#and yes once or twice she interrupts herself with FEELINGS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emotionoitme · 1 year

Text

under the moon

carmy berzatto x reader

final part of about a girl

masterlist

warnings: drinking & drug use (marijuana), carmy being mean, clubbing, jealousy, so much dirty talk, bdsm dom/sub undertones, oral sex (f receiving), spanking, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, choking, lots of cursing as usual

wc: 9.2k

a/n: i am so excited for you all to read this. & sorry for the slight delay, it took me a bit longer than expected to finish! thank you so so much for your continued support on this series! i genuinely never thought people would like it so much🥺 enjoy!

foster the people - under the moon

she had begrudgingly awoken the following morning, head feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton, eyes swollen and sore. the bright morning light streams through her open blinds, soaking the room in warm sun. she groans, throwing the duvet over her completely, praying her bed would open up into a sinkhole and swallow her completely. she snakes her arm out, reaching around the nightstand for her phone, pulling it back in. she had overslept about an hour, meaning she would have to heavily compromise on her morning routine and practically sprint to work if she wanted to make it on time. she considered it shortly, but ultimately pulled up her contacts app on her phone, opting to call in sick. she scrolls, the first option being carmy. she wanted so badly to hear his voice, yet her stomach drops at the thought of him, so she quickly scrolls past the contact to find sydney’s number instead. the girl hesitates for a moment, before dialing, a point of deliberation deep within her. she wanted to be as far as away from the man as she could possibly be, the thought of his mere face bringing her a feeling of anguish. on the other hand, she wanted to bear witness to his demeanor— reassure herself that he’s as affected as she is over last night’s encounter.

he’s probably fine, she thinks to herself, lips twisted into a frown, he’s the one who didn’t want to keep it going. she tries to push the thought away, a hot pang of regret seeping through her body. she burrows deeper into the safety of her bed, tapping the icon next to syd’s contact, bringing the phone to her ear. the line rings, once, twice, three times, then a click.

“hello?” she hears at the other end.

“hey, syd,” she greets, groggily, “um, i'm sorry to do this to you guys, but i can’t come in today,” she explains, clarifying, “im sick, my stomach really hurts.” it was a white lie, told out of self preservation, knowing if she saw carmy’s face she surely would feel sick. she hears sydney take a breath.

“uhh, yeah, that’s fine. we should be fine,” she assures, continuing to ask, “are you still gonna come out with us tomorrow night?” syd pushes a piece of silverware neatly into place, finishing the last table as she watches her business partner come out from the kitchen, walking towards her.

“tomorrow night?” the girl questions, flipping her duvet off her head for oxygen.

sydney chides her name, “tomorrow night, tina’s birthday? drinks, dancing, i’ve been telling you about it since last thursday?” glancing at her coworker, curious about who she’s talking to. sydney mouths the girl’s name to him, carmen then gesturing to ask for the phone.

“yes, syd, thank you! i will be there. i’m sorry i’ve been so scattered this week,” she replies, sitting up out of bed.

“you’re fine, we can unwind tomorrow,” sydney replies, mouthing “okay, okay,” to the persistently gesturing man, “here, let me put you on with carmy,” she replies, going to hand the phone to the man.

“no!” the other line interrupts, more frantic than she meant to sound, met with silence. “i mean,” she tries to backtrack, “i don’t want him to worry about me. don’t put me on,” the girl stumbles out.

“welll, he’s saying that he wants to talk to you… so, i don’t really have much of a choice, okay, bye!” the chipper girl quickly tells her.

fuck, she mentally exclaims, i should’ve just gone in if i was gonna have to talk to him anyways.

she hears her name through the line, tone questioning, as carmy takes the phone from syd.

“hi,” she responds to his beckon, quietly.

“you’re calling in?” he asks, holding a finger up to syd, walking towards the back office for some privacy. she tightly closes her eyes, finding her words.

“i, uh, don’t feel good,” she responds, tone shakier than she had anticipated. the line goes silent for a minute, the girl mindlessly fiddling with a loose thread on her comforter.

“are you avoiding me?” comes his question, catching her slightly off guard.

“no, carmy” she quickly defends, “i don’t feel well.”

“what’s wrong?” he asks, taking a seat in his office chair.

“my, um,” she hesitates, “my stomach hurts.”

he’s not sure he believes her, leaning back in the chair and running a hand over his face.

“okay,” he concedes, letting out a sigh, “just, uh, take it easy today then.” he hears her hum in agreement, pausing before continuing.

“are you going to that club tomorrow?” carmy asks her, “for tina’s birthday?”

she dangles her legs over the edge of the bed, mindlessly kicking back and forth.

“are you?” she asks, eager to skip out on anything besides shutting herself safely inside and maybe putting her fingers to good use to prove carmen nonessential, the memories of his touch flooding her mind incessantly.

“i think i have to,” he responds, “i already told syd i would,” his eyes glancing back towards the open office door. she softly smiles, knowing she was in the same boat.

“okay,” standing and walking to her closet, looking for a club-suitable dress, “i’ll go too, then,” a small smirk in her tone. he can’t fight the smile that breaks his face, eyebrows raising slightly.

“carmy, my phone?” he hears from the hallway, a reminder of his surroundings, his time talking with the girl running short.

“yeah!” he yells back to the hallway, “hey, uh, feel better today, okay? i’ll see you tomorrow night,” carmy tells the girl, watching sydney walk into the office.

“thanks, carm. bye,” she responds, the call ending shortly thereafter. she had felt slightly guilty abandoning her shift, all for the purpose of not having to be tortured with his presence, a reminder of what had transpired the previous night. their casual encounters had quickly morphed into something else within her brain, feeling a deep sense of affection towards the man, chastising herself because she had worried about this and continued anyways.

she makes her way to the bathroom, splashing cold water over her face, the morning chill seeping through her bones. would it be so wrong for them to keep seeing each other? they were consenting adults—albeit boss and employee— both previously oblivious to the profound magnetism of their natural connection. she wanted to pursue things with him further, increasingly affected by his caring words and gestures, no longer being able to deny the twinge in her chest she gets when picturing his face.

but she knew he didn’t want the same.

why would he? she thought, it isn’t what he signed up for. he seemed focused on his work, like he would have limited time for a relationship.

she opted to get a few chores done around the house, taking advantage of the day off, sticking on the thought of him, though, finding herself looking through her closet for a dress with him in mind.

—

the space is hot, crowded, alive with movement. tickets pour from the printer one by one.

“it goes to four cousin, for the third time,” carmy scolds, “stop fucking with the tickets already,” hands busied with removing a large pot from the burner.

“hold on, i’m fixing them,” richie argues back, clutching a mess of paper.

carmy paces to the walk in refrigerator, grabbing a large container and making his way through the sea of bustling employees, checking on stations. he was running on fumes, only getting a solid three hours of sleep the previous night, plagued by a swarming head and uneasy stomach.

it’s best this way, he tells himself over again, easiest, hoping that if he repeats it enough times it will start to feel true.

“alright send these out to six, please,” he hears from the front of the kitchen, glancing over at the expo, seeing the recently plated entrees.

“fuck, richie, four!” carmen snaps, his hand flying out.

“jesus, alright, four!” richie yells, widening his eyes, shaking his head, continuing. “calm down, carm, she’ll be back thursday,” a snicker on his face

carmen freezes in his spot, skin beginning to burn. his eyes dart to richie, jaw twitching.

“shut the fuck up,” he bites, venom in his tone, trying to push himself further into his work to outlet the growing frustration. he hears the other man chuckle knowingly, glancing at carmen.

“okay, sore spot!” richie pokes, organizing the last few tickets, smile on his face. the chef doesn’t reply, beginning to quickly chop vegetables, unsure of what would slip off his tongue if he opened his mouth.

it was unclear to him why he was unable to regulate himself when it came to someone even mentioning her, figuring it was temporary, and would slowly dissipate once they had some distance from each other. carmy deeply exhales, glancing at the clock, counting down the hours until he would be able to see her again.

—

it was incredible how fast days would slip by when she didn’t have to go to the restaurant, taking care of domestic matters and recharging from the strenuous week so far, not thinking of carmen.

she goes to sleep that night wearing his clothes, arms wrapped around herself as if the sensation could ever come close to his touch, waking the next morning to eagerly check a phone empty of notifications. on her second day off she works on assignments for her classes, calls an old friend and grabs herself lunch from a bagel shop nearby. upon returning home she grabs a pair of earbuds and spends a few hours outside in the sunlight, mending the cracks in her heart, falling asleep on her balcony sofa and letting the sun kiss her better. the light of the afternoon seeps into the evening, painting the city in a soft yellow blanket, the girl slowly blinking awake. she watches a few cars drive by, a warm breeze shifting the trees, slowly sitting up and stretching, checking the time on her phone. she has a few hours to get ready before meeting everyone for drinks, her body relaxing at the confirmation. her eyes glance down past the time, seeing two new messages on her screen.

carmy: 416 s clark street

carmy: do you need a ride?

she unlocks her phone, staring at the gray bubbles for what seems like an eternity, fingers hovering over the keys. she begins to type a response, “no. gonna walk,” then quickly deletes it, knowing he would insist on driving her.

why is he trying to be so nice still?

she feels a twinge of irritation, quickly shutting off the phone, opting to not reply to his message. he was a hard man to understand, his actions contradicting his words more often than not—declaring the two finished, then continuing to pursue contact, referring to them as a “no strings” relationship and then calling her baby and sweetheart. it was confusing more than anything, beginning to take an emotional toll on the young woman. she felt incredibly tense the past few days, mind prickling with anxieties and insecurities, desperate to feel some type of release.

fuck him, she thinks, standing and opening her sliding glass door, going inside, i’m gonna forget about it tonight. she stalks to her closet, i’m gonna find a hot stranger and just dance, pulling out a short, skin tight club dress and holding it in front of herself, facing the mirror. she wanted him out of mind completely, settling with trying to replace his touch with someone else’s tonight no matter how much her heart objected. she puts music on, setting the dress on her bed and undresses, studying herself in the mirror for a moment before making her way to the bathroom and turning on the shower. she takes a long while to let the hot water to melt onto her skin, cherishing the white silence of the shower head. the young woman takes her time getting ready, piecing herself back together with an extensive routine. once she’s in a robe with her hair wrapped up she walks to the fridge, grabbing a seltzer with alcohol to ease the slight oncoming nerves. she meticulously does her makeup and styles her hair, shamefully wondering if carmy would like how she’s dressed up, checking her phone to see it’s time to head over. dropping her robe and zipping into the dress she had picked out for the night, the girl examines her reflection, admiring the work she had put in. she looked hot, turning to the side and checking out her profile, curves accentuated by the tight fabric. satisfied, she mists herself with perfume and grabs her heels and purse, walking to the door. she swings the heavy metal barrier open to reveal a tepid july night, air thick with moisture. she balances against the frame, slipping into her heels and sliding her purse strap over her shoulder, stepping into the dusk of the evening and letting the door lock behind her. she glances at her phone for walking directions, head slightly fuzzy from the seltzer she had drank on an empty stomach. her short walk to the club garners many gawking stares from passerby’s, surprisingly not making her feel as small as they usually seem to, the goal was to catch eyes tonight, right?

she squints, identifying bright flickering lights in the distance, the border of the club’s sign. there were a few people dispersed outside, all either smoking or talking on the phone, or both. she brushes her hair back, walking towards the entrance when she hears her name called from behind her.

“- yo!” turning to see marcus and angel leaning against the brick wall of the establishment. she smiles, turning and walking towards them, the distinct odor of marijuana arising from the cigarette marcus clutched in between his thumb and pointer.

“hi,” she grins, tilling her head slightly.

“hey,” the two respond, almost in synchronicity. marcus holds the rolled paper to her, “want some?”

she smiles, plucking it from his fingertips and bringing it to her lips, deeply inhaling to soften the inevitable drop her stomach would endure at the sight of carmen. the ember burns quickly, and she’s surprised at the harshness.

she hands it back with a slow exhale, thanking marcus.

