felt hungry, you'd go to the kitchen and ask for the house-elves to prepare you something. Sometimes, Pansy Parkinson appeared with food.

You didn't expect her to turn out as your friend, but she surprised you by being very nice towards you. She kept you informed about what was going on in the school since you no longer felt like walking around it.

She was even kind enough to not gossip to everyone about you and Fred — although you couldn't be sure about that since you didn't ask around about it.

You didn't felt like leaving this routine soon. Every place in the castle seemed to hold its particular memory of one of yours and Fred's snick outs. Apparently, you two had made out all over the school, which made it harder for you to pass through hallways without remembering.

Stupid! How could you still miss someone that was just messing around with you? He used you for information about your ex, and yet, there you were, thinking about him.

***

Fred was miserable. He didn't think he would be, but he was.

After that whole scene he and you caused, he felt no longer hungry. Ginny told him she'd ask George to check up on him later, so Fred was free to disappear.

"I knew it was a bad idea," George said, sitting next to his brother on his bed, "but you were so happy..."

"Don't look very happy now, huh?" Fred sighed.

"You should talk to her."

"Are you kidding? She tried to 'Diffendo' me! Next time, I'm sure she won't hesitate to cast Avada Kedrava," Fred stared at his twin.

"Can you blame her, though?" George raised a bow at his brother.

And Fred couldn't. He knew you were right, and he was the wrong one, the one to blame. It was all his fault.

However, he did not stay locked in his room because he expected to see you around and corner you. But you weren't there in the meals, and you weren't walking around the corridors.

Oh, the corridors. Fred could point out every hidden spot he had used to kiss you, squeeze you. At this point, he had to accept he had gone mad.

It was not only until a particular Potion class, that he came to the undeniable realization of being in love.

"Merlin, why is this class smelling like chocolate?" he asked out loud to his brother, after walking in late. "Slughorn decided to offer us a chocolate frog, is that it?"

Some of the students around them started laughing.

"It doesn't smell like chocolate at all," George denied, frowning.

Fred thought about it — there was something else, but it was definitely chocolate. An exact type of chocolate, one he was missing the taste.

"That, my dear Mr Weasley," said Slughorn, coming near the boys," is the Amortentia Potion our dear Hannah is helping me prepare" and the Professor pointed to a girl messing with a cauldron.

George and Fred exchanged looks. The older twin gulped.

"Chocolate, huh?" Slughorn continued. "Is that what does it for you?" the entire class sprang laughing at the comment.

Fred knew what the Amortentia was: a love potion that left a smell of the thing one loved, imitating the scent of a loved one.

And there was only one girl Fred had kissed that smelled like chocolate.

***

"You got to do something about it," exclaimed Ginny, after hearing everything about the Amortentia. George was the one to fill her in.

"I will, little sister."

"Because if don't..." Ginny kept going only then realizing her brother's answer. "You will?"

Fred nodded affirmatively.

"How will you find her, though?" she questioned. "She's not leaving her room."

"She tried this morning," meddled Ron, who was eavesdropping all this time. "But she received a Howler, an extra loud one. From her mom — she was disappointed with her daughter for breaking up with Draco."

Fred sighed; there was nothing he could do about that. Besides, he had no idea of how to counter you.

That was until he saw Pansy Parkinson leaving the kitchen with a tray of food. Fred knew immediately to who she was taking it.

"Give it to me, Parkinson," he asked, not very politely.

"Get out, Weasley," she tried outrunning him, but failed because she was scared of dropping the food.

"Come on, we both know she can't stay hiding anymore," Fred said, "and we both know I'm the only one able to stop it."

She seemed to think about it before sighing and giving in.

"Go, lover boy," she handed him the tray.

Fred walked just two steps before turning back at the Slytherin girl.

"What's the password?" he asked, smiling embarrassedly.

"No way I'm telling you," she crossed her arms.

"Oh, come on!"

"I'll come with you," Pansy rolled her eyes and guided Fred to the dungeons.

***

The Slytherin common room was not crowded, which Fred was very thankful because he managed to walk through it without getting stopped.

"It's that door," Pansy informed him, pointing out a door to the left.

Fred breathed hard before walking in.

"Pansy, thank you for..." you froze once you noticed it was Fred. "What are you doing here?"

