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atomicladytimetravel · 1 year

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Look at Me

Summary: No outbreak au. You live with your cousin after catching your husband having an affair. He hires contractor!Joel to do some home repairs. After flirting back and forth, filth ensues. 18+ ONLY. MDNI.

Semi-public sex/exhibitionism kind of, unprotected p in v, creampie, some pet names (pretty girl, pretty, baby, darlin’ etc) Joel is a little cocky but still pretty sweet.

Warning: mild drug use (a little devils lettuce)

Word count: 2,903

“Broderick, you’ll never believe it…I got the fucking house!”

You had just gotten off the phone with your divorce attorney and she gave you the good news. Your stupid rich (soon to be) ex-husband hadn’t bothered to ask you to sign a prenup. You suppose he figured he was too smart to get caught fucking one of his employees in his office. Well, he wasn’t, and you were getting half his fortune and the house. In the meantime, your cousin and best friend since childhood had graciously opened his home to you.

“That’s what I call karma!” Broderick grinned. He gave you a high five. “You are one rich bitch.”

You practically skipped to your room to call your best girl friend and tell her the news. You talked to her for almost an hour before deciding you were in need of a celebratory joint.

Meanwhile, Joel Miller was in the stairwell inspecting a small hole in the ceiling when he heard your door open and close downstairs. He peeked over the railing to see who it was - he wasn’t aware anyone else was in the house.

He saw your figure walking away from him and into the living room. You were on the phone, too engrossed in your conversation to notice him peering over the stair rail. You were wearing tiny, black cotton shorts and a cropped black band tee. He stared for a moment longer than he probably should have because, well…you were hot.

“Well, at least I married rich and he was too stupid to ask me for a prenup,” you said to your friend, rummaging through the end table beside the couch. You pulled out the necessary equipment to roll a joint and Joel watched as you did so effortlessly.

“You wanna know what the worst part is?” you asked, pinching the end of the joint before lighting it up. “He was actually good in bed. Like, I can’t even take comfort in the fact that at least she’s not getting good dick, ya know? ‘Cause she definitely is. Meanwhile, I’m getting none. Bastard.”

The conversation was cut short on Joel’s end when you took your joint onto the deck and closed the sliding door. Joel couldn’t help but notice that when you leaned against the railing, your shorts rode up just a little higher, giving him just the slightest peek at your cheeks.

“Wouldn’t mind bein’ the one that gives her some,” Joel thought to himself. He shook his head and turned around, reminding himself that he’s a professional.

Once he finished upstairs, the deck was the only place left he needed to inspect. You were still out there chatting and he felt unsure of how to proceed. He settled on just opening the sliding door. When you heard the noise, you jumped and whipped around. You saw a man you didn’t recognize standing in the door frame. He was a very attractive man, but a stranger nonetheless.

“Hey, let me call you back,” you muttered into the phone. You looked up at the man nervously. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m a contractor. Broderick called me for an estimate on some repairs. He didn’t tell me there would be anyone else in the house,” Joel explained.

“That makes two of us,” you replied. A slight breeze carried some of the smoke from your joint in Joel’s direction.

“Oh fuck, sorry,” you apologized, snubbing the joint out and fanning the air around him.

“No worries, I’m almost done and you guys were my last stop,” he said, waving your apology off. You stood in an awkward silence for a few moments before you spoke again.

“Well, I reckon I’ll let you get to it. It was nice meeting you, uh…?” You looked at him quizzically, waiting for him to give you his name.

“Joel,” he offered. You smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Joel.” You introduced yourself before opening the sliding door and stepping inside. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the living room.”

Broderick trotted down the stairs as you were shutting the door.

“Why didn’t you tell me someone was coming?” you hissed. “I would’ve, ya know, gotten dressed.”

“I forgot I made the appointment for today. But honey, he’s so hot, how can you complain?” he replied. He looked out the glass doors at Joel, who was slightly sweating in the late afternoon Texas heat. His muscles made the white t-shirt he was wearing tight around his arms.

“Mmm mmm, come to papa,” Broderick said under his breath. You laughed and shook your head.

“What are the chances he’s gay, Brod?”

“Literally zero. I saw him checking you out earlier,” he pouted.

“Oh whatever,” you rolled your eyes. “He’s way too good looking to have been looking at me.”

“Bitch please,” he scoffed. “You managed to land one of the hottest, richest men in Texas!”

“Yes Brod, and if you remember correctly, I’m staying with you because he was fucking the hot intern.”

“You’re hot babes, trust me. And Mr. Contractor wants a piece.”

Joel came back inside then and announced he was finished with the inspection. They discussed the repairs that needed to be made and Broderick approved them and scheduled Joel to get started the following week. You smiled sweetly and waved as he walked out the door.

—————————

When Joel came back the next week, you made sure you wore the least amount of clothing you could get away with. When he arrived on the first day, you were out on the deck in yoga shorts and a sports bra. He brought a few guys with him to help and they were open with their stares as you went through your morning yoga routine. Joel only stole glances when he knew he could get away with it. He didn’t know if you had worn that outfit for his benefit or not, but he hoped you had. He was in the kitchen painting cabinets when you walked in for a drink.

“Morning Joel,” you chirped as you walked past him.

“Mornin’,” he replied with a smile that almost made you melt into a puddle at his feet.

“Would you like anything to drink?” you asked. You opened the refrigerator door and looked inside. “We have lemonade and sweet tea - ya know, the basic southern staples - and water.”

“I’m fine for now darlin’. Thanks though.”

You squealed internally when he called you darlin’ in that Texas drawl.

“Could I bother you for a glass from that cabinet next to the one you’re painting?” You batted your eyelashes at him sweetly. You watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard.

“Sure.” He reached into the cabinet and handed you a glass. You made sure to brush his fingers with yours as you took it from him.

“Thanks Joel,” you smiled demurely.

You filled the glass with lemonade and he watched as you sashayed back to the deck and settled into a lounge chair. He was in for it if this is how it was going to go the rest of the time he was there.

You flirted with Joel subtly and not-so-subtly for the next two days. You wore cute outfits to try to get his attention. He always flirted back and you caught him looking you up and down more than once. If he didn’t make his move today, you were going to take it upon yourself to make one. You were horny enough as it was, but Joel being around every day was making it almost unbearable.

You skipped the cute outfit this time and opted for comfort, throwing on an oversized t-shirt over your white cotton panties. You were happy to find Joel in the kitchen when you walked in for a snack. You hadn’t seen him all day. You leaned against the island, elbows resting on either side of you.

“Hey Joel.”

“Well look who it is,” he greeted you with a smile. “I was beginnin’ to think you forgot about me.”

“Me? Forget about you? Never,” you flirted.

“No cute outfit today?” he asked casually. You fake pouted.

“You don’t think this looks good?” You looked up at him coyly, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“Didn’t say that,” he smirked, taking several steps toward you. “Ya know, you’ve been the only thing my guys can talk about. They’ve appreciated having something to look at.”

Your bodies were tantalizingly close. You looked up to meet his eyes.

“I don’t want any of them.”

“No? Then tell me - who have you been showing off for, hmm?” he teased, resting his palms on either side of you and caging you in.

“I think you know,” you smirked.

“Mhmm, I do know. But I said tell me.”

The change in his voice made you shiver. It was low and commanding, a total 180 from the respectful southern gentleman he had been when he first arrived.

“You, Joel. Just you,” you responded in a hushed tone. He reached up and ran his thumb along your bottom lip before taking your chin between his fingers and tilting your head upward.

“That’s right, doll. Just. Me. Tsk tsk…they’ll be so disappointed to find out the boss gets you all to himself.”

He lifted you onto the island and stood between your legs, his hands resting on your upper thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he took that as permission to finally kiss you.

“You want me to touch you?” he murmured against your lips.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Where baby? Show me.”

You took his hand and guided it between your legs. He grinned and rubbed light, slow circles over your panties.

“More, please,” you whined, bucking up into his hand.

“Aw, nobody’s been touching this little pussy, have they?” he asked, poking his bottom lip out mockingly. You shook your head. “What a shame. I bet you make the prettiest sounds. Let’s find out.”

He applied more pressure to your clit and you moaned softly.

“I can feel how wet you are over your pretty panties,” he marveled. “You need this, don’t you baby girl?”

“Yes…god yes,” you whimpered. He reached his hand in your panties and gathered your slick to use as lube to rub your clit.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned quietly. You’d been doing this to yourself for months but it was always so much better when someone else did it.

“M-more…faster,” you said after you could no longer stand the teasing pace at which he was touching you. He obliged and you let out a long sigh, tipping your head back.

“Mmm, I was right. Such pretty sounds.” He kissed your exposed throat and bit gently into the flesh. You felt the pleasure building until you were breathlessly begging him to make you cum.

“Let it go darlin’, go on,” he encouraged. You gripped his bicep tightly as you reached your peak, your breath coming out in short staccatos. You would’ve preferred to be more vocal, but you tried to control yourself given the circumstances.

“There we go baby,” he cooed, grinning widely. He slowed his movements but didn’t completely stop and your hips twitched upward every time he completed a circle.

“Joel…,” you whined. He put his lips against yours to quiet you.

“Mm? What is it, pretty?”

You weren’t sure what it was, but it drove you absolutely wild when he talked against your lips. You let him kiss you for a few moments before answering.

“Fuck me,” you whispered into the kiss.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

He took his tool belt off and laid it on the counter before hastily undoing his jeans. He pulled them down with his underwear just enough to free his cock. He was slightly thicker than your ex, but about the same length. You prayed he knew how to use it.

“You want it?” he asked with a smirk as he pushed your panties aside and teased your entrance with the head of his cock.

“Please,” you responded desperately. He chuckled.

“Okay pretty girl, I’ll give it to you.”

He slid in slowly and you uttered a breathy moan of his name. He teased you with a languid pace, looking down to watch as he inched his cock back into your pussy.

“So hot,” he murmured.

“Faster, please,” you begged. He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to him. You put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself as he picked up his pace. He gripped your waist as he snapped his hips forward repeatedly.

“God damn, this pussy feels so good. Takin’ me so well baby,” he praised. You kissed him and threaded your fingers through his hair. You let out a high pitched whine into the kiss when he hit your g-spot.

“Right fucking there,” you mewled.

“That feels good, huh?” he questioned with a hint of cockiness.

“So fucking good,” you agreed. “Please don’t stop.”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to. Pussy feels too good to stop.”

“Oh god, Joel.” Just listening to him talk like that was almost enough to get you off.

“Been wantin’ this since I saw you in those little black shorts the first day I was here. I got off that night thinkin’ about eating your pussy until you were beggin’ me to stop.”

“Oh my god, that is so fucking hot.” You kissed him desperately, breathing heavily and moaning. “Please fuck me harder.”

“Yeah? You want me to make this pretty pussy cum? Hmm?” He began to pound into you and it was all you could do not to cry out. “Answer me.”

“Yes, please make me cum! Need it so bad.” You were practically crying.

“I know you do pretty girl. I’m gonna make you feel so good, don’t worry,” he soothed.

Just then, you heard the swinging door to the kitchen open.

“Hey Joel, we nee - holy shit!”

You instinctively looked back and saw one of Joel’s employees. You didn’t really care that he was staring at you, dumbstruck, while you were getting absolutely railed by his boss. Joel grabbed your chin and turned your head back to face him.

“Don’t look at him, look at me.”

“Oh god,” you whimpered pathetically. This just might be the hottest thing you’d ever experienced.

“Get out,” Joel growled to his employee, who was still frozen to the spot. You heard the swinging door swish and you knew he was gone.

“Sorry,” he grunted an apology.

“Don’t be,” you panted. “It was hot.”

“Fuck, you’re a filthy thing,” he grinned. He pressed his thumb to your clit and rubbed in quick circles as he continued to pound into you. “I want you to cum for me, okay? Can you do that baby?”

“Yes Joel, god yes,” you moaned. “I’m so close.”

“Good girl. I want you to keep your eyes on me when you cum. I want to see how pretty you are when you’re soaking my cock.”

That was all you needed for your release to wash over you.

“God damn it I’m fucking cumming.” It hit like a fucking freight train, and the shout that came from your throat was involuntary. You were sure the rest of Joel’s guys had already heard about what was going on in there so you didn’t particularly care. You locked eyes with Joel and tried to maintain eye contact, but it felt so good that your eyes rolled back and your head tilted upward. He gripped your chin once again and brought your head back down.

“Eyes on me pretty mama,” he panted as he chased his release. “I’m gonna fucking explode. Where do you want it?”

“Inside, I’m on the pill.”

“Holy f-fuck,” he stuttered, not expecting that answer. “I’m gonna fill this pussy so full.”

“Yes baby, fill me up. I wanna feel it in me for the rest of the day.”

“Shit, I’m close,” he warned. “Cum for me one more time and I’ll fill you up.”

He wrapped one arm around your waist and held your thigh onto his hip with his other hand. He pounded into you with all he had.

“Oh god, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” you chanted. “I’m cumming again.”

“That’s right, c’mon baby girl. Cum on my fucking cock.”

You came a second time, clenching around him. The grunts and broken moans coming from him only fueled the fire that was exploding through you. Your mouth opened, but no sound save for the tiniest squeak escaped. All the breath had been taken from you.

“Oh fuck, here it comes,” you heard Joel groan through the rushing in your ears. “I’m cumming so hard.” His hips sputtered and then stilled as he drained his balls inside you. You rested your forehead on his shoulder and caught your breath. He rubbed your back in gentle circles.

“Did so good,” he praised breathlessly. He pulled out slowly and some of his cum pooled onto the island. He grabbed a paper towel and wiped it up before readjusting your panties. He patted your now clothed pussy and grinned.

“Now you have something to remind you of me until I can fuck you again. If that’s alright with you, that is.”

“You could fuck me all day every day,” you told him seriously. He laughed and kissed you softly.

“I’ll take that deal.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou series #tlou smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut

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ihavemanyhusbands · 4 months

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Vidas Pasadas (Past Lives)

PART THREE: THE HERO ALWAYS GETS THE GIRL

Also on AO3

Part One // Part Two // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Latina!Reader (Spanish speaking)

WC: 5.9k words

Chapter Summary: It was always meant to end up this way, wasn't it? Some things never changed.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, canon typical violence, reader kidnapped by raiders, the ghoul being the ghoul, cursing, some injuries (very mild whump), mentions of death/loss, heavyyyy angst (happy ending tho!), only a little Spanish dialogue, love confession, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (fem receiving), irradiated creampie (with RadAway after lol), aaaaand that's all I can think of but please lmk if I missed anything!

---------------------

In the Past….

You had been restless all day, unable to explain why. Something just didn’t feel right, and not knowing what it was made you feel even worse.

Your house had felt large and empty as you paced around it, smoking. All those long hours, you were acutely aware of the clock’s ticking — Time relentlessly marching on, waiting for no one.

Once you’d actually gone to bed, you’d tossed and turned long into the night. The moon shone faintly through a gap between the curtains, barely illuminating your bedroom. You could not face the yawning void of solitude you found at that hour, so you got up.

Things had gotten much trickier in a short amount of time. There had been many more bomb drills, more fear and paranoia, and substantially fewer job opportunities.

Cooper was no longer acting. He simply wouldn’t get cast anymore, so he had to look in other directions. The loss was tremendous, for yourself and the industry. Moviemaking didn’t quite feel the same anymore, its luster having faded.

You saw him much less, but you still tried to keep in touch. You’d even helped him care for Janey a few times when he had to take an odd gig that would run late. Slowly, he was becoming a shell of the man he formerly was, and you felt helpless to stop it.

But that night, you couldn’t hold yourself back, leaving your house in just a coat and your night dress, like a ghostly apparition. The drive there was nebulous, like you were moving on autopilot. You drifted up the steps and pressed the buzzer to his apartment a few times.

When he came down to see who was at the door, he looked a little worse for wear, like he’d been having a hard time sleeping, too. He ushered you inside, not wanting you to be out in the cold.

“What happened?” Cooper said, worriedly searching you for any sign of injury. “It’s the middle of the night, why didn’t you telephone?”

“I’m so sorry, Coop,” you said, as if waking up from a trance. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head, leading you to the old, rickety elevator and pressing the button to his floor.

“No, I was up. Lucky you didn’t wake Janey, though. She’s with me this weekend.”

You covered your face with your hands, ashamed. “Oh God, I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, worrying even more at your clear distress. He guided you to his unit, which was smaller than you’d imagined. It’d been a while since Cooper and Barb’s sudden divorce, but he barely seemed to be settling in. The walls were mostly bare, and the sparse furniture seemed to have been included with the unit. There were only a few pictures, mostly of him and Janey, but a few of just his daughter.

He had never really told you what happened, but the change had seemingly occurred overnight. He simply said he was done, that he couldn’t even look at her anymore. You were still pretty baffled about the whole thing, but it wasn’t your business to pry about. You simply supported him however you could.

Barb had not gone easy on him, having the best lawyers Vault-Tec could afford. He had Janey some weekends, but he didn’t get to see her nearly enough. It was a bad situation altogether, and you were sad for everyone involved.

“Cozy,” was all you could whisper after a moment of silence, to which he snorted derisively.

You went to sit on the couch, arms around yourself. The two of you kept your voices soft so as not to wake Janey, and you felt a pang in your chest knowing she was near. She was such a bright ray of sunshine, and you were glad that she and Cooper had each other despite everything.

And especially on a night like that one, when the world seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of something.

“Drink?” He offered, already pouring himself a glass of scotch in the small kitchen.

You nodded, sniffling, trying to keep the tears that threatened to crawl up your throat at bay. He shuffled back over to you, a frown still on his face.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” He encouraged, handing you the glass and sitting next to you on the couch.

How could you possibly explain the feeling of grief you had, when you hadn’t really lost anyone?

Not yet, at least.

“I don’t know, I just… I had to see you,” you said, taking a sip of your drink. “I didn’t even think about it, I just got in the car and drove.”

“Well, ain’t that sweet,” he chuckled, the sound a little awkward. “But it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“No, Coop, I can’t even explain it. If I tried, I’m sure you’d think I’m crazy.”

“Try me,” he said. “You know you can trust me.”

You set your glass down and scanned his features for a moment, committing them to memory. Then, without a word, you leaned in and brought your lips to his chastely.

You had kissed dozens of times in the past, but for the first time, it was as yourselves. Love was the only thing you could give him then. Years worth of it had accumulated inside of you, with nowhere to go… until that moment.

But your heart was breaking at the same time. Instinctively, you realized this would be your only opportunity to do so. Tears swam in your vision, but you turned your face away before he could see the one that escaped.

Cooper blinked, too stunned to react. You sniffled, pulling back, hands wringing anxiously. He shook his head, snapping out of it.

“Why are you crying?” He asked, hands cupping your face. “I ain’t that bad of a kisser, am I?”

You let out a sad little chuckle, which sounded more like a sob.

I love you, you wanted to say. I love you, I love you, te amo con todo mi corazón*. Please find a way to live, whatever happens.

(*I love you with all my heart)

“Please, take care of yourself,” you pleaded softly instead. “Give little Janey a kiss from me.”

And with that, you got up from the couch and left him like a thief in the night. He’d called for you, but you’d been faster, running down the stairs and heading back to your car. You simply couldn’t handle it anymore. The waiting, the fretting, feeling so fucking helpless… Wouldn’t it be better just to get it all over with?

The rest of the night blurred into a gouache rendition of melancholy and self pity. In the morning, as soon as you were able, you phoned Bud Askins — the Vault-Tec executive who had organized your admission into Vault thirty one — to ask for an expedited entry.

And just as he picked up the phone, you looked out the window and saw the enormous, fiery mushroom cloud rising as if from the depths of hell itself.

——————————————

The Present….

“There she is,” one of the raiders pointed at the old TV screen, where one of your movies was playing. “No wonder she looked so goddamn familiar. Got ourselves a movie star, boys.”

“Gotta be a clone or somethin’, no way she’s lived this long,” another one said.

“What does it matter? Whoever buys her won’t be able to tell the difference. Fresh meat’s hard to come by, and this is the luxury kind,” the first one gruffed, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

You could only glare at him from your spot against the wall. You were gagged, your ankles and wrists bound by old rope. Two days had passed, in which the raiders hadn’t done much other than tie you up and haul you around. You’d gotten a few scraps of food, but not nearly enough to even be considered a snack. Thirst and hunger clung to your very bones, but you were lucky that your survival instincts had kept you going so far.

You might not have been a fighter before, but now you were determined to keep yourself alive at all costs. It hadn’t taken long for you to realize that things were truly ruthless in the wasteland, and it all basically narrowed down to kill or be killed.

You weren’t sure yet if you’d be able to go through with something like that, but you had no other choice but to try if it came down to it.

You were still holding out hope that the ghoul would come find you, but you were well aware that you couldn’t just rely on that possibility. You were running low on time, unsure of how long exactly the potential transaction would take to complete. Or if they would grow tired of searching for buyers and try to possess you themselves.

You would not let it get to that, though. You were just trying to devise the least recklessly foolish escape plan possible.

The raiders had holed up in an old supermarket, which seemed to be their usual base. Most of the empty, broken shelves had been pushed against the walls to make space for whatever furniture they had managed to find. A few shelves surrounded the space like a makeshift barrier, shielding the rest of the building from view.

Rations, old clothes and other miscellaneous objects were scattered about carelessly, but you didn’t notice many weapons, which was potentially a good sign. More valuable loot was stashed in empty freezers, and you were frankly surprised they hadn’t tried to shove you in one, too.

The raiders went back to watching the movie, your own voice sounding strange and faraway to your ears. And then… you heard Cooper’s voice, that southern drawl bringing your attention to the screen. It was the scene of his Feo, Fuerte y Formal speech, when his enemy was at his feet.

Though the screen was riddled with static, you could still see the determined look on his face. Hearing his voice again gave you strength, but it also gave you pause. Why did it feel like it hadn’t been that long since you’d last heard it?

You thought back to the day you’d been abducted, still unsure if you had hallucinated the ghoul screaming your name. Even his voice had sounded different there, but not unfamiliar – more like a dream that had slowly devolved into a nightmare.

There was a nagging feeling at the back of your head that wouldn’t let you rest until you had some answers, but it would all have to wait for a later time.

For the next hour or so, you slowly moved your wrists back and forth in an attempt to loosen the ropes. You went still whenever any of them looked at you – like a deer in headlights, sweat trickling down your spine – but luckily, none of them seemed aware of your actions.

At some point, you had to fully stop as most of them prepared to go out scavenging, leaving only one man behind to guard you.

“Shouldn’t give you much trouble, but you know what to do if she does,” the leader had said, looking right at you with a shit-eating grin.

But the raider left in charge hadn’t seemed too worried about you being a threat, falling asleep on one of the couches soon after they had left. When your wrists were rubbed raw and bloody by the rope, you soldiered through the pain until adrenaline kicked in, and you managed to loosen the knots enough to free one of your hands.

You swallowed down the nausea that crawled up your throat at the sight of your mangled skin. Keeping one eye on the sleeping raider, you began to attempt untying your ankles, but then you heard a crash at the front of the building. The raider woke up with a start and you had a millisecond to hide your hands behind your back once more.

“What the fuck was that?” he muttered, looking around frenziedly.

You shrugged helplessly, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he stood, grabbing a weapon. You whimpered, momentarily fearing he might use it to prod you further, but he stayed put.

“You better not try any stupid shit, alright?” He said, pointing it at you in warning.

You nodded quickly and he crept around a shelf, disappearing from view. It was eerily silent after that, except for your blood thundering in your ears. You waited for him to return, unmoving, for what seemed like an eternity.

There were a few more sounds somewhere out front, but you couldn’t quite discern what they were. Still, you didn’t really want to wait around and find out. Who knew if you’d get another opportunity like this?

But just as you decided to push your luck and reached for your ankles, you heard footsteps. And with those footsteps, there was the familiar, faint clinking of spurs that you had come to know.