“nervous?” angel chimes in, trying to hide a smile. the girl pauses for a moment, is it so obvious?

“i haven’t been to a club in a while,” she responds, crossing her arms. it was partially true, but she knew the real reason for the relentless fluttering in her chest.

the man stubs the filter onto a nearby trash can, dusting his hands off on his pants. “you guys ready to go in?”

the other man affirms, pushing himself off the wall and turning to walk to the front. the girl stays behind, hesitating.

“you two go ahead. i’m gonna air out,” she responds, leaning back, basking in the slight breeze. the men both crack a smile before walking together to the entrance, leaving the girl in her solitude. she closes her eyes for a moment, deeply inhaling the night air, listening to the reverberation of bass through the walls of the club. she feels a cloud of haze overwhelm her, the mixture of substances seeping through her in a warm glow. she hears footsteps approach.

“hey.”

her eyes snap open, breath escaping her at the sight of carmy. he looked polished, buttoned up into a dress shirt, hair fluffy and face cleanly shaved. she nearly salivated at his presentation, the buzz she felt complicating her decision to ignore him.

“hi,” she shortly responds, lip slightly pouted, watching as his eyes examine her, floating down her form. he snaps his eyes away, clearing his throat.

“you, uh, get my text?”

she nods, looking up to him, meeting his eyes with unwavering contact. he walks closer to the girl, slightly shaking his head and furrowing his brow in confusion, an unspoken gesture to elaborate.

she looks away, arms wrapping around herself.

“i didn’t need a ride,” she answers, “i walked.”

carmen’s jaw visibly tightens, feeling a twinge of irritation.

“yeah. uh, i asked because i didn’t want you walking here alone,” he explains in a slightly frustrated tone.

“yeah, well i made it,” she retorts, aggravation bubbling beneath the surface, “so you don’t need to worry about it.”

she didn’t know why he was getting under her skin so easily tonight, her throat suddenly feeling hot and tight, raking her eyes over the top of his chest exposed by an open button.

“well i do,” the man argues, “i don’t want you walking by yourself. anywhere,” he solidifies in a stern tone. the girl lets out a scoff.

“you’re acting like you’re my boyfriend,” she spits, fed up with the sense of entitlement he felt over her.

“i’m not your fuckin’ boyfriend,” he quickly asserts, tone ringing out much harsher than he intended.

she knows this to be a fact, but still can’t help the drop she feels in her chest when he says it aloud like that. she opens her mouth to say something, then quickly closes it, biting her lip, eyes darting to the ground. he instantly regrets saying it, brushing his fingers through his hair, grabbing it, studying the girl’s dejection with a pit in his stomach.

“whatever, carmen,” she dismisses, shoving past him. her lungs felt tight, eyes burned, mentally cursing herself, rushing to the club entrance to distance herself from the man. she shoves the door open, immediately being engulfed by sound and swarming bodies. she blinks back a few tears, deeply inhaling and exhaling, zoning into the environment. spotting the group of her coworkers at a corner table, she shufflles through the crowd to approach them. syd immediately spots the girl, calling out to her and waving. she plasters on a smile as the rest turn to watch her, all unanimously greeting the new arrival. she makes her way over to tina, hugging her and giving her a kiss on the cheek, wishing her happy birthday. she squeezes into her seat in between sydney and richie, turning to the tall man to ask, “so where’s my drink?”

richie lets out a boisterous laugh, throwing an arm around the girl.

“i don’t think you’re gonna have much of a problem getting drinks tonight, sweetheart,” he teases, as carmy approaches the table, receiving welcomes and pulling out a chair to sit. she flickers her eyes over to carmen to find he’s staring at her, quickly tearing them back away and leaning over to syd.

“come get a drink with me. i really need it,” she pleads, placing her hand on sydney’s forearm. the other girl agrees, the two sliding out from under the table and making their way to the bar, arms linked.

—

why did i say that?

he watches her rush to the front entrance, his body frozen, processing the conversation.

why did i say that?

he begins to go after her, reaching his arm out before she swiftly maneuvers the door open, slipping inside.

why the fuck did i say that?

it wasn’t completely untrue— he wasn’t her boyfriend— something he had failed to make entirely made clear before that point. he wasn’t oblivious to the way they had grown closer, either, the thought of her nestled deeply within a sweet spot in his heart. yet he had done nothing to prevent it from happening, and once thinking of it, he finds he’s only ever done the opposite, his behavior towards the girl falling far closer to a boyfriend than a hookup. he begins following in her footsteps, opening the club door and immediately becoming overwhelmed with the number of people crowding the floor. carmy cranes his neck, watching her figure weave through the crowd and towards a corner table. he pushes through the wall of people, seeing her take her seat, approaching the table to receive greetings from his coworkers. his eyes are trained on her, wrapped into richie’s arm, smiling until she locks eyes with him. then it drops, slightly. it makes him feel sick. he turns to fak at his right and engages in conversation as he watches her rise from the table alongside sydney. she looks like a model of some type, he thinks, with dark makeup defining her striking eyes and hair tousled over her shoulder, tight black dress riding up over the skin of her thighs. he trails down her face to her neck. when she moves her hair behind her ear he can see a small purple mark left from his teeth, eyes fully fixated on the spot. the bass of the music thumps, reverberating through the club, floorboards shaking. he tries to keep up in the table’s conversation whilst simultaneously keeping a close eye on the girl, shifting to see her order at the bar through the moving bodies. she throws a shot back, grimacing at the taste, laughing while saying something to syd (he was never very good at reading lips) and raising her hand to flag the bartender once more. the table bursts into laughter, carmen’s eyes drawing back to his coworkers, watching as tina shoves richie’s hand with a smile on her face, rolling her eyes. he feels an inclination to step outside for a smoke, head buzzing with stimulation from the lively environment, wondering how long he should stay before it would be acceptable to leave.

“oh my gosh, thank you baby,” he hears tina say, glancing over to see the girl having returned from the bar, placing a fruity drink in front of the woman.

she smiles, returning to her seat as the current song ends, fading into the next. sydney and the girl gasp in tandem at the distinctive opening, locking eyes with each other and grinning.

“we’re gonna go dance!” the girl excitedly calls, taking syd by the hand and navigating towards the dance floor, crowded with moving bodies. it’s hot, but fluid, the two girls beginning to move together, grinning. carmen watches her, eyes cutting through the crowd. she moves her hips, bringing her hands up her body, flashing lights illuminating her in colors. the sight was hypnotic almost, eyes trained on her, tense in his seat. she throws her hair back, circling her body, closing her eyes.

richie leans over to him, “you, uh, sure she did just bartending over at ricky’s?” elbowing him slightly.

carmen doesn’t respond, eyes fixated on her gyrating movements, jaw tensing, painfully aware of all the eyes she’s gathered around the club. she continues dancing after the first two songs, even when sydney makes her way back to the table in need of rest. carmy tried to not make it so obvious he was watching the girl, grateful some of his other coworkers had joined the crowd on the dancefloor, completely entranced by her movement. he tears his gaze away, standing up find the bar, eager to ease the incredible tension he felt pent up within him. she seemed to be having fun dancing, and in a way it felt refreshing to watch the girl so loose and carefree. carmy couldn’t help the sense of possessiveness he felt, though, watching her move like that, seeing the way other men looked at her, like meat. it made him sick.

he orders a beer once the bartender makes their way over, song fading into the next. he turns to lean against the counter, eyes searching for her as he brings the bottle to his lips with a long swig. he feels a pang in his chest, as he finds her, hand on another man’s arm, leaning to whisper something in his ear. he closely watches as the man smiles, nods, placing his hands on her hips and getting closer to her. carmen’s skin immediately becomes hot, teeth clenching, taking a deep breath through his nose to try and calm himself.

what the fuck is she doing?

his eyebrows furrow, watching as she dances, bringing her arms up, turning, moving against the stranger. he feels physically sick, stomach churning at the way this man was touching her navel, hips, pressing himself to the back of her. carmy tightly grips the bottle, unable to rip his eyes away, the girl glistening in the light. she throws her head back against the man’s shoulder, hair draping over him, grinding to the music. her eyes find carmen’s quickly, intentionally locking gazes as she brings the strangers hands higher, up her waist, ribs, her mouth falling opening. carmen stands, knocking the barstool off balance with the force of his movement, shoving through the crowd, disregarding the dirty looks, quickly making his way to the dance floor. he grabs the girl’s wrist, pulling her from the stranger’s grasp, tightly gripping her as he walks towards the back door, dragging her behind him, feeling the struggle of her arm as she tries to pull away. he turns, putting a hand on her lower back, ushering her through the club, shoving the heavy metal door open and bringing her outside, finally letting go when the two are far from the door. he brings a hand to his hair, grabbing, turning to face the girl.

“what the fuck, carmen?” she yells, ripping her hand away from him, “what’s your issue?” her words slightly under-enunciated.

he bites down on his lip, meeting her eyes, hand coming to his hip. he hardly had an explanation for the girl, driven by a redhot primal jealousy, blood boiling at the sight of someone else’s hands on her, grabbing, feeling her like that.

“what’s my issue?” he scoffs, “why the fuck were you dancing like that?” his face reddening, pulse quickening. she lets out a laugh, leaning back against the wall, gazing up at him.

“why?” she asks, “are you jealous?”

he shakes his head, unconsciously stepping closer to her.

“i’m not jealous,” he argues, jaw set firmly, eyes casting down onto her.

“yeah?” she leans forward, further closing the distance between them. he nods, fixated on the droop of her eyes, the part of her lips, the way she looked up at him through her dark lashes.

“so what if i fuck him?” she asks softly, a smirk playing on her lips, “will you be jealous then?”

he lets out a breath, fire growing at her words.

he shakes his head, “you’re not gonna fuck him,” asserting with confidence. she tilts her head, alcohol emboldening her.

“how do you know?” she challenges, well aware of how affected she was by his tone, his demeanor, the look in his eyes. carmy gets closer to her face.

“because he’s not gonna fuck you like i do,” his voice deep, low, eyes boring into hers with an intensity that lights her core ablaze. the girl finds her breath hitches, mouth going dry, gaze flickering to his lips. he rests his hand on the brick behind her, leaning closer, “hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

she shuts her eyes tightly, trying to shake her senses of the overwhelming lust she felt. she was supposed to stay angry at him, he was being an asshole. maybe it was the alcohol or the drugs, or the way he towered over her, but she felt no anger, only replaced by want, a slick ache growing at the way he seems to claim her for himself. she takes a deep breath, body feeling as if it were buzzing, head cloudy.

“you are so fucking confusing,” she whispers, bringing her forehead to lightly touch his. he rests his hand on her lower back, relishing in the warmth of the contact, breathing in her scent. she was completely right about him, he thinks, never saying what he really means to her. if he could have what he really wanted, she would be his, only his. a girlfriend.

“yeah,” he takes a shaky breath, “yeah. i know,” reply coming, hesitantly. “i’m sorry, -” he breathes out, her name sounding sweet on his tongue. she blinks away the tears that want to form, grabbing the fabric of his shirt, a small tremble of the lip. she opens her mouth to say something, eyes tearfully meeting his.

the metal door creeks open, momentarily releasing the booming music out into the alleyway, breaking the trance as a few smokers congregate by the back. the girl changes her mind, mouth shutting. she releases his shirt, pulling away, stepping around the man and smoothing her appearance, pads of her fingers coming to dry a few escaped tears. he watches her try and compose herself, shivering in her small dress. his heart clenches, feeling the overwhelming need to take care of her— wrap his arm around her, lead her back to his home, dress her in more of his clothes and watch her fall asleep. he shrugs off his light jacket, walking over to her and draping it over her shoulders without saying anything. she glances up at the man, engulfed by his warmth and the smell of him, ache in her chest.

“i’m gonna go home,” she whispers, swaying slightly.

“let me walk you,” he offers, hand coming to her upper back. she quickly shakes her head, taking a step away from him.

he sighs at her stubbornness, says her name.

“you’re drunk,” he observes, “let me make sure you get there okay.”

she hiccups, crossing her arms.