You stood up, showing the least formal clothing Fred had ever seen you wear. Sweat pants and a jumper, a red one even, much similar to the ones his mom makes him every year.

"We need to talk."

You rolled your eyes while he carefully positioned the tray over one of the beds.

"Weasley, I know everything I need to know."

"No, you don't," he contested. "You think you do, and perhaps at the start, it was true. I used you to get info on Draco."

You reached for the door. "That's all I need to know," you said, "Care to leave now?"

"Stop running from me, y/N, I'm not gonna hurt you," he remembered your words from days before and added: "Not anymore, anyway."

You groaned, closing the door.

"You have a minute."

He smiled at the opportunity.

"You don't know everything, okay?" he started, putting his hands in his pockets. "You don't know how I wait for the day to turn night just so I could see you again, kiss you again..."

"Have you as mine, even if for a couple of hours, was better than any prank I could have pulled on Draco," he kept going, staring straight at your eyes. "And at first, I didn't want to admit it. I wasn't brave enough to assume I was in love, not until I kinda did it in front of the whole class."

At the mention of the word "love", you felt your heart skip a beat. Could he be serious?

"You told everyone you were in love with me?" you asked, confused and curious.

"Not like that," he answered. "Have you heard of Amortentia?"

You nodded positively. You had studied it at the beginning of the year.

"Mine was smelling like chocolate," he continued, "and I told it to the entire class. They didn't realize what it meant, of course, but I did."

You stared at him, expectedly. Chocolate was it for you too — at least, it was the first thing you thought he tasted like when he kissed you that night many days ago at the Astronomy Tower.

"There's only someone I've kissed that tasted like the finest chocolate ever," he said, pressing his lips together, scared of your reaction.

"Freddie..." you started saying but didn't know how to proceed. You had to stop his puppy eyes from coming out; you had to stop him from looking at you like that — like you were his deepest desire.

But at the sound of his name coming for your lips, his heart melted just a little more.

He looked at you, expecting you to continue talking. His hand ran to his hair, nervously, just like he did at the Astronomy Tower.

"Nothing," you said, smiling acceptingly, repeating your words from that night as well.

And he remembered. He remembered every moment he spent with you.

So he rushed towards you, reaching for your chin, holding it tight so you wouldn't disappear But there was nowhere else you wanted to be.

His lips met yours, not taking long for it to get passionately. You two missed each other too much to pretend not to be eager. And he tasted like chocolate, just like he did before. Just like he would always taste.

#fred weasley #fred and george #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x slytherin!reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x slytherin reader #Fred and George Weasley #george weasley #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x slytherin reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy #slytherin #hp #hp fic #harry potter

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maybedefinitely404 · 5 years ago

Text

Day 26: Parental Moxiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 26 - You can’t see shades of your soulmate’s eye color a certain color until you meet [your soulmate] and look into each other’s eyes for the first time. (I misread the prompt! Whoops!)

Content warnings: mentions of lousy foster system, orphanage, implied past abuse/neglect, social workers, aro/ace character, past minor injuries (pet inflicted), mentions of anxiety and PTSD.

Word count: 2.8k

Note: Not beta-read

Patton never doubted the fact that he was lucky.

His heart always went out to those who were missing colors like green, and blue. It must be horrible, he thought, to be missing out on the hue of a grassy field or the sky forever being grey, even on clear days. But then again, meeting your soulmate after seeing nature as dismal shades for years must be amazing; trees suddenly lighting up in brilliant emerald and water becoming as crystal blue as a diamond. So he was grateful, because he was missing a color that was surprisingly rare to find in nature, if the shocking lack of grey was enough of an indicator. Grateful, because that meant he wouldn’t be missing out. Grateful, because Patton didn’t want a soulmate.

It had taken him years to realize why he was so adamant about actually finding his soulmate. Everyone, from his middle school class to his university study group to his coworkers now, had frequent conversations about the topic. Common ice breakers amongst groups were “what color are you missing?” and “tell us about the first time you saw ‘insert color name here’” and just anything else that reminded Patton of how little he wanted all of that. He was happy with his friends, happy with his family-- both blood and chosen-- and the idea of… romantic relationships just made him uncomfortable. He hated that it seemed to be the rest of the world’s main drive in life. Every time he explained his ‘predicament’, had to explain to someone that he was aro/ace and just didn’t want all that, he was met with pity looks. No one believed him when he insisted that it didn’t make him sad, he wasn’t just waiting for the right person, he just didn’t want it and that was okay.