The ghoul suddenly rounded the corner, holding the raider’s bloodied machete, which matched the blood spattering his clothes. Talk about a guardian angel, you thought, somehow finding humor to keep yourself from absolute hysteria – even as your eyes welled with overwhelmed tears. A muffled sound escaped your throat, but there was still tape covering your mouth, so all you could do was widen your eyes.

“There y’are,” he said with what seemed to be a relieved grin, but it was short-lived. “Oughta kill you myself for makin’ me go through all that trouble to find you…”

He crouched in front of you to free you from your binds, tossing the weapon aside. You gasped as he ripped the tape from your face, momentarily glaring at him for his lack of gentleness. But your own relief outweighed any frustration you felt, and without thinking you threw yourself at him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

He froze, feeling the jackrabbit pace of your heart against his chest. The breathed-out thank you in his ear almost gave him goosebumps, but he kept himself composed. You yourself couldn’t believe that you were so elated to see him, having been terrified of him only a week prior.

But now it didn’t seem to matter, because even if he groused about having to do the work, he had still come to find you.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough of that,” he said, shoving you back. “Get up, we gotta get outta here before the rest of ‘em come back.”

He hauled you onto your feet, steadying you when you almost stumbled into him. You glanced at the TV, where the movie had been paused on a close-up shot of Cooper.

You hesitated, suddenly transfixed by an emotion that was getting close to realization. The ghoul followed your line of sight and grimaced, averting his gaze.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” You said, the words spilling before you’d even thought them through. “How ironically familiar it all is, in a fucked up way.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. When you looked over at him, something ill-concealed in his expression confirmed things without him having to say anything.

His eyes hadn’t changed… how did you not see it before?

You took a step closer and that seemed to snap him out of it.

“No idea what you’re goin on’ about,” he gruffed, turning away. “Now get movin’ or I’ll tie you to my belt and herd you like cattle. Andale!”

You pursed your lips at his stubbornness but trailed after him. You watched his back, hunting for more details to further reassure yourself you weren’t crazy — His posture, the way he walked, his strong shoulders squared proudly, as if in preparation for whatever came.

There was still so much to say, but first, you had to get as far away from this serpent’s nest as possible.

On the way, he found an old tire iron, tested its heft, and then handed it to you. At least, it seemed less daunting than a knife or a machete, and arguably less bloody. The world might be a cruel place, but he would try to help minimize the blow as much as he could. In his own way, of course.

He pushed out of the secret entrance at the side of the building, and you almost slammed into his back as he abruptly stopped.

“Well, fancy seeing you here boys,” he said before you could even ask what was wrong, and a stone seemed to drop into your stomach. “Jus’ came to collect what’s rightfully mine. We’ll be on our way now.”

“Like hell you are,” came the barked reply.

You peered around him and saw only a handful of the raiders, the leader nowhere in sight. Somehow, that made you relax a little, the odds slightly more favorable. Not that you didn’t believe the ghoul could handle the whole group, but you just didn’t want to take your chances.

“Oh, yeah? And who’s gonna stop me? You?” The ghoul drew his revolver before anyone else could react, firing a shot directly at the raider’s head. “Whoops, I guess it ain’t gonna be him, after all.”

A stunned moment passed before the raiders were all launching themselves at him. You pressed back against the wall, watching how the ghoul moved with a swift, deadly grace. Two were down before they even knew what was happening.

You moved from your spot to try to find some cover in case any stray bullets flew by you. Crouching by some rusted oil barrels, you kept your eyes on the action, listening to the ghoul laughing at a failed attack.

Then you noticed movement elsewhere. While he was facing off another three of them, a raider that had broken off from the rest was slowly inching closer behind the ghoul’s back.

Yelling out a warning would probably hinder more than help him, so you took a deep, fortifying breath and crept behind the raider. You tried to keep control of your breathing as you got closer, taking deliberate steps. You adjusted your grip on your weapon a few times, your palms sweating like never before.

But just as you closed the distance between you and raised the tire iron over your head, one of the other raiders yelled Watch out!

Still, you swung, striking him right across the temple with a sickening crack. He crumpled, knocked out cold, and everything moved quickly after that.

In all the distraction, the ghoul dove forward and sank his knife into the nearest raider’s stomach. Then he turned them both around, using him as a shield before he shot the other two raiders.

Once they were all on the ground, he looked at you over his shoulder and grinned.

“Well, well, look at you watchin’ my back for me,” he said, seemingly impressed. “Doesn’t make us quite even, but getting closer.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but your mouth suddenly filled with saliva, and you had to keep yourself from throwing up. All of the day’s events were starting to catch up to you, and adrenaline could only keep you on your feet for so long.

“Can we just uh… please?” You said, gesturing into the distance vaguely. “If I don’t eat something soon, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

He sighed, jerking his head to one side in a motion for you to follow. “Better hope there’s still rations in your pack, then, ‘cus I ain’t a free meal ticket.”

———————————————-

You slept for what felt like days, waking up disoriented to find the afternoon sun high in the sky. You rolled onto your back, wiping away the drool that had trickled out of the corner of your mouth. You were sure you looked just as terrible as you felt, but it was the least of your worries at that moment.

The abandoned parking structure you’d camped out at was cool and shaded, the wind blowing through it. It’d been dark by the time the two of you had found it, and you could only remember wolfing down some food before promptly passing out.

Your wrists had been bandaged at some point, a small courtesy from the ghoul. Proof once again that he cared, despite his tough, biting exterior. The warmth you felt in your chest reminded you of what was still pending between you, and how it could wait no longer.

You sat up and looked around, gathering your bearings. He wasn’t too far away, standing at the other end of the lot with his back to you. He was looking off into the distance, lost in thought.

You watched him for a moment, wondering what was going through his mind. Wondering if maybe, just maybe, your thoughts were running parallel.

Only one way to find out.

You got up, wincing at the deep ache in your muscles. You started to shamble over to him, but you only reached halfway before you were no longer brave enough to get any closer.

“Cooper,” you called, voice tremulous. “… It is you, isn’t it?”

The ghoul turned around slowly, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. He was quiet for a moment, for once seemingly afraid to meet your gaze.

“Still stubborn as a mule, aren’t’cha?” he said, trying to mask the nostalgia in his voice with wry humor.

You let out an amused huff. “Always drove the producers crazy.”

“Well, it wasn’t just them.”

Finally, he looked up at you, his gaze much softer than they’d been the past few days. At that moment – despite the ravages of time, radiation, and even misery – you could still see the Cooper you had always known. And while you were elated by the revelation, your heart also hurt to think he had undergone so much by himself, losing who he was in the process.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, knowing it was likely a selfish question. “From the beginning?”

“I never… thought you would see me like this,” he said, swallowing hard. “After that night, when the bombs were dropped, I didn’t know what happened to you. I just assumed you were…”

“Dead,” you finished for him. “I thought the same about you.”

Silence hung heavily for a moment, and you weren’t sure if you should move or not.

“What about your family?” You asked, bracing for the worst.

“Lost,” he said simply, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I got Janey to one of the vault’s on time, but there was no space left for me.”

His pain was palpable, making your heart shatter anew. But how to take it away from him? It was impossible to just erase all that had happened, but you could at least help him shoulder the burden.

“Cooper…” you breathed, finally closing the remaining distance between you.

He shifted uncomfortably, angling his head away. You reached up to gently cup his face, making him look at you.

“A face not even a mother could love, ain’t it?” He murmured, braced for whatever reaction you’d have to him now.

He expected disgust and rejection, but that was far from what you felt then – A yearning so deep you feared it would fully consume you. The world had fucking ended already, so why not confess how you felt? Nothing worse could happen if you did.

“My feelings for you have remained intact for more than two hundred years, Cooper. You really think this is going to change my mind?”

He blinked in surprise, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you were lying. You merely smiled, open and earnest, letting him digest your words.

“That night, when you kissed me… My mind was all over the place. I didn’t know what to think, what to say, but you ran away before I could even try.” He chuckled weakly at the memory. “Somehow, I felt it was a long time comin’, but a part of me never thought it was possible.”

“I’m sorry it was all I could give you then,” you whispered, and he placed a hand over one of yours. “If only we had known…”

“Say the words for me, will you?” He rasped, face inching closer to yours. “I won’t believe it until you say it.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I love you, Cooper Howard. I loved you before, and I love you now, just as you are.”

“You sure about that?” He said, but his resolve was crumbling. “Not much room for love in places like this, especially with folks like me.”

“We’ll just have to make room for it then.”

He raised his hairless eyebrows, both pleased and amused at your conviction.“Just like that, hmm?”

One of his arms snaked around your waist slowly, pressing you closer to him. Your eyes dropped to his mouth, desirous. The fire he saw in them ignited him as well — A long lost feeling that was returning to the surface with a vengeance.

“Bésame,” you sighed, mere seconds before his lips were melding against yours.

You kissed with an almost frantic desperation, tightly clinging onto each other. It was the kind of kiss you had always dreamt of — devouring and insatiable, eager to fuse together.

His hands were curious but hesitant, roaming up to your ribcage and down to your hips, but no further. You grabbed one of his hands and placed it on your chest, not only as permission, but also so he could feel how your heart pounded for him.

His own longing overflowed, clouding his senses. A part of him had still been unwilling to believe you could actually love — much less tolerate — what he had become. But when you moaned softly into his mouth, he knew he was a lost cause.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t very good with words that weren’t scripted. But fortunately for you, there were other ways he could demonstrate his devotion.

You arched into his touch as he palmed one of your breasts, a low sound in his throat. He moved to kiss your neck, lavishing your collarbone with his tongue. He wanted to kiss you all over, but he would need to get you bare first.

You let him tug your blouse over your head, his gloves subsequently coming off. His hands were calloused as they returned to touch your skin. The tips of his fingers teased the waistband of your pants, and he smirked as you frowned up at him.

“What? I wanna enjoy every moment of this,” he drawled, eyes dipping lower to watch your chest heave. “So many times I tried to imagine how I would do this. Sometimes I would unwrap you like a present… Others, well, let’s jus’ say I was like a coyote getting ahold of a chicken.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the morbid description, strangely not put off by it. “How romantic. I’m still trying to decide how I’ll take yours off.”

He shifted, something like panic flashing in his eyes for the briefest second. “Hold your horses, sweetheart. I ain’t done with you yet.”

You understood his hesitance immediately, deciding not to push it for the time being. You had years of patience under your belt, and his trust was something you did not mind earning again. He removed only his duster, draping it on the floor.

He undid your belt and knelt in front of you as you wiggled your hips to help him take your pants off. There was a puff of warm breath against your navel a second before he planted a kiss on it. You shuddered as his teeth snagged the hem of your panties, pulling them down.

There was a noticeable wet spot on the fabric, which made him groan. His cock was straining against his pants already, but he wanted to focus on you first.

“Come here, you,” he rasped, grasping your hips and bringing you down with him.

As soon as you were on your back, his mouth was on you again. He’d wanted to feast his eyes first, to take you in in your full glory, but he found he couldn’t keep himself detached from you for too long.

He kept his promise, slowly working his way around. You surrendered to his adoration with ease, every caress and every kiss awakening every part of you. At some point, you reached a level of sensitivity that had you whimpering at the slightest touch. The light sting of his teeth on your nipples sent electricity straight to your core.

He lost himself in your smell and your warmth and your softness – a supplicant finally worshiping at his sacred temple. When his mouth finally sealed over your clit, your back arched off the floor, taut as a bow.

“Cooper,” you gasped, delirious with lust. “Please, I-I need… Let me touch you, something, please!”

He shushed you gently, arms wrapping around your legs. “Just lie back and let me take care of you, darlin’.”

You wished you could say you lasted some time under his ministrations, but you came with embarrassing ease. That first orgasm hit you like an avalanche, sweeping throughout your whole body. You clapped a hand over your mouth as you cried out, not wanting to be too loud and potentially attract unwanted attention.

He let out a faint chuckle, lapping up your release with gusto and nearly making you come a second time. He found he especially liked teasing your clit with quick little flicks of his tongue, your moans higher pitched. You tried squirming away from him, nearing overstimulation.

“You’re killing me, Coop!” You couldn’t help but giggle hysterically, pushing at his head. “Por favor!”

He pulled back, grinning roguishly as he licked his glistening lips. “What can I say? Seems I can’t get enough of you.”

“Then take me already,” you pleaded. “I can’t wait any longer.”

He needed no further convincing. He unhooked his arms from your legs and his body slid upwards until your faces were level. He was quick to undo his pants and push them down, bending down to kiss you as he took his cock in one hand, stroking it.

You brought your knees up to his sides as you tasted yourself on his tongue. Slowly, he pushed inside of you, leaning his forehead against yours so he could see your reactions. Brows furrowed, mouth slack, cheeks flushed – you were the prettiest picture, in his eyes.

“That’s it,” he exhaled as he buried himself to the hilt. “Takin’ me so good, like you were made just for me.”

“You’ve a-already made it clear th-that I’m yours,” you said with a teasing little smile that you could barely hold as he started to move.

He remembered his words to the raiders, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I did say somethin’ like that, didn’t I? Guess it must be true, then.”

His strokes were long and slow at first, letting you feel every inch as he stretched you. His eyes were fixed on your face, drinking in your features and reassuring himself that it was not a dream. He knew he wouldn’t last too long either, for all he teased you about it.

He started going faster, the snap of his hips harsher, as you begged for it. Pleasure was overtaking him, wiping his mind clear of everything that wasn’t the present moment. Your name left his lips like a prayer, his eyes heavy lidded and glazed over with ecstasy.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moaned. “I-I love you. Fuck, I love you.”

You clung to him, afraid that if your heart went any faster, it might stop altogether. Soon enough, he felt you tightly squeezing around him, and he knew you were close once again. He was right there with you, driven by your pleasure, and then you pulled him in for a kiss.

He felt you tremble under him as you came, the intensity not letting you make more than a small, choked sound. With a long, rough groan and a deep thrust, he spilled inside of you. Lost in a feverish oblivion, having forgotten when the last time he’d experienced it was… if at all. No drop was wasted, in the end.

During the comedown, you lay there panting, his added weight on top of you comforting. You looked at each other and laughed, elated at the whole thing. It felt like no time had passed at all, somehow.

“Tryin’ to steal my soul already,” he said, a fondness in his voice that made your stomach flutter. “Hold on, I need to get some RadAway in ya.”

Breathing heavily, he slowly pulled out of you and got to his knees. He tucked himself away and reached for his pack. He pulled out a yellow IV bag, which you recognized from Bud’s few lessons about the wasteland. You hadn’t even thought about it until then, but you were immensely grateful he had been prepared.

He hooked you onto it delicately and slumped back down beside you, lying sideways. You grinned, snuggling closer to him. His fingers traced lazy circles on your belly as he looked down at you, adoring.

The real world slowly crept into the edges of your mind, anxiety at being separated from him suddenly spiking. Now that you had him, there was no way you would just let him go.

“I don’t know what I should do now,” you confessed, voice low. “I know I want you, and I want to be with you, but what about New Vegas? Do you think they’d send someone to look for me?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Maybe. It’s very possible, you never know. You’re more valuable than you realize, and I ain’t just sayin’ that ‘cus I’m biased.”

You snorted, shoving him playfully, but he continued. “But… I think I should still take you there. My sort of lifestyle in the wasteland ain’t for you, darlin’. I almost lost you once already, very stupidly.”

“That was my fault, though,” you said, pained at the guilt in his voice for not being able to protect you.

“Everybody makes mistakes. You could make a hundred more, but one of ‘em might just cost you everythin’. I ain’t takin’ those chances.”

“Well, you’re certainly more forgiving now…” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “But then what? You’re not just gonna drop me off at twenty one for safe keeping, are you? I would kill you.”

He laughed. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. But it won’t come to that, we ain’t stayin’ in the vault.”

“Oh? We aren’t?”

“There’s a few settlements out there that are safe and, uh, friendly to my kind.” He cleared his throat, not wanting to bring much attention to his current state of being. You took his hand, squeezing his fingers, and he returned the gesture.

One day, you would make sure he would never doubt his worth ever again. You admired his strength and perseverance, soldiering through an unforgiving environment, continuing to live. He was certainly different from the hero that he always played in the movies, but he was a hero nonetheless. In your eyes, at least.

“Well, well… That’s all it took to bring you to your knees, huh?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. “You really thinking of settling down?”

“Oh, I ain’t retirin’, sweetheart,” he said with a huff. “But if you’re askin’ if I’m thinking of going steady with you, well…”

The two of you shared a knowing look, smiling at that echo from the past. At that moment, you felt that things might just be okay after all. You had been through worse things, jumped through bigger hurdles, and yet you had still arrived there. Who was to say you couldn’t handle more?

“Kiss me then, and let’s seal the deal.”

------------

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x you #fallout fanfiction #cooper howard fanfiction #the ghoul fanfiction #the ghoul fanfic #cooper howard fanfic #minors dni #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x latina!reader #the ghoul x latina!reader

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gingiesworld · 1 year

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https://www.tumblr.com/gingiesworld/725743151113994240/a-sense-of-betrayel?source=share

hey can you part two y/n a change person, he together with new partner who been through his up and down? he and wanda maybe came across eachother at restaurant after years not meeting eachother and have conversations when wanda ask why he finally stop doing drug y/n reply with “because somebody trust me and understand it's not easy for leaving it behind” (there's some regret in wanda mind but she can't do anything now)

Sense Of Betrayal

Part Two

Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Angst

18+ MINORS DNI

After Wanda had left, Nat had made sure that Y/N went to rehab. Over the course of six months he hadn't had any contact with anyone. Other than the people in therapy. Although today is the first time he can have a visitor.

"Wanda, he needs you." Nat tried to reason with her as she shook her head no.

"I can't Nat. He broke my trust by breaking a promise." Wanda told her. "He did this to us. Not me."

"What did you tell the boys?" Natasha questioned coldly as Wanda sighed.

"He had been moved across stateline for his latest project." Wanda told her.

"So you lied to them." Nat scoffed.

"I am not going to tell the twins their father is a junkie!" Wanda yelled as Vision brought the boys inside.

"Figures." Nat nodded as she looked between both Vision and Wanda.

"No." Wanda chased after her. "Vision and I are just friends Nat, that's all we will ever be."

"Well, it's not me you have to tell that to because it seems he is getting pretty comfortable with playing daddy to Y/N's kids." Nat told her before she got in her car and drove off. Wanda sighed as she glanced at her left ring finger, still were she wore her rings. Y/N's rings.

Y/N sighed as he watched the door, hoping to see Wanda or the boys. His heart breaking as an hour passed and no one came. Only to smile sadly when he saw Natasha.

"Hey." He smiled as she greeted him. "I tried to get Wanda or the boys but."

"She doesn't want to see me." He confirmed as Nat gave him a nod.

"I'm sorry Y/N." She whispered as he nodded.

"I signed the papers for her." He told her. "She's free from me so she can live her life."

"Y/N." Nat tried as Y/N shook his head no.

"Honestly it is fine. I am ok with it." He sighed. "I just miss Billy and Tommy so much."

"They're doing great." Nat told him. "Tommy has let his hair grow like yours." Y/N smiled as she told him about the twins and Yelena. Telling him how she is doing with college.

As the rest of the year went on, he was released from rehab and moved in with Nat. Visiting the boys whenever Pietro had them.

"You should just turn up Y/N." Pietro told him. "It was your home as much as it was hers. Besides, I don't like how Vision is sniffing around her."

"I can't just do that P." He told him. "I broke a promise. One that promised to never break."

"Bucky told me what happened before you relapsed." Pietro confessed. "He explained everything and I understand everything. Did you ever tell Wanda?"

"No." He shook his head as he watched the twins the park. "I tried to tell her but she wouldn't listen. Vision somehow needed her in some way."

"You should fight for her." Pietro told him.

"No. She doesn't want me." Y/N told him. "She made that abundantly clear when she wanted the divorce." With that Y/N bid his goodbye to the twins and Pietro. Walking through the park to his new home. He told Nat about what Pietro had said and Nat agreed with him.

"You still love her." Nat stated as Y/N took a deep breath.

"I will always love her Nat but she will never love me the same. Not anymore." He told her as he got himself ready for his job. He was allowed a sebatical as he was ill of health as HR had put it. Not wanting it to get around that Oscorp hire addicts, but Y/N was too valuable to lose.

After a few weeks of thinking and working, with sneaking visits with the twins. He decided to finally head to the house he used to call home. Trudging up the porch steps, knowing that the spare key is stored under the ugly knome beside the door but instead knocked. Not feeling right in letting himself in.

"Y/N?" Wanda questioned as he gave a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you and the boys." He told her with his best smile. "I have been clean for over a year."

"I know you have been seeing the boys." She stated as Y/N's eyes widened. "Pietro and the twins are shitty liars, I guess they get that from me."

"I'm sorry." He told her as he stood nervously on the porch. "I uh." He soon shook his head. "Never mind. This is a stupid idea." He went to turn around as Wanda held his wrist.

"Do you want some tea? I still have your favourite kind." She told him.

"Biscuit tea?" He questioned as she nodded.

"The twins love it." She told him as he closed the door behind him. The house looked the same as it did before he left. Maybe the photos of just himself and Wanda were took down but the family ones remained.

"Pietro told me that Vision still helps you with the boys." He stated calmly as Wanda scoffed.

"Is that why you've came here?" She spat as she turned to face him.

"No." He told her. "I just want to know one thing."

"What?" Wanda asked him.

"Do you like Vision the way he likes you?" He asked her. "It's a valid question."

"Why do you want to know?" Wanda questioned.

"Because I want to know if this." He pointed between the two of them. "Is worth fighting for because I never stopped Wanda. I never stopped loving you. I was stupid to even think I could have the drugs and you, I just didn't fathom losing you."

"Just stop." Wanda sighed as she shook her head. "I don't see Vis the way you're implying but there is nothing between us to fight for."

"Wanda." He tried as she shook her head.

"I still love you Y/N but I can't trust you. Not anymore." She told him.

"I am back at my job Wanda. I am living with Nat." He told her. "I am getting my life back on track and I wanted to get us back on track."

"There is no us." Wanda sighed. "There will never be an us again." Y/N felt his heart shatter in his chest, hearing those words made the divorce all the more real and he hated it.

"Ok." He nodded as he moved away, not touching his cup of tea. "I'll come back and arrange childcare for the twins."

"Y/N." She tried as he shook his head.

"You can't take the only good thing I have left in my life. You can't take my boys away from me." He whispered as his eyes glossed over. "I won't survive if you did that."

"Ok." Wanda finally answered him. "We can sort something out."

"Ok." He nodded before he turned away. "Have a nice life Wanda." He told her, hearing those last words felt like a knife to Wanda. She hated them but she knew they would never be again. Not in this universe.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #wanda x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff

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forbesjames96 · 4 years

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littlepadika · 3 years

Note

Okay my little sweet P, I know we’ve talked about it but I just can’t get it outta my head of some good fake dating 👚, with of course my precious bby Frankie 🌹, and make me YEARN. 📔 ilyilyilysm and congrats on the 500 again, you deserve it and more💜💜💜

Just remember you asked for this Mel. I have the defibrillator on standby.

500 follower celebration (closed now)

Warnings: yearning, jealousy, peek of angy frankie, ends fluffy, Spanish speaking fem reader, fake dating, dilf Frankie, frankie's daughter has a chronic illness, discussion of addiction/ptsd, vomiting (tw emetophobia), height difference.

AN: HAPPY BIRTHDAY Queen Mel!!!! May you run off into the sunset with a shirtless Frankie :)

"Rosalia?" You pushed open the door. Sitting on the exam table was the cutest little girl you had ever seen (and you were a pediatrician so the bar was pretty high). She beamed when you came in. She was one of those kids who loved coming to the doctor's office. You always gave her a lolly at the end and if there were shots involved, she got a stuffed animal. You had been Rosalia's pediatrician since she was born. Nowadays you only ever saw her with her father, Frankie. You knew there was a divorce and it seemed Rosie's mom was not around as much. You didn't ask for details if it wasn't necessary to Rosie's health.