“ ‘m not drunk,” she slurs unconvincingly. he nods, letting out a breath, hand coming to rub his face.

“okay,” he concedes, “then, just… go back in with me for a sec. say bye to everyone.”

she meets his eyes, consideration running over her features, then nodding slowly. he puts his hand on the small of her back, steadying her as they walk back towards the large metal door. there’s a noticeable change in temperature difference as the two enter the club again, weaving through a sea of moving bodies, carmy holding tightly onto her, ushering her forward towards the corner table. he doesn’t miss the glances from his workers at the sight of the girl wearing his jacket, a few smiles cracked, looks exchanged. he ignores it, picks his beer back up as the girl excuses herself from the event, claiming to not feel good and chalking it up to drinking too much when she usually doesn’t partake. richie, surprisingly, says nothing, eyes trained on carmen, smirk plastered over his face.

“i’m gonna head out too,” carmy announces, “take her home.”

richie begins loudly laughing, clapping his hands together.

“jesus christ, i am right about everything!” he shouts, slamming his glass down onto the table. carmen’s skin begins to prickle with embarrassment.

“hey richie,” he chimes, “shut the fuck up.” he felt unbearably tense tonight between the day’s grueling shift, the girl dancing on another man, the newfound teasing, as if he were about to implode. he was in desperate need of some sort of release. carmy watches her, tightly clad fabric stretching over her ass as she leans down to give tina a hug. he felt guilty, almost, the way he had been shamelessly gawking at her throughout the night, the act doing nothing but intensify the burning he felt bottled up within him.

“i’m sorry i’m leaving so early, t,” he hears from her mouth, “i don’t feel very well.”

the older woman brushes the apology away, placing a kiss on the girl’s cheek.

“feel better, baby,” she coos, looking to carmen, “jeff, you make sure she gets into bed okay,” the command motherly in tone. he nods, coming to give tina a side hug, “ ‘night, t. happy birthday.”

—

the sidewalk pavement was in dire need of repair, cracks and bumps literally the surface, worsening the walk for people who weren’t drunk. she stumbles over a divot, instinctively grabbing onto carmy’s arm for balance, heels catching on every small crevice. she lets out a cry of frustration, stopping in her tracks.

“this is impossible,” she exclaims, reaching down to adjust the strap of her heel, “why don’t they fix this stupid street?”

he can’t help the way the corners of his lips twitch upwards. she was cute, even in her frustration. he crouched, slightly, leaning over, arms out.

“c’mere,” he tells her, “jump up.”

she falters, trying to retain independence in her drunken stubbornness, but ultimately accepts, the other option being continually tripping over herself for another mile. she puts her hands up on his shoulders, using him as leverage to boost herself up, his arms coming to wrap around the backs of her thighs. he hears her squeal, slightly, feeling as she pulls the short dress down to cover the curve of her ass. the man grits his teeth, shaking the mental image of it as he tightly grips the supple skin of her upper thighs. she’s easy to carry, surprisingly so, as he continues walking in the direction of her apartment building. a silence settles between the two of them, breaths falling in line with the gentle rhythm of his steps. she wraps her arms around him further, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder, exhale tickling his neck. he clears his throat, glancing back at the girl, seeing her closed eyes.

“i, uh,” he hesitates, gathering his thoughts, “i fuckin’ hated seeing that guy touch you,” the confession slipping off of his tongue. he feels her smile slightly against his neck.

“i knew you would,” her reply comes softly. he lets out a small scoff, humored by what she admits.

“you’re a brat,” he asserts lowly, pressing his fingers into her skin. she splays her arms out, pushing her chest against his back, hand coming to rest on his bare collarbones.

“you were being a dick,” her words ringing truthfully, resounding throughout the man, feeling a pang of guilt.

“yeah. i know,” he agrees, eyes fixed forward, “i’m sorry.” carmen lets a cloud of silence engulf the two before vocalizing again.

“you know, i… really do wanna be with you,” he admits gently, soul bared. she pauses, soaking in his words, feeling almost as if a puzzle piece had been pushed into place.

“why not?” her question comes soft, sweet. he lets out a deep breath.

“you know why,” he quietly replies, the street lamps casting their two shadows as one. she does know why, aware of the sly glances the two received, apparent judgment surrounding a relationship with the power imbalance of theirs.

“well, i quit then,” she pouts, lips brushing against his skin, erupting him in goosebumps. he shakes his head.

“you can’t,” comes his rejection, “we need you,” expressing the fact with utmost sincerity. she hugs her arms around him tighter, smelling his cologne, his soap, a faint trace of cigarette smoke.

“i don’t care,” she protests in all of her stubborn glory, “i wanna be yours, carm.”

he feels himself surrender at her words, pulling her even closer.

“you’re mine,” he assures her, glancing back to meet her eyes, nodding, feeling warmth as if a bright light glowed from his chest. they can figure out the details later— he genuinely didn’t want her to quit, trying to remind himself it was the only way their relationship would be ethical. the man slows in pace as they approach the front of her building, letting the girl hop down, holding his hand out to steady her once her feet make contact with the ground. she gives a small smile, intertwining her arm with his, hand coming to rest on the mass of muscle as the two make their way to her building. she clutches onto him in her inebriated state as they scale the tall stairs leading up to her door. she fumbles with her keys, eventually unlocking the deadbolt and pushing the door open. she turns to face him, giving him sort of a puppy dog look, hoping he’ll want to follow her in. a smile breaks his face, studying her expression.

“i, uh, gotta make sure you get in bed okay,” he reminds her, gesturing inside. she grins, taking his hand, pulling him inside and shutting the door. the space was illuminated with strung lights, warm in hue, mystifying the room. he takes a deep breath, wrapped in her intoxicating scent, eyes scanning the room. he primarily notices how pristine it is, cozy, fragments of her soul framed over the walls and resting on shelves. it felt like a home, more than his ever has. she sets her keys and purse on a side table, kicking off her heels and sighing in relief, trudging to the kitchen to retrieve two glasses of water. when she hands it to him he can’t help but stare, focusing on her face, the ache for her insurmountable to anything he’s ever wanted before. he sets the glass down, hand coming to her lower back, deeply looking into her, past her beauty and towards her essence. he watches as her eyes flicker down to his lips, quickly coming back to meet his gaze. he’s in awe of her, almost, bringing both hands to the small of her back, squeezing her slightly, pulling her to him with ease. she lets out a breath at the action, hand coming to his forearm, feeling the flex of his tendons. he wants her all to himself, he thinks, leaning in towards her, raising his hand to cup the side of her face. she leans into the touch, turning, pressing a kiss to the base of his thumb, bringing her other hand to rest on his, biting the skin. he grasps her face at this, shoving his thumb into her mouth.

“suck,” he commands, voice low, watching in anticipation as she brings her lips around the digit, tongue circling eagerly, trying to take more of it into her mouth. he nearly falls apart at the sight, twitching, pulling her flush against him, dragging his thumb out of her mouth and over her bottom lip. he drops his hand to touch her neck, watching her lips, hearing his heart pound in his ears. she brings her grip to clutch onto his shirt, heavily breathing. he cherishes her expression, cheeks flushed and lips parted, glistening. carmen tightens his hand around her throat very slightly, leaning in to taste her, his lips gently pressing against hers, hearing her moan at the unexpected contact. she’s sweet, soft, eager, the slightest trace of alcohol on her lips. he hadn't realized how much he had been craving her taste until it graced his tongue, feeling almost as if a tension in him had alleviated. he wants more, tattooed fingers wrapping around her neck, pulling her into him, deepening the kiss. she melts into him, trying to keep up with the ferocity of his kiss, pushing her tongue into his mouth. he groans, bringing his hand from her back to the curve of her ass, feeling, squeezing, pulling her in. he takes his hand off her throat, her leg slightly lifts, and he takes the opportunity to hoist it up over his hip, turning and pressing her into the counter, weight of his body against hers. it feels as if something had snapped within him, wanting to claim her all to himself, grabbing whatever he can of her, getting as close as possible, lips, tongues dancing in tandem. he presses a few slow kisses to her mouth, pulling away, forehead coming against hers, eyes shut. he listens to the sound of their breath, hand on her ass, fingers teasing the hem of her panties. she arches into his touch, body tingling, hot with desire. his hand comes up, then flies back down to smack her ass, the girl takes a sharp breath, firmly gripping it again after the impact.

“fuck,” she breathes, a hot swell in her lower stomach. he creeps his hand up the skin of her thigh, slipping under her dress, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her legs. her face grows hot at the way he takes command, shoving at the fabric until it slides down her calves and hits the floor. she steps out of them, breath shaky, drenched in anticipation, insides of her thighs growing wet. carmy gives her a final kiss before dropping to his knees in front of her, placing a few gentle kisses around her skin. she instinctively clamps her thighs at the sensation, the man bringing his hand to shove her leg to the side, exposing her glistening heat. he lets out a soft moan at the sight, closer than he’s ever been to her core, leaning forward to softly kiss her clit. the girl lets out a cry of surprise, hand flying to his head, the simple act sending a shock throughout her body. he brings his thumb and pointer finger to part her both of her lips, taking her image in, salivating slightly in anticipation. he casts his eyes up towards her face, flushed, mouth open. he leans forward, licking a long stripe up her wetness to her clit, swirling his tongue around the bud, pulling away. she pants, fingers tangled in his hair, arching towards him, wordlessly asking for more. he groans at the taste of her, a rush to his head, his cock, immediately diving in for more, lapping at her as if she’s the finest thing he’s had in his mouth. her knees begin to go weak, trembling slightly, trying to hold onto him for support.

“carmy,” she whimpers, “i can’t stand.”

this breaks his focus, bringing his eyes up to her with a glint.

“yeah?” he asks, “feel too good, baby?” a smirk growing on his face. she refuses to respond, tightly shutting her eyes and throwing her head back when he brings his thumb to slowly circle her clit, watching, gauging her reaction. he pulls his hand away, placing a small smack on the inside of her thigh, the girl gasping.

“answer me” he growls, breath tickling her mound, leaning to press a few more kisses to her swollen heat. she lets out a whine, grabbing his hair.

“it feels- fuck it feels so good carm,” she shakily admits, knees nearly buckling. satisfied with her answer he brings both hands to the base of her ass, lifting her with ease and setting her on the countertop. she hastily grabs his shirt and pulls him in, locking lips and tasting herself on his tongue, letting a sweet sound into his mouth. he breaks away, desperate to feel her wetness on his mouth again. he kisses the inside of her thigh, then leans in, flattening his tongue against her clit, gently lapping, a finger coming to tease her pooling entrance. she unintentionally bucks her hips at the sensation, prompting carmen to bring the length of his forearm to her inner thigh, shoving it open, holding her down. she brings her eyes to his tattooed arm splaying her open, heart pounding, trying to straighten herself, awaiting his touch. he continues his gentle licks, circling his finger around her wetness, then pushing the digit into her slowly, eyes darting up to watch her mouth fall open. he swirls his tongue around her engorged clit, then gently sucks, curling his finger deeply inside of her, beginning to establish a rhythmic motion. her pants turn to cries, pulling the man in by his curls. his hand grips the skin of her thigh, spreading her open, devouring her, pushing a second finger into her. her teeth clamp down onto her lip at the sensation, gripping around his digits, trying hard to keep her composure in front of the man. carmy, aware of this, increases the pace of his movement, pulling his mouth away from her, beginning to tease her clit with a feather-like touch of his tongue. her head falls back, smacking against the cabinet, a loud moan slipping through her lips.

“please,” she pleads, not sure for what, arching into carmen’s motion, hands grabbing whatever she can of him, the knot inside her stomach growing impossibly tight. he wants to feel her cum— clench around his fingers, see how long he can keep fucking into her until it’s too much— but he refrains, pulling his fingers out, soaked with her juices, standing up. her head jerks up to meet his eyes, panting, flushed, frustrated.

“whyy?” she whines, trying to pull the man back to her. he lets out a scoff, smirk creeping at the edges of his lips, hands on the tops her thighs, gripping.