That didn’t explain why he was missing a color, though. If it were up to him, he’d spend the rest of his life content with the way it was going, not searching for a so-called “better half”. He wished that soulmates weren’t a thing, in full honesty. Because then he wouldn’t be reminded every time he looked at a dull lilac bush that no, the universe had paired him up with someone and it was only a matter of time until he was subject to meeting them. It was the thing he dreaded more than anything else.

These were the thoughts going through his mind as he fiddled with a pen between his fingers that appeared as grey to him, absently wondering what ‘purple’ actually looked like. The door to his right opened and he looked up, a bright smile spreading across his face.

“Hi, Mr. Sanders. My name is Deborah, I’m one of the social workers here.”

“Nice to meet you,” Patton said, his heart almost beating out of it’s chest. She took a seat across the desk from him, placing the file in her hands onto the pristine wood. He laid the pen back on the desk where he’d taken it from.

“So,” Her tone was all business, but her eyes held a distinct sparkle that could only be taken as a good sign, “I’m the social worker of one of the children’s profiles you flagged on the adoption website. Do you remember a ‘Virgil Storm’?”

“Absolutely!” Patton remembered the picture of the kid well. A small boy sitting cross legged in a sandbox, looking at the camera with an expression that could only be described as disdain, hands buried in the sand. He was noticeably separated from the group, the hood of his black jacket pulled over his eyes despite the shining sun. After reading the small blurb about him, and immediately growing attached to the toddler that had been tossed around four foster homes in the single year he’d been orphaned, he’d clicked the small smiley face in the top right corner with no hesitation.

“I was given your file, and after discussing it with your social worker, we’ve decided you two might be a match.”

Patton nearly dropped on the spot, trying in vain to hold back his huge grin, “I thought they said that could take up to a year!”

“That is our usual estimate. While, unfortunately, the adoption rate is a lot lower for single men, you were put through faster due to your profession. You being a therapist definitely pushed you forward in the right direction.”

Opening the file, she pulled out a stack of papers and a single picture, handing them to him. The picture was the same as the one on the adoption website, so his eyes turned to scan the printed profile.

“This is all his current information. Known family history, allergies, education level, etcetera,” The social worker continued, gesturing to the file, “That picture’s a bit old. He just turned three. He’s had a… pretty rough go of it so far. The information about his parent’s passing are in his file, if you want to give the whole thing a read when you have the chance.”

Patton tore his eyes away from the photo, “And he’s a possible match?”

“Yes, he is. He needs a stable home environment with no pets and no other children, and due to the trauma he experienced, has severe anxiety. Him developing PTSD as he ages is a large possibility. He’s a bit of a tough nut to crack, but we believe he’ll thrive with you.”

He took a deep breath, nodding mutely along with her words. He didn’t trust himself to speak right now, not with the odd mix of pure heartbreak and elation flowing through him. The poor kid…

“You can take the file home, take some time to think about it-”

“No,” He said quickly, “I mean… I don’t need to think about it. How do you determine if we match well?”

Deborah blinked a couple times, taken back by his abruptness. “Well… chemistry after a first meeting, judging if the child’s uncomfortable with the other, and meeting with the child and parent weekly for the first three months, then bi-weekly for the next three. After a six month residency, we can get the adoption legalized by the court. Both your social worker and I will be there every step of the way to answer any questions, help with the adjustment process, and just support you both.” She looked to Patton with a raised eyebrow, “Are you sure you don’t want to take some time?”

“I’m very sure.” He’d flagged many profiles on the website, feeling an unexplainable amount of guilt every time he didn’t, but Virgil’s had stuck with him more than any other. The idea of a kid already riddled with social anxiety and trauma had hit him hard, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to help him through it.

“Would you like to meet him?”

“Yes please,” He said before she had even finished speaking. She gave him a small smile and headed to the door, warning him it might be a while to convince the boy to come with her, so to just sit tight.

When she’d closed the door behind her, Patton turned his attention back to the file on his lap. He might as well read it while she was gone, anyways. It didn’t take long for him to read the few pages of information, committing Virgil’s birthday to memory. A small part of his brain advised that that might not be the smartest thing to do, already getting attached to a child he hadn’t even met, but his heart broke reading over the history of someone so young, still a toddler, undergoing trauma that no one should ever have to go through. The poor kid watched his parents die, and they were pretty awful people to begin with.