When Rosie was diagnosed with diabetes Frankie was obviously overwhelmed with all the steps and medications. You gave him your number so he could call with even stupid questions and he did call many times. Since then you've been steadily deepening your crush for the man. Every glimpse into his life only confirmed what you loved about him. Today, you couldn't stop from beaming when you saw Frankie sitting in the chair next to the exam table, handsome and shy like always. He was wearing a short-sleeve shirt today which drew your attention to his thick arms.

"Hey." Frankie waved before standing up. "Thanks for seeing us on such short notice." He fiddled with his hat nervously. He was always nervous around you. From the moment he met you he thought you were the most beautiful and smartest woman in the world. After his divorce, his world shrank but you were still in it. His initial attraction twisted and burrowed into his heart with every interaction until he was finding stupid reasons to go to the doctor's office. Calling you with increasingly dumb and empty complaints.

"No problem. I saw you called the advice line. Her blood sugar's been a little low?"

"Yeah-" Frankie pulled up Rosie's shirt revealing the insulin pump attached to her. "I'm not sure if this thing is on the fritz or what. It's fully powered and it goes off when it's supposed to."

You felt around the area it was inserted, watching for signs of discomfort. You tickled Rosalia's belly making her giggle. "Does your tummy hurt, Rosie? ¿duele esto?"

"No," Rosie said, looking up at Frankie for reassurance. He gave her a nod.

"And she's been fine? No symptoms."

"Yeah, she seems fine." Frankie rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling Rosie's hair. "I don't know maybe I'm just paranoid."

"You're a good father, Frankie." You smiled. "It's only natural for you to worry." You stepped back behind the computer, reviewing the tests done. "Her blood sugar looks good based on the labs we did today. She's not having any symptoms we would find concerning. I'll go ahead and call the manufacturer and they can have someone run you through some of the common issues."

"Thanks." Frankie sounded relieved. "I had a feeling it was nothing. I just like to hear it from you, hermosa."

"You're too sweet." You stammered, feeling your heart flutter in your chest at the little pet name. He used it sparingly but that made it all the more special. "Let me finish up her exam real quick then you're good to go."

You come back to the table pulling your stethoscope off your neck. Rosie had gotten over her fear of you, sitting up straight so you could listen.

"Thank you for sitting so still, Rosie."

"I listen too?" She reached out with a grabbing motion.

"Say please, mija." Frankie added.

"Pwease." Rosie added.

"Of course." You helped her put in the earpieces and guided her little hand holding the bell towards your chest. You loved watching her face light up when she heard your heartbeat. "How do I sound, Dr. Rosie?"

"Good!" She looked up at you with wide eyes still listening to your steady lub dub. Frankie watched the scene warmly, feeling his heart clench when you looked over at him trying to share your amusement with him. Rosie was introverted, like her father, but she loved you. She often asked Frankie to go and see you even though nothing was wrong. She wanted to be a doctor now, giving her stuffed animals checkups and playing the most with her doctor Barbie.

"Papa you next." Rosie turned to him holding the bell.

"Oh thank you, Dr. Rosie" Frankie chuckled letting his daughter place the bell onto his chest. You took her hand and guided up a little higher to where his heart was. He was so tall. You blushed furiously when your fingers grazed his warm muscled chest. Frankie met your eyes and gave you a small smile.

"Papa you heart very fast." Rosalia said after you took back the stethoscope.

"Is it?" Frankie blushed, knowing exactly why his heart was beating so fast. "What should I do, Dr. Rosie?"

"Take medicine."

"Oh thank goodness there's a cure!" Frankie pretended to be extremely relieved making you and Rosalia giggle.

"Does your heartbeat fast often?" You asked catching Frankie's brown eyes as he lifted Rosie onto the ground.

"Only when I'm here it seems..." He trailed off, ducking under his hat. There was a low tug in your stomach when you considered your involvement in his heart rate. "How-how was um that charity thing you were doing last month?" Frankie asked desperately searching for something to keep him talking to you.

"It was good!" You brightened at his mention of it. "We raised 20,000. Thanks for asking. I was disappointed you didn't make it."

"Yeah Rosie's mom couldn't take her and it was too late to find a sitter." Frankie explained guiltily though he was pleased that you noticed he wasn't there. Rosie looked in between her papa and the pretty doctor. Even though she was only three she was perceptive enough to know her papa really liked you.

"Papa can she come to my birfday party?" She pointed up at you with her tiny pointer finger.

"What?" He looked down at his daughter. "Oh no Rosie. She's very busy."

"I'd love to come." You smiled at the little girl as she clapped her hands together in delight.

At that point, the nurse came back in. She led Rosie to the front desk to pick out her piece of candy. Frankie used that moment alone with you to say:

"Seriously you don't have to come, hermosa."

"I want to. But I don't want it to be weird. Like if i'm the only single person there." You winced at the word hearing your mother's voice in your ear. You can't stay single forever, mija.

"You won't be." Frankie blurted out before he explaining. "It's at my ex wife's house so it'll be her and her new husband...I'm the odd one out."

"Oh-" you latch onto the detail about his ex wife. "I didn't know Laura married. I'm sorry- I mean- that sounds awkward."

"Yeah." He laughed weakly, massaging the back of his neck. His eyes flickered over to you then back to the floor. His heart was soaring with the information that you were single. "So... actually it would be nice for you to be there so I'm not the only loner."

"Maybe we can be loners together." You teased. "It would get my mom off my back. She's thinks I never go out."

"Yeah Laura thinks I'm a deadbeat at this point." Frankie smiled crookedly and shrugged.

"You're not a deadbeat, Frankie." You shook your head in disbelief. "You're an amazing father and a good man. I mean-" You blush bright red as he straightens up to your praise. "You run your own business and volunteer at the VA that's incredible."

"Doesn't mean much to her. Her husband is in 'finance'." Frankie put air quotes around the word emphasizing how pretentious Laura was. He rolled his eyes at the absurdity of his ex wife. The sad things was it actually got to him. Between always looking behind his back for relapse and constantly avoiding triggers, he felt like he wasn't doing enough for Rosalia. You must have noticed his dimming light.

"And I'm a doctor. ¡Vaya cosa! I should pretend to be your girlfriend and you can brag about me."

"Y-yeah uh that- that would be funny." Frankie hunched over, nerves frying his speaking ability.

"Hablo en serio, Frankie." You touched his bicep, brushing the soft skin briefly. There was something so attractive to you the way he looked so bashful. The apples of his cheeks were dusted with a blush and his eyes were wide and curious. It made your thoughts go straight to the gutter. You willed yourself to focus. You refused to let Frankie feel bad about himself. If only he saw himself the way you did. "She shouldn't get away with making you feel bad."

"You'd do that?" His eyes softened as he looked at you. Afraid to even hope you could be telling the truth.

"Of course." You shrugged barely holding yourself back from adding: I'd do anything for you, Frankie. "Just give the signal and I'll initiate mission supportive girlfriend."

Frankie burst out laughing drawing looks from the nurses and medical techs walking by.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You pulled up to the address Frankie sent you. There were several cars in the driveway already. You checked yourself in the small mirror, chiding yourself for being so silly. It's not like this was a real date. It was a children's birthday party for god sake. But Frankie would be there and you wanted to show him you were more than a tired woman in a white coat. It had been so long since you had dressed up for anything other than work. You surprised yourself with how good you cleaned up.

You followed the sign to the backyard and heard the dim screaming of children grow louder. Your eyes widened at the sight. There were lots more people here than you thought. At least 20 people milling about with children running in every which way. There was a large bouncy house where most of the kids were. You tried to search for Rosie's dark curls in the crowd. Maybe she was inside the bouncy house.

"Hey, hermosa." You turned. There was Frankie once again making your heart stall and then pound with a vengeance. He gave you a small wave. He was gorgeous today. He was gorgeous every day but he looked better in the sunlight than in office lights. He was wearing a light blue short sleeve shirt, a color you'd never seen on him before but instantly loved. He ditched the hat, his brown curls messy but still framing his face beautifully. His eyes crinkled when he smiled at you. You noticed him take a quick glance down your body and you were suddenly very glad you wore a sundress.

"Hi." You walked over to him.

"Thanks for coming." He looked around before deciding to pull you into a hug. Your "of course" was cut off when his arms enveloped you, and his heady cologne filled your nose. He was warm and firm against you. You couldn't help but rub your cheek subtly against his exposed neck needing skin on skin.

"There's uh-" he pulled back instantly putting a hand on the back of his neck. He was nervous. "-beer and stuff on that table and oh- I can take that." He took your package from you pausing when he saw the wrapping paper. "Barbie? She's gonna love this."

"I remember you saying she was obsessed."

"Yeah. She's working her way up to a barbie museum at this rate. I'll put this with the rest of the gifts and uh- meet at the drink table?"

"Yeah." you nodded. You walked past the other parents, none of whom you recognized, and poured yourself some lemonade.

"Excuse me." you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around. Facing you was Rosie's mother, Laura. You recognized her but damn she looked different. Her hair was lighter and down instead of her pulled back like it usually was. "I thought I recognized you!" She pulled you into a short embrace. Much stiffer than Frankie's hug.

"Yeah! Um-Frankie invited me or I should say Rosalia invited me."

"Well... welcome. I don't think you've met my new husband, Dan. He's over there." She pointed over by the grill at the blonde guy flipping burgers.

"No I haven't. Congrats."

"Thanks. Gosh it's been so long! I don't do the doctor thing anymore. But yeah I've been great. I'm really happy. Frankie's probably been really torn up though."

"Uh..." you had no idea how to answer that but thankfully she just kept talking. She always did like talking.

"He doesn't like Dan. I think he always hoped we'd get back together. But that's always been his problem."

You couldn't help but frown at that. He never gave that indication when he talked about his ex. If anything he had emphasized how much happier he was. Laura kept talking and you wondered where Frankie was. you were in need of a rescue.

"But i think it's important for Rosie to have a solid male presence in her life. She's not going to get a family experience with Frankie."

You bristled at that comment. Frankie was an amazing father in his own right. If only Laura knew everything that Frankie had been through and what he did to make sure all of Rosie's medications were in order.

"I think Frankie is providing all that Rosalia needs." You piped up. "He's an incredible dad."

"He's definitely way better than he was." Laura backtracked. "As you know." She stopped talking to take a sip of her lemonade. You used the short window of time to say something about finding a bathroom and hustled into the crowd. You intercepted Frankie by the cake.

"Permission to initiate mission supportive girlfriend."

"What happened?" Frankie smirked.

"Just... Laura."

"What did she say?" Frankie's smile turned to grimace.

"Nothing- I mean- she's just too smug. It's pissing me off." You stepped closer to Frankie as someone walked by, almost chest to chest. He inhaled sharply at the contact. "So... do I have your permission, sir?"

Frankie gulped at your word choice though he was curious to see how this would play out. Maybe get some practice in for when he could really ask you out. "Permission granted."

You looked over your shoulder. Laura was watching you.

"Target is in my line of sight." You whispered, continuing with your game. Frankie chuckled though choked up when you took his hand in yours holding it out to the side where it was visible. "This okay?"

"Y-yeah." He nodded. His heart was doing that thing again. The acrobatics inside his chest. Your smaller hand fit perfectly in his, fingers laced up in his tightly. Your mischievous eyes flitted back over your shoulder. Laura was still watching. "Status report?" He prompted lowly.

You knew he was trying to be surreptitious but the way his voice dropped an octave set all of your nerves on end. You chanced a glance up at his eyes which were darker. His pupils were wider. You knew biology. You knew what that meant.

"Target is pissed off." You giggled swinging his hand in yours back and forth playfully.

"Diablita." Frankie squeezed your hand.

For the next hour you and Frankie were glued at the hip, whispering in each others ears, swinging your joined hands back and forth. The little ruse enclosed both of you in a pink bubble, blocked from the rest of the world. You were enjoying yourself immensely. Just being so close to him and not having to overthink why. Rosalia bounded over and requested to sit with you two during cake time. You laughed at Frankie's tone deaf rendition of Happy Birthday finding the little lilt in his voice when he said "happy birthday dear Rosieee" the cutest thing. In one instant you saw a future more vivid than your dreams. You and Frankie birthday after birthday. Holding his hand because you could not because it was pretend.

You fell into your role of proud girlfriend bragging endlessly about Frankie to the mothers sitting next to you. Frankie shoveled cake into his mouth to keep his head down. Otherwise everyone would see his flaming cheeks. Your praise was so sincere. He knew it wasn't part of the game. Each word tugged low in his stomach. He shifted in his chair.

"Frankie is so strong. We didn't need a moving company."

"Frankie could fix your car for you. He's really good. He owns the auto shop down on Langston street. Yeah. That big place there. It's all gibberish to me. He says my medical jargon is gibberish. It's cute."

Once Rosalia had finished her cake she tugged Frankie's hand to go play cornhole with her. You watched them go momentarily distracted from the conversation.

"You really love him." Laura had taken Frankie's empty seat.

"Yeah." You replied completely honestly. "I do."

"Just- I'm not gonna say anything you know him. I want him to be happy."

"He is happy." You assured her, not wanting her to continue looking down on him.

"You know he always had a bit of a thing for you. I'd catch him looking at your website profile sometimes."

"Oh." You blinked rapidly. "Really I mean- that early on?"

"Yeah. I guess it was meant to be."

You smile to yourself, hope burning through your veins. You stand up ready to go join Frankie and Rosalia, a new pep in your step. Halfway across the lawn you're cut off.

"Hey lab partner."

"Oh my gosh! Jeff!" You recognize the man standing before you. He was your classmate in medical school. "Hi!'

Frankie frowned watching you and this mystery man interact. He couldn't help the slow burn of jealousy that permeated his brain when you giggled and did your cute little look down. Who the fuck was this guy? He thought he was the only one who made you laugh like that.

He threw the bean bag a bit harder at the wooden frame, watching it fall straight through the hole. He looked back. You were still smiling and talking to this guy. If you were really his girlfriend he'd be marching over there and puffing out his chest. He'd break this guys hand in his own before dragging you inside. The bathroom. Your dress up your ass. Fuck... he wished it could happen but this was just a game. Apparently, one you were fine playing until something better came along.

"Daddy it's your turn." Rosie tugged on the hem of his shirt.

"Sorry, mija." He tossed another bean bag into the center hole. "Your turn." He looked down. "Mija... Rosalia!" She had thrown up all over her shoes.

"Oh shit." Frankie muttered lifting his daughter in his arms, not giving a damn about the vomit. He knew the monitor was on the fritz. He needed to get to the back up monitor. Check everything was okay. He stormed past you his frustration and jealousy flaring up.

"Frankie- what's going on?" You asked.

"She threw up. You would know if you were paying any attention." He snapped, not staying around to see the hurt flash through your eyes. You excused yourself following Frankie inside.

He had the glucose strips out, already taking a sample from her little finger. You watched.

"Normal." Frankie reported with a relieved sigh. "¡gracias a Dios! Too much cake huh mija?"

"My dress, Papa." Rosie sniffled looking down at the ruined fabric.

"Here- let me." You went to the sink, wetting a paper towel. The tension between you and Frankie hung heavy over your chest. You could see him fuming, gears turning. You knew rationally he was just stressed. You wiped off Rosie's dress to the best of your ability. Frankie gave her water out of her sippy cup.

Laura came in to diffuse some of the tension.

"Oh did Rosie puke?"

"Yeah." Frankie nodded.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. She's fine. I thought she may have been hypoglycemic but it's fine."

"Okay great. Must have had too much cake."

"Yeah." Frankie stood up, walking away from you to the other end of the kitchen. You felt your eyes prickle with angry tears at his childishness. What had you done to offend him so?

"Rosie..." Laura for once was perceptive enough to see something was brewing between her ex and his 'girlfriend'. "Let's let Papa get cleaned up." She picked up Rosie from off the table forcing you to pause your clean up. The screen door slammed shut and the unbearable silence set in.

"You have puke on your shirt." You observed, moving back to the sink to get a fresh paper towel.

"It's fine."

You waited, letting the water run through the flimsy towel, expecting him to apologize at any moment. Nothing happened. You huffed turning the faucet off. You prepared your voice.

"I'm sorry. Whatever I did to piss you off. Was it something I said to one of the mom's or something?"

"No." Frankie growled falling back into the kitchen chair. You approached him tentatively like you did a scared five year old about to get a shot. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning you off, tonto." You chuckled kneeling between his legs and swiping off the vomit. Frankie swallowed hard at the sight of you between his legs. "Take off your shirt please." You instructed, after the towel wasn't doing the trick. You bit your lip holding back a whine as he obeyed, revealing his naked chest to you. Broad shoulders, strong pecs, a slight stomach, dark hair around his navel going down. You wanted to lean forward and taste his golden skin. It would be so easy. Just like bragging about him, holding his hand, and falling in love with him was easy. It happened without any thought at all. Like it was always there.

Instead you took his shirt and stood, going back to the sink. You were sure he must have seen your flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. He must have. You toss the shirt into the sink and turn on the faucet.

"I shouldn't have snapped like that." Frankie said, getting you to stop and look back at him in his shirtless glory. "I'm sorry, hermosa. I was-"

"Stressed. I know." You blushed turning your eyes away. "You care about Rosie."

"No, hermosa" Frankie shook his head, standing. He was next to you in two long strides, invading your space. His cologne fainter after the day, his true scent coming through musky and demanding. Your body reacted accordingly. "You were talking to that guy. I-I didn't like that." Frankie's eyes trailed down your flushed chest and rapidly rising chest. Did you like that?

"Why didn't-" You cleared your throat turning off the faucet. "Why didn't you come and stop me?" You tensed for his response but none came. You chanced a glance up, never more aware of the height difference than you were now. You could see his eyes trained at the ground, his throat swallowing back words.

Slowly, slowly, you placed your palm on his chest, over his heart. Bare skin on bare skin. Your hand burned a hole through him.

"Your heart is beating really fast." You remark, slowly putting your ear where your hand was.

"It always does. Around you." He murmured shutting his eyes. His arm snaked around your waist pulling you fully flush against him. "I think the mission failed."

You peeled your head from his chest, questioning.

"You didn't get Laura jealous, hermosa. You just made me jealous instead."

"My mission..." You chuckled, silencing with a finger over his plump lips. "was to see if what I felt for you was real. And it is real. Everything I said about you today was true. I think you're perfect. Perfect for me. I'm- I really like you, Frankie." You planted a kiss on his collarbone after running out of words.

"I really like you too!" Frankie answered quickly, tightening his hold on you. His brain caught up with what was going on. You were in his arms. Finally. You wanted him. He had a million questions. A million fears.

"Your heart is still going fast." You whispered, tracing down the center of his chest to his belly. It tensed beneath your touch.

"What-what are you gonna do about it, doctor?"

You grinned, pulling his head down as you rose onto your toes. His lips slotted into yours perfectly, warm and firm. You got his mouth open, tasting him for the first time. He was sweet from the birthday cake.

His hips rocked against you. "Fuck...I'm sorry. I've wanted this for a long time."

"It's okay." You smiled. "Although having sex in your ex wife's kitchen would not be in good taste."

"Right...how about a bed? M-my bed?" Frankie looked hopeful.

"Yes please." You kissed him again.

"Laura has Rosie. Let me quick borrow one of Dan's ugly ass button ups." he groaned.

"No I like you shirtless. Much sexier." You leaned down and licked his sternum up to his neck.

"Shit... bebita we're not gonna make it home if you keep that up."

Needless to say the birthday party guests got a good glimpse of Frankie jogging down the driveway with no shirt on, you in close pursuit. What? They already knew you were dating. Actually, they technically knew before you.

Frankie did a look back hoping that dumbass guy who dared to flirt with you was watching. For once in his life he wasn't self conscious. Your little laugh behind him spurred him on. His mind already racing with what he planned on doing to you when he got you alone. Happy Birthday indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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maidenariana · 3 years

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I brought back the ringlets. I freaking love how soft and bouncy they are 🥰 Also, regarding my post yesterday about starting an o n l y f a n s.. the initial offer for those who choose to use this platform to support me and my creative projects was scooped up so fast it shocked me. So, I am extending it for 6 days. You can still sign up to support for 30% off right now. (Link is found by tapping my profile picture above) I did get a few messages that said in a variety of ways that they felt disappointed I thought I "had to go there" or "chase the money." I had a nice conversion with one after explaining my situation (paying back a bankruptcy since 2017 due to divorce) and they understood better. In America we can have a good job and work hard all our lives then one divorce or illness and we can be in bankruptcy and a serious situation. I went from having the "American Dream" to living in a financial prison and thankfully making enough to live month to month by literally doing 3 jobs (day job in IT, website consulting when I could get gigs before Covid dried it all up, and some minor pay from Twitch). Those income sources helped me just have enough to support my kids schooling, help my daughter with starting college and holding onto my condo all while paying back a crippling bankruptcy. With this support I am doing my day job and having time to focus more on the projects my followers seem to enjoy taking part in. This is a thing now people. You can a la carte support individuals who entertain or inspire you. It's kind of awesome. Again.. this is just a platform to support independent creators, in my opinion a few of you need to get the stigma out of your heads. There are everything from gardeners to engineers using this platform. I will never act as a puppet for people. I do the projects I want to do and post positive photos showing my progress in life and I am happy that others find it encouraging. If that is something you want to share in great! If not, stop trying to police women, stop showing negativity, and simply move on to other people to follow. Thank you. Btw, tonight Transvengers returns on Twitch. See my story today for the link! https://www.instagram.com/p/CSfSSbdHFaL/?utm_medium=tumblr

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blushedarmybunny · 3 years

Text

On the Same Page (2) | KTH

✧ masterlist of chapters

✧Pairing: kim Taehyung x fem reader

✧ Word count: 1.2k

✧ Genre: Angst (m) this chapter contains adult themes, don’t read if you are a minor.

A year after

Your divorce wasn’t easy, it was very public and very messy, you told your lawyer that you didn’t want any money, you wanted a quick sign of papers, but the heaven only knows that it wasn’t easy to get rid of Taehyung.

He obviously tried to get back together, his first try was only a week after you two broke up, he was refusing to go of your friends' apartment door until he sees you, you had to call Namjoon and beg him to take him away.

During the course of the divorce he tried to shut down every negotiation session , offering money to scare away a couple of divorce lawyers and even one night before the signing of the papers you received a call from him:

“I’ll give you blank check, write anything you want in there its yours, take away all my money I don’t care but don’t leave me” his tone cold as ice.

“I’m gonna hang up Taehyung” you said tired, “please take care of yourself.”

The media was having fun with the situation following you everywhere and asking you uncomfortable questions about your divorce, if you were a golddigger with the divorce, if Taehyung had an affair, twitter was a fucking circus rejoicing with all the drama, even though you were having a bad time you knew that Taehyung was having it 10 times worse, his paparazzi shots looking absolutely wrecked, drinking in a bar, crying on a park, they wouldn’t leave him alone and it made your blood boil.

The boys of course got involved, a year ago when they heard the news everybody was shocked and refused to believe you were actually getting separated:

“it´s not a good prank guys I know you don’t have much to do since you don´t have kids but it´s not funny” said Jimin chuckling, neither of you laugh that´s when everybody started to lose their shit.

Jimin to this day apologize for what he said and every time you assure him that it is ok, the boys took care the best they could of Taehyung, but everyone was devastated, somehow the big family broke and it was not good, the wives check up on you constantly, they send you food every week and now and then pay a visit and only if you asked they told you the whereabouts of Taehyung, but not only the wives, the boys too, one by one keep assuring you that you are still part of the family and somehow they work it out, and if you ever need anything they are a call away.

The divorce was being delayed for two months now because he was flatly refusing about not giving you any money.