“you think i’m gonna let you cum?” he asks, voice low, coming close to her face, “after that shit you pulled in the club?”

her lip pouts, face heating at his words, held down by his weight, trying to catch her breath. the girl opens her mouth to argue back, but decides against it, just wanting to feel him— leaning forward to kiss him softly, hungrily, hands coming to feel the muscles of his chest. he melts into the kiss, hands wrapping around her back.

“you don’t care, huh?” carmy teases between kisses, “just want me to keep touchin’ you,” pressing himself between her thighs, deepening their contact. she nods into the kiss, greedily reaching her hands down to pull his shirt up. he pulls away from her, taking it off completely, groaning as the girl runs her hands up his bare abdomen, then gently rakes her nails down, admiring the way his muscles flex under her touch. he grows a bit impatient, decides to pick her up, her legs coming to wrap around his back, carrying her to the bedroom. she grins at the way he holds her, hands gripping both of her ass cheeks, leaning down to kiss his neck in the short walk. when he drops her onto the plush duvet of her bed he leans over her, fingers grasping the side zipper of her dress, slowly pulling it down to reveal the skin of her ribcage, waist, stopping right above her hip. they lock eyes and he searches her face for any signs of hesitation, finding only blown pupils and flushed cheeks. he grabs the hem of the dress, slowly pulling it down her body to expose her breasts, waist, stomach, pelvis, letting the fabric fall over her ankles to the floor. his eyes drink her in, sparks firing in his brain, bringing his hands to grasp her waist, thumbs resting over her stomach. carmy leans in, deeply kissing her, savoring her warmth, then rises, unbuckling his belt. she props herself up onto her elbows, watching the man slowly unbutton his pants, pull the zipper down. she lets out a heavy breath at the sight of the large bulge behind his briefs, straining against the cotton, curved upwards to the right. she sits up, inching towards the edge of the bed, seated in front of the man, gazing up at him in adoration.

“can i take these off?” she asks softly, fingers coming to hook into his briefs, pulling them slightly to reveal the deep v-line in his hips, light brown hair leading down to his covered pubic bone. her mouth was almost watering, looking up at him in anticipation. he grins at her eagerness, raising his eyebrows slightly, nodding his head, giving her permission to slip the waistband down over his hips, cock slapping against his stomach when she does so. she immediately grabs the length of his dick, heavy in her hand, giving it a few slow strokes, watching as he closes his eyes, breathing out heavily. her head feels fuzzy, wanting nothing more than for him to shove her back onto the bed and fill her completely, continuing to marvel at his thickness. he brings his hand to stroke the side of her face, fingers coming over her ear and threading through her hair, watching intently as she slowly jerks him off. she clenches her thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the growing ache, running out of patience.

“carm,” she whines, gripping his cock, gazing up at him, handsome face framed by a few messy curls, “i want it already.”

he lets a small smirk grace his face, rubbing his thumb against her cheek.

“yeah?” he asks, watching the girl quickly nod, bringing his face closer to his, lowering his voice, “you know i’m gonna fuckin’ wreck you tonight, right?”

she heats at his words, eyes widening, an expectant shiver making it’s way through her body and settling throughout her core. he doesn’t let her respond, grabbing her thighs and pulling her, back coming to the mattress, pelvis flush with his. he bends her legs into her chest, leaning over her, the tip of his cock briefly gracing her wetness before he brings his hand down to grip himself, running the tip through her slick folds, sliding up to nudge her clit. she tightly shuts her eyes, lets out a quiet moan at the sensation— almost enough to satisfy, but not quite. he continues thrusting through her folds, listening to the wet sounds, coating himself in her juices. she tries to resist the urge but she can’t, reaching down, grabbing his cock and sticking it inside of her, legs coming to wrap around his back to pull him in.

“fuckk,” he exclaims loudly, not expecting her desperation, suddenly engulfed in her warmth. he groans, trying to compose himself, bringing his hand to her throat, leaning in, pushing his hips forward to the hilt. she whimpers, cherishing the slight burn of fullness as he tightens his grip around her throat.

“this what you wanted?” he asks, voice gruff, fully draped over her, nuzzling a kiss under her ear. the way he speaks to her ignites a flame, emboldening her slightly. her eyes gleam.

“no,” she breathes, “i want you to fuckin’ move,” words laced with a tone. he lets out a short laugh, straightening, grabbing both her calves and propping them up over his shoulders, drawing out of her and then quickly snapping his hips forward. she gasps, hand flying up to her mouth. she feels the ridge of his head drag against her walls as he graciously begins to thrust into her, hands wrapped around her legs, eyes coming to watch her breasts bounce in time with his rhythm. her hand falls away from her mouth, a loud cry pouring from her lips. carmen revels in the sound as he continuously drives his hips forward, skin slapping against hers, gripping her left calf, turning to press a kiss into her ankle. his pace begins to satiate the relentless burn within her core, trying to take his length as deeply as possible.

“so good,” she whimpers, bringing her hands to her breasts, squeezing. carmy groans, slapping her outer thigh.

“where’d that attitude go?” he asks, pelvis flush against her, pulling closer, “huh?”

her brows furrow, opening her mouth to argue but falling short, a breathy moan replacing her words at the sensation of him deeply fucking into her. her body feels incredibly hot, nipples perked beneath her fingers, feeling herself approaching an edge. he grins, moving his hand to grip at her thigh, eyes scanning over the sight in front of him.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he tells her, hips stuttering, trying to push away his quickly approaching orgasm. he pulls out of her, the girl’s eyes shooting open to object. carmy takes hold of her forearms, pulling her to stand, grabbing her hips and turning her around, pushing her forward. her knee comes to the bed, balanced on her other leg as he wraps his arm around her waist, hand on her ribcage and inserts himself back into her tightness.

“yes,” she cries, arching back against him and bringing her hand onto his arm, feeling the head of his cock thrust deeply upwards. the tingling in her core grows stronger; her head falls back onto his shoulder. carmen grunts, his free hand coming to find her clit, rubbing small, soft circles, feeling himself unravel at the intense pulse of her walls. he kisses her cheek, relentlessly pounding into her, the crescendo of her moans driving him higher and higher. his lips come right next to her ear, breath ragged.

“you my girl?” he asks, another kiss on the side of her face, bringing his hand from her ribs to her breast, gently squeezing.

she nods quickly, arm coming behind her to grab his hip, feeling him, tangible beneath her fingers.

“all yours,” she pants, “i’m all yours, carm.”

he groans at the sentiment, bottoming out inside of her, quickly circling her clit as her arousal grows slick on his fingers. she feels herself tumbling towards her edge, trying to physically hold onto him so as to not climax, fingers gripping into his skin.

“i’m-,” a cry falls from her mouth. he pulls the two even closer, wetness pouring from her at the continual thrusts, feeling the cues of her body approaching climax.

“let it go, baby,” he coos, lips pressed against her ear. with his simple command she feels an intense heat envelop her body, orgasm crashing against her like a wave. she goes limp in his arms so he grabs her tighter, bending her over the bed. her thighs begin to shake as carmen relentlessly snaps his hips, watching her intently, feeling a white hot pleasure seep through him. he’s ferociously grabbing at her, pulling her in as he approaches his edge, stutter of his hips as he bottoms out and releases himself into her with a loud groan. she feels the pressure of his cum against her walls, intense heat diffusing as she rides out the shocks of her orgasm. he collapses over her, hand coming to the bed, trying not to put his full weight upon her. their labored breaths harmonize, hearts pounding. carmy runs a hand over her lower back, soothingly rubbing the limp girl. he pushes himself up, straining to grab a tissue off her nightstand to clean with, the act of pulling out of her releasing a constant pressure, the girl whimpering. he soaks up the mess of cum dripping down her legs, drinking in the sight, then rises to throw the tissues away. she’s able to muster the energy to push herself up and stumble behind him, walking into the bathroom to turn on the shower, steadying her shaky legs by holding onto the wall. she turns to see the man, naked in all his glory, approach her, placing his hands on her hips and leaning in to kiss her deeply. she seeps into his touch, hand coming to graze his lower stomach, exhaling slowly. he lets a peace wash over the two before speaking.

“so, uh, i’ll take this as your two weeks notice, then?” he teases, hand falling to her low back. she tilts her head to the side.

“what? you mean i don’t get a promotion after that?” she asks, smiling, trying to feign disappointment, “fuck.”

he grins, adoringly gazing down at the young woman, bathing in the light of her smile.

he knew it was never supposed to go so far. it was never supposed to end up in this position, with her leaning in for another kiss, him greedily accepting. she was his completely now, the man making a vow to never let anything or anyone hurt her, cherishing the feeling of her warmth under his fingertips.

it was never supposed to go so far, but it did. and he was so fucking glad it did.

—

eeeek i hope you liked it!! i genuinely enjoyed writing this story so much. an epilogue to wrap up some loose ends is possible in the future- in the meantime i'll be posting some steamy carmy headcannons.

please leave me a comment and let me know what you think! thank you SO MUCH to everyone for the continued support on this series <3

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear imagine

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blackjackkent · 5 months

Note

"I never thought I'd say this, but I need your advice."

Any BG3 character of your choice to Minsc, just for fun, haha

(Sentence starter meme)

Ahhhh this was fun. :D I'm not entirely sure this turned out my best work, but I do love Minsc muchly and it was definitely fun to bounce two characters off each other that I don't normally. ^_^

TY for the prompt!

---

"I never thought I would say this. But I would welcome your advice."

Minsc looks up as a lithe, stringy shadow falls across the light from the campfire. The interruption is unexpected but not surprising; he has been deep in a conversation with Boo, and he finds quite often that those around him see fit to interrupt such conversations as if they were not happening. For a time it bothered him, but Boo has reassured him that there is no offense to be taken. Boo will always be there, after all; all others in Minsc’s life ebb and flow with the tides of victory and tragedy.

So he tucks the hamster with practiced ease into his pocket and smiles genially at the githyanki warrior standing outside his tent. “Then it you shall have! What may Minsc of Rashemen do for Lae’zel of Creche K’liir?”

Lae’zel shifts uneasily from foot to foot. Her cat’s-pupil eyes are narrowed as if in wariness, though Minsc cannot fathom why. He has fought many gith in their raids upon his homeland, but he has never - that he can recall - shown threat to Lae’zel here in Baldur’s Gate.

“What troubles you?” he asks, his tone lowering in volume slightly. “If it has a butt that may be kicked, Minsc and Boo shall remove it from your sight!”

“Chk.” The young warrior flinches defensively. “You suggest I cannot fight my own battles?”

“By no means!” Minsc smiles widely. “Minsc has seen too many githyanki blades piercing unwary bellies to believe so! But Minsc and Boo never saw a righteous battle to which we could not add a blow in service. You have only to point the way.”

“It is not battle for which I require you, berserker,” she says, staring with distinct interest at the cobblestone next to his boot.

He tips his head slowly to one side. “For what, then?” he asks agreeably.

There’s a short pause. “You are from Rashemen,” Lae’zel says quietly. “You have traveled far from the place you would call home. You have seen loss as much as you have seen victory. Yet you thrive among strangers and show no fear of failure or of mockery. You are… joyful.”

Minsc nods vigorously. “All of these things are true, yes!”

A muscle works sharply in Lae’zel’s jaw. “I would know by what secret you manage it,” she says gruffly, and drops into a sitting position opposite him in a single motion, her legs crossed. “For I am also far from home. And each day I feel farther still.”

“Ahhh… I can understand this.” Minsc’s smile fades and he nods gravely. “However far Minsc has traveled from Rashemen, Lae’zel has surely traveled farther from the rocks of wildspace.”

“Yes.”

He considers her for a moment thoughtfully. “But what tongue would dare to mock you? Minsc has seen Lae’zel fight. The ferocity of at least ten hamsters. No, twenty!”

In spite of herself, Lae’zel’s lips twitch with a flash of amusement. “This is a compliment, among the Rashemaar?”

“It is a fact only,” Minsc says gravely. “Boo confirms it.”