He’d read the file twice over when the door reopened. At first he thought she’d come back alone and his heart sunk, until she shifted to the side and revealed the small boy who’d tucked himself behind her. He wasn’t touching her, not holding the hand she had offered to him, just following steps behind, like he was equally scared of her as he was of everything else. Pulled over his head was the same black hoodie as in the picture, looking a size too small now. It took a lot of tugging for him to hide his hands in the short sleeves, an anxious sign that Patton recognized immediately. Though, it wasn’t hard to narrow down, not with the way he was absolutely shaking.

Patton slid off his chair with no hesitation, smoothly lowering himself to the ground so he was closer to eye level with Virgil. Still, the young child pulled his chin even closer to his chest, adamant on not meeting the man’s eyes.

“Hey kiddo,” Patton cooed gently, “My name’s Patton. You can call me Pat if that’s easier, okay? What’s your name?” He already knew everything about him, obviously, but it seemed a smart choice to let the kid introduce himself; avoid spooking him.

“Virgil,” he whispered back, mouth half covered by the collar of his hoodie.

“That’s a real nice name, kiddo.”

Finally, the small boy looked up, dark brown eyes barely peeking through his equally dark bangs. His head tilted to the side, not unlike a curious puppy, as he studied the man in front of him, the man who was willingly sitting on the floor for him. None of his foster parents had done that before, and he highly doubted his parents would have ever considered it. Thinking of his birth parents caused him to shrink in on himself slightly.

“How would you feel about living with me, Virgil?”

He looked down, wrestling his hands free of the dirty sleeves to fiddle with his zipper. “Like a foster home? I don’ like foster homes.” His speech was slow and fumbly, like he was working with new words.

“No, not like a foster home. For good.”

“With other kids?” Hands flat, he pushed his bangs out of his face and ended up letting his hood flop back. “In my last foster home, there were four kids.” He held up four fingers to emphasize his point.

“Nope,” Patton chuckled, leaning over to reattach the velcro on Virgil’s sneakers, “It would just be you and me. But I live really close to a park, so we can go play with other kids any time you want. And I have some friends with kids your age, and whenever you feel ready, you can meet them.”

This seemed to send a flurry of mixed emotions across the toddlers face. He glanced at the social worker, who had taken her seat and was watching the meeting with rapt attention.

“Do you have pets?”

“Nope. Why, do you like pets?”

He shook his head with clear fear, ruining all his hard work of pushing his bangs away as they fell right back into his eyes, “No pets.”

“Well, then it’s good I don’t have any.”

Virgil gave him a hard look and Patton was silent, letting the child scrutinize him with all the intensity of a rocket scientist. Watching the elder’s hands carefully, the kid dropped to the ground in front of him, slowly meeting his eyes again. Patton couldn’t help the wide grin that stretched across his face.

“Welcome to the floor, kiddo.” And oh, it was a blessed day, because the tiny smile he got in return was enough to make his heart melt. “Tell me, Virgil, what’s your favorite show?”

“Paw Patrol.”

“Ah, a classic! Do you have a favorite pup?”

“Rubble,” He mumbled after a moment of consideration, scratching at the rip in his jeans, right over his knee, “He’s funny. He falls in the elevator, and he says ‘Rubble ooon the double!’”

“You don’t like pets, but you like Paw Patrol? Why’s that?” He couldn’t help his own inner therapist coming out.

Virgil shrugged, “They don’t bark loud, and they’re little. And they don’t make big messes or bite. Dogs are cute but I don’t like them. Dogs are too loud and they leave a mess.”

He felt there was probably a lot to unpack there, but that could definitely wait for another day. Deep inside, he knew there must be some trauma buried with that sentiment. “Do you like cats?”

“No. They scratch and bite and hiss too much,” He held up his hand to Patton, showing him the light scars on the backs of them, “We had a cat named Whiskers and he did that. He’d come in my room at night and bite me.”

“Just as well. I’m allergic to cats anyways.”

“I’m allergic to peanuts.”

Patton giggled, and a relieved expression crossed the younger’s face. “What about fish? They’re pretty quiet, and they for sure don’t bite. Do you like fish?”