“Can you stop being stubborn and accept the deal?” you said to him, it was the first time in a month that you addressed him directly and not through your lawyer.

“You are the stubborn, how come you won’t receive any compensation after the divorce this is fucking ridiculous, it´s the whole point of a divorce.” He spat with a bitter tone, even though his agency has assigned him a stylist to look like an even more expensive version of himself to contrast the broken Taehyung on the streets of Seoul, in that designer suit and immaculate hair, and make up that could hardly cover his eye bags, the windows of his soul remained soulless.

You had to pretend like it didn’t affect you, but you were always on the edge of an emotional breakdown every time you saw him like this

“I don´t want your money thank you” you quietly replied “It was never about that”

He slaps the table hard both lawyers flinched

“Do you want to rip apart every single part of me?” he asks “ first you abandon me giving up on our marriage, then you force me to divorce you which its consuming all my energy and sucking off my will to live, now you don´t even want me to do the bare fucking minimum and assuring myself that you would be taken care of when I’m gone?!” he yells, making you back up a little in your seat

“Mister Choi tell your client that…”

“Tell me y/n, you want me to jump off a bridge after all of this? You are pressing all the buttons” he warned“ since you want to get rid of me that badly, I would just do you the favor”

“Jesus Christ Taehyung” you cried to him covering your face with both hands.

“Its more than clear that we need a break” said Mr. Choi Taehyung´s lawyer“let´s meet friday at 10”

Your lawyer grabbed gently your arm to guide you to the exit, outside the building there were already the press harassing you, but you knew that they were awaiting like vultures for Taehyung to come up, still hands covering your teary face you with much difficulty enter your car, not too behind was Taehyung exiting to the streets, a large group of bodyguards with umbrellas quickly came in his aid escorting him to the car, you order your driver to take you home.

Later that night you serve yourself a nice glass of wine and started to call someone you needed to communicate immediately.

“Y/n…”

“Jungkook” you call his name with a weak voice“im sorry if it is too late” you apologized looking at the clock 12:37 am

“Oh no it´s ok, I was actually still awake talking with Juwon” he assure to you

“Look I know it´s obvious but Taehyung it´s really not ok” you said trying your best to not lose it over the phone

“oh we’d known”Jungkook words expressed so much unprocessed feelings

“Jungkook I’m worried today he said some stuff about jumping off bridges, I’m so worried” you let out air of your lungs

“What?”Jungkook reacted – “he said that?”

“Yes, I don´t know what is happening in his mind but for fucks sake don´t leave him alone” you begged him

“I’m calling Jin right now he is supposed to take care of him this week” he quickly said “I had to go”

“ And Jungkook…”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for paying my Lawyer I swear im gonna give the mo…”

“Hey cut that shit, you don´t have to pay me anything, you are always a friend of the family regardless of this mess, please call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it, take care”

“Ok, you too”

Jungkook called you next day to inform you that Taehyung was safe and sound, but now Yoongi would be backing Jin, and his parents were informed, you thanked the heavens because if it exist somebody that could make Taehyung listed it was his mother.

You called your lawyer to tell him that you’ll accept wherever ridiculous quantity of money Taehyung wanted to pay, it was time to get it over with this once and for all.

Friday arrived and both parties sign the papers, as quick as possible like taking out a band aid, your parents and your friends stayed close with you for the rest of the week, and forbitten you to use the internet or you phone, from now on the last step was to learn how to live with the broken pieces of your heart.

#bts x reader #bts imagines #taehyung #kim taehyung fic #bts v #bts v x reader #v bts #v fanfic #bts v fanfiction #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #bts angst #bts au fic #bts au #bts au masterlist #bts x you #bts aus #bangtan #taehyung angst

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girl-with-cat-eyes · 3 years

Text

Wednesdays

Summary: Wednesdays are Janus Picani's busiest day. Between meetings, snack day, soccer practice, and art club, he's running around like a chicken with his head cut off. This Wednesday, however, is sure to change the lives of the Picani family forever. Jan's sure they can handle it though.

Ships: Platonic Moceit, thvi

A/N: I've been rewatching the old Reba sitcom from the 2000s and I'd forgotten just how good it was. Good enough that I wanted to write an au for it. Thank you so much to @amazon-me-bitches and my lovely qpp @forever-forgotten-angel for beta reading this and helping me to work out the kinks with the plot. As always, leave a comment if you like this. Enjoy!

For most people, Mondays were their busiest day. It made sense; returning to the workweek, school, etc. For Janus Picani, however, the title of busiest day went to Wednesday. His firm always had partner meetings, they were Emile’s day to bring class snacks, Remy had soccer, and Virgil had art club. On top of that, Jan’s therapy sessions were Wednesdays, which meant he had to make sure all of his work was done 15 minutes early so he could get to his appointment on time. Safe to say, to say Wednesdays weren’t exactly his favorite day.

“Emile! Get down here! You don’t want to be late for school!”, He called upstairs as he finished making breakfast sandwiches. Virgil stood across from him, packing lunches for his brothers.

“He probably can’t find his backpack. He left it down here after he finished his homework.”

Janus sighed, “This wouldn’t be a problem if he just left his backpack down here every night. Remy go get your brother and tell him his backpack is down here.”, the young boy got up, rolling his eyes and Jan had to bite back a sigh. Remy had always been his sassiest child.

“Why can’t Virgil do it?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him, “Because I’m making lunch, I can go get him if you want to make your own sandwich ?”, Remys shook his head and ran upstairs, Virgil chuckling at the sight.

Janus finished plating breakfast and turned to thank Virgil, frowning when he saw that Virgil had only made two lunches. He looked pointedly at his son, “You’re not eating?”, he asked.

Virgil shrugged, “I’m gonna get lunch at school today. They’re having burritos.”, Janus nodded. As long as he was eating. Patton came downstairs before he could reply, Remy and Emile in tow.

“I found these two trying to play on the Switch.”, Emile and Remy sat down, guilty little grins on their faces that told Jan that they didn’t regret it, “Good thing I went to check on them.” “Good thing indeed.” He handed Pat a plate, pouting a cup of coffee for his husband? Ex? Janus wasn’t sure what to call the man he’d been married to for 20 years, separated from, hadn’t divorced, and who still lived in the house with. Regardless he poured him a cup of coffee, “Ok so you’re taking Emile and Remy to school and I’ll take Virgil. I’ll pick up Remy and you pick up Emile and-” “-and I’m catching a ride home with Thomas after theater. I’m working on the sets for Little shop today.”, Virgil piped up and Jan had to hold back a grimace at the mention of his boyfriend. He like Thomas, he really did. In terms of high school boyfriends, Thomas had been nothing but a gentleman. But the thought of his son dating still upset Janus deep down; according to his therapist, he was grappling with the thought of his baby growing up.

“Ok.”, he replied, keeping his thoughts to himself. It wouldn’t do any good to speak them when they were his problem to deal with, “I’ll pick up takeout on the way home.”

“Jan? I was wondering if you’d want to come to the restaurant today for lunch?”, He turned to look at Patton. Based on the tone in his voice Janus knew that this wasn’t just a friendly invitation to taste a new menu item. He sighed: he’d been planning to work through his lunch today so he could get out on time.

Regardless, this seemed serious, “Ok. I’ll be there at noon.”, he promised. He quickly finished his breakfast and looked over to Virgil, “Ready to go?”, he asked. He nodded and finished pouring his iced coffee and they were off.

The ride to Virgil’s school was as quick as always. Music played lowly on the radio, lowly on the radio and Janus hummed along. It would be peaceful if not for the fact that Virgil kept fidgeting and staring out the window. Something was up, “Ok. Something’s wrong. Spill.” Virgil turned to look at him, “What? Nothing’s wrong.”, He straightened his face, trying to appear calm. Janus didn’t buy it for a second, “I’m fine.” “Virgil James Picani. I have known you since you were born. I have held you for night after night. I know you inside out. And I know when you’re lying to me. What’s wrong? Is someone bothering you?” Virgil shook his head. “No. It’s just that Mr.Prince, the drama teacher, wants me to be Seymore’s understudy. And I know the chances of me going on stage are rare but I don’t want to take that chance. And I don’t know how to tell him without letting him down.” “Baby bat, just tell him the truth. I’m sure he’ll understand.”, Virgil nodded. The issue seemed to be solved, yet Janus had a feeling that there was something else wrong. But before he could ask any more, they’d arrived and Virgil was getting out. “Love you, Dad! I’ll see you after school!”, Janus shook his head, trying to keep his concerns down. He’d ask Virgil after school. It was fine.

Being a lawyer certainly had its perks; financial security being a prime example. Meetings running long weren’t that though. Janus sighed as he rushed into Pat’s. The warm lighting and delicious smells greeting him. Even if he’d preferred to work through his lunch, Janus couldn’t deny that the thought of Patton’s cooking made his mouth water. There was a reason people came from near and far to this place.

Speaking of Patton, Janus spotted the bespectacled man sitting in their usual booth, a bottle of wine waiting there. He smiled at the thought and sat down, “I thought you weren’t a fan of day drinking?”, he quipped. Pat rarely drank at all, but especially not during the day. “I’m not but I know you don’t mind a glass of wine at lunch.”, Pat poured him a glass, “Salmon or duck?” “Salmon.”, Janus answered. Patton made a delicious pan-seared salmon with risotto and kale salad. It was delicious and sounded lovely right now. Patton nodded and ordered that for him and glazed crispy duck for himself. “So.”, he began as he buttered a roll, “What did you want to discuss?” “Who says I have something to discuss? Maybe I just wanted to have lunch with you?”, He was stalling obviously. Trying to get time to steel his nerves.

Janus raised an eyebrow at him, “You and I know very well that Wednesday is our busy day. If you wanted to just have lunch you would have asked on another day. Therefore this is something important that you don’t want to talk about in front of the kids. So what do you want to discuss?” Patton sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Whatever he wanted to talk about was weighing heavily on his mind. After some time he finally spoke, “I want to finalize our divorce.”, he spoke quickly, like he wanted to get the words out of his mouth as fast as he could.

Janus nodded; he supposed it made sense. They had been separated for over a year now, they slept in separate bedrooms, and they hadn’t had sex since long before they separated. While they still cared for each other, the love they once shared was long gone. The only reason they were still married was the cost of getting a divorce. Considering they’d spent 20 dollars on a courthouse wedding neither had been too happy to shill out thousands of dollars to end their marriage.

The question was why now, and why couldn’t he say it in front of the kids. They’d sat them down months ago and explained that while they loved each other and would always be a family, they weren’t in love anymore. Virgil had taken in the best; being the oldest, he’d seen the signs for a while now. He’d taken it upon himself to comfort his younger brothers. Remy tried to pretend that he was fine, but both Janus and Patton knew better. He’d taken the thought of his family splitting up harder than he was showing. They’d both spoken to him about it, reassuring him that they’d always be a family. And they’d started having family activities every Saturday. Emile had taken it the hardest. The six-year-old didn’t truly understand what was going on. They were still having conversations explaining what it meant. Janus had even begun researching child psychologists at the recommendation of his therapist.

“Ok.”, He spoke, “Why now though? I thought we’d agreed that divorces are too expensive…. You met someone.”, the realization hit Janus like a ton of bricks. Everything made sense. Pat would feel guilty about pursuing someone else while married, even if they were separated. And he wouldn’t want to talk about this in front of the kids until he knew for sure that it was serious.

Patton nodded, “I did.”

“Well, tell me about him. I care about you regardless of our marital status. And I want to know about the person you’ll be bringing around our kids.”

“Ok. His name is Logan and I met him a few weeks ago. He came in here for dinner and he’s just the cutest. He got so excited when he found out we use crofters in our thumbprint cookies and our victoria sponge.” Patton smiled fondly at the thought, “We’ve been on a few dates and… It’s not just a fling. I can see a future with him, Jan.”

Jan took a sip of wine, “Ok. I’ll ask around for good lawyers when I get back.”,

Patton squealed and hugged him, “Thank you so much Jan. Maybe I could invite him over for dinner sometime. That way you could meet him and I could introduce him to the kids.”, Their food came at that moment, which meant Patton had to stop hugging him. Janus was thankful; he’d never been the type for hugging. Except with his kids.

“Ok. But you have to tell them about the divorce first. Deal?” “Deal.”

Virgil was generally considered a good kid by his peers and teachers. Quiet perhaps, but overall a good kid. He didn’t break rules, got good grades, and overall kept to himself. The one anomaly about him was that he was dating Thomas sanders, or rather that Thomas Sanders was dating him. Thomas was a bright and outgoing person; if this was a 2000s sitcom, he might have been considered popular. Not only that, but he had a fairly popular youtube channel where he did skits, challenges, and more. Virgil barely even had social media. They were a couple regardless, and Virgil was known as a good kid.

He didn’t feel like a good kid as he watched the Chipotle employee make his bowl. He’d signed himself out of school early along with Thomas, and now they were getting lunch. The thought of skipping school kept buzzing around his head, even though he’d gotten all of his assignments from the classes he’d be missing. Besides he had bigger problems to worry about.

He sat down beside his boyfriend and took a bite of his food, “What am I going to do?” He asked in a small voice, fear lacing his tone. Thomas reached across the booth and squeezed his hand.

Hey,”, Thomas whispered, his voice soft and reassuring, “It’ll be ok. I’ll be right here no matter what.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”, Thomas squeezed his hand, “Now really eat, you skipped lunch yesterday.”, Virgil nodded and the rest of lunch passed silence. The pair simply enjoying their food together. Virgil grinned and poured queso onto his bowl and smiled at his boyfriend.

“You’re so cute.”, he whispered. Thomas blushed at the compliment and Virgil considered it a win. Sooner enough they were done with their meal. Virgil stood up and gathered their trash, “I’m gonna go the bathroom.” “Ok”, Thomas nodded, “I love you no matter what.”. Virgil smiled and went to the bathroom, anxiety twisting his stomach in knots.

Janus sighed as he drove home. Patton had messaged him earlier that he was making dinner and Jan didn’t have to pick up any takeout. Of course, that made Jan’s life easier, but it also meant that they were going to talk over the divorce with the kids. Great. He peered at Remy in the backseat, sipping his chocolate milk without a care in the world. God sometimes Jan wished he were a child still. Childhood was so much easier, “I think your Dad is making dinner tonight.” Remy looked at him, “I thought we were going to pick up takeout?” “He messaged me saying that I don’t need to pick up any food.”, Remy nodded and smiled before looking back out the window. Janus understood: Patton was an amazing cook. Hopefully, they’d all be able to eat after this. God, how would Remy react? He’d already taken the separation hard. And Emile, he barely understood what divorce was. And Virgil, the oldest, the one who buried his feelings the most. He probably wouldn’t want to talk about it and would bury his feelings to help his brothers.

They pulled into the garage, Remy grabbing his stuff and running inside, “Take off your shoes and change before you get mud all over the house.’, he called after him. Janus took his time collecting his things. ‘Just go in. Better to get it over with.’, his thoughts raced around his head like an angry swarm of bees. He took a deep breath and walked inside.

The smell of garlic and tomatoes washed over his sense, Patton was making Italian food. He took a deep breath, enjoying the smells. Patton stood next to the counter, buttering a long baguette for garlic bread. He looked up and gave a reassuring smile, but Janus could see the nervousness in his eye, at least he wasn’t alone in the feeling, “Hey.” He greeted, “The lasagna is almost done and I’m making garlic bread right now. There’s stuff for caesar salad in the fridge if you want to help out.”

Janus nodded and took off his jacket before washing his hands and making said salad, “Where’s Emile and Virgil?”, he asked, praying that he sounded casual. The salad offered a great distraction from his thoughts, greeting parmesan meant he didn’t have to focus on this upcoming family discussion.

“Virgil is helping Emile with his homework. He’s learning addition.”, Patton supplied as he put the bread on a tray, placing it in the oven. “There are brownies in the fridge. I figured we could make sundaes. Hopefully, it’ll make the conversation easier.”, Janus nodded. Remy and Emile might not realize it but Virgil would know something was up. Pat rarely made dessert on weekdays.

Soon enough dinner was done and all five of them were sitting around the table. Virgil still looked anxious and Janus wanted to bang his head off the table. There was no way he’d be able to ask what was wrong after this conversation. Why did this have to happen tonight?

Patton smiled, “So how was school guys?”, ‘Subtle Pat, subtle. Why don’t you just hang a banner above our heads that says We’re getting divorced’. Janus took a large sip of wine so his thoughts would stay in his head.

“Ok,” Remy spoke up. “But I keep getting headaches during the day. The lights in the class are too bright.”, This had been going on for a while now. The fluorescent lighting of the classroom seemed to give Remy migraines, and his teacher wasn’t budging on letting him wear sunglasses to prevent it.

“I’ll talk to your teacher in the morning.”

“My day was good Daddy.”, Emile grinned, “We learned about ecosystems.”, Janus smiled. Emile was so young and innocent.

“Virgil?”, The teenager in question looked up from where he’d been staring off into space. He took a quick bit of lasagna before speaking.

“It was fine.”

He was lying. Something was wrong and Virgil was trying to act like he was ok. Janus wanted to ask more questions, to figure out what was bothering his son. It wouldn’t work though. Virgil guarded his privacy with his life. Prying would only make him more tight-lipped. Janus just had to wait for Virgil to come to him with what was wrong, and in the meantime, hope that it wasn’t serious.

Besides, even if Janus thought it was a good idea to ask, there were other things at hand. Patton nodded to him and he knew it was time. “Your father and I have some news.”. Patton began. Janus held back a groan.

“Are we going to Disney World?”, Emile was practically bouncing in his seat at the thought of such a trip.

“No.”, Janus made a mental note to talk to Patton about a family vacation. Maybe it would help reassure Remy and Emile that they were all still a family. “It’s not that. You all know that we’re always going to be a family right? No matter what happens we’ll always be together.”, Virgil was ghostly pale and Remy had his fists clenched. He didn’t even have to say it. They knew.

His middle son jumped up, “No.” He was tearing up, “You promised.”

“Remy..”

“No! You said we’d always be together.”, Tears began running down his face. A knot formed in Janus’ throat. Why did they have to do this?

“And we will. No matter what.”, Patton tried to soothe. It was met on deaf ears.

“No, we won’t! That’s what they all say! They say nothing will change but it does. Next thing you know, you’re in different houses and splitting custody and no one will want me. And then I’ll be back in foster care.”

“Remy that won’t happen. We love you.”, Janus wanted to take his son in his arms. Wanted to hold all of his children and promise them that they still loved them all, and the divorce wouldn’t change that. But Remy ran upstairs, the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut echoing through the house.

“What’s going on?”, Emile’s face was contorted, confusion visible. Of course, he wouldn’t fully understand what was going on. The six-year-old had barely understood the separation.

Patton sighed and knelt down next to him, “Your father and I are finalizing our divorce. We won’t be married anymore.” Emile blinked.

“Why? I thought you weren’t getting one?” Patton sighed, “Things have changed.”, Emile blinked at him. This was going wrong. It was too soon. They should have eased them into this idea. Shouldn’t have sprung it on them like this.

Understanding bloomed in Emile’s face. His next words were a whisper, so quiet that Janus almost didn’t hear them. But he did, and it felt like getting hit by a truck. “Are you divorcing cause Virgil’s pregnant?” “EMILE!”, Virgil shrieked. Janus felt like he was watching this from above like it was a tv show playing out in front of him, and not his life. He looked next to him. Patton appeared to be in a similar situation.

“It’s the truth.”

Finally, Janus found himself able to speak. There were a million questions inside of him longing to get out, but all he could say was, “What?”

Luckily Patton was able to voice one of his questions, “Virgil, is this true?”. Virgil refused to make eye contact with either of them and Janus knew it was. His eldest child looked almost ashamed, shoulders tense and body hunched over.

“Virgil…”, He started, but he was upstairs before Janus could continue. Janus shut his eyes. Amazing. One of his kids was pregnant at 17 and another thought he was going to be sent back to foster care. His head met the table with a groan. Patton rubbed his shoulder.

Emile still stood in front of them, “Am I in trouble?”, he asked, voice shaking. Janus leaned forward and picked him up. He bounced Emile on his hip, stroking his back.

“No baby.”, He ruffled his hair and booped his nose. “You aren’t in trouble ok. Everything is just kinda stressful right now. But none of that is your fault, ok?” Emile nodded and buried his face into Jan’s chest. Patton joined the hug, stroking Emile’s back and humming softly. They sat there in this position for about 10 minutes before Janus pulled away, gave Emile a kiss on the forehead, “We love all of you so much and the divorce won’t change that ok?”

He nodded and Janus stood up, “I’m going to go talk to Remy, he might be easier to get to open up than Virgil right now.”, He handed Emile to Pat, who bounced him on his hip.

“Ok. I’ll make a pot of hot cocoa to take up. Hopefully, it’ll get him to open up.”, Janus nodded in thanks and made his way upstairs.

Remy’s room was as dark as ever, the twelve-year-old liked to leave the lights in his room dimmed. Janus peaked his head in, seeing him laying on his bed, face buried into his pillows. “Remy?”, He called out. The child in question didn’t respond but Janus knew he was awake, “Can I come in?”

There was silence for a moment and Janus thought about what he would do if Remy said no. He wanted to respect his privacy, but at the time this was a conversation that needed to happen. Remy thought he was going to be sent back to foster care and Janus couldn’t let him just think that. Luckily Remy soon answered, “Yes…”

He walked in slowly, eyes trained on his son. His son who was terrified that he was going to be sent away. He swallowed, “Remy you aren’t going to be sent back to foster care. I promise that.”

Remy sniffled and his heart broke for his middle child, “That’s what they said last time. They said they loved me and I’d never be sent away again. And then they said they were getting a divorce and it wasn’t a good time for them to adopt a kid.”

Janus sighed and began stroking his hair, “And I’m promising that no matter what we’re not sending you back there. We love you. You’re our son, our wonderful son who we love so much. The divorce is between your father and me. And I won’t lie and say that it won’t affect you or that nothing will change, because things will change. A lot of things will change. But the love that your father and I have for the three of you? That will never change. It’ll never fade or go away. And we’re never sending you back.” He smiled slightly and joked, “Besides we threw away the receipt. No returns.”

Remy giggled and Janus knew he’d been successful in cheering him up. Remy sat up and hugged him tightly, tears still flowing freely, “I love you both. This is my home, my family. I don’t want to lose you.” “I know baby, I know. What does Stitch say?”, He hoped that a reference to Remy’s favorite movie would lighten the mood even more.

Remy sighed, “Ohana means family.” “And?”

“Family is never left behind or forgotten.”

Janus nodded and kissed his head, “And you’re our ohana. And we hope to yours. We’re here for as long as you want us.”, Remy smiled and Janus knew that even if it took some time, everything would be ok with him. He sat up. “Patton should be up here in a few minutes with cocoa and I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you. So I’ll sit here with you until he gets up here and then I’ll give you your privacy. Ok? Besides I need to talk to your older brother.”

Remy nodded, “Is Virgil ok?”

Janus sighed, “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and Patton peaked his head in. He held a tray with four mugs of cocoa topped with whipped cream. Next to them sat a plate with brownies.

“Can I come in? I brought cocoa.” He smiled encouragingly. Remy nodded and sat up off of Janus’s chest. Patton came in, taking two of the mugs and some of the brownies. “The rest are for you and Virgil.”

“Where’s Emile?”

“In his room with a covered mug and a brownie watching Aladdin. He’ll be ok.”, Janus nodded and took the tray before leaving.

Janus stood outside of Virgil’s room, trying to figure out what to say. What did you say when your teenage son was pregnant? Most parents were worried about their sons getting someone pregnant, not their sons being pregnant. Then again, not everyone had a trans son. He sighed and knocked, “Virgil? Can I come in?”

Unlike Remy, who took his time answering, Virgil’s reply was almost immediate, “I don’t want to talk, Dad.”, Janus sighed. Goddammit. This is exactly what he was fearing. He couldn’t just leave his son alone right now. His pregnant son at that. Virgil was pregnant. He groaned.