“Indeed.” She does not fidget, but Minsc can tell by her intense stillness that she would like to, and she still does not quite meet his eyes. “There is much in which I have failed.” She admits it flatly, like a soldier at attention reciting a patrol report. “My former goddess seeks my head. I once thought to ride a red dragon through the Astral, and instead I crawl upon Toril’s face like a broken beast.” A slight pause. “And we seek a monster even among ghaik, the creature of ultimate nightmare, my people’s greatest enemy. We hunt ghaik at the expense of all other endeavors, yet in my first hunt I shamed myself twice over in failure and capture. Meanwhile, the people of this realm cannot comprehend true githyanki majesty; they look upon me and see a brute animal, alien and vicious.”

Her lips draw in a tight line. “To fear such things is shameful. It serves no purpose. Ch’ka m’vakoth sta’leth - ‘where faith goes, fear stands aside.’ But my faith falters, and so I feel it. I know my own weakness, my own strangeness in this place. So I would know your secret, istik, that you stand among strangers, and bear the worm’s curse and the mocking of weaker folk, and laugh.”

Minsc clicks his tongue thoughtfully, and within his pocket Boo gives a loud squeak of dismay. Neither of them knows Lae'zel very well - and indeed this is probably why she speaks with such candor to him - but Boo's endless compassion is roused on the gith's behalf, and Minsc shares it. She is young; she does not yet know how to carry all the conflicting feelings within her, while Minsc is an old hand at the maelstrom.

He thinks for quite a long time in silence before he decides how to answer. Lae’zel waits in patient stillness, like a spring coiled back on itself, unsprung. Her eyes glint in the flickering firelight.

“Minsc has often been told,” Minsc says gravely after a while, “that his mind is as full of holes as the cheese within his pack. But his eyes have no holes and and his ears only two, and they see and hear much. And true it is that at times there is mocking at Minsc’s expense. But Minsc has found it is not all alike.”

He begins to tick off on his fingers. “There is the mocking that is true and right, where Minsc has failed. In these things Minsc mocks himself as well - to have fallen thrall to the worm and seen his mind made not his own. To have seen friends fall while he could not save them. These are fearful matters, and as when Boo encounters a hungry cat on a dark night, there is no shame in feeling all the fur stand up. In these things, Minsc thinks there are matters to be learned within the story of his failure, and so he sifts about for those good bits among the rotten and counts them a blessing.”

He tips his head pensively to one side. “Then there is the mocking of evil tongues. Those who taunt so as to distract Minsc’s boot from their buttocks.” His lips curl in a tight, feral smile. “These bear no thinking of at all, except for the thinking that chooses where my blade might slice them.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and the smile fades again. “Then there is the mocking which is foolish, cruelty without cause. Those who decry Boo as no more than a common hamster, and Minsc as a mad mongrel to be kicked about. This is the sort you mean, I think.” He waits for her to nod before he goes on. “Minsc has traveled many leagues from Rashemen, and in that time he has learned much. And one thing he has learned is that not all those who speak are worthy of the hearing. So Minsc stays among those who would value him, and kicks off those who would not as he would kick dust from his boot.”

“A thing easily said and less easily done,” Lae’zel says bitterly. “In K’liir, one is not afforded such choice. The eyes of judgment are always watching, and they suffer no failure.”

“But we are not in K’liir,” Minsc says brightly. “And so Lae’zel may choose which of her failings are worthy of scorn, and need not suffer the opinions of rude strangers whose tongues would prattle foolishness. Or - if they are not strangers, she will tell Minsc, and Minsc and Boo will see to it the rudeness is well thrashed out of itself.”

She says nothing for a long moment, but he can see the wiry, tight muscle of her shoulders start to relax slowly. “Hardly spoken like a sage,” she murmurs dryly. “And yet well-spoken in its own way.”

She lets out a slow, heavy breath. “In truth it is not any current mockery that troubles me,” she adds in an undertone, “but the fear of it in the future. Of being found wanting, when all is said and done, by those whose opinions mean most. Among the githyanki, the weak are culled out, dishonored, sometimes killed. I would not…”

She trails off and makes a noise of frustration as she struggles to find the words that express what is in her mind. “My people and my goddess are behind me now, and that is a shame I carry, but there are others I would still not wish to fail.”

Minsc nods. “Your people hone themselves to a sharp point, and perhaps their cruelty is worth its cost where they travel among the stars,” he says. “But where we stand upon the ground, there is no call for such culling. If it brings you comfort, you may look upon Jaheira - for she has found Minsc wanting many a time, and has told him so in full voice, but always with friendship, and always remaining by his side.”

Lae’zel lifts her head and looks at him fully for the first time, and chews the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. This, it seems, might be a new concept to her - that her failure could be censured and forgiven in the same breath. “That is some comfort, yes,” she says, with uncharacteristic softness. “I thank you.”

“No thanks is necessary,” Minsc booms cheerfully. There’s another soft squeak from his pocket, and he nods. “Only Boo asks that should you ever travel again into the skies, that you keep your eyes widened in search of another such as he. Surely you, of all our comrades, might have heard tell of other such miniature giant space hamsters, and Boo has sought a mate for many a long year.”

Lae’zel actually laughs softly. “You may tell your hamster I have heard no such tales - but in return for your counsel I shall report any I might find, and we shall consider it an even trade.”

#astreamofstars #ask meme #bg3 drabble #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #lae'zel #minsc #lae'zel & minsc #hope you like! ^_^ ty for the ask

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sissylittlefeather · 1 year

Text

This is the Story:

Chapter 2

A/N: Not every chapter will come this quickly! I just happened to have the day to write, so here it is! ICYMI, this features the OC Grace Dubois (doo-bwah) and Elvis Presley in 1973. She has joined him for his Vegas residency in August to ghost write his book. Want to read about all of that in Chapter 1? Here is the link:

Chapter 1

Warnings: cussing, mentions of smoking, period-appropriate sexism from Elvis, no smut yet, but it's coming 😏

Song inspo:

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I recorded my first song for personal use. I never intended to release anything..."

******

Once she gets Elvis talking, it's hard to get him to stop. He's standing up acting out a scene from something that happened in 1956 and laughing when the Colonel comes in to fetch him to get ready for his show that night. Grace is laughing despite herself. His animated and chaotic method of storytelling is certainly entertaining.

"My boy, I think that's enough for one day. Let's let Ms. Du-boys rest for the evening." She cringes at the mispronunciation of her name, but decides it's not worth it, standing up to leave.

"Dubois." She whips her head around to Elvis. She did not expect him to correct the Colonel either. He smiles warmly again and she feels her cheeks flush.

No, Grace. Keep your distance. She gives him a smile, but tries to make sure it's devoid of any real emotion.

"Thank you, Mr. Presley, for your time today. Same time tomorrow?" His face falls at her use of his last name. Maybe she'll be different tomorrow when it's just them. But why does he want the familiarity so badly? He nods.

"Sure. Same time tomorrow." She follows the Colonel out and gets on the elevator to head back to her room to call Wendy. It'll be bedtime before too long, so she better call quickly.

******

They continue in this pattern for the next week. Grace comes up to the penthouse and Elvis tells her about his life. Even after a week, though, he's still only talking about his time before the army. She can tell he's enjoying reminiscing and doesn't want to get into anything serious. A couple of times, he tells her a story she's already heard, but she lets it go and just listens. Something tells her this is what he's really been needing: someone to just talk to. And the way his eyes light up with childlike energy when he gets excited is exceedingly charming. Several times, she wants to tell him a story about herself and twice she starts to. He sits down eagerly to listen, but she stops herself with an apology for interrupting. His disappointment is palpable, but he doesn't want to push her away again. By the end of the week, he's looking forward to the sound of her soft knock on his door.

On Friday, there's something different about her. Her eyes are sparkling and she smiles more. Elvis is enthralled by her liveliness. When the time comes for her to leave he turns to her and does something even he doesn't expect.

"Come to my show tonight." She laughs before she realizes he's serious.

"Wait, you're kidding right? It's been sold out for months. And besides, I can't."

"Oh, yes you can, I'll find a seat for you. Hell, I'll make one for you, honey, just come to the show." Her heart skips when he calls her honey. He hasn't done it all week, even after she decided she would let him.

"I'm sorry; I really can't. My daughter is coming tonight. That's why I've been in such a good mood. I haven't seen her in a week." He sits back a little.

"Daughter?"

"Yes. Her name is Wendy. She's 6. Why?"

"Oh, nothin', I just thought you said you hadn't been married."

"I haven't been."

"Then how...?"

"I had a fiancé. When we figured out I was pregnant a week before the wedding, he left." She's not sure why she's telling him about this. It's not a thing she normally tells people. But all the time they've spent alone together in this room has started to get to her. For a second, she forgets he's a subject and not a friend.

"You... before you were married?" In a second, his whole tone changes. His southern Christian values come out to play and he's not sure what to make of the woman sitting in front of him. Then, he notices that her cheeks are red and her eyes are glassy again.

"Right. Because I suppose you were a virgin when you got married?" Her voice is tight in her throat. She will not let him make her cry. The truth of how her daughter came to be has haunted her for the better part of her adult life. She is not going to let this man, of all people, make her feel less than because of it.

"That is totally different."

"How? How the fuck is that different?" Her cussing catches him off guard too. Aside from one "damn" she's been nothing but a lady the whole time and now here she is talking like one of his army buddies.

"I don't know, honey, but it is."

"It absolutely is not, you misogynistic pig." Her chest is heaving as she tries to keep her tears in her eyes and not on her face.

"I can't believe you! Who are you?" He feels the anger swelling inside him. It's like she's been lying to him this whole time about who she is. She stands up and slams her notebook on the table.

"Who am I? You are such a fucking hypocrite, Mr. Presley. You think all women should be virgins until they get to you? Ha! Even if that was the case, I would die a virgin before I would let you touch me." She's shaking with rage at this point and the tears start rolling down her cheeks.

He's wracked with hurt, betrayal and anger, and yet, when she cries, something inside him needs to comfort her. He takes a half step towards her and then realizes what he's doing and what she's just said.

"Not a problem, honey. I wouldn't touch you even if you were a virgin. Middle-aged librarians aren't really my style." He spits it at her with all the venom of his hurt feelings and confusion over his inner struggle. Her mouth drops open and she stands there for a while with tears ruining the front of her blouse.

"You really are a fucking asshole." She gathers her things haphazardly and shoves them in her purse.

"Goodbye, Elvis."

She practically runs out the door, slamming it behind her and going straight to the elevator. She smashes the down button over and over, reeling from the conversation that just took place. The things he said to her have rattled her to her core, but what sticks out the most is his question: "who are you?" Why did he say that? Why does he care who she is? Finally, the elevator comes. She steps inside to go back to her room and freshen up before picking up Wendy and Paulette, the nanny, at the airport.

Back in the room, Elvis notices she left her notebook on the table. He grabs it and runs out of the room to catch her and give it back, but the elevator doors close just as he gets to the lobby. He turns back into the room and throws the notebook as hard as he can at the wall across from him.

"FUCK." He yells and drops onto the couch with his head in his hands. He's never felt this conflicted before. As much as he should be outraged and disgusted by the fact that she has a daughter out of wedlock, he's really not. And that makes him angry. Angry that he's more hurt by her keeping parts of herself from him than anything else. Angry at himself for being so cruel to her when he isn't in any place to judge. Angry that this is going to come between them. The last thought makes him take his glasses off and pinch the bridge of his nose. Why does he care that something might come between them when there is no them in the first place?

He throws his glasses at the wall too and they break into pieces and land on the floor with the notebook. When he goes to pick them up, he notices the flurry of little notes that fell out of book when it hit the wall. He looks around the room, as if to check it anyone is watching, and then carefully picks up all of the notes. He knows he shouldn't read them. Knowing her opinion of him, they will probably just make him more angry. They're in his hand when he gets back to the couch, though, and his curiosity gets the better of him. Her handwriting is round and loopy and he thinks of her pretty little hands, one with a pen and the other with a cigarette. He shakes his head and reads the first one:

"He is unfailingly humble in his expression of how he came to be as talented as he is..."