He seemed to ponder this for a moment, before shrugging again, “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. Maybe if you like fish, we can get some. How does that sound?”

Virgil perked up, his leg starting to bounce from where it was crossed under him, “Really?”

“Yeah, kiddo. We can also get you a new hoodie, since that one seems a bit small.” Of course, he meant to buy him more than just a hoodie, but he might as well start small. The very idea of getting a fish seemed to almost overwhelm him.

“I like my hoodie,” Virgil’s voice dropped and he curled in on himself, wrestling to pull the sleeves over his fingers again.

“Oh, that’s okay! You can keep that one, but we’ll get more, just so you can wear them when this one is in the wash.”

His eyebrows scrunched together adorably, his back relaxing. It hurt Patton, to think that having such basic needs met was a shock for him.

“If you two don’t mind, I’m going to talk to just Virgil for a little bit,” Deborah spoke up, causing Virgil to flinch. “Is that okay with you, sweetie?”

He nodded reluctantly, and Patton took his leave, sending Virgil one final supportive smile before closing the office door behind him. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, before taking a seat in the waiting room. It would be a lie to admit he wasn’t already enamoured with the little kid, but the final decision wasn’t up to him. Ultimately, it would be Virgil and the social worker who would deem it a match or not. Knowing that’s what was happening on the other side of the door was enough to make his leg bounce nervously.

He passed the time by pulling out his phone and sending a vague update to his friends. The onslaught of messages he got in return, mostly ecstatic, was enough to distract him as he waited to be called back in. Of course, not all the responses were enthusiastic, mainly from his parents and sister, asking if he was sure he was ready for this. Those, he just left on read. Because yes, he was ready. He had been for a long time.

When he was called back into the room, Virgil was sitting in the much too large chair in front of the desk, his feet pulled up under him again and looking between him and the social worker. His hood was back on his head, sleeves covering his hands once more.

“From what Virgil and I discussed, it seems we are ready to begin the process of moving him into your house, and beginning your residency period.”

Patton tried not to whoop at the news, grinning wider than he had all day. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this utterly elated, so light on his feet.

They agreed to show Virgil the home, just to get him used to the layout before finally moving there, and he would come visit during the days for the next few weeks, still spending his nights in the orphanage. It was a gradual transition, one that Patton hoped went smoothly, because oh gosh he couldn’t believe this was happening.

As he led Virgil out of the building, the small boy hesitantly reached up and took his hand, head tucked to his chest. He was so scared. Patton squeezed his hand a little, heart equally shattered and melted, as he walked to the social worker’s car and let her buckle him into her carseat. They agreed to meet at the house, and Patton pulled onto the main road, music blasting to try and drown out the indescribable joy bubbling in his chest.

If he hadn’t been so distracted, he might have noticed the pen he’d placed on the desk back in the office, would now have been a shimmering purple in his eyes.

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #parental moxiety #patton sanders #virgil sanders #ts soulmate au #sanders sides #sanderssides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanderssidesau #ts adoption au

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gothgovernment · 5 years ago

Text

In Bed With Geo (Louis Tomlinson One Shot)

December 2015

"Hi friends and welcome back to in bed with Geo. As you can see, today I'm in bed by myself. This video has been a long time coming, which makes filming it right now absolutely terrifying..." I trail off with a nervous laugh. "Because I was so nervous, I spent three hours getting ready just to avoid this for as long as possible." I smile into the camera before taking a moment to collect my thoughts.

"As I'm sure you've all heard, One Direction announced their hiatus today. I've known this was coming for a few weeks now and it breaks my heart to see this all come to an end. These guys are the reason I have a career. These guys are some of my best friends. These guys are the reason I'm still here. And I am so proud of them for doing what's right and taking a break now before they all burn out..." I start to tear up. Fuck this video is going to be a rough one to edit.

"So, this is my story of how One Direction, and one member in particular, impacted my life in the best way possible."

September 2011

"Welcome Mr Tanaka," the petite lady at the door said as she let my father and I into the party. It was packed with important looking people wearing their nicest suits and dresses. One Direction signs littered the walls as everyone celebrated the release of the boy bands first single 'What Makes You Beautiful'. My dad is a musician with Syco. He helped write and record the guitar for One Directions upcoming debut album. I've always admired his work and I am so proud of him for helping aspiring musicians to realize their dreams.