“Baby bat, please. We need to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk.” “I have Pat’s hot chocolate and brownies.”

There was a pause. Then he spoke, “The door’s open.”, Janus opened the door slowly. Virgil sat in the middle of the bed, knees tucked against his chest. Tears ran down his face in inky black trails. Janus’ heart ached for him. He looked at Janus and sniffled, “Go on. Yell at me about what a horrible mistake I made.” His heart lept into his throat. Janus remembered having a similar conversation with his sister 18 years ago. How she was pregnant and her boyfriend ran off on her. Janus hadn’t known then how his life was going to change forever. And now his son was pregnant.

“I’m not here to yell at you V.”, He sat next to him, handing Virgil the mug of cocoa. He took a sip of his own, “How long have you known?” Virgil shrugged, “I only found out today. But I suspected it when Dad mentioned that one of the waitresses at the restaurant was pregnant. I’m about a month along.” Janus nodded, “Does Thomas know?”, he was met with a nod. “And what does he think?”, more memories of his sister rushed to the surface. His sister saying that her boyfriend had ran out of town when she found out that was pregnant. That he took the rent money and she’d been evicted. He was brought out of his memories by Virgil’s next words.

“He says he loves me still. And he supports me no matter what I choose.”, Well that was good. Janus didn’t know what he would have done if Thomas had abandoned Virgil. It would have been unpleasant that’s for sure. Now for the hardest question.

“You have options; you don’t have to keep the baby if you don’t want to. Do you have an idea of what you want to do?”, Virgil looked up at him and Janus once again was overcome with memories of his sister. Adelaide saying that she didn’t know what she was going to do but she was keeping her baby. He and Pat letting her move in. Recording home movies for the baby. Rushing her to the hospital while she screamed in pain in his backseat. The doctor saying that she lost too much blood. Holding Virgil in his arms.

“I want to keep the baby.”, there it was. The thing that Janus had known deep down that Virgil would say from the moment he found out about the pregnancy, “I know I have options and I know I’m young and this probably seems stupid but I want this baby. I just... You took a chance on me when mom died. You and Dad weren’t looking for a kid when I was born but you took me in anyway. You took a chance on me. And I’m taking a chance on this baby.”

Janus sighed, “You’re just like your mother you know that. Just as stubborn and just as loving. And you know what? She was just as determined to have you, even if it wasn’t the best time. And I’m going to tell you the same thing I told her.”, He hugged Virgil close, “I love you so much. And if you want this baby then your dad and I will support you no matter what ok? We’ll help you out. I promise.”

Virgil smiled at him, “Really?”

Janus nodded, “Really really. Now I think you should invite Thomas over tomorrow. I want to talk to him.”. Seeing the look on Virgil’s face he added, “I’ll go easy on him. I just want to know he’ll be a good dad for my grandchild. And you two need to tell his parents.”

Virgil nodded and there was a knock at the door, “Come in.”

It was Patton, “Hey. Emile and Remy are both asleep. How is everything?”

“Well Pat, we’re going to be grandfathers.”

Patton smiled and sat down next to them both, “I see. And everything is ok?” Virgil nodded, “Yeah. Everything will work itself out.”, And at that moment Janus knew it to be true.

A/N: Unlike some of my other works, this one is going to be a series of one-shots. I think I'll be able to handle that better than chapter fic. It'll also feel more like episodes of a sitcom. I really like the feel to this and I'm open to prompts.

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musette22 · 4 years

Text

Drunk in Boston

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: A week or so ago, I saw this post. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a ficlet, a little Evanstan AU. It’s a bit late maybe, since Christmas has already been and gone, but it’s still technically the holidays so just indulge me? :p

Also, I hit 3k followers this week, so this is also a sort of thank you to all you amazing, wonderful, beautiful people for getting me here. Love you all as much as I love these boys as much as they love each other 💘 Hope you enjoy!

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It’s 3 p.m. on 17 December, and Chris is a little bit drunk. Maybe even a lotta bit.

In his defense, he is currently in Boston for a bachelor party and they did just do a tour of the Samuel Adams Brewery. It’s not like he makes a habit of daytime drinking. Not this much, anyway.

Chris stumbles out of the bar that’s attached to the brewery, surrounded by a dozen or so old school friends, all of whom are in a similar state of inebriation, when they pass the gift shop and a familiar image catches his eye. Chris stops in his tracks. On closer inspection, what he saw turns out to be a photo, displayed in a stand outside the shop, of a park in Concord near where Chris grew up.

No, not a photo.

A postcard.

He plucks the card from the stand, swaying on his feet a little as he peers at it. In the image, the park is covered in snow, much like it would be right now, and stamped across it in a red, gothic font are the words ‘Happy Holidays’.

Instantly, Chris is hit by a wave of nostalgia. No doubt the feeling is heightened by the alcohol – he always tends to get a little sentimental when he’s drunk – but it’s not just that. It’s also the fact that Chris and his friends have been reminiscing about the good old days all afternoon as well as the sudden, depressing realization that despite all he’s achieved in the past decade or so, his happiest memories are probably those of childhood Christmases spent in Concord.

These days, Chris lives in on the West Coast. He’s kind of a superstar now, after all, and superstars live in LA – everybody knows that. Chris doesn’t usually let himself dwell too much on how lonely he is there, or how he misses the comforting accents and the real winters of the East Coast. Tonight, though, whether because of the booze in his system or the ghosts of Christmas past, he allows himself to feel the stab of homesickness.

Without conscious input from his brain, Chris finds himself buying the postcard. When the cashier asks him if he’ll be needing he stamp, too, he hesitates. “Yeah, why not,” he decides, on a whim. It’s a Christmas card, after all, and Christmas cards are supposed to be sent.

There’s just one slight issue with his plan, Chris realizes as soon as he puts the borrowed pen to the card.

He’ll need an address to send the card to.

Frowning, he taps the pen against the counter, thinking as hard as his beer-addled brain will allow him, but the only address he can think of off the top of his head is that of his childhood home, back in Concord. But… that would be weird, right? He has no idea who’s been living there, since his parents sold the house after the divorce. Then again, Chris tells himself, this could be his good Christmas deed. Sending a postcard to a total stranger just to wish them happy holidays, that’s totally in the Christmas spirit, isn’t it?

With a decisive nod of his head, Chris puts his pen to paper and starts to write. It’s just a few lines, because there’s only so much you can say to a total stranger, but when he signs off with his initials, he feels good about it. He asks the cashier for the nearest post box, which happens to be just outside the building, so he thanks the guy and heads outside.

Pulling his pea coat tighter around him against the glacial December air, Chris spares the card one last look, and drops into the post box. It feels significant, somehow.

He doesn’t get time to dwell on it though, because the moment his friends spot him, he’s immediately and enthusiastically subsumed back into the group and dragged on to the next boozy destination.

Three drinks on, Chris has forgotten all about the postcard.

***

On the morning of 18 December, Sebastian Stan opens his postbox to find a postcard with a photo of the park near his house on the front, and a hastily scribbled message on the back:

Hey,

I used to live in your house.

I’m drunk in Boston, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays,

C.E.

Even after re-reading the message three times, Sebastian is none the wiser as to who sent it.

It makes sense other people used to live in the house Sebastian’s been renting, but unsurprisingly, he has no clue who they were. It was only last year that he’d decided to relocate from New York to Concord, craving a change of pace and more peace and quiet than the Big Apple had been able to offer. He’d visited Concord on a research trip for his third novel the year before and had immediately taken a liking to it. So when, after asking his estate agent to put out some feelers in the area, the guy had found him this beautiful place to rent within a day, Sebastian had taken it as a sign.

It’s a big old house – more appropriate for a family than a man living alone, perhaps – but Sebastian can afford it, and it has a lived-in vibe that makes it feel intimate, somehow. Its location on the edge of a large park, peaceful apart from the joggers and young families that frequent it, suits his needs perfectly, too. Despite being a successful author, Sebastian prefers to keep himself to himself. He’s not one for ostentatious book tours or photoshoots, doesn’t believe in social media beyond its promotional potential, and he’s found that he blends in perfectly in this picturesque little town.

In addition to being a private person, however, Sebastian is an inherently curious one.

It’s why he became a writer in the first place, and it’s also why the random, slightly mysterious postcard instantly fascinates him. Someone who decides to send a Christmas card to the stranger living in their childhood home has got to be an interesting person, Sebastian figures.

Unable to resist the temptation, he finds the landlord’s number and presses call.

“The initials C.E.?”

“C.E., that’s right,” Sebastian repeats patiently. “I received a postcard from someone with those initials who said they used to live in this house and wished me Happy Holidays. I’d like to thank them for the card, maybe tell them they’re free to come by the house anytime, if that’s something they’d like.”

“Well,” the landlord says, clear hesitation in his tone. “I wouldn’t usually give out this kind of information, especially not about this particular person. But seeing as he approached you first, I guess it should be alright…”

Chris Evans.

Famous Hollywood actor Chris Evans used to live in Sebastian’s house. The house he’s renting. Whatever.

The point is, Chris Evans sent him a postcard. Sebastian would be lying if he said that knowledge didn’t make his heart beat a little faster. He isn’t one to get star-struck, normally, knowing full well the rich and famous are people just like anyone else, only with an added layer of expensive, sparkly veneer.

Chris Evans, though. Well, let’s just say Chris’s blue eyes, his dazzling smile, and his chest – god, that chest – had helped along Sebastian’s gay awakening considerably, all those years ago.

So even though he realizes what he’s about to do could be considered slightly unethical, the next number Sebastian dials is that of his agent. There’s no harm in asking if there’s any chance she could use her industry connections to pass on a message to Chris Evans, surely?

“Chris Evans?” his agent repeats blankly. “The British radio DJ or the actor?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh. “Actor. Definitely the actor. Why would I want to send a message to a British radio DJ?”

“Why would you want to send a message to the actor?” she shoots back. “Apart from the obvious, of course.”

Touché.

Once he’s explained the situation to her, his agent hums thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll admit that’s pretty amazing,” she says. “As it happens, I know someone at CAA who owes me a favor. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sebastian thanks her warmly, and then he waits.

***

That afternoon, Chris gets a phone call from his agent.

“Thank you for the postcard,” she reads aloud. “If you're ever in the neighborhood, you’re welcome to stop by the house and have a look around, for old time’s sake. Happy Holidays, Sebastian Stan.”

“Sebastian Stan?” Chris asks, eyebrows shooting up. “The author?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’ve read one of his books, though, the one that’s shortlisted for the Pulitzer price, I think? He’s very good.”

His agent hums. “If you say so. Do you want me to pass a message back to him?”

Chris opens his mouth to say yes, then closes it again. “Actually,” he says, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, “I’m still in the area so I think I’ll just pay him a visit. Do you think you could you cancel my flight back to LA this afternoon?”

His agent grumbles at him for a bit but eventually concedes, though not before she’s made Chris promise he’ll be back in LA on Tuesday, for the Christmas special he’s due to appear in. Fun.

For a few moments after he’s ended the call, Chris stares out of the window of his hotel room. It’s snowing again, big flakes fluttering down from the sky, slowly turning the grey, slushy roads white again. He wonders if Pulitzer-finalist Sebastian Stan likes to make snow angels in the backyard too, like Chris used to do.

Putting his phone between his shoulder and his ear, Chris starts to put his things in his overnight bag, and calls an Uber.

It’s almost twilight, by the time the cab come to a stop in front of the house. Chris thanks the driver and steps out, booted feet sinking into the freshly fallen snow. It’s piling up quickly, he notices distantly.

It’s odd, being back here, after everything that’s happened since he moved away, so Chris gives himself a moment to just stand there, in the middle of the deserted street, taking in the sight of house he grew up in.

The house that holds countless memories, many of them good, some of them not so much. His first dog and his first kiss. Scraped knees and snowball fights. Raucous laughter and hissed arguments.

The house looks the same but different.

Chris walks up to the front door, snow crunching under his boots, and rings the doorbell.

***

Chris Evans is on Sebastian’s doorstep.

All blue-eyed, bearded, gloriously muscled, six-foot-something of him.

“Uh,” Chris says, blinking at him in something like surprise before his gaze sweeps up and down Sebastian’s body in a blatant once-over. “Sebastian Stan?”

“Oh wow, you actually came,” Sebastian blurts by way of reply.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought- ‘cause you said-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian interrupts. “I did say that. I just- I guess I wasn’t expecting you to really turn up – or not this soon, at least. But it’s no trouble at all, I live alone so it’s nice to have a visitor. Especially, y’know. You.” Forcing himself to stop talking, Sebastian runs a hand through his messy hair and wishes he’d worn something better suited to meeting one’s celebrity crush. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Let’s try that again. Hi, I’m Sebastian Stan.”

“Chris Evans.” Chris smiles back warmly as he shakes Sebastian’s extended hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Lovely,” Sebastian repeats, holding Chris’s gaze. There are tiny flecks of green mixed in with the blue of his eyes, and his lashes would put any Maybelline model to shame. It takes Sebastian longer than it should to remember to let go of Chris’s hand, but fortunately, Chris doesn’t seem to be in any rush either. Huh. Sebastian clears his throat. “Would you- would you like to come in?”

“I’d love to, if you’re putting out,” Chris replies. There’s a beat, and then he freezes, eyes widening in horror. “If I’m not putting you out – not- not if you’re- I wasn’t, I didn’t mean- oh my god, Chris, stop talking you meatball,” Chris groans covering his face with a large hand. His next words come out a little muffled. “I am so sorry. Just ignore me. I have a horrible hangover, I promise I’m not usually this much of a disaster.”

Sebastian laughs, equally charmed by Chris’s helpless chattering as he is by the blush coloring his cheeks, just visible above the line of Chris’s well-groomed beard.

“You’re fine, I’m not easily offended,” he assures him, stepping aside to let Chris into the hallway. “I can take a lot.”

Oh.

This time, it’s Sebastian’s turn to wince at his choice of words, but when he tentatively glances back at his visitor to see if he noticed, he stills. The look on Chris’s face instantly makes him forget all about feeling embarrassed.

Still standing by the door, melting snow forming puddles around his feet, Chris is watching him intently. There’s something curious in his gaze, something sharp and searching.

It makes Sebastian’s breath catch in his throat. He swallows, resisting the impulse to avert his gaze, play it off as a joke. Instead, he makes himself stare right back. Lets the tension build, lets it simmer and crackle as it stretches out between them, growing stronger with every second they spend looking at each other in heavy silence.

“That right?” Chris asks finally, his voice a low rumble that settles in Sebastian’s bones like smoldering embers. Chris takes a careful step forward, slowly, giving him every chance to back away.

Sebastian stays where he is.

“Mmm,” he hums, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly, experimentally, on the soft, plump flesh. When Chris’s eyes flick down to his mouth instantly, homing in on it like an eagle on its prey, Sebastian decides to take a chance.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian says huskily, stepping closer under Chris’s dark, watchful gaze. “Why don’t you give me a tour and show me which bedroom used to be yours-” he comes to a halt right in front of Chris, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “and maybe you’ll find out just how much I can take, hm?”

For a moment, Sebastian holds his breath, praying he read this thing right and didn’t accidentally sexually harass a virtual stranger – but then Chris growls and surges forward, and Sebastian knows his gamble is about to pay off.

Big time.

Merry Christmas to me, Sebastian thinks wildly, just before Chris claims his mouth in a searing kiss. After that, he stops thinking altogether.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

#evanstan #rpf #my fic #my writing #chris evans x sebastian stan #3k celebration

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m-1-dnight · 3 years

Text

Maybe in another life

Genre : Angst

Characters : Manjiro sano, Ran Haitani

You and Ran have been married for 3 years. You are in your shared bedroom sitting in the bed and scrolling through tiktok when you heard you tummy rumble. You went to the kitchen to get some foods and when you opened the fridge you got a cold drink and you got your leftover chips in the table. After getting those you wemt back to the your shared room and sat on the couch in the room. You ate the chips and drank the cold drink while scrolling through your phone. After you ate the chips and drank the cold drink you received a notification. You opened the notification and your eyes widened. It was your husband making out with another girl. It was not just a random girl, it was your bestfriend. You teared up seeing it. You went to the bar where your husband was. After arriving you went inside. You searched for them and after a couple of minutes you found them. You went where they were sitting and you dragged your bestfriend off your husband and gave him a nice hard slap. He then slapped you back. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!!? " he shouted. You best friend then tried to grabb your hair, but before she could do that an arm stopped him. It was Rindou. " Thank you rin". "And you I'll send you the divorce paper later." you said before leaving. You were about to get in your car when a hand grabbed you wrist. "What do you want?" "I'm sorry i-i was D-drunk and i-i thought that was you." he said letting go of your wrist. You knew he was lying because he has high alcohol tolerance. "P-please just give me another chance please" he pleaded. You pushed him away and went inside your car. You drove off and went into your shared room and packed your things as fast as you could then left. By the time Ran got into your shared house it was empty he searched for you inside the house but you were nowhere to be found. When he went into your shared room he saw a folder. He opened the folder and saw the divorce paper. He tried calling you, and finding you but you were nowhere to be found. He knew he should let you go so he signed the divorce papers

«4 years later»

Ran POV

I woke up early because boss called us, he said he has someone important to introduce to us. When me and my brother arrived the others were alredy there. We sat down and waited a couple of minutes later our boss arrived. He told us that it was his wife and his One year old baby. Whe boss called for them to go inside i saw someone i never thought I'd ever see again. It was my wife, well ex-wife she had a baby on her hand. I was sad but at the same time happy because she was happy but with someone else. I was sad that i didn't fulfill my promise to her during our wedding. But i was happy to se her and her smiling face again. After introducing them, we had a meeting i was dismissed early. I found her with the baby in her hand sitting in the bench outside. I aproached her.

"Hey Y/n"

"Yes?"

"I just want to say sorry for breaking your heart and sorry for everything. I hope that you will forgive me for the things that i've done to you and i hope we can still be friends"

"Of course"

"ɪ ɢᴜᴇss ᴡᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʟɪғᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ"

#tokyo revengers #ran angst #sano manjiro #tokyo revengers angst #ran haitani

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asexualone · 3 years

Text

CW: mention of smex and other stuff

Signs I should have known I was ace: Marriage and seggs

Yes, this is a continuation of my previous post.

S*x is a very wide topic to cover, so I'll have to break it down into categories. Thus the title. So let's just jump right into it.

I was brought up by very fanatical, bigoted parents who are in a loveless (and respect-less) relationship. Naturally, smex was not a thing we ever discussed. As far as they were concerned, I wasn't supposed to be thinking about it either.

And true to their belief, I didn't think about it. I didn't even know what it was until the age of 14.

So, imagine my surprise when internet was first introduced to my country and I stumbled upon stories of how, apparently, walking in on your parents having s*x wasn't a rare, unusual occurrence.

Huh??? All those stories I read... They couldn't be real, right? No way.

It's just that, it's clear that my parents stopped doing the nasty after they had my sister. I'll clarify, they don't only not love each other. They despise each other. But divorce is not an option apparently. Where I live, you get the cold shoulder and the stink eye if you're divorced.

Since we're at the "parents having seggs" topic, I'll just add that I can't picture other people going at it. No, it's not the "my brain can't handle it, gross" thing. I genuinely cannot visualize two people I know that way. And I've watched p*rn and read comics before. But when smex is represented in media, it doesn't seem as real to me. So yes, I constantly forget seggs is a real thing that happens.

And another thing I refused to believe when I learned about it, was that s*x is considered a primal urge like hunger, thirst or sleep. Yeah right, and I'm the Queen.

....it was true. To most people, smex is an urge. No offense to allos, but wtf??? What are we, animals? Well technically yes, we're part of the animal kingdom. But you know what I mean! The word "urge" is so primal, so savage. Surely people evolved to be above that.

They did, but not in the way I thought. That's why the "walk in on people having seggs" happens. Parents who apparently can't keep it in their pants until their kids fall asleep, and are "too lost"?? in the heat of the moment to lock the door?? Am I tripping or does that just sound unreal??

To make a connection of seggs with marriage: The concept of "saving yourself".

On one hand, is the "oh it can be so hard to preserve your virginity for when you're married"

Umm... No, it's not. Just... Just don't have s*x. It's that easy. If you want to have romantic partners in the meantime, okay. Perfect. Just don't have seggs with them. It's not difficult. (To some people, apparently it is and I'm sorry, but I don't get you one bit)

On the other hand, I understand when someone is reluctant of losing their virginity to a fling or whatever. You want it to be with someone special? Excellent, I support you. But "saving yourself" for the first night of your marriage seems excessive and outdated. Why would you want to wait until then?? You only get better at something the more you do it, right? So, think of it as practice. And instead of having clumsy and painful intercourse that "first night", you can have a spectacular one.

THAT IS NOT TO SAY that the concept of a "first night, smex as newlyweds" doesn't baffle me.

I'm sorry, have you ever attended a wedding?? Do you know how tired everyone is after one?? The couple especially? I refuse to believe that IF the bride so much as found the strength to remove the gigantic wedding gown and wipe her makeup off, she would do anything but pass out immediately afterward. I refuse to believe that.

(If they are two men, then I can believe it. Fewer things to remove, better seggs, that's just a fact)

Does a couple really have the strength to have full-blown intercourse after a long day of wedding activities? Then it must have been a lame wedding. (jk)

To recap, any type of smex in a relationship (a marriage especially) that is done besides attempting to have a baby, it's something I can't comprehend. That's how you show love and bond further with your partner? There are plenty other ways to do that, though. It's a way to relieve stress or whatever? Again, there are plenty other ways to do that.

(P.S Sex-positive and averse people, please don't be offended. You know the drill, I don't try to generalize. Just explaining my journey and opinions.)

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thran-duils · 3 years

Text

Lost In Zero Gravity (P.17)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Seventeen) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers. Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 2,306 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior, drug use

Part Sixteen || Part Eighteen || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Tony was waiting on the couch when you walked into the apartment. He looked up at you immediately when he heard you come in. The TV was on but it was plain as day he was not watching.

“Hey,” you greeted before gesturing at yourself, “I need to shower. Obviously.” You had just gone done working out.

He got up from the couch, acting flustered, tapping a box in his hand.

That stopped you in your tracks; Tony flustered was not normal. You turned back to face him fully. “What’s wrong?”

He looked reluctant as all hell, unease swimming in his eyes. He was close now, a foot away at best, and he held the box out to you. In a quiet voice, he said, “I need you to do this.”

Confused you too the box, immediately seeing it was a pregnancy test. You gave a little laugh and held it up, “Why? I’m on birth control.”

“I need you to do it,” Tony repeated with more force behind his voice now, not answering your question. You made no move to go do as he was asking, and Tony breathed out harshly. “There was a surprise pregnancy with one of the guys – an unwanted pregnancy – and it set me on edge. Please. Just do what I’m asking. I’m a little bit on edge, yeah?”

That he was so bothered by someone else getting accidentally pregnant was confusing, but you shrugged. “Alright, fine. If it’ll relax you.”

“Thank you,” Tony sighed.

You nodded, turning on your heel and going towards the bathroom. You went in, closing the door behind you. Might as well do the test as you let the water heat up, you liked the bathroom to get a little steamy before you got in anyway. After turning the water on, you went to the toilet and set to work.

As you waited, you got fully undressed, getting your towel set up to grab easily when you were going to get out of your shower.

Picking the test back up, you looked down and saw what you expected to see. You went to the door and opened it up. You startled seeing Tony was leaning against the wall.

“Jesus,” you muttered before showing him. “You’re fine. Can I shower now?”

You saw the wave of relief wash over his features before he nodded, pushing himself away from the wall. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Yeah, of course.”

Leaning against the doorframe towards him, you asked, “You don’t wanna join me? You look like you’re in a cold sweat. You’ve got a change of clothes here.” A small joke at his expense.