He flips to another one:

"His fierce affection for his friends is both endearing and inspiring..."

And another:

"His boyish excitement when he talks about something he loves is electric, drawing you in to care about anything..."

His breath catches a little as he keeps reading:

"Sitting here with him is less like basking in the light of the King of Rock'n'Roll and more like listening to a childhood friend catch you up on the important happenings in their life..."

And the last one is just a collection of words:

"Compassionate, energetic, loyal, heartfelt, genuine, warm, giving..."

He swallows the lump in his throat and looks towards the door. He has to find a way to get her to come back.

******

Chapter 3 coming soon!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @ashtag6887 @aliypop @your-nanas-house @dkayfixates @everythingelvispresley @xanatenshi @returntopresley @p0lksaladannie @deniseinmn @jaqueline19997 @joshuntildawn13

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#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis fic #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x oc #elvis x oc #Grace Dubois #Spotify

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ladylooch · 8 months

Note

I like Emma's independence/ free spirit and how strong she is but she is very stubborn sometimes and she thinks she is always right. Is there a situation where she is wrong and she has to apologize to Timo?

Lio’s first away tournament comes when Timo is out of town. Emma is completely on her own in this new, hockey mom era. Timo will be home the night they leave, but he is staying home to recover. He has a few injuries lingering and they both agreed he should rest and recover instead of driving to upstate New York.

On the phone the night before they leave, Timo and Emma are talking about what is left to pack.

“I think just his hockey stuff is all that needs to be finished.” Emma murmurs, looking at the door where the bags are packed.

“Don’t forget his skates are sitting in the mudroom after I sharpened them at the rink.”

“I know. I walk by them every day.” She rolls her eyes.

“He isn’t going to remember them, so you’re going to have to triple check they are in the bag after he packs it.”

“Yes, T. I know.” She insists again, annoyed that he is micromanaging her parenting from Detroit.

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.” She snips.

“Okay. You obviously have it under control.” Timo retreats, stretching his neck from side to side. “How did Livy do with dinner tonight?” He changes the subject.

But the next morning, Emma and Lio both wake up late. They are behind schedule getting on the road and Emma completely spaces on checking Lio’s bag before he throws it into the trunk.

“Let’s go!” Emma urges Lio into the car. How did she sleep through three alarms!?

They make it to the tournament just in time to check into the hotel, then head to the rink. Once they arrive at the rink, Lio looks into his bag, realizing he doesn’t have his skates.

“Mama!” He runs out to the lobby, interrupting where Emma is talking to another hockey mom. “Where are my skates?”

“What do you mean?” Emma asks. “You packed your bag, bubba.”

“They aren’t in my bag.”

Emma clearly sees herself walking by them this morning, in the mudroom, not thinking twice about how they should be in her hand when she shuts the door. Okay, shit.

She pulls her phone out, beginning to type in sporting goods stores. There is one ten minutes down the road that looks to sell hockey equipment. She grabs her keys, then tells Lio to get back into the locker room to finish getting ready what he can. As she turns out of the parking lot of the rink towards the store, she calls her husband.

“Hi baby.” He greets her.

“Hi! Um, what brand of skates does Lio have? And do you know what size?’

“Why…?” Timo asks, sounding concerned.

“Um, we forgot his skates at home.” Timo immediately snorts. “Yeah I know. But I am heading to a hockey store so I can buy new ones-“

“No. You can’t do that to him. They won’t be formed to his feet. He will be miserable all game and in a ton of pain.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Asks the woman who assured me she wouldn’t forget said skates in the mudroom last night? Maybe you could start listening to me, babe.”

“I’m… T, I don’t know what to do. He can’t play if he doesn’t have skates.” Emma says quietly.

“Someone is going to have to bring you his skates.”

“We are three hours from home.”

“Lex?”

“I’m not going to ask her to do that with two kids while she is pregnant.”

“He is better off not playing than being put into brand new skates. I can bring them up tomorrow morning.”

So that is what happens.

Lio sits out the first game, sobbing to Emma the whole time about how awful it is he can’t be out there with his teammates. Emma feels terrible, apologizing to anyone who will listen about her stumble. Why was she so stubborn when Timo told her to triple check for the skates? Why didn’t she thank him for the reminder and put them in his bag right then?

The next day, Timo comes up to the tournament, early, with their daughter in toe who was done being with their nanny. Lio has two games today and if they win, his team will head to the championship game tomorrow afternoon. Timo strolls into the rink a half hour before game time with Livy next to him, She has a Starbucks cup filled with lukewarm hot chocolate. Her blue eyes are focused on the top, making sure nothing spills as her little Uggs slap the floor. Timo has Lio’s skates in one hand and a Starbucks carrier in the other. Two coffee mugs and a large water are in it.

“Daddy!” Lio yells, watching his hero grin at him.

“Go get ready.” Timo says immediately, handing the skates over to his son.

“Can you tie my skates?”

“You can do it, buddy.” Timo insists. As cute as it is to do for him, Emma can’t tie Lio’s skates, so it’s best Lio does it himself and learns the right way to tighten the laces for what he needs. Emma is silent, watching her husband’s approach. She feels so small and dumb.

“I’m so sorry.” She blurts immediately, gnawing on her lip. Liv hugs Emma’s leg with one arm. Emma puts her hand onto her pink hat in greeting. “We were late. I didn’t check. I’m sorry. You were right. I should have gotten up right away and did it.”

“It’s okay. There is a lot going on when I’m not home.” Emma nods, taking the coffee from him.

“Thank you for saving some of the weekend. I know you wanted to stay home and sleep.”

“It’s okay. Livy and I had a fun road trip together.” He pats their daughter’s hair. His arm comes up, wrapping around his wife’s shoulders to pull her into his body. He kisses her head, then accepts her still very apologetic smooch. He smiles, kissing her nose before speaking again. “All good.” He assures. His perfect wife is perfectly good at beating herself up for any misstep. Fear of failure is a deep insecurity that drives her need to be right. It’s not his job to shame her for that. It’s his job to soothe those parts of her when he can while she works on it.

“I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you too, mama.” He stares into her eyes, waiting to see the crinkle of disappointment smooth away from her forehead. It isn’t going away fast enough for him, so he leans down, kissing her lips, working his tongue between them to devour her mouth.

“Yuck.” Liv says, stepping away from being squished by her parents as Timo brings his wife deeper into his body. He holds her where he protrudes behind his zipper. Emma’s subtle moan doesn’t help.

“Timo!” Lio’s coach, Eddie, comes out of the rink, grinning at seeing the professional hockey player at an away tournament. “Can you come in before the game and hype the boys up?” Timo looks up, keeping Emma pressed tight into his arousal as he nods. She rest her forehead on his chest.

“Sure. Like 15 minutes?” Timo asks as he runs both his hands up to rest at the middle of Emma’s back.

“Sounds good!” Timo waits for him to walk away, then sets his blue gaze back on his wife.

“What’s my reward for saving the day?”

“Blowie in the hotel bathroom while the kids are asleep?” Timo’s head knocks back and he laughs loudly at the ceiling.

“You know the way to my heart, baby.” He leaves an arm around her shoulders. Emma brings her fingers up, lacing them together on her collar bone. She kisses along his knuckles. They watch Liv run around with another little sister from the team until Timo heads into the locker room for his pregame speech.

#tm: loving & leaving #Timo Meier x oc #Timo Meier imagine

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guess-my-next-obsession · 11 months

Text

Plastic Hearts, Chapter Eight: Angels Like You

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!ofc (Violet)

rating: E (18+ only, angst, talks of addiction/recovery, oral (fem rec), unprotected piv, these two are so (maybe unhealthily) lovestruck, more angst but this time parental)

wc: 6.3k

series masterlist

December 22nd — Los Angeles, CA

Though Los Angeles never really got all that chilly in the winter, the city felt colder than it had in years as Violet drove down Sunset Boulevard with the top of her all-black BMW down, the wind whipping through her hair.

Dieter had been in and out of the city for the past month working on the pre-production for his upcoming project, leaving her alone as she began to start her Oscar campaign for her lackluster movie. Even on the rare occasion that he was in town for an entire night, he seemed to be pulling further away from her with every passing day, but she couldn’t blame him, especially after the incident at the club and his discovery that she was using.

Violet spent most of her free nights driving all over the city. This ritual had become sort of holy and precious to her. She needed the roof to be down, the heater and music to be on high, and most important of all, Dieter’s thick, brown coat bundling her up. She couldn’t explain why, but this was the closest she ever came to replicating the feeling of being with Dieter; the thrill of the icy wind hitting her face, the music so loud all of her thoughts were silenced, the warmth of his scent enveloping her making her feel safer than she’d felt in her entire life.

It was nearing two in the morning when Violet’s BMW rolled back into her driveway, the music and the heater going silent in an instant. She sat there in the quiet evening air for a moment, steel-faced as she stared ahead at her shiny new mansion, but internally there was no feeling of success or fulfillment to be found.

After forcing herself inside, Violet kicked off her shoes and slugged into the kitchen to make herself something to eat, a once, or twice if she was in a particularly good mood, a day task lately. She had only just opened the fridge when she was interrupted by an urgent thought—where the fuck is my phone?—the ache in her stomach momentarily dismissed as she patted herself down before running off on a hunt.

Finding it upstairs on her bed, she was shocked to find three missed calls from Dieter, especially since she’d only heard from him once in the last week. She immediately dialed his number, putting the phone on speaker as she headed back downstairs into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Dieter’s voice crackled through her speaker, bringing a smile to her face even with his almost indifferent tone. “Called a few times.”

“I’m sorry, I was driving,” she said, setting the phone down on the island. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just missed you,” he said, sincerity mixing with something unknown turning his tone sadder than she would’ve hoped. “Been so busy, all these meetings and shit. Sorry if it feels like…I don’t know. Like I’m not here.”

“S’alright,” she managed, a lump forming in her throat at the constant tension between them. “We are good though…right?”

“Yeah, I mean—“ he sighed. She could imagine the way his hand anxiously was rubbing at his jaw. “Shit’s…been a little weird lately. But we’re—you and I are still—I still love you.”

“Still?” she repeated, scoffing under her breath. “How fortunate am I that you still love me.”

“Violet,” he sighed. “Do you really want to go there?”

“Honestly, yeah,” she snapped, abandoning all hope for a meal tonight as she walked over to the island and stared at her screen as though she were glaring at him face to face.

“It’s hard for me to be around you when I know that you’re still fucking using. That’s all. Yes, I still love you. I still love you even though it’s fucking hard and dangerous and a slippery fucking slope for me,” he said, a sharpness in his voice that she had yet to hear from him in the six months of knowing him.

“I’m not using,” she countered weakly, not even believing her own lie.

“Vi, pretending like you don’t have a problem doesn’t mean you don’t still have a problem,” he softened his voice. “I just want you to get help, but you’re not. You keep saying you’ll quit cold turkey and it doesn’t fucking work. Trust me.”

“Is that what I have to do to see you?” she asked, her voice breaking a bit as tears flooded over her waterline.

“You can’t make this about me,” he sighed.

“I have to. I don’t want to stop, but you want me to,” she said. “And I want you more than anything. Especially lately.”

The line went silent for a few beats, prompting Violet to carry on with her tearful plea.

“I want to see you, to go to bed with you, to touch you. It’s been a month since I got to spend more than a day with you, do you know that?”

“Trust me, it hasn’t been fucking easy for me either,” he exhaled. “But I need to set boundaries and shit. And a big boundary is that if you’re using or if there’s shit at the house, I can’t be there. I can’t be with you, and I can’t be there.”

“Then I’m done using,” she said decidedly, as if recovery was as simple as making a declaration.

“Baby,” he sighed for the thousandth time in five minutes. “Find a rehab, or some sort of accountability program—“

“Christmas is literally in three days,” she chuckled. “After the holidays, I will.”

“Okay,” he managed after a beat, still not sounding his usual self.