Dad turned to me and smiled while throwing his tattooed arm around me, "you look so beautiful tonight, honey." He always knew how to ease my nerves. I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear as I responded with a soft thanks. "I've got to go congratulate the boys, want to come meet them?"

"Of course! I've only been asking you to introduce me since your first session with them," I giggled as Dad stuck his tongue out at me. I quickly grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray a waitress was carrying before following dad in the direction of 5 young lads. As we approached them, beautiful blue eyes locked with mine. I smiled politely at the handsome boy as Dad and I came to a stop in front of the group. He returned the smile and stuck his hand out for me to shake.

"Ahh so you're Geo. Izuki here has not shut up about you! I'm Louis," he said cheekily, giving my dad a playful nudge on the shoulder after our hands parted.

"Oh really? What has he said about me? All good things I assume," I bite back a smile as I see Dad rolling his eyes at us. Dad has told me a lot about the boys, but especially Louis. He seems to think we are destined to be friends.

"Alright, give it a rest," my Dad huffed with a smirk, "Boys!" My dad called to grab the attention of the remaining four band members. "This is my daughter Geo. Geo, this is Zayn, Harry, Liam and Niall." They all took turns shaking my hand with Harry even giving me a hug. "Right well, I'm leaving Geo with you while I go and talk business." Dad quickly turned and walked away, leaving me with these strangers. I watched Dad walk away before slowly turning back to the boys, immediately locking eyes with Louis again.

I spent the next 3 hours being dragged around the party by Louis, being introduced to countless important people. Something about this boys carefree and almost childish nature made me feel instantly attached to him. He is just so unapologetically himself all the time, it's almost contagious.

We had just finished raiding the food table when Louis asked me, "so, Geo... what are your plans for the future? Izuki has mentioned you're an incredible drummer." I should have known my Dad would talk about my drumming. It is, after all, his greatest achievement in me. Instilling me with a passion for music is the reason we are so close to each other. After my mother suddenly passed away, connecting through music has gotten us through our grief.

"Well right now my dream is to work as a drum tech but I also have an idea for a YouTube channel where I interview musicians, in my bed, pyjamas on, and ask them real questions. I want to talk to people about how their lives have influenced their music. How being in the industry impacts them. I want to know about their families, their hopes and dreams. I want to talk to artists like real people. Get to know why they are in this industry and if it's worth it. If the pros outweigh the cons... But that's just a fantasy. I would have no idea where to even start. I mean, the only musicians I really know are my dad and now you." I fiddle with the ring on my middle finger, realizing I just gave a much longer than necessary answer. Louis' silence causes me to look away from my ring and toward him. He is looking at me, mouth agape. His face suddenly splits into a smile which instantly helps to ease my slowly growing anxiety.

"You're a very interesting girl, Geo. Very interesting indeed..." He trails off as he quickly pulls out his phone, texting someone rapidly.

It's now close to midnight and Dad has decided to call it a night. As I bid farewell to the boys in the form of hugs, I reach Louis last.

"So..." I made eye contact with the Doncaster boy. "is there any chance I could grab your number? Ya know, in case you ever feel like making that dream a reality?" The cheeky glint in his eye makes me nervous.

"What? You want to come on my imaginary show?" Surely he was just being polite. No way would he actually want to waste his time on an interview that would maybe get 6 views.

"I text the lads about it earlier and we're all on board. It sounds like a brilliant idea. I fully believe in you, love." Okay wow, this feels like a dream. THE X Factor boy band One Direction want to be interviewed by me?

"If you're trying to make me swoon, you've achieved your goal," I giggle, pulling my phone out of my purse and handing it to him. When he returns my phone I see that he had text himself 'sup u sexy fuck'. I burst out laughing before giving him a long hug, whispering a goodbye in his ear.

December 2015

"I met One Direction in 2011 at the single launch for 'What Makes You Beautiful'. My dad was the guitarist for all of the recording and writing of Up All Night. All the boys instantly accepted me into their lives. Especially my now best friend Louis Tomlinson. After talking to Lou about wanting to start this channel, he immediately encouraged me and we set up the first ever 'In Bed With... One Direction'. That video gained 400,000 views within six months and affectively created my career. My whole life as I know it is owed to Lou. If it wasn't for his complete and utter faith in me, I don't think I would be here today." I start to cry, reminiscing on beautiful memories. I take a sip of my tea and think for a moment. I really wish L was here right now, but I know we would both be blubbering messes. I need to do this alone. For once, I need to do something without relying on him.