Tony’s smirk was fleeting. He dropped his hand to his side and said, “You don’t gotta twist my arm. Forgive me if I’m not too touchy feely. Still a little rattled.”

“Other people’s mistakes aren’t yours,” you said sincerely as you walked back into the bathroom. You tossed the pregnancy test into the garbage by the toilet as he closed the door and began undressing himself. “You want me to wash you down? Relax you a bit? And maybe you won’t even have to touch me? My mouth’s been pretty empty.”

“I won’t turn that down,” Tony responded, and you smiled in response, entering the shower.

<><><>

Steve was sitting in the living room, fuming when Cecile walked back in with her bodyguard. She could immediately tell something was wrong by his demeanor and she faltered in her step, furrowing her brow. Her bodyguard read the room and left, knowing he was no longer needed but also not wanting to be involved in whatever conversation was about to happen.

Cecile recovered, walking further into the room, Steve’s eyes glued to her, leaning on his elbow, fingers across his lips. She was unnerved by his silence and piercing stare.

“Hey,” she tried, pulling her purse down and putting it on the coffee table. When he said nothing, she asked, “What’s going on?”

“Just thinking,” he said in an eerily calm voice.

“About?” she asked, shrugging slightly. She could not hide her nervousness from him.

“Is this about her?”

“No, this is about us. She’s a byproduct of us. A symptom but not the problem,” Steve snapped. “Don’t get it confused.” Cecile went to talk again but Steve held up his hand and she fell silent. He was quiet for a few moments, staring at nothing. When he spoke again, he said, “When we first met, you were… nothing like I had ever met before. I was drawn in immediately. And I fell fast. Truly. I thought, ‘I would do anything for her’. And I did. For a really long time. I would do the absolute stupidest shit for you. Thankfully, it all panned out, right?”

“Steve…” Cecile said uneasily.

He ignored her, continuing, “I’d lie if I said it didn’t bother me when I became aware of him. You are my wife. You’re mine. But, then I thought, what the hell? I was also getting ass on the side.” He paused and then exhaled heavily. “But then it became regular for you. It wasn’t one night stands or a second hit it and quit it like I was doing. No, it was becoming real.” He tapped his fingers, looking lost in thought again.

Cecile was silent, standing there uncomfortably. Steve noticed and he simpered.

“I’m making you nervous.”

“Well, no shit,” she told him, an edge to her voice.

Steve stood up from the armchair and put his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be frank. When the baby is born, I am getting a DNA test set up.” Cecile’s mouth fell open slightly and she looked like she was about to protest but Steve cut her off, “No, I’m not making this a discussion, Cecile. I will not go into this without knowing. And I will not be leaving any money to a child that’s not mine. That’s not going to happen. I will leave money to you, but I will not leave any to another man’s child.”

Cecile found her voice then, demanding, “So, what? You’re going to divorce me if it’s not yours?”

“Divorce never left my lips. What are you talking about?” Steve said, agitated. “No, I’m not divorcing you. I fucking hate how much I love you. I fucking hate that I cannot let you go completely. But what I am saying is that I will get it legally done that no money will be going to his kid. I will delegate a percentage to you and then the rest, I don’t know, will go to charities or whatever else I feel is deemed worthy.”

“So, her,” Cecile spat.

“No, not her. Trust me, Tony has that all under control on his own. And again, stop trying to deflect the conversation away from where it needs to be: centered on us.”

Cecile said tearfully, “You started this mess yourself, Steve. You said it well enough yourself just now. All your sleeping around and nights away from me. I was lonely. Do you not understand that? I couldn’t stand just sitting around and waiting for you to come back and show me you cared, even in the slightest, for me.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. The only reason I looked elsewhere is because you pulled away from me. You never wanted to engage,” Steve said, his temper rising.

“That’s not fair—”

“No! It wasn’t!” Steve shouted, losing his temper. “You pulled away the moment we got married like you had just landed your prize! You didn’t have to do backflips anymore to prove you wanted to be here. You had me by the throat.” He closed the space and said, “Well, luckily, I was smart enough to put a prenup in our marriage, which you blindly signed that paperwork.” Cecile looked mortified. “Yeah, fuck you too.” Steve leaned in and sneered, “You don’t have me by the balls like you thought you did.”

He straightened up and straightened out his collar. “So, just keep that on your mind.” He exhaled deeply and said, “I am going to go to bed. If you choose to not sleep next to me, that’s fine. I won’t hold it against you. But don’t prolong the dramatics. I can’t even begin to explain how much I don’t have the patience for it.”

Without letting her respond, he turned and walked away from her into the hall.

<><><>

You stretched, getting out of bed. It had just started to get light recently, rousing you from your sleep. Tony had kept you awake with a nightmare he was having. He had been tossing and turning, muttering in his sleep. To comfort him, you had rolled over and cuddled up next to him, hoping to convey calm. He had startled awake suddenly after a few minutes, almost catching your chin with a fist. You had recoiled and stayed still while he blinked away the sleep. When it came to to him that he was awake and you were real, he sputtered an apology and wrapped you back up into his arms. You had gone in hesitantly, but he fell back asleep, cradling you. He had stayed asleep with the contact he fell asleep with and you eventually relaxed enough to fall into sleep again yourself.

He had not gone home in days. He was just staying here. It was not normal and as little control you had over your environment, any sense of not normal was a disturbance. Especially since he had acted mere days ago about the pregnancy test.

Pattering into the kitchen, you found him at the table. It was Monday, he should be heading out the door for work. Your robe was tied loose around you and you pulled it tighter against the temperature change in the new room.

“Aren’t you going to work?” you asked, eyeing the clock and seeing it was almost 8:30am.

Tony picked up his coffee mug, shaking his head. After he took a drink, he told you, “Working from home.”

That was new. Another change that hit.

Maybe he was stressed from his dream and still needed to be calmed down. Who better to do that than you? You plucked an apple from the fridge and turned around, staring at him. It took him a couple of moments before he looked over, seeing you chewing and looking at him.

“What?” he questioned.

You said nothing, pushing yourself away from the counter to come around the island. You took another bite; his eyes were on you now, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He looked confused. You had him on edge.

His eyes were still trained on you as you placed the apple down on the table next to him before sinking to your knees. You crawled underneath the dining table, not missing the small chuckle that left Tony when he realized what you were doing. You came up to him, your hands running up from the apex at his crotch up to his hips. Foiling your plan though, Tony’s hands came down, gripping your wrists and dragging you out from under the table, in between his legs. They clenched tight, holding you in place.

“Baby, you’re being naughty,” he chastised. “I’m trying to focus and work.”

“You seem tense,” you said, sticking your bottom lip out. “I was just trying to help.”

“I have a zoom call to make.”

“You can’t handle to stay straight faced? Weak.”

“Leave it be. For now,” he said in a warning voice, his hands relaxing and leaving your wrists.

You stayed still for a moment before you started back up.

Tony’s arm lashed out, his hand closing in on your throat now as you tried to pull away, back under the table. You stilled, eyes meeting his cold hard stare. You smiled innocently, knowing damn well you had gotten under his skin.

At that moment, you heard the chime of a zoom call coming in. His eyes went to his laptop before shooting back down to you. You gulped against his hand.

“You wanna test my resolve? Weak? That was your word right?” Tony asked, his voice low.

You smirked now, running your tongue across your bottom lip. You would make him flinch if it was the death of you.

<><><>

Tony eyed Y/N making him breakfast. He was still at the apartment two days later.

“Is there something wrong with the office?” she asked him, putting a plate of egg whites and turkey bacon in front of him.

“Sounds like you are not wanting me here,” he commented as he picked up the fork.

She shrugged, “I’m just confused.”

“Who wouldn’t want to spend time with you, love?” he asked as he chewed. She rolled her eyes back at him and he smirked in response. “I’m serious.”

“You can stop laying it on so thick,” she responded, dishing her own breakfast up.

Tony smiled at her response. He had finally fucked her proper again last night since she had been back on an actual pill for a half a week. He was more confident about it then.

His phone chimed and he looked down, pulling it to him. He scowled seeing it was from Steve.

You’re not coming in again?

No. I’m working perfectly fine from here.

You can’t stay there forever, Tony. Sometime you’re going to have to relinquish some control and trust me again.

Tony ground his teeth, staring at the text. It was a challenge.

He at least made sure to finish his breakfast and give Y/N a forehead kiss before going to the bedroom to change.

<><><>

Steve smirked seeing Tony leave the building. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and waited until Tony pulled away from the curb before moving to walk across the street.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics @agustdowney @fanofalltheficsx @buttercandy16

#tony stark x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark tony stark #dark steve rogers #dark marvel #dark marvel fic #dark!tony stark #dark!steve rogers #my shit

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

Text

T H E

P A R I S

C H R O N I C L E S

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut in the other chapters. This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up).

Summary: Newly divorced you decide to travel to the Riviera and spend the summer in the house you and Timothée have inherited. After a very successful art exhibition he comes down to join you. Things should be easy, but they aren't.

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

R E A D

P A R T

O N E

A N D

T W O

H E R E

***

Menton - July, 1953

Menton, the most easterly town of the Côte d'Azur, belonging to the Arrondissement of Nice. It is located practically on the French-Italian border, the influences of both countries clear in multi-coloured houses, the decorated windows and in the sixteenth century bell tower.

The beaches are rocky but wide, and in the summer season packed with vacationists looking for an escape from the city; to lay their bodies down and soak up some sun, breath in some fresh air and occasionally to dip their bodies into the ocean in an attempt to escape the heat and cool down.

There’s a village square, in the middle of which a fountain; made in a century in which people still believed in dragons. From Bentwood chairs you can sit back and enjoy a meal, or a simple cappuccino, al fresco; as you watch the occasional hopeful tourist throw a coin into the fountain, making wishes with sanguine smiles. Or perhaps play a game of chess with a stranger.

On a cobbled-stone street nearby a market is set up each morning in a belle-epoque building, inside of which cheese, fish and meat are sold, and outside vendors are selling fruits and vegetables on wooden tables covered by green cloths.

Away from the pastell-coloured village and the expensive resorts and hotels by the beach there are steep hills, where most of the Menton locals reside. Some houses small and quaint; others almost obscene in their obvious wealth.

One of these houses is called Villa Marguerite

***

From the villa you can see the ocean spread out in front of you, almost recklessly big and bold and blue. Behind the house; acres upon acres of lemon trees, the bright yellow and green hues creating sharp contrasts to all the surrounding blue. There’s a garden too, emerald green grass and cedar trees that with rain will spread its heady scent all over the property; some mornings it is the first thing you smell.

The morning sun shines upon the terrace and you lean back in your wicker chair and sip on your morning coffee. Music is coming from the kitchen radio, only a few meters away.

The day lay planned and untraveled in front of you with all its horrifying possibilities. In a few hours Timothée’s train will arrive at the station and the upcoming reunion fills you with equal parts anticipation and terror. You had offered to meet him there, as his train arrives. You can picture it in front of you, standing on the dusty station under the scorching sun, eyes on the railroad track before you, awaiting the first sign of the train. You’d wear something nice for him, a white sundress perhaps; to show him that you are still the young sweet girl he fell for in Paris – that the colossal weight of a wedding ring on your left ring finger has not left you changed. You can picture what he’ll show up in, paint-stained jeans and white t-shirt. It will be awkward at first, it must be after all these months apart. But you’d conquer your fear and you’d hug him, pull him tight against you and breath him in; the familiar scent of him, the irresistible and unplaceable mixture of turpentine and smokey whiskey and of Paris.

There have been nights you’ve woken up gasping for air, where your hands have searched in vain around you in bed, panic-stricken, looking for the familiar frame of a lost lover. Every time, upon realizing that he’s not there, you would fall back against the mattress, and with deep breaths force your lungs to accept air. You’d close your eyes tightly shut and perhaps it was a trick your brain played on you, some devilish scheme – but in those moments, when you needed him the most you could almost concoct his scent out of thin air, could almost smell him, almost feel him lay beside you. There were times you would have sworn on anything holy you could feel the warmth of his body beside yours.

You had suggested to meet him at the station, but he had turned your offer down so firmly it had bordered on rudeness.

In the passing months since his department from London you had shared two brief, silence-filled phone calls.

One of them early one morning in May, just as the lilac bush burst out in bloom outside your window, the scent of them heady and intoxicating, and the missing weight of a diamond ring on your left hand still a strange sensation. Still you lift the phone; asking the operator for a number in France. You had called up his studio to inform him that you had moved out of your soon-to-be former husband’s house and were now taking house in Mayfair, in case he needed to reach you. Timothée´s voice had been tense and hoarse, as if he had just woken up and was not happy about it. In the background a woman had laughed.

The second time he had called you, in the late hours of the evening mid-June, just as the magnolias had set in bloom. You had informed him that you were planning to go down to Menton the following week, to start with the process of going through your aunt’s possessions. He in turn had informed you that his exhibition was to finish up on the 15th of July, after which he planned to travel to Nice by train and thus arrive the following morning. You had then offered to meet him at the station, to show him the way to the house at his arrival, which he had turned down. The tone of had been curt and the conversation short.

And that had been your only contact since that day in London. Before coming to Menton you had gone to Paris, to sign some papers and go through a few objects in your aunts’ apartment. You had not informed Timothée of this nor had you visited him.

Now here you are, weeks later, awaiting his arrival; foot tapping nervously against the floor, eyes fixed without seeing, mind recklessly wandering. Soon he’ll arrive at the station and you try not to connect that fact with the terrible sense of doom that’s been growing stronger in your stomach these last few days. But it seems undeniably connected.

Doom, like things have already been set in motion, the faiths decided; beyond your control or demand.

You feel ungrounded, restless and unbound; like the light morning breeze can sweep you away at sea. Trying to get a hold of yourself you focus your eyes only to see the endless blue sky above you or endless blue sea in front.

The sense of temporariness, of insignificance, of irrelevance in the grand scale of things washes over you and nausea settles in the pit of your stomach. Sitting up straight in your chair, force your foot to stop stomping the ground, you close your eyes and inhale slowly.

From the open window kitchen, you can still hear Louise, your aunt's maid, playing the radio. The French pop tune playing is unknown to you plays but she signs along over the sound of cluttering plates and running water. Upon your aunt’s death had ended up unemployed and in search of a job. She had written to you in London, asking for a position, and you had taken her on.

A sea gull screams somewhere above and from your neighbour’s house you hear children playing.

The sun is warm on your skin; the stone floor warm beneath your feet.

Feeling calmer, you open your eyes.

but still all you see is blue.

***

Timothée travels to Nice by train with a third-class ticket.

The compartment is unbearably hot. He tries to lay as still as possible on the hard bunk bed, afraid that any movement will make him warmer. Trying to ignore the sweat forming on his brow he focuses on the rhythmic pace of the train moving underneath him, wishing it would lull him to sleep but all it does is leave him with a vague feeling of nausea. His fellow passenger in the bunk bed below is in the bathroom next door, violently vomiting and the retching sound is coming through the thin walls . The light above his bed keeps flicking, every other second leaving the already dim room, with its dark oak panels, in complete darkness.

And dying for a cigarette.

He’s hot and sweaty and he thanks his lucky star he turned down your offer to meet him at the station. The thought of seeing you again after all these months, no doubt radiant in the sunlight, like an angel in waiting for him; and then him, wearing sweat-soaked rags that’ll no doubt smell of bile and dust and liquor.

He’s glad he turned your offer down; wants to make a good impression on you, to show you that he has changed, that he’s no longer the penniless painter; that he has made a success out of himself. The exhibition had been an incomparable success, Le Monde had put him on the front page and Le Journal du Dimanche had written an entire feature on his use of the colour blue – which they had been dubbed “as revolutionary as Picasso’s blue period, making the viewer see the colour in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Never before have I’ve seen blue look so isolated and lonely”.

He wondered if you had seen it. He wants you to have seen it, to be proud of it; of him. To know, because you had to know, that it was all for you.

But lately fear had crept up on him. Like mold it had grown from a single thought; slowly and steadily until it covered everything, until it was a certainty he knew as well as his own name; a fact poisoning his every breath.

What if you didn’t love him anymore? What if, after all this time and suffering you found out that, actually, without all the hinders standing in your way you didn’t actually find him all that interesting.

He would be forced to go on his way, certain in the knowledge that you no longer loved him; instead of the current status quo of endless possibilities of the untraveled road, where anything can still happen. Where there is still hope. It had crossed his mind, the thought of just not going. To stay in Paris and paint and dream; safe in the knowledge that at one point the most beautiful woman in the world had loved him. Never having the possibility of that changing.

But it would be a cowardly thing to do, and whatever else he was he was no coward. But he also knew that there was no use pretending, he was not the same as he was when he met you. How could he be? He had been a planet, knocked out of its orbit, forced to find a gravity anew. And he had, it had taken time and pain and more self-discipline than he knew he had in him. He had dusted himself of and gone on with life. But when you left Paris the first time had felt safe in the knowledge that you loved him.

If you were to reject him now, it would only be because you found him lacking; disappointing.

The stranger retches in the bathroom again and behind closed eyelids Timothée can still see the flicking light. He pretends it’s a blinking star.

Lately he’s been reading less Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Dostoevsky; switched them for Nietzsche, Sartre and Aristotle. This new world of science and philosophy opening up a whole new world for him. It had set his mind to ponder about love and religion and of the whole galaxy too; about his place and role in all of these things.

Every day, several times over, he had wanted to call you. To tell you about his discoveries, read you abstracts from his books and ask your thoughts on it. He wanted to know what you made out of all these subjects, to hear where your opinions differed from his. He wanted to argue with you about them.

Yet every time he picked up the phone to call you, he had put it down again. He had felt silly, calling you about such mundane things. Didn’t want to bother you in your grief. He knew, had bought each new glossy copy of the Tatler with a shameful face, that you were going through a difficult divorce.

He didn’t want to complicate your life any further.

The stranger comes into the compartment again, groans loudly and shuts the door with a bang behind him before throwing himself down on the lower bunkbed.

“Fucking hate trains” he states.

“You don’t say” Timothée answers dryly. It’s stifling hot in the compartment and the other man has brought in the strong scent of bile back with him to mix with the stench of sweat.

The train takes a sudden turn and the man below groans loudly again. Timothée hears how he fiddles with something and then the click of a lighter. He asks the man for a cigarette and the he kind-heartedly hands him his entire package of Lucky Strikes. Perhaps as an apology for the smell.

The rest of journey is spent chain-smoking cigarettes until the late hour, the compartment a fog of smoke, until he finally falls into slumber somewhere after Lyon.

The next morning his travel companion, looking rather worse for wear but relieved that the train has stopped at last, helps him with his luggage as they depart the train.

A strange feeling of having been reborn settles over him as he blinks up at the sun, his eyes adjusted from the previous dark dimness of his coupé. The station is dusty and oven-hot but he strives forward through it, bag with his belongings slung over his shoulder. Just as he expected he’s arrived sweaty, with ruffled dirty clothes and a stench of bile and sweat lingers on him. It had most definitely been the right decision to turn down your offer to meet him at the station. And so, instead of looking for a taxi to take him to the great big house on the hills he makes his way down the cobbled streets in quite the other direction.

There’s nothing like the ocean to wash away the sense of filth. With a gasp he breaks through the water surface and forces large gulps of fresh air down his throat. The water is cyan in shade and the surface glitter under the sun. He wades his way through the water and back to the beach, sending a silent prayer that the posh hotel he’s snuck into won’t notice that he is in fact not a guest paying hundreds of Francs a night for the luxury of a private beach, complete with white sunbeds and linen-clad waiters ready to service your every whim, but in fact just a common free-loader.

The small rocks are scalding hot and under his bare feet but he makes his way through the white parasols and sunbeds, careful as to not disturb the suntanning guests, his shabby bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’ll be damned!” An American voice roars out and Timothée stops dead in his tracks, heart beating painfully in his chest; as if he was an animal, knowing he was about to be caught in the hunt. “If it isn’t my favorite painter!”

Slowly he turns around.

Underneath a white parasol, sprawled out on a sunchair; broad-shouldered, blond and suntanned, lay William.

Fuck.

William stands up and moves closer to him. “It is you! Man, what a surprise!” he bursts out in his thick American accent and claps him on his shoulder. Timothée just stands there, still with the feeling of being caught; trapped. William just smiles at him. “I was just going to grab an early lunch, care to join me?”

The hotel restaurant is situated on a terrace, making the most of the ocean view, azure blue sea glittering under the sun. The beach is full to the brim with suntanned bodies, sipping drinks under big white parasols. They’ve both changed out of their swimming trunks, William into a nice white day suit, freshly pressed of course. Walking behind him onto the terrace Timothée feels especially shabby in his worn linen trousers, albeit he’s currently wearing his only items of clothing not covered in paint splatters.

They are seated by the railings, a small white clothed table. They order margarita pizzas and beers. They small talk, filling up the blanks since they last saw each other.

Timothée tells him of his work, the successful exhibition, his newfound love of Nietzsche. About his reason for coming to Nice. William in turn tells him of how he changed his mind about returning to America, how he’s fallen in love with the Mediterranean, how life here has inspired him so much he’s taken up writing. In fact, he has already written most of his first book, and it is set to publish at the end of summer. He is now looking for a house, some permanency for the first time in his life. He will settle down here, he tells Timothée in a solemn tone.

Timothée well recognizes the signs of a man trying to escape from himself. He doubts very much if William is the type to ever settle, has no doubts in fact that next time they’ll speak William will have taken up an instrument set to join a band, or learn a new language ready to move country yet again. Timothée knows a drifter when he sees one.

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to warn the other man about the uselessness of attempting to outrun oneself, doesn’t advise him to instead make peace with the past and himself; knows that there is no use, that he'll find this out for himself soon enough. So instead he smiles, lights the last of his Lucky Strike´s and orders them some more beers.

They drink and talk, dream really, far into the afternoon as the sky changes from bright blue to nuances of powder pink and lavender. They dream up scenarios for William’s future; a summer spent in sunny Nice soaking up the sun, before setting to Capri in the autumn to work on a new book. They decide he should take a break in the winter to go skiing in Saint Moritz before returning to Nice in the spring, to finish up his book.

More beers are ordered, and subjects discussed, but when a longer silence takes place William leans back in his chair, a shy look on his face that makes him look more boy than man.

“So” he begins, and Timothée’s interests are piqued. The terrace is full of people by now, taking a late lunch or simply enjoying an afternoon drink, waiting for the sun to set and the real party to begin.

“So?” he offers, pressing the other man to continue.

William clears his throat, cheeks flushed, and not purely from the day spent in the sun. “So, you’re going to see her now?”

Timothée is not surprised by his question, had expected it since he told him why he was here, had expected the subject of you to arise. It felt inevitable. The subject of you too big to ignore.

“Yes” he says, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. They’d bought new ones from the waiter many beers ago, the crystal cut ashtray between them filled to the brim with stumped out cigarettes.

“Yeah should get going soon really, she was expecting me this morning.”

Silence for a heartbeat, as the sky turns red, the sun almost setting.

“And it is true, what they’ve written in the society pages? She’s getting divorced?”

Timothée, not knowing what to do with his hands, lights yet another cigarette; even though his throat feels too dry; too tight. “Yeah” he manages to get out.

Silence again. William is keeping his eyes on the setting sun, seemingly lost in thought.

“Mind if I tag back with you to the house?” he says eventually. The words come out almost superiorly. Yet Timothée senses the fragile vulnerability under the arrogance. “I’d just like to say hi to her” he then adds in a softer tone. “Our last goodbye…” he trails off for a second and something like regret flashes in his clear blue eyes, “Look, I treated her abhorrently and I’d like to put things right, it’s the least I can do”.

And who is Timothée to deny either one of you that?

The ground is slightly unsteady under his feet as they stand outside the hotel, waiting for the taxi the porter had ordered. He had, perhaps, had one too many to drink. He sways from one foot to the other. It is just past midnight and he should have gone home hours ago.