“Okay, so…can I come see you for Christmas?” she said, biting her lip nervously.

“Yeah, you know, as long as you respect this line I’m trying to draw,” he said.

“Of course I will.”

“Just to warn you, my awful parents decided they wanted to have an awful Christmas Eve together at their place, so…keep in mind you’ll have to deal with their passive aggressive bullshit.”

“That’s fine, I can be passive aggressive right back,” she said, smiling down at her screen as if nothing ever happened. Her knack for forgiveness was a trait she both deeply admired and utterly hated about herself. “I can’t wait to see you, D. Really. I’m gonna…gonna get my shit together. I’m just…I’m taking this loss of a movie really hard.”

“I know, baby,” he offered softly. “You’re doing your best to cope, I know that. I just—there’s better ways. I know it doesn’t feel like anything matches that high, but—“

“You do,” she cut in. “Being with you beats it.”

Dieter was quiet for a beat. “Fuck, I’ve really missed you.”

Violet smiled softly and nodded. “I’m gonna find a flight for tomorrow.”

“Alright, baby,” he hummed. “I’m sorry—for the way I’ve gone about all this shit. I should’ve said something instead of just pulling away. Wasn’t cool.”

“S’alright,” she said. “We’re good now.”

“Yeah. We’re good,” he agreed. “Call me before you head out?”

“You gonna pick up?” she teased, earning a chuckle.

“Yes,” he snarked and Violet laughed, the sound fading into a more comfortable silence than she was used to as of late. Dieter must have felt the shift back to normalcy as well, his voice soft as he spoke again. “You know I love you more than anything, Violet.”

“I know,” she hummed, her smile tender as she stared at his contact picture on her screen. “I love you, D,” she mused. “M’gonna go get ready for bed.”

“Okay,” he rasped. “Have a good night, V. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night night.”

Dieter’s month had been long and grueling, constantly flying back and forth between New York and LA, New York and London, London and Germany, all to meet studio executives without an ounce of creativity in their bones and kiss ass until they were sure his role in the movie could suit their monetary desires. On top of all of this, he felt like he was working a full time job trying to figure out his situation with Violet after the big blowout at the club. Everytime he sought outside advice, he heard the same shit.

It’s not safe for your sobriety to be with someone who’s using, his therapist said. This shit is toxic, Andrea said. If it comes out that Violet’s on coke, they’re all going to blame you, his publicist said.

But of course it was cut and dry for them.

They didn’t love her. They didn’t know her. They weren’t him, didn’t feel the way he did about life, didn’t know what it was like to meet someone who just fucking gets it.

It wasn’t as simple as saying goodbye and moving on, but he couldn’t be with her the way he used to be anymore—as long as she was using, that is.

He needed to put distance between them for a while while he figured out what to do about loving her the way he did and fearing it’s total control over him at the same time.

Tonight, after a particularly difficult day spent at the office punctuated by a once a year call from his mother, he couldn’t keep himself distanced any longer. He needed to hear her voice, and more importantly, he needed to finally lay out his terms for their relationship.

After the call ended, he still only felt partly relieved. There was this selfish child deep within him that was clinging onto the thought of seeing her again that couldn’t be tamed. That desperate, love starved boy had no care in the world about what could happen if she started using around him again—he was just glad she was there. The other, more mature part of him resembled more of the man who he saw in the mirror. This man had been let down by love every time he’s felt it. This man knew that sometimes you just fucking lose in the end. This man had, through multiple relapses and years of falling on and off the wagon, finally gotten sober, finally had his career back to where he wanted it, and this man knew that all it would take is one slip up for it all to go to shit.

He hoped she was being sincere about getting clean, but as the old saying goes, hope is a dangerous thing to have.

It hadn’t snowed the entire month, but as if the city was just waiting for Violet to come home, New York was covered in a soft blanket of white ice as soon as she touched ground. Dieter couldn’t help but smile at the coincidence as he stood in front of a large glass window in the airport, watching as Violet’s plane hit the tarmac.

By the time she came walking towards him with a wide, smitten grin hidden beneath her thick wool scarf, Dieter had managed to forget all about his concerns regarding the state of their relationship.

“Excuse me? Can I get a picture? I’m a big fan,” she teased, sliding her arms around his waist as he pulled her in for the tightest hug of her life, swaying her side to side with his face buried in her scarf.

“Missed you, Apollo,” he mumbled, squeezing her tighter before letting her go just enough to look at her, his hands lifting to frame her face. “A shit ton.”

“I missed you, Bravo,” she said, her eyes tracing the curve of his bottom lip. Dieter took her cue and leaned down, his fingers holding her chin as he kissed her soft and slow until it started to get too heated for Violet’s comfort given their current location. “Maybe we shouldn’t make out in an airport?”

“Bathroom?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Violet laughed and swatted his hip before shaking her head and pulling herself away from him.

“Lame,” he teased, shooting her a smirk as he grabbed her suitcase with one hand and Violet’s hand with the other, lifting it to his lips to kiss it as they headed through the dull terminal.

“Where’ve you been staying?” she asked in the backseat of the towncar Dieter ordered to pick them up.

She could hardly keep herself composed, every atom of her being singing now that she was back where she belonged. She sat in the middle seat, Dieter holding her hand on top of her lap. The proximity of his fingers to where she’d been craving them, where she knew they’d excel at making her feel better than anyone before him ever had, was turning her thoughts feral, and so, she went searching for a distraction.

“I’m renting a place in the West Village,” he said, letting go of her hand to rest his across her thigh, his fingertips nestling between her legs. “It’s nice. Has a studio, so I’ve been painting again.”

“Yeah?” she asked, airy but focused as she watched his hand flex with every stroke of his thumb over her dotted black nylon tights. “Paint anything for me?”

Dieter smiled, his eyes fixed on his hand as well.

“S’probably all for you,” he managed, drawing her eyes to meet his. “Fucking missed you, V.”

“Come here,” she said, her hand fitting to mold against his cheek as she pulled him down to kiss her, neither of them caring about the driver seeing. “Don’t wanna be apart anymore. This sucks.”

“I know,” he sighed, resting his forehead against her shoulder. “It’s not working for me, either.”

“I’ll…” She stopped herself, glancing at the back of the driver’s head. “I’ll do better. About everything. I just want you.”

“I can help,” he offered, keeping his voice hushed as he lifted his head to look at her. “We can figure it out.”

“Yeah?” she smiled, her brows lacing together as if she was about to cry. Dieter poked his bottom lip out at the sight and nodded.

“It’s you and I, kid.”

“God, I missed New York,” Violet mused as she and Dieter walked back to his apartment after having dinner at Dieter’s favorite sushi spot, the city looking extra magical from the snow and festive lights on every building. She was bundled up like a true Californian, Dieter’s arm hugged close to her chest.

“You should move here,” he said, pulling her eyes to the side of his face as he continued looking ahead. “You seem happier here. You have friends. We could…we could move in together. If you did.”

“What about my place in LA?” she asked, letting go of his arm to hold his hand instead as they stopped at a crosswalk to wait for traffic to pass.

“Keep it,” he shrugged, reaching to fix her beanie so that it covered her ears better.

“Really?” she asked, biting her lip. Dieter shook his head at the effect such a small action had on him, his lips lowering to meet hers for a small, necessary-for-his-survival kiss.

“After I finish filming,” he mumbled against her lips. Violet tensed at the mention of his impending absence turning her mood sour.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said, gently pushing him away as the light for the crosswalk changed, signaling the all-clear.

They walked together in silence for a moment, neither one of them knowing how to continue to avoid the looming fact that their relationship only seemed to fare well when they were together, and soon they wouldn’t be.

“Your parents,” Violet started, breaking the silence. “What’s that gonna be like?”

“Dull as fuck,” Dieter chuckled and shook his head. “My mom is going to pretend to be the most elegant human being you’ve ever met, and my dad’s probably going to use complimenting you as a way to insult me.”

“I don’t think your dad’s going to compliment me after what happened at SNL,” Violet said.

“Forgot about that,” Dieter smirked. “Feels like such a long time ago.”

“We weren’t even together then,” she smiled at him. “Two idiots.”

“I’m still an idiot,” he said, leading them up the steps of his apartment and unlocking the door. “Treated you like shit lately.”

“D,” she frowned as they peeled off their layers in the entryway. “You needed distance, it wasn’t shitty.”

“The way I did it was,” he argued. “And I’m going to disappear again next month for filming—“

“I don’t want to think about that, Dieter,” she sighed, heading down the hall to the living room, finding her place on the sofa while he walked into the adjoining kitchen.

“We should talk about it,” he replied over the hiss of a bottle of sparkling water being opened. “I’m gone three months—“

“Shhh,” she groaned, laying facedown on the couch dramatically.

“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not still here,” Dieter teased, making his way around the island to walk over to her, crawling on top of her.

“You’re heavy,” she croaked from beneath him.

“I have to leave,” he said, kissing her ear. “But I want you to come with me.”

“Okay, get up. I’ll talk,” she sighed, waiting for his weight to leave her before sitting up and facing him. “You want me to come with you to…?”

“Germany for a month, London for the other two,” he said, lifting his water to his lips.

“I have award season,” she said. “I’ll have to fly back and forth from Germany and LA.”

“So do I,” he countered. “To be with you when you win.”

Violet rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Shut up.”

“At least come to Germany,” he begged, using those eyes of his on her.

“I suppose I can do Germany,” she said, smiling at him as she crawled onto his lap, her arms draping over his shoulders. “It’s going to be freezing and miserable, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’s gonna be shit,” he mumbled, his hands sliding her sweater up and off her frame, leaving her in a lacy black bra, a black skirt, and black tights. His eyes darted rapidly from her thighs to her chest to her face and back down again, unable to choose a favorite sight. “But you’re going to make it bearable.”

“Andrea’s gonna be pissed you’re bringing me,” Violet whispered as Dieter slipped her bra straps off her shoulders, his face burying in her cleavage while his hands kneaded at her ass under her skirt.

“She can fuck off,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her back to unclasp her bra. “Look at you, baby.”

“I’ve been neglected,” she smiled, combing her fingers through his dark curls as he cupped the weight of her breasts with both hands, his lips pressing wet kisses on every inch of skin he could find.

“Yeah? I’m a fucking idiot,” he mumbled, swiping his tongue over one of her stiff peaks, earning a roll of her hips. Dieter moaned at the taste of her, one hand cupping her breast while the other slid down her spine to guide her hips against his cock strained beneath black denim.

“Take this off,” she whispered, tugging at his sweater. Dieter quickly obeyed, shucking the cashmere off his body while Violet lowered herself to the floor, her hands working the button of his jeans open.

“I got this, you work on taking that skirt off,” he ordered, peeling his jeans off.

“And the tights?”

“Leave them on,” he said, licking his lips as he sat back against the couch. His legs were spread, his fist slowly stroking his cock as he watched her slide her black mini-skirt off with lust drunken eyes, leaving her in only a pair of black tights and a black thong underneath. “Fuck me. Look at you.”

Violet smiled adoringly as she walked to stand between his open knees, Dieter’s hands finding her hips. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses to her stomach while his hands slid around to squeeze her ass before ripping her tights right down the middle.

“These are expensive,” she scolded through a giggle, allowing him to spin her around so that her ass was facing him.

“This fucking ass,” he groaned, almost pained by his desire for the woman in front of him. “Wanna take a bite out of it.”

“Yeah?” she taunted, turning to look back at him from over her shoulder, a finger between her teeth. “Go on, then.”

Dieter smiled and shook his head. “Bend over, baby.”

Violet did as he asked, bending over and holding onto the coffee table for stability as she spread her legs a little wider for him, Dieter’s moan confirming that she’d done a good job at following directions.

“Pretty fucking pussy,” he cooed, moving her thong to the side and swiping a thumb through the mess of arousal coating her lower lips. “You want my tongue, baby?”

“Mmhm,” she purred, arching her back for him. Dieter groaned as he palmed the round globes of her ass with both hands, bringing his teeth to the soft flesh to give her a lovebite.