"Since my first interview with One Direction my channel has blown up. It has afforded me this house, my friends, the opportunity to meet some of my biggest idols and most importantly it has moulded me into the strong and powerful woman I am today. So I want to take this opportunity to thank you boys. Louis, Harry, Zayn, Niall and Liam. I love each of you more than I can put into words."

My phone buzzes beside me and I pick it up. 'Big Louser' sent me a text.

baby g, you okay? youve

not text me in a week :(

I sighed as I put the phone back down. I should have known he'd pick up on me semi-ghosting him. I have been so nervous around him ever since he and Eleanor split up about 9 months ago. It's like, I finally have my chance to tell him how I feel but I am so scared of losing the best part of my life. That's why, when he called me about a month ago to say the band had finally come to the conclusion of going on an extended break, I knew I had to make this video. So that the world can know and remember how important Louis and the rest of the lads are. And so that Lou can finally know how I feel. I pick my phone back up, knowing I should reply.

I'm sorry L. I promise

I'll make it up to you.

I'm filming a new video

right now that will be up

later tonight. I'll send

you the link when it's up!

Love you x

I turn my phone onto do not disturb and return my focus to the camera. "I want to talk a little bit about each of the boys from a friends perspective. Firstly, I would like to talk about Zayn. Z, you are one of the gentlest, kindest people I have ever met. You have dealt with so much during and after your time with the band. The constant racist and Islamophobic tweets and comments really wore you down a lot more than you'd let on. But Z, you would always rise above them, knowing that your culture made you into the incredible person you are today." I pause, hesitant about what I am going to say next. I would hate to overstep any boundaries here.

Choosing my words carefully, I continue. "Leaving the band must have been the toughest decision anyone could make. I remember you texting me about two months after you left to ask if I thought you'd made the right choice leaving behind your friends, your brothers. Your concern wasn't about if this would affect your future career, it was if it affected your friends. That's the epitome of the Zayn I love." I knew I would edit in a few videos I have of Z and I over the years throughout this mini speech.

I have a video of Zayn and I napping together on the couch in the green room before their show in Sydney in February of this year. He'd been really anxious about the first show of the tour and the nerves wore him out. We were originally sat together, talking about how huge this tour was going to be when he drifted off to sleep with me in his arms. I soon followed after and we napped for two hours before he was woken up to get his hair done. Who would have known that just a few weeks later he would crumble under the pressure and quit. I wish I noticed the warning signs.

"Liam 'good game' Payne, where do I begin? You are my brother, my teammate, my friend. You have always been my favourite person to play Fifa with. I remember a week after my Dad died, I heard the doorbell ring and when I opened it, you were standing there with a dozen of my favourite red velvet cupcakes and your PS4 controller. We played together in silence for hours. Once I was finally ready to talk, you stayed awake with me until 6am, sharing stories about my Dad, our lives and talking about our futures. I will always cherish you, no matter how frustrating you can be." Again, I know exactly what videos to edit in of Liam and I. One of them is him, wearing a crop top and skirt voguing after I did a full glam makeup look on him. He's going to hate me for posting it.

"Haz. My love. My guiding star. I would be a complete disaster without you. Although you are the worlds worst replier and you never answer when I call, you always seem to text me or show up at my house right when I feel like I'm falling apart. It's like the universe has linked you to me. You're my crisis line, and I am yours. I cannot even begin to count all the nights we have lied on the couch together just crying. Happy crying, sad crying, angry crying... It would almost have to be as many nights that we have spent laughing together. H, you were destined to be a rockstar. I can't think of any other job you could be more suited to. I know this is just the beginning for you, and I honestly can't wait to see you grow." I still cannot believe that my baby H is only 21 yet has achieved more than most people do in their entire lifetime. "I love you almost as much as I love apple pie." I am full on crying now. That last sentence really broke me. He and I have an inside joke that nothing in this world is better than a homemade apple pie. We would often text each other about incredible/rare/unique moments and rate them on an apple pie scale.