And maybe he shouldn’t arrive at your first meeting in months, the first meeting post-divorce, absolutely wasted. A knot ties somewhere in his stomach.

And, he thinks as he slides into the backseat of the taxi, maybe he oughtn't to bring your ex-fiancé with him to said meeting. An ex-fiancé who had broken up your engagement days before the wedding, left you pretty much at the altar to marry someone else instead. Your first love.

The knot tightens harder.

He watches the city, now dark and full of people, pass by outside the window. As the taxi goes up the hills he tries to focus on the ocean outside; now the darkest shade of blue. The moon is yet to make an appearance to light up the evening. They drive up a final curve and finally Timothée can see it. The white house atop the hill is large and neo-classical in style, with painted mint-green shutters, currently open wide to let in some evening air, and up the white walls magenta colored bougainvillea climbs.

The lights are on and Timothée feels light-headed. He blames it on the drinks. He blames it on the day spent under the beaming sun. He blames it on the long journey there and the fact he slept so badly on the train.

He blames it on anything other than the fact that he’s starting to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t have come here tonight. If perhaps he should have stayed at the hotel, sobered up and after a good night sleep come here; bunches of casa blanca lilies in hand and a forged reason for his lateness on his lips.

And he definitely shouldn’t bring William with him.

Something twists painfully inside him and he feels a bit sick. Because he knows William is your first love; but what if he’s your greatest one as well. What if the two of you after reuniting again, found that there were still love there. You both had divorces in your past now, you both had money, and freedom. What if William wasn’t just your first love, but your greatest one?

He definitely shouldn’t have brought him here.

He watches with regret settled deep in his bones as the taxi drives away, and William is walking up the pebbled path to the front door. So Timothée takes a deep breath, throws his duffel bag over his shoulder, and forces his feet forward.

They ring the door and surprise hits him for the second time that day, when the door opens and Aunt Marguerite’s maid Louise stands there, wearing the usual look of disapproval as she takes in the state of him.

She sniffs with disgust. “You are late” she tells him with a stern tone, before stepping aside to let him enter. “Madam is on the terrace”. He drops his bag on the floor as she leads the way through the house, William at his heel. His feet feel like cement, but he keeps forcing them forward.

The first thing he sees as he steps out onto the terrace is the moon, now high in the sky, casting its reflection on the water below. Then, on a sunbed with your face towards the ancient blue spreading out in front of you; not directed to him. He sees you in the moonlight, curled up underneath a blanket, a glass of red wine beside you. The only light on the terrace the moon and candles, lit up around you.

Without turning to look at him you say, in a voice painfully familiar, “was beginning to give up on you. Thought you’d missed the train”.

“Sorry” he says, and it surprises him how calm he sounds; because he’s pretty sure something is exploding inside his chest. “Got a bit distracted.”

You turn to him then, a half-smile on your face that freezes immediately upon seeing who is standing behind him. Painful silence falls between you, heavy like a wet blanket, while the ocean roars beneath, its waves crashing against the rocks.

“Wills?” Your voice sounds so vulnerable it makes him want to weep, to go hide; to ask something holy for forgiveness.

“Hi baby” William answers and Timothée nearly whimpers, wants to look away but can’t seem to turn his eyes from the scene in front of him.

Your eyes are big and glossy in the moonlight as William moves closer. Nausea rises in Timothée’s stomach as he watches William sit down on the sunbed beside you; hands clasped before him like a schoolboy in church.

“I’m sorry” he begins, “this must come as a surprise to you but…”

“Excuse me” you interrupt him, voice cold but your vulnerability clear as it. “I think I will retire to bed. You can stay over if you wish, Louise will prepare you a room. We’ll lunch tomorrow.”

And all either Timothée can do is watch as you stand up, spine all straight and head held high as you walk past him, not casting him a single look as he hangs his head in shame.

Timothée blinks slowly into the bright light; confused as to where he is for a moment. He blinks a few more times, his lasting impression; white. White sheets, white walls, white lilies on his bedside table, white wooden floors and white curtains moving in the breeze from the open balcony door; outside of which azure blue sky. Then,

Menton.

You.

He groans, burying his face in the pillow. The pain in your eyes as you walked past him the night before; eyes brimming with carefully held back tears. Why, why, why on earth had he brought William with him? Why hadn’t he just told him no? Surely it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to turn down his request to force his way back into his ex-fiancé’s life?

But he wanted you back. And Timothée had handed you to him.

“Fuck” he groans.

Despite his protesting, heavy limbs and sore head he stands up and moves through the room, to the gilded mirror by the antique dresser. Slowly he blinks back to his miserable reflection. A skinny man, with unruly, dark curls and anxious, wide eyes, dark circles like bruises underneath them. He thinks of William; tall and golden and broad shouldered enough to carry the weight of the world on them. And rich enough to own it.

He wants to hurl.

Instead, with the determination of the already damned, he moves through the room, knowing there is nothing left to do but face the day; and the consequences of last night. Finding a pair of clean linen trousers and white shirt he pulls them on with fumbling hands. Rooming through the pockets of the trousers he wore last night, carelessly thrown over a wicker chair, he finds the package of Gauloises he bought at the hotel the previous night. He puts them in his pocket, he is going to need them. Feeling like a man walking up to the gallows he steps out of his room.

Louise, who’s in the kitchen preparing breakfast, huffs in displeasure when she sees him.

“Yeah, yeah” he mutters, “I know”.

She pulls up her blonde hair and ties it in a knot in her back, seemingly doing her utmost to ignore him, but he’s pretty sure she’s just doing it for the opportunity to sneakily give him the finger.

Out on the terrace you sit by the table, reading. Wearing a white silky thing, your hair wet from a bath, pearls of water falling to the ground as you move to flip a page in your book. You are bathing in the morning light, covered by it; and maybe it’s just to Timothée’s eyes but everything else seems to fall into shadow.

Walking more assuredly than he feels, somewhat comforted in the fact that William is not yet up, he takes a seat beside you at the table. You flip a page in your book, and you don’t look at him. A seagull screeches in the sky, but otherwise the world remains quiet.

“What are you reading?” he asks, though feeling it is a trivial question in the midst of everything. He feels foolish, trying to ease into conversation with you, when all he really want to do is apologise; to take your hands and tell you that he’s sorry.

“The Odyssey”

“You like it?”

Your eyes don’t move over the page, but you don’t look at him either; instead fixated on the page in front of you.

“Yes” you say eventually. “But I find the prose hard to get used to”.

“Well” he says fishing in his pockets for his Gauloises, “personally I prefer The Iliad. There’s a feeling of doom in it that stays with you, like their fates are already set out for them and they can’t escape it. They’re left to just live their stories out”. He brings a cigarette to his lips but soon discovers he’s forgotten a lighter. He swears under his breath, the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Then something silver reflects in the sun, right before his eyes. You’re reaching out your hand to him, and in the palm of your hand lay a cigarette lighter. Gratefully he takes it and lights up.

“Thanks” he says, trying to hand it back to you, but you shake your head.

“No, it’s yours. Apparently, my aunt had it ordered for you before she passed. I was going to give it to you yesterday.”

Timothée feels as if he’s been punched in the stomach. He lays down the cigarette and looks down at the silver lighter. It’s beautifully crafted, old fashioned in a good way and thoroughly stylish. Marguerite through and through. He turns it in his hand and sunlight reflects from its perfect surface. Only then does he notice the engraved text, in cursive writing; “Fuck Picasso”.

He breaks out in laughter but feels a simultaneous need to cry. To lay down on the floor and weep. He misses her, would do anything to hear her scold him for his behavior again. To have her tell him that he is being defeatist and to keep trying; keep fighting for what he wants.

He looks at you, and he can see the same conflicting feelings reflected in your glossy eyes.

“Le petit dejeuner, madam” Louise says, putting down the tray with coffee, bread, brie and fresh fruit on the table between you. She sends Timothée a scorching look as she does so.

Once you’re both sipping on cups of coffee you clear your throat. “She did leave you the Picasso painting as well, you know”.

Timothée nearly drops his cup of scorching hot coffee in his lap. “Sorry?”

Reluctantly the corners of your mouth twist into a smile. “You never read the full version of the will, did you? She gave the Picasso to you. Said you were the only one who could possibly appreciate it”.

He snorts with laughter again, and again it comes with a sting of grief.

“You sure you don’t want it?” he asks, because a Picasso is no ordinary gift and he feels as if he’s stealing it from you; you who actually were related to the woman.

But you just shake your head, a small but sincere smile on your lips. “I got the Monet”.

“Bloody landscape artist” Timothée teases and you laugh. This is an old joke, an inside joke, one that has made you laugh before. Your laughter feels familiar and warm and he wants to pull you closer to him, feel your skin; warm from the sun, against his.

“You are just jealous” you tease back, and your eyes; the same colour as your aunts, sparkle in the sunshine. “You have never been able to paint a landscape”.

“No” he says, reaching for a stem or green grapes, “I’ve never found a landscape more interesting than a face” he adds, pulling the sweet fruit from its stem and placing it between his teeth; slowly biting down, relishing the taste.

He wants to say, ‘there’s nothing I’d rather paint than your face’, but swallows the words along with the fruit. He watches your face as you look at the sea; hair still wet against your now slightly rosy cheeks.

“Good morning” says a cheerful, though somewhat raspy, American accent.

Timothée turns and sees William walking towards you. He’s all tousled blonde hair, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top; showing seamlessly endless amounts of suntanned golden skin. Styled with a Rolex watch and bare feet he’s all Hamptons; all American.

Timothée looks at him and thinks Paul Newman would be proud.

He picks up and finally lights his cigarette, using his new treasure.

William sits down by the table, leans back and sighs. “Gonna be a beautiful day” he announces to them, as if the weather was his to rule. Timothée watches him in the morning light, all golden and decisive. He thinks of Zeus, of power and of glory.

You gesture for Timothée’s cigarette package and he picks one out and hands it to you. Leaning closer, closer and closer still; your face so near that he can count each of your eyelashes if he so wishes, your arms nearly touching his. He lights you up. All the time he can feel William’s watchful eyes as he observes the two of you.

Louise comes out with another cup of coffee and places it in front of William before heading back to the kitchen. In the silence between them they can hear how she puts on the record player, the tunes of Chopin floating out on the terrace. Timothée meets your eyes and you both smile.

Flashes of memories from another life, you and him in Paris in his old studio. Dancing in the evening, hips pressed together as you’d swayed gently from side to side, your chest pressed to his, feeling so close it was as if you were sharing breaths. Or you posing on the carpet, naked in the afternoon light as he attempts the impossible; trying to recreate the loveliness and complexities of you. A Herculean task. All the while Chopin played in the background.

“So what are we all doing today?” inquires William and Timothée breaks eye contact with you. Maybe he is imagining it, but he thinks there’s a harshness behind Williams' forceful cheerfulness.

You enter into conversation with William, all small talk and politeness, as Timothée smokes his cigarette and looks the other way.

“Can I talk with you?” William asks, his hand around your wrist, holding you in place. “Alone, I mean.”

Your plates have been cleared, the coffee cups stand empty and William has reached over the table to take a hold of you. Timothée, who’d spent most of the breakfast in silence, his face towards the sea, playing with silver lighter in his lap, now stands up. “I’m off to explore the village” he says with a tone of indifference. But there is something strained about the way he’s holding himself, a tenseness in his shoulder, a frozen look on his face. It is in the way he refuses to look at either you or William as he walks away.

You watch him leave before gently pulling your hand away from William’s. “I must say, it is a surprise to see you here, Wills”.

William doesn’t hang his head in shame or embarrassment but keeps his clear blue eyes on yours.

“I didn’t know that you were here in Menton, that’s not why I came here. But I did go looking for you, in Paris”. His voice never shakes, neither does his hands. He is as steadfast as you remember him from school. Ha had been taller than everybody else, towering over them all. He could easily have been awkward, already standing out with his American accent. But he wasn’t. William had been born with a sense of self-assurance most could only dream of. Dubbed arrogant by some you had felt admiration.

Your school had been set up in two buildings, one for the boys and one for the girls, and separated by a field. Most classes were taken separately, the only times the genders had mixed was during meals and announcements, or on special sports days.

You can still remember it so clearly, when you fourteenth year old set your eyes on sixteen year old William for the first time. It had been on the football pitch during a friendly start of the term game. He was new to the school, a head taller than the other boys and no one seemed to be able to take their eyes off him. It was clear that he was unused to the game, having grown up mostly playing American football, but he soon got his head around the rules. You see it so clearly in front of you, how he had made his way through the defence, his long legs carrying him through in quick strides, before scoring his first goal; the whole crowd going wild. He was a natural talent, as soon you would learn, he was in most things. He took on the world with a natural ease, assured in his belief that everything would go his way.

At the end of the match he had stood there, arm slung around the shoulders of his fellow comrades, all grinning from ear to ear. They were the victors of the game; the heroes of the school. William in the middle, head slung back in laughter, almost radiant in the late September sun. He was and always had been golden, had always seemed more than human to you, almost godlike in being. The other boys had certainly found him so, the only exception being Freddie Fairfax and his friends, who never had a kind word to say about their fellow student. However the rest of the boys had soon made William their unelected leader. The king of god on mount Olympus. His eyes had met yours in the crowd of admirers and just like that - you were done for.

When he had asked you to the school dance, mouthed crooked in a smile and hands unstirred; so unlike the nervously trembling boys, you had said yes. The other girls had envied you and when you walked into the great hall with him he had taken your arm in his and kissed you on your forehead; told you he thought you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. You had felt chosen; blessed even.

And when he had asked you to marry him, down on one knee like a gentleman and with a hand that didn’t shake with nerves, you had said yes. Had thought that had settled everything. That you would marry the man you loved in front of all your friends and family, securing a financially stable future for your parents. You’d go on a honeymoon, a world tour perhaps, and later; children. After having found the perfect family home in Kensington, among all your friends.

Alas, that was not to be. No wedding, nor children or home had come along. Instead, heartbreak.

And you had fled, humiliated, to Paris.

“Yes” you say, feeling unable to look away from his blue gaze. “Yes, Timothée mentioned that. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you, I had already left for London by then”.

“Yeah” he says, corners of his lips turned up in a smile, but his eyes filled with something more like pity. “To marry Freddie Farifax”. And then he’s on his feet, moving around the table and before you know it, in Timothée’s chair. He leans forward and grasps your hands in his. They feel warm and steady, whereas yours are cold and shaking.

“Babe” his voice is like a gentle breeze. “Babe, look at me”.

You look up from your clasped hands and back into his blue eyes, at the moment more serious than you’ve ever seen them.

“I should never have left you” he continues, voice sweet and tender and barely louder than the breeze. “I was bewitched. I know, I know it sounds stupid but I just lost my head about Linda. I was a fool, a goddamn fool. I realized as soon as we left for New York that who I really wanted was you. It was like waking up from a dream. She was just such a lovely thing, so carefree and - no please, listen” You had tried to remove your hands from his but he kept a firm grip around them. Slowly he moves one of his hands from yours, up to your face to cup your cheek. It’s tender, and it feels like it had always felt when Wiliam touched you - the same feeling you got when you lay sunbathing; kissed by the sun. A mild breeze through the trees and the scent of him, citrus and cedar, hits you like an embrace from the past.

At fifteen, a few months after you first set eyes on him, he kissed you. Calmly, with a hand cupping your face; just like now, he had kissed you until you felt tender and starry eyed. It had been in the library, in the row furthest down, a copy of Anna Karenina sticking into your back as he pressed you against the bookcase.

He had smelled the same then, as you stood on your tip-toes to reach him his arms surrounded you.

He had smelled the same in baronessa Digby’s guestroom during her annual ball. After hours spent dancing, pressed up against one another he had snuck you both in there and on the bed showed all there was to know about love in its physical form. Flashes of memories come back to you of his body above yours, muscles defined and body almost golden in the candlelight, pressing you down onto crisp white sheets. The scent of lemon and cedar everywhere.

He had been gentle and patient, moving in and out of you with steady, slow thrusts at first, deliberate and calm in all his movements. His hands were steady the whole way through but you were shaking all over.

“I should never have left you” he repeats, and you can feel the shame coming off him in waves, see the regret in his eyes and in the furrow of his brow. “You never should have had to marry fucking Freddie, the piece of shit”. Something thunders in his blue eyes.

“I’m not angry with you William. I felt hurt and humiliated when you left but it’s all in the past now, so if it is my forgiveness you’ve come here for you can have it”.

“It’s not,” William says, almost before you’ve finished speaking. “I mean, I’ll gladly take it but what I want is you.” All you can do in response is stare at him and he laughs, almost bitterly, before continuing “to think, that had I not made such a massive ass of myself we would have been married now. We would be happy. I can still make you happy, baby”. He makes the last word sound like a prayer. He strokes your cheek.

“Make me carefree?” you ask, and you swear, you can feel the ocean move in protest in your lungs.

“Yes, just give me a chance and I’ll make you the happiest being on earth”.

You look into his pleading eyes. Part of you wants to say yes, because part of you still loves him. Part of you is still that fourteen year old girl, enamoured by the school hero. But you know now, have come to realize with time, that William never has, and never will understand you. Not you as you as you really are How could he understand someone so different from himself? A godlike creature whose hands never tremble, who has thunder in his eyes and whose love burns bright; but also quick. Would you choose a life with him there would be other Linda’s. Other infatuations, there was bound to be, even if he would always make his way back to you.

But though Wiliiam’s hands never tremble they know nothing of steady.

“William” you say, finally untangling your hands from his, “Will I’m sorry but it’s too late. I have already moved on”.

William leans back in his chair, a deep sigh escaping him. “Yes, yes I was afraid of that. The painter boy seems to have stolen your heart quite thoroughly, hasn’t he?” You don’t answer and William digs in his pockets for cigarettes.

“I see” he mouths out round a cigarette, brows furrowed in concentration. He brings his own silver lighter to his mouth to light up and it reflects in the sun, like bolts of lightning. “Still” he adds with a voice smooth as honey, leaned back in his chair; breathing out smoke between you, “well, he might get to keep the real you but I won the painting. Quite the consultation prize”.

***

When Timothée steps back into the house, several hours later the clouds are dark and heavy with unshed rain. The world feels charged with energy, as is the way right before thunder. Louise greets him with her usual disapproval at the door before simply nodding upward, uttering the single instruction, “upstairs”.

He makes his way through the house, dark and quiet in the late hour, up the stairs and drawing room. It is a large room, with wallpapers of navy dyed silk on which several paintings in the modern style are set up. Heavy oak furniture outlines the room, decanters of whiskey and cognac and any other liquor that could be wished for on one of the tables and in the middle of the room two elegant white sofas facing each other.

On one of them you sit, a martini at the table in front of you, next to an enormous vase of casa blanca lilies. The whole room smells of them.

Not knowing what to say, where to start he walks past you, across the room, to make himself a drink. Pouring himself a generous measure of Laphroaig, which he drowns immediately, before pouring himself a new one. Dutch courage.

“William gone then?” he asks, staring down at the amber liquid in his glas, hating how casual he sounds.

“Yes, he went back to his hotel”

So the supposed love of your life was only temporarily missing then. Timothée squeezes his eyes shut, clutching his hands around the table, as if to stop himself from whimpering. He feels pathetic and weak. Opening his eyes again, the room dark around him he walks to the sofa and sits down opposite of you.

Outside he hears the first few drops of rain.

“So you two patched things up then?” There’s a forged cheeriness to his voice and he hates how disingenuous he sounds.

For a few long seconds he is met by a silence so intense it makes the hair on his arms stand up. Then it really starts to fall outside, the sky opening up with rain, the clapping sound of it as it hits the roof like thunderous applause.

“I’ve decided to let the past be the past”. You’re so calm and collected; so cool and unfaced. Yet he can sense that you are holding onto yourself with an iron grip, not letting go an inch of your own feelings or reactions. It reminds him of the way children clutch their hands around objects they know they shouldn’t possess, determined not to show what they are hiding.

He takes a sip from the whiskey, the smokey smell of it mixing with the heady scent of lilies. So this was it then. He had ruined his own chance of happiness by bringing William back to you. Timothée had not been to compete with Freddie Fairfax and his money and title, but he had always known that you had not married that man out of love, and that had made the blow on his feelings less hard than if you had simply preferred Freddie; chosen him. But with William it was a different matter. You did not need to be with him out of any necessity. If you had chosen him; then it was because you loved him.

“Well, good on you” he says, drowning the rest of his glas. “Sweet of you to forgive him, you know, after basically leaving you at the altar and humiliating you infront of everyone you know. Really, it’s big of you”.

“Yes, me and William had a lovely chat this morning” your voice is cold as ice. You’re on the sofa, spine straight and shoulders tense, taking a large sip from your martini. “He told me about a poker game the two of you had in Paris. How you paid your debts with a nude portrait of me".

Lightning strikes outside and for a brief second the whole world goes white, like the flash of a camera, before once again leaving you both in shadow.

Timothée is dumbstruck; can’t get out a single word. He wants to protest, to deny it, but there’s no use. He’s never been a liar.

“How fucking could you?” The venom in your voice feels lethal, as if he’s injected it like poison and it’s making its way through his system.

And here comes the thunder.

“I trusted you with that painting and you let him fucking have it! My ex-fiance has a naked portrait of me because of you. I knew I couldn’t trust you, I knew it! It was all too good to be true. You just wanted me because you knew you couldn’t have me, because you knew it wouldn’t last. I was just a conquest you would get a few nice paintings out of!” You’re shouting now; unbound and full of rage. Unable to stand still you’ve gotten up, pacing the room.

“You knew it wouldn’t last?” he answers with a sarcastic laugh, anger shouting through him as well now. “You made sure it you mean? You used me as some sort of escape fantasy because you felt lost and trapped! The princess and the penniless painter. Those were just roles we played. You just wanted to feel desired again and no one has ever desired you as much as i have, but as soon as Freddie fucking Fairfax came along you dropped me, and guess what? I could have lived with that. I understood it even. But you made your way back into me, gave me hope, and now you’re fucking leaving again with fucking William!" He’s on his feet as well now, standing just feet from you. "So yeah, I’m sorry I gambled away the painting, that was wrong of me but don’t make out as if I’m the reason this can’t last when you have always been the first to leave. You have always been the first to leave!”

Lightning like a flash, capturing the hurt look on your face, burning it onto his retinas forever.

“You can say that all you want but you've had one foot out the door for a while, haven’t you? You never called or wrote after you left London. And when I called you early that morning there was some girl fucking giggling in the background! I had to go back to Paris this spring to sort out some of aunt's things and I didn’t go to visit you because I knew there was gonna be someone else there!”

And here comes the thunder again, louder than before.

“Oh that’s it sweetheart, jealous are we?” his tone is low and mocking and your eyes are burning into his. They seem to sparkle in the dark and though adrenaline is shooting through his body he can’t help but he can’t help thinking; that this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen you; unbound and unleashed. Despite his anger he’d like nothing more than to lean in and kiss you.

But he is angry, and so he continues in the same, low tone, “and you accuse me of having one foot out the door? Ye get jealous of some model coming in to have a painting done - who I’ve never even touched - but I have to watch your husband parade you on his arm at the opera? And be a spectator as you and fucking Wills reunite?”

“You’re the one who brought him here!”

“I know!” he shouts. Both your chests are heaving with anger, the air loaded with thunder. He takes a step back from you, runs a hand through his hair in frustration and sighs. “I know” he repeats, defeated now. Walking away from you he crosses the room and throws himself down on the sofa, his head in his hands.

Outside it keeps raining.

You sit down on your old spot on the sofa again, hands in your lap, cool and collected once more. “I have not gotten back together with William. I’m sorry I made you believe that. I’ve simply decided to forgive him and let the past be the past. That’s all”.

Timothée lifts his head up, something like hope blooming in his chest among all the despair. “Yeah? Well I’m sorry about the painting, I really am. In my defence, I didn’t know he was your William until after”.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now. I asked him to get rid of it”.