“I could write a sonnet about your ass,” he mumbled, leaving wet kisses on both cheeks as he stripped her thong off and tossed it across the room, leaving her in only a pair of ripped tights. “Shall I compare this ass to a summer’s day?”

“Shut up,” she giggled, standing upright and turning around to face him. Dieter’s hands found her waist, his eyes round as they peered up at her. She carded her fingers through his hair before tugging on it, earning a soft moan. Tracing her finger across his bottom lip, she smirked at the look of sheer obedience coming from this beautiful man she’d somehow stumbled into love with against all reason or odds. “I wanna sit on this pretty face of yours, Bravo.”

“Fuck, okay, baby,” Dieter groaned, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and squeezing it to fight off the ache of arousal turning him into pudding at her feet. “Can I—can we turn the fireplace on first?”

“Why?” she laughed.

“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to fuck in front of a fireplace,” he shrugged.

“And you, Dieter Bravo, a retired, semi-professional whore, haven’t done that yet?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him as she leaned down to ghost her lips over his, her hands cupping his cheeks.

“Not…here,” he shrugged. “And certainly not with you.”

“Who was it?” Violet asked with an amused smile. “Someone famous?”

“Probably, hard to remember when I’ve got your tits in my face,” he said, his eyes fixed on her chest before finally making their way back up to meet hers. “Anyways, is that a yes to the fireplace?”

“Sure,” she laughed, stepping aside to let him get up and walk over to the built in hearth. Dieter stood there, butt-naked, his dick half-hard, scratching his chin as he stared at the modern fireplace. “Do you even know how to—“

“Please, I’ve won an Oscar, I think I can figure out how to light a fire,” Dieter snarked, though he remained visibly clueless.

“I think there’s a switch on the side, baby.”

“Right. I knew that,” Dieter pressed the switch and lit the fire, earning a sarcastic round of applause from Violet as she stood watching him.

“You’re very pretty, you know?” she asked, meeting him in front of the fire. She cupped his cheeks again and smiled at him as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her naked body close to his.

“Did you know who I was before we met?” Dieter asked, sliding his hands lower to rest just above her ass.

“You’ve been an A-list celebrity for the last twenty years,” she smirked. “Of course I knew who you were.”

“Were you into me?” he smiled, leaning in to press featherlight kisses against her collarbone.

“Not really,” she sighed, feeling drunk from his touch. “Thought you were a douche.”

“Good judge of character,” he whispered just below her ear before taking her earlobe between his teeth.

“What about me?” she asked breathlessly, melting into him as he started to lower them down onto the faux fur rug beneath them until she was flat on her back and he was hovering on top of her. “Did you think I was pretty?”

“I thought you were very pretty,” he replied, a soft, lazy grin on his face. “And I thought you looked like a prude.”

“Little did you know, I’m the opposite,” she quipped.

“Mmhm,” he nodded. “A prude wouldn’t climb on top of my face and ride it like you’re about to.”

“Nope,” she grinned, pushing his shoulders to gesture for him to trade positions with her.

Once Dieter was on his back, Violet assumed her position over his face and grinned down at him between her thighs, his eager eyes and plump lips glowing in the orange light of the fire.

“Come on, baby,” he goaded her on, squeezing her thighs to pull her down to his impatient tongue. “Let me taste this pretty pussy.”

“Dirty mouth,” she purred, seating herself on his tongue and rocking her hips, one hand gripping his curls.

At the feeling of his tongue against her, wet and soft and warm, she felt herself crumble just a little bit, softening into the rarest form of herself—a person she saved just for Dieter. “Fuck, D.”

He hummed and gripped her thighs, seemingly unable to get close enough to her. She responded to his neediness with a long, choked whine and her eyes on his, her face wrecked with pleasure that looked more like pain.

“Your mouth is so—“ She shuddered at a spark of pleasure brought on by his lips surrounding her swollen bud, sucking it into his mouth. “Jesus, D. Fuck. Baby, keep doing that.”

One of Dieter’s hands left the top of her thighs to palm a handful of her ass, guiding her as she rolled her hips against his mouth, taking from him in a way that made it feel like she was giving him something instead. It was addicting, the sight of her chasing her pleasure so unabashedly, one hand tangled in his hair and the other kneading the weight of her breast.

“I’m so close,” she gasped, her movements getting sharper and more desperate. “Fuck, I’m—fuck.”

“That’s it,” his praise was a suffocated rasp against her as she came, both of her hands planting onto the floor above his head as she rode out the waves of her climax. Dieter’s hands slid up her spine and back down, over and over again until she relaxed and sat back to look down at him with a satisfied grin. “So fucking hot, baby.”

“Look who’s talking,” she purred, sliding down his body to sit her still sensitive cunt over his cock, her hand lightly gripping his chin as she bent down to give him a deep, greedy kiss. “You should win an award for what this mouth is capable of.”

“Yeah?” he smiled, sliding his hands down her back to rest on her hips, urging her to rock forward against the throbbing underside of his cocl as it laid sandwiched between her cunt and his stomach. “What about my dick?”

“Your mouth gets ‘Best Supporting’,” she said, lifting her hips and reaching back to line him up with her cunt. Dieter’s jaw dropped, his eyes falling between their bodies to watch as she slowly took him down to the base. “But this dick…” She hummed, the satisfying burn of his size bringing a smile to her face. “This dick is the main event.”

“Fuck me,” he groaned, sitting upright and wrapping his arms around her waist, his face buried in her neck. “You make me so fucking hard, V.”

“Yeah?” she moaned into his ear, biting on the lobe just to feel him shiver.

“Fucking own me,” he rasped, biting her shoulder. “My fucking girl.”

It was Violet’s turn to crumble for him, the possessiveness in his voice stoking the flame of arousal that was already burning brightly in her belly.

“Want you to fuck me,” she whined, placing both hands in his face to guide his gaze up to meet hers. “Want you to bend me over.”

“Yeah?” he groaned, squeezing the globes of her ass so hard she hoped it would leave a mark for her to remember this by. “Want it soft, baby?”

Violet shook her head.

“No, you want it rough, don’t you?” he hummed at her choked sob, her walls pulsing at the sound of his voice.

“Please,” she begged, breathless and desperate.

“Okay, baby,” he cooed, stroking over her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Go on, bend over for me.”

Violet’s legs shook as she scrambled off of him and onto her knees, her face buried in the rug, facing the fire as it crackled.

Dieter could’ve cum from the sight before him, Violet’s back arched, the light from the flames casting an orange glow in some places, a dark shadow in others. She was still wearing her tights, sheer black contrasting against her olive toned flesh, the pink of her exposed center. Spitting into his hand and stroking it over the fat tip of his length, he found the strength to stave off his orgasm in favor of giving her another. She deserved it.

She deserved everything in his mind.

“Gonna fuck you full of me,” he rasped as he slid back into her, his eyes glued to the side of her face as she turned her head, her hands clawing at the fur beneath her. “Shit, baby. You look—fuck, it’s unreal.”

“D, please,” she cried, her voice choppy from the harsh snap of his hips into hers, her body absorbing the shock like a pro. “Wanna cum so bad.”

“Need anything, baby?” he asked, his breathing ragged and sharp. “Need me to touch you?”

She nodded her head quickly.

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” she breathed, her eyes flickering shut as he honed in on a devastating spot inside of her.

“Here?” Dieter asked, reaching around her body to rub perfect circles against her clit.

“Fuck,” she cried, long and drawn out.

“What about here?” he growled, licking the pad of his thumb on his free hand before resting it over her ass, pressing into the muscle gently.

“Dieter, shit—“ she gasped, warmth trickling up her spine and down her thighs at the feeling of him all around her, taking all she had to give him greedily. “I’m coming. Fuck, I’m—fuck.”

“Good fucking girl,” he grunted, snapping his hips to punctuate each word. “You want me to fill you up?”

“Please,” she cried. “Want it all.”

“Shit—“ Dieter’s eyes lowered to where they were connected, watching as his cock pulsed with every spurt of his cum painting her walls, his brows furrowed and lips parted in awe. “Fuck, I’m still coming, baby.”

Violet hummed, fucking herself against him just to hear him whimper, his hands landing on her hips.

“Don’t get me going again,” he said. “I’ll pull a muscle.”

Violet laughed, slowly pulling away until he slipped out of her. Dieter hissed at the loss of warmth, instantly moving to lay next to her, the fire making up for the snow outside that chilled his apartment.

“I’m fucking dreading tomorrow,” Dieter sighed, nuzzling his head against Violet’s chest as she scratched at his scalp.

“Your parents?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, kissing over her pounding heartbeat. “I might not be able to take it and just fucking leave.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said, her voice softening with exhaustion. “We can leave whenever. You don’t owe them anything just because they birthed you.”

“They don’t see it that way,” he mumbled.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, pushing him to lay back so that she could lay on his chest instead.

“I’m glad you came,” he said, almost asleep. “Love you. Shit tons.”

“Mm,” she smiled. “Shit tons.”

“Alright, if they start to act like dicks, we’re leaving,” Dieter said, his finger hovering over the doorbell of his parent’s place in Dumbo, a gray-brick building with a navy blue door.

“Sounds like a plan,” Violet smiled, lifting her hand to his back to rub comforting circles on it. “C’mon, you got this.”

Dieter chuckled and let out a deep sigh before pressing the doorbell, his hands tapping on his legs anxiously.

When his mother, Marianne, opened the door, she almost looked like a normal person to her son and not the villain he was used to facing only in memory. Her once-black hair had turned a sophisticated gray, her old Hollywood waves reminiscent of her glory days in the sixties and seventies—the woman Dieter studied in film since she was never around to study in person.

“Dieter,” Marianne beamed, placing her hand delicately over the pearls on her neck. “Look at you. And your friend! Violet, is it?”

“Yes,” Violet nodded, offering Marianne a more polite smile than Dieter was used to seeing. “We briefly met when Dieter hosted SNL.”

“I don’t remember you hosting,” Marianne chuckled, turning to her son.

“Checks out,” Dieter replied dryly. “Can we come inside?”

“Yes, come in,” Marianne moved aside to let Violet and Dieter inside her very blue home, the walls, ceilings, and floor all a different, complimentary shade. “Your father is in the living room, Dieter.”

“Okay,” Dieter managed.

“Violet, you can come help me set the table,” Marianne said, waving for Violet to follow her as she disappeared down the hall into the dining room. Violet turned to give Dieter a pleading look as she forced herself onward.

“I can help, too,” Dieter said, joining the two of them.

“Oh, please,” Marianne rolled her eyes. “Go say hello to your father.”

“In a minute,” Dieter returned, reaching for the pile of silverware to start sealing it out.

“Dieter. Now.”

Dieter scoffed at her attempt at authority. She never had any reason to perfect it.

“You’re impossible,” she spat.

“Alright, I think we’re gonna go,” Dieter said, dropping the silverware in his hands.

“What?”

“We tried. I tried to tolerate you, but, really, it’s hard,” Dieter said, turning to Violet. “Let’s go?”

“Sure,” Violet said, giving him a soft nod and following him as he led them out of the room and into the hall.

“Dieter, where are you going?” Dieter’s father, Ed, walked into the foyer and narrowed his eyes at his son as Dieter slipped his boots and jacket back on while Violet followed suit. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re supposed to be with family.”

“I am,” Dieter said, reaching for Violet’s hand to lead her outside into the icy Brooklyn air. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t deal—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” she cooed, wrapping her arm around his waist as they started back in the direction of the subway. Dieter pulled her in close, kissing the top of her head.

“I love you,” he muttered, squeezing her into him. “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for letting me,” she smiled, kissing the tiny, heart-shaped bald spot on his jaw. “So…Chinese for dinner?”

“Fuck, yes,” he nearly moaned.

It was relatively busy at the small, family-run Chinese place Dieter chose, his claims of the best soup dumplings in the city sounding too enticing to pass up.

Now, Dieter and Violet sat in a booth in the corner of the restaurant, cuddled up without a care for the table of young tourists who were clearly snapping pictures of the two of them.

“So, Germany,” Dieter started