"Horan. I don't really have much I can say here because 90% of our conversations are inside jokes but I will say this; you have changed my life in such a unique way. I know we've had our differences, but I wouldn't change any of it. You're the one person who can make me laugh no matter what mood I'm in. You are such a light to this world. Without you in this band, I think the boys would've collapsed under the pressure a long time ago. Without you, this industry would've swallowed up every bit of joy they have. You have kept all of us sane with your stupid, loud laughter and irritatingly optimistic attitude. Please never, ever change for anyone you precious wanker." I know that I might seem a bit harsh towards Niall, but this is how we speak to each other. We've always been way too honest and, at times, cynical with only each other. He truly is one of a kind. Niall and I haven't shared as many moments together as I have with the other boys, but the moments we've had are definitely special.

"And last but certainly not least, Louis 'dumb fuck' Tomlinson. I don't even know if I can put into words how you have changed my life. You are my favourite person in this entire universe. Without you, there's a good chance I wouldn't be alive today. You are the reason I have so much self-worth, confidence and happiness within myself. You have single-handedly gotten me through some of my deepest depressions. I can't imagine my life without you. I've been trying to think about what story best represents how you're truly an incredible friend. I decided that although everything you do is a testament to how amazing you are, I would tell the one that made me cry the most.

"The year was 2013, I was 20 years old and I experienced my first heartbreak. My girlfriend of 2 years cheated on me with multiple people. I called you up, crying so hard I couldn't form a sentence. You sat patiently on the phone with me for an hour, never knowing what was wrong, just waiting for me to calm down. When I finally just hung up because I couldn't string two words together you text me that you love me. Six hours later and you walked into my bedroom, pulled me into your arms and laid with me for two days. You flew home early from your press tour without any idea of what was wrong with me. You just knew I was upset and you pushed everything aside to be there for me. When I finally told you what had happened, you hugged me tighter, looked me in the eyes and said, "you are the most perfect person in the world and you deserve to be with someone who recognises that." I think it was then that I realised that I'm completely and utterly in love with you. But you were with Eleanor, whom I adore still to this day. I would never have wanted to ruin what you two had. Because all I've ever wanted since I met you is for you to be happy. And El always made you happy." A sob escapes my mouth as I think of how broken hearted I have felt over the last few years, knowing that my true love would never be mine.

I decide to talk some time to cool down, so I walk to my kitchen to make another cup of tea. While I wait for the jug to boil, I rub my finger over my tiny teacup tattoo. Lou and I got matching tattoos not long after the boys finished recording 'Little Things'. He showed me the song and I fell in love with his verse, so we went out that afternoon and got our tattoos together, his shout. I walk back into the bedroom, press record on the camera again and get comfortable.

"When you called me up crying because you and Eleanor split up, I came straight over and returned the favour. I lived at your house for a week, doing anything I could to make you happy again. And then you went back on tour, and I returned home, and I've never felt so alone. After that week of us spending every second of every day together I realised that you're my soulmate. There's no one I want to be around more than you. And I know you're going to be so mad that I'm posting this video instead of texting you back but I want the whole world to know that you are perfect."

I finished the video with a few happier stories about my time with the boys, then wrapped it up. This was going to be an emotional afternoon.

Pressing public on that video was strange. I almost felt numb after all the emotions I had poured out while filming and editing it. I immediately text the link to all 5 boys and went to have a shower. The video was about 20 minutes long so I expected their responses would be a little while away. What I didn't expect was to walk out of the shower and into my bedroom to see Louis sitting on the end of my bed, tears streaming down his face.

We made eye contact once he realized I had entered the room. Frozen in my spot, Louis took the initiative of standing up and walking towards me. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His voice broke as he spoke, tears threatening to spill. I tried to form words but I was too scared of the impending rejection. "Geo. We're best friends. Why didn't you talk to me? I thought that... I..." His words trailed off as the tears streamed down his face. He looked down at his feet, he always gets embarrassed when he cries. I gently grab his right hand, causing him to make eye contact again.

"I am so, so, so sorry Lou. I didn't know what to say or how to say it. I guess I thought saying it indirectly would make this easier but it's so much harder than I ever could have imagined." I look away from his bloodshot, blue eyes and focus on my hand in his. "I'm in love with you. I think I always have been... And I'm sorry that this will make our friendship weird now. I don't expect you to ever want to talk to me again to be honest."

"How fucking dare you think that. If you think I could live without you, you're insane." Louis swiftly pulled me towards him with his free hand, kissing me with all the love he could possibly give.

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