“Nevertheless, I am sorry” he looks you straight in the eye as he says this, wanting you to know the sincerity in his apology. “Do you want me to leave? I can go back to Paris tomorrow”.

Silence, then thunder once again, though this time further away.

“No” you say in the end, still in that cold voice, but you sound genuine when you continue, “no please stay. It is your house just as much as mine. Stay as long as you want”.

“Please, let me paint you again?”

Rain in July is a rare thing in Menton. Nevertheless, a storm had raged the night before. You had often heard the expression the calm before the storm, however you had always found the aftermath of storms all the more fascinating.

“No” you answer him, flipping the page in your book; Anna Karenina this morning.

Timothée is standing by the barristrade under the golden mimosa tree, trying to capture the landscape beneath him. He wears a frustrated, nearly pained look on his face as he stares at the canvas. You can hear his groans of ill contempt.

“Fucking hate landscapes”.

“That is your vanity speaking. You know you aren’t very good at it and so you hate it. Like all men you hate the things that make you look less than average". On the page in front of you Vronsky has decided to pursue Anna, despite knowing that she is a married woman.

“I’m not vain” Timothée mutters, like a petulant child. “I don’t like landscapes because they are ever-changing, just when you’ve managed to get the precise shade of the sky it has already changed into something else entirely.”

“But faces change all the time too. I’d say there’s as much variety in a face as it is in a landscape” you argue. Looking up from your book you observe Timothée. The mimosa branches hanging down, it’s golden flowers framing his head like a halo, the impression strengthened by the morning sun shining through.

The sweet, succulent scent from the tree, reinforced a thousand times with last night's heavy rain, hangs around them like an invisible cloud.

“You’re just defending landscapes because your precious Monet couldn’t have enough of them”.

“He painted people too”.

“Yeah, but he wasn't as good at is. Maybe he too was vain”.

”Monet never used black, did you know that?” You say, apropo of nothing. “And for a while Picasso only used blue. Do you think this is how they’ll define you one day? In a textbook, a picture of a portrait of me - and underneath it written in black on white: Portrait of a girl unknown. For this period in the artist's life he refused yellow. Is that how they will define you?”

“I don’t refuse yellow anymore.” He’s stopped painting now, but faces away from you, looking out at the ocean. You see his fingers twitch for a cigarette.

“Maybe not, but you don’t see blue in the same way. Neither does anyone else if Le Journal du Dimanche, I saw what they wrote about your exhibition, congratulations by the way.” His back is very still and you keep going. “What was it they wrote? ‘As revolutionary as Picasso’s blue period, making the viewer see the colour in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Never before have I’ve seen blue look so isolated and lonely’?”

You can’t explain even to yourself why you are doing it, why you are antagonising him. It is petty and it should be beneath you but like a child you try to goad a reaction out of him.

“You made me look at all colours in a different light.” It is a quiet confession, sincere in its simplicity. His hands are clasped around the brim of his chair, like he’s trying to hold himself very still. “You made me listen differently as well, I could never hear the beauty of Chopin until you played it for me. And the scent of lilies will always remind me of you. You made me feel different too, different from anybody else. Like I had been reborn into a new body, with new feelings. A new purpose. Even the air in my lungs felt different; cleaner somehow.”

You don’t know how to respond to that; feeling as though all malice has been sucked out of you like poison from a snake. Perhaps there’s nothing to say.

“Let me paint you one more time”

“No. Why don’t you just hire a model instead?”

“I don’t want another model, I just want to paint you”

“Well William’s still at the hotel if you’re planning to gamble it away after”.

Maybe all bitterness hasn’t escaped her yet. Timothée takes up his brush and goes back to his canvas. For a few long moments everything is silent.

Then, in a quiet voice he speaks. “Why didn’t you go back to William? I saw how much you loved him, when you first came to Paris. I remember. But if you’ve decided to forgive him, and if there’s still feelings there, then why not?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you to be happy”.

You throw the book on the table, close your eyes and lean back in your chair. “I’ve always figured that the world can be split into two; that people are either like birds, or like trees.”

You can hear Timothée dropping his paintbrush again and had you had your eyes open you would see his curious eyes as he watches you with open adoration.

“You see,” you continue “some people are drifters, and other settlers. Some people grow roots where they stand, trying to reach as far down into the earth as possible in order to feel secure. They are steady and they grow but they never change and they never change their outlook on things. And when they have to move, they have to be ripped out by the roots and it hurts. Others, well others are like birds. They fly from branch to branch and sure, sometimes they build nests but they never stay for long. They need air beneath their wings, they need freedom.”

“And William is a bird?”

“Yes, William is a bird. A drifter. He will always move from branch to branch. In his lifetime he will have a thousand infatuations and sure, if we were to marry I think he would always come back to me but I cannot live like that. I would be a tree, trying to force my roots through concrete”.

“And that is the reason you don’t choose him?” His voice breaks slightly at the end and you can’t help but love his fragility, his vulnerability in this moment.

“That yes” you say, opening your eyes and feeling blinded by the sun. “That and the fact that I’m not actually in love with him anymore”.

Silence again, because maybe there is nothing more to say now. Timothée picks up his brush and you take up your book and continue to read your book; ‘There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness.’

An hour or so later Timothée swears under his breath and abandons the landscape by walking out. Further away you hear the heavy front door close and you know he’s left for the village. You stand up and walk over to the painting, inspecting his work. He has painted the scenery in front of him, but despite the golden mimosa tree there is no yellow to be seen on the canvas; only various nuances of blue.

****

August, 1953

A routine settles at Villa Marguerite.

Each morning Timothée wakes before you and makes enough coffee for two. He takes his cup and his brushes out to the terrace and he tries to paint the ocean. Some time later the radio in the kitchen is turned on as Louise begins to prepare breakfast. Later still he hears your footsteps as you come out to join him on the terrace, wearing the same white dressing-gown each morning.

“There’s coffee if you want some”.

These words are his timid confession, his quiet ‘I think of you each morning as I wake’. A kind of ceasefire has settled between you. You don’t argue with each other but then again, you hardly speak.

When you come back out on the terrace, coffee cup in hand, you sit down under the golden mimosa tree and Timothée wants to sigh but he doesn’t. He wants to sigh, because you are beautiful. Because in the morning light, dressed in a white dressing-gown, you look more angel than person; the golden mimosa flowers like a halo atop your head.

Each morning he wants to capture the moment, just like you this, on his canvas. Not because of the etherealness of the setting; but the domesticity of it. You, morning hair and a cup of coffee that he has brewed for you; bare feet and nightgown.

You’re both silent as you drink. It is peaceful. In the village church bells ring. He feels no need for church. Heaven, he thinks, are mornings with you. Anything else can wait.

The rest of his days are spent painting, trying to catch the colours and moods of the ever-changing ocean and sky in front of him. By lunchtime he’s grown tired of trying, and so he walks down to the village where he strikes up a conversation with whomever is available. Nice is in high season and the streets are full of tourists. During midday however, when the sun is high in the sky, most people are hiding in whatever cool space they can find or lay their bodies on the beach. But Timothée finds he doesn’t mind the heat,

He’s made some friends during his time in Nice, foremost a fellow Parisian his age named Nathaniel, and an elderly French-speaking Italian named Marco. If Marco, who owns a bistro in the square, is available they play chess and argue about politics. Marco always wins. When Nathaniel, who works down by the docks, goes on his lunch break he comes to join them, and they eat together, whatever Marco’s bistro has to offer for the day. They share glasses of wine and discuss jazz, the two younger men unsuccessfully trying to convince Marco to arrange a jazz night at his bistro.

When the other men go back to their work Timothée strolls. Sometimes he walks down to the beach, where sometimes he runs into William. They chat, and it’s not exactly comfortable but neither is it awkward. They both get through it.

Some days he spends strolling the village, watching the pastel-coloured houses, dreaming about the inhabitants' lives. Other days he goes to the ancient little library in town, where he spends his afternoon strolling through the book shelves. He picks up books, reads a few chapters of them; though never starting at the beginning, before putting them down. Like this he goes from book to book, never being able to commit to a single story.

In the end he re-reads The Odyssey - the first page to the last. He doesn’t know what to think about it; except maybe that if The Iliad left him with a distinct feeling of doom, the feeling that sticks with him after The Odyssey is a distinct sense of homesickness. Of nostalgia.

He returns the book at the desk, asking the librarian for more books on Greek mythology. She hands him one and with the book safely pressed against his side he strolls down to the docks and there, on a bench overlooking the ocean, he reads. He reads until the heat fades and seagulls stop screeching and the sky turns pink and until all the fishing boats return to the docks.

He walks back to the village, pays for a box of pralines and a bottle of fine red wine to share with you on the terrace after dinner, and moves his feet towards home. All the time he thinks of Helen of Troy, of Persephone, of Aphrodite.

You eat dinner together and talk. You discuss The Odyssey at length. Debate about what is worse, to feel homesickness to a place you cannot return, or doom for the future. You tell him of a new play you’ve gotten your hands on, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. You talk about the play in a way that has him enamored. He asks to borrow it from you and you lend it to him.

You share the wine and the pralines as the sky grows darker and the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks louder. You drink and eat and talk until your eyelids grow heavy and it’s time for bed and Timothée thinks to himself that even if you are not his to kiss good night he can still have this. He counts it as a blessing.

Your bedrooms are located right next to each other and as he lay in bed reading your copy of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in the dim night lamp light he can’t help but feel close to you, knowing that just on the other side of the room you lay sleeping. Like in all your books the pages are full of underlined lines scribbles, the corners of the pages dog eared and the spine cracked.

He turns the page and sees that you have underlined a sentence. ‘I’m not living with you, we occupy the same cage’.

He continues reading until the sun starts to rise outside, then he goes back in the story and underlines a sentence of his own. ‘One thing I don’t have is the charm of the defeated’.

Notes:

The last part will up up sunday/monday

also, please, if you've managed to get through this beast of a story please leave some feedback. I've been working on this for a very long time and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

So this was like… a year in the making? Honestly never thought it would be this difficult but here we are. Also, I don’t hate Picasso as much as it seems I do. Also, is the quote “There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness” in the book? Or is it just in the Joe Wright movie? My ex kept my copy of Anna Karenina and I can’t remember

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina (I will defend the Joe Wright adaptation until death even though I know it’s no good, alright?), Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

#timothee chamalet #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothée chalamet #timothee fanfic

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janetbrown711 · 4 years

Note

I request the scene we discussed 😂 Lena returning after eloping with William

Important note: I’m officially making the Angelina 1 Lives alternate timeline/au thing a story, and this is technically the beginning. I’ll string the other two into the plot line eventually, but yeah XD sorry for the confusion, I tend to write what I want before I write what makes sense :P

Princess Angelina II was engaged to Sir William the Good, though it was in secret. After all, he was just a knight and she was the princess. For a moment, Lena thought their luck might be on their side when her mother fell deathly ill, but by truly miraculous means, the queen survived, which meant they had to continue in secret.

However, secrets had a cost to them, in the sense that no one else knew. This meant that Lena still had to deal with suitors coming over and trying to romance her, while she had already sworn herself to William. Needless to say, time was wearing on William and Lena more than they had originally thought. Still, they remained hopeful and patient that their time would come.

“Angelina, you have to at least accept one of the suitors. It’s better to at least not hate your future husband before marriage,” Queen Angelina the First gave her daughter a quick glare as she looked over papers.

“I don’t like any of them, what can I say?” Lena shrugged.

“You know, I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this-”

“Something I highly doubt,” Lena interrupted her mother.

“Watch your tone,” Angelina warned, and Lena stepped down.

“As I was saying... I hoped it wouldn't come to this, but since your impertinence has given me no other option, I will be selecting the suitor for you,” She said, signing one of the papers. Lena paused.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” She blinked.

“You’ve only done this to yourself, Angelina, I’ve no other choice. You aren’t getting any younger here,” She eyed her daughter up and down.

“I- uh- will you excuse me, mother? I need to go,” Lena asked. Her mother looked at her suspiciously before nodding. Not wanting to be in there for a moment longer, Lena bolted out of the room and ran across the palace, all the way down to the royal stables, where William was.

“Lena? What’s the matter?” He asked as he got off his horse.

“My mother... she said...” Lena panted. “She said... she’s gonna... arrange...”

“Lena, you aren’t making sense. Have you been running?” William raised an eyebrow. Lena rolled her eyes and paused to catch her breath.

“My mother said that because I didn’t pick a suitor, she’s choosing for me,” Lena explained.

“Oh... oh that’s not good. What are we gonna do?” He asked her. Lena thought.

“We... we need to get married. Now,” She said.

“What- now now?” William asked.

“Well yes, I don’t know how long I’ll have. We need to do this, and we need to do this now,” Lena said, grabbing his hand.

“Where are you going?” William questioned.

“The underground servant's tunnels. They go all over the kingdom. If we go far enough we can find a town with a priest and be married there. Hopefully, they won’t mind the short notice,” She explained.

“Or the fact you’re the princess,” William pointed out.

“...Yeah, that too,” Lena said, realizing she hadn’t thought that through. Still, she didn’t stop walking and soon enough they made it to one of the entrances.

“So... where to?” She asked him. William read all of the signs before snapping his fingers.

“I know a place where I know they won’t refuse us,” He winked, taking his fiancées hand.

“Oh? And where is such a place?” She chuckled, enjoying the moment of rebelliousness.

“Acme Falls, my home town. They love me there, I’m sure they’d love you too,” He smiled at her, and together they ran down the dark tunnels for hours, only stopping once or twice to catch their breath. Eventually, they surfaced and wandered right into the middle of the plaza.

“So... now what?” She asked.

“William? Is... is that you?” A very attractive blonde woman asked.

“Heloise!” William smiled at the sight of his childhood friend.

“William! What on earth are you doing here?” She ran and hugged him. “And with the crown princess-?! Oh my- I’m so sorry, your highness,” She immediately dipped into a curtsey.

“Oh please, any friend of William is a friend of mine,” Angelina smiled. “If I may, you are quite gorgeous,” She added.

“Thank you,” Heloise chuckled, embarrassed.

“We’re here to be married,” William explained.

“You’re engaged to the princess???” Heloise asked. “Aren’t you two supposed to have a giant wedding ceremony with the whole kingdom invited? Isn’t that how royal weddings are supposed to go? My- I didn’t even think a knight could marry a princess,” She thought out loud.

“Actually, he- can’t. Not with my mother knowing anyway,” Lena explained. “That’s why we came here- to be married in secret.”

“Oh eloping is very romantic,” She nodded understandingly. “William knows where the church is. I can get the priest and a few townsfolk if you want,” she offered.

“That’d be great, thank you,” William smiled. Heloise nodded, and ran off.

“I guess you weren’t kidding about this place, huh?” Lena chuckled.

“Acme Falls is practically perfect, what can I say?” He snorted. “Shall we?” he offered his arm. Lena took it with a smile.

“We shall.”

And so Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca II and Sir William the Good were married in Acme Falls, with the town as their witnesses, and Lena was the happiest she had ever been in her whole life. Happily, they walked back to the castle, but they both stopped right before reaching the exit.

“Are you ready?” William asked.

“I don’t know. Why do we have to return?” Lena questioned.

“Because it’s almost nightfall and you’re the princess and your mother would likely send a search party and it’d be a whole catastrophe,” Willaim joked, but Lena wasn’t in the mood for laughing anymore.

“I’m frightened William,” She said.

“It’ll be okay, Lena. I’ll always be here for you, remember?” He said, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Right,” Lena nodded, about to step forward before stopping herself.

“Stay with me tonight?” She requested. William nodded.

“Of course, my love,” He said, and they shared a kiss.

“Let’s go then,” Lena took in a deep breath, and together they stepped out onto the castle grounds.

And so Lena and William slowly crept their way into her bedroom, far enough apart as to not raise suspicion, and spent the closet thing they’d have to a honeymoon together. In the morning, William kissed her goodbye, and climbed out the window, and went to his training, and she missed him terribly (despite being only a few buildings away).

Therefore, their secret engagement now turned into a secret marriage; a marriage that Lena realized she was going to have to tell her mother about sooner or later before it was too late and she was already in the middle of another wedding ceremony. However- she wasn’t quite ready and preferred to hold onto her nights of paradise with William however long as possible before her mother tried to ruin it somehow.

Except she couldn’t, Lena reminded herself. Divorce was simply unheard of, especially for royalty, so her mother would simply have to deal with it. That was the main reason they eloped in the first place.

The good/bad news was that William had been promoted to be a guard inside the castle, so Lena would see him much more often than she used to, but it was awkward because she couldn’t talk to him, much less flirt. Plus, he often watched over her mother in the throne room, and he said that it was “the most stressful situation he’d ever been in”.

“Excuse me, Princess, your mother said she’d like to see you,” A servant girl stood outside of Lena’s room.

“Whatever for?” Lena asked, setting down her book. The girl shrugged. With a sigh, Lena set down her book.

“Does she seem upset?” She asked, getting up and heading out of the room.

“No... in fact, she seems almost happy, your highness,” The girl said.

“My mother? Happy?” Lena blinked. “This can’t be good...” she said, picking up her pace. With haste, she reached the throne room.

“Lena, there you are,” Her mother smiled at her, “You’ve met King Benedict,” she gestured to the king standing by her throne.

Uh oh.

“Why, yes I have,” Lena nodded at him, sharing a quick glance with William in the corner.

“He’s the one you’ll be marrying,” She announced.

Shit.

“Mother, may I have a word with you- alone?” Lena asked with a nervous smile. Angelina frowned.

“It’s already been decided for you, Angelina. You didn’t decide and because of that-”

“I know, but I do need to talk with you,” Lena interrupted her mother before she could think to stop herself. The queen’s eye twitched.

“Fine.” She huffed. “King Benedict, you may wait in the grand hall,” she said. He nodded at her, then Lena, and left. Then, her mother’s focus went back to her.

“This better be good Angelina, or so help me,” The queen threatened, and Lena felt a shiver crawl up her spine. She looked at William for support, and he gave her a weak smile. She took a deep breath.

“Mother, I can’t marry him,” She said.

“You don’t have a choice,” Her mother rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious. I can’t,” Lena said again.

“And why is that?” Angelina rubbed her forehead.

“Because I’m already married,” Lena announced. Her mother froze.

“To whom?” She demanded.

“Sir William,” Lena admitted. Angelina’s eyes went to William, and he remained still as a statue.

“Really now?” Angelina chuckled darkly.

“It’s true. We eloped in Acme Falls three nights ago,” Lena said.

“You expect me to believe that?” Angelina continued to laugh it off.

“Well- yes. We have certificates and everything- it was legally binding,” Lena didn’t know how else to explain such a simple fact to her mother.

The queen leaned on her throne and thought for a minute.

“Well, I suppose it’s a simple fix really, I could just have him execute-”

“A-and I’m pregnant!” Lena shouted over her mother, and the room fell utterly silent.

“Y-you are..?” William blinked.

“Yep,” She lied, laughing nervously.

Definitely no going back on that one...

“Guards, leave,” The queen ordered, her face utterly unreadable. William and Lena shared a look of anxiety before he was forced to walk out. Once they left there was a long stretch of silence, before Angelina slowly took off her gloves, stood up, approached her daughter, and struck her across the face.

“You stupid, pathetic, wretched child! Do you know how much you’ve just cost me?!” She shouted. “I’ve spent years upon years upon years finding eligible bachelors for you, and yet you never gave them a second thought, and for what? Some bastard from Acme Falls?!”

“Don’t you dare talk about William like that,” Lena protested, and Angelina struck her again, this time causing her to fall onto the floor.

“I will say whatever the hell I want because I am your mother and I am your queen,” She said, towering over her.

“If you kill him I’ll kill myself and you’ll be left with nothing,” Lena looked up at her.

“Of all the impertinent, aggravating, abominable things you’ve done, you’ve decided to top it all off by marrying a filthy peasant,” The queen was barely keep in her anger. “I just- I can’t believe my own flesh and blood would betray me like this.”

“Oh please, like you’ve ever treated me like ‘flesh and blood’,” Lena muttered.

“I have done nothing but care for you. I’ve clothed you, given you a home and an education, and provided you with numerous options for your future and future suitors. It’s not my fault you’re so impertinent that you refused to consider them for even a moment,” She clenched her fists.

“You’ve never loved me,” Lena said, tears beginning to stream down her face. “If you did, you’d be happy for me.”

“You never think anything through, Angelina. Did you not stop to think about how this would impact the kingdom? How this would impact me?” She asked.

“I hate you,” Lena glared, and Angelina hit her again.

“You are going to pay for your actions, Angelina. The hard way,” She declared.

“It’s too late mother. There is nothing you can do to undo what’s been done,” Lena smirked.

However, she quickly regretted her pride when her mother angrily yanked her hair and pulled her up, and then proceeded to drag her all the way up to the tallest tower of the castle. Her mother then tossed her in there and locked the door with a key she kept in her pocket.

“You will not be leaving this room until you have understood a fraction of the pain and agony you have caused me,” She said, before storming away.

And so Lena stayed in the cold, dark room and found herself sobbing and sobbing and sobbing and sobbing until she was sick to the stomach.

Things were supposed to get better. She was supposed to be untouchable. She and William were married now- it was supposed to be okay.

Instead, now she was locked away for who knows how long in a dark, cold room with a bare-bones bed, a broken mirror, a blanket as thin as paper, and a window.

Lena picked up a shard of the broken glass, and without thinking, she chopped her hair off.

That was one less thing her mother could manipulate...

And William... what was going to happen to him?

Would she kill him? Could she? He’s a trained knight, one of the best across all the lands, surely she couldn’t kill him “the old fashioned way”. Surely that would mean he would be okay... right?

And what if she was pregnant? Sure, she lied out there but she could be right. Oh, what terrible circumstances to be born into...

And so Lena remained sobbing, eventually setting the glass shard down, and laying on the horrible bed and holding herself, trying to get some sense of comfort.

However, soon she felt another pair of arms wrap around her, and to her complete surprise, it was William.

“William- w-what-? H-how-?”

“Shh, it’s okay Lena, I’m here, it’s okay,” he hushed her. Lena didn’t argue.

“B-but how?” She asked.

“I climbed,” He said.

“Th-that’s like- 50 feet. You could’ve died,” Lena broke the hug.

“Lena, it’s okay. I made it, and I’m here, that’s all that matters,” he placed a hand on her face, wiping away a few tears. Lena didn’t have it in her to argue further, so she hugged him again and continued to sob.

“Th-things were supposed to get better,” She cried.

“I know... I’m so sorry, my love,” Wiliam was crying too, and he stroked her head of freshly cut hair.

“Did she do that?” He whispered. Lena shook her head.

“She just gr-grabbed my hair a-and just dragged m-me s-so I cut it off,” she explained, trying her best not to hiccup. William hugged her tighter.

“I’m so sorry, Lena...” He said.

“I’m sorry too,” she said. “You’ll probably b-be killed or fired or de-knighted o-or something.”

“I don’t care, as long as we’re together,” He kissed the top of her head.

“As long as we’re together,” she repeated those words to herself. Despite everything, they were a little comforting.

“It’ll be okay, Lena. I-i don’t know how or when, b-but it will be okay. Someday...” he swore to her, and for a moment, Lena believed him.

Someday it will be just she and him... maybe a few kids running around in a sunny field collecting wild flowers... and they’d be happy. Safe. Her mother would be dead and gone and they’d all be happy and safe and together.

But it wasn’t “someday”. Lena’s reality was a cold tower far away from the ground and her friends and familiar faces, and her studies and books, for who knows how long, and she was miserable,

but at least she had William, and that made things at least a little bit better.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

#animaniacs #my fics #queen angelina i #queen angelina ii #sir william the good #angst #feels #tw abuse #tw mental breakdown #tw mention of suicide #long post #fluff with an angsty ending #aldjfjejdjsk #this took forever #this better make y'all cry i swear-#jkjk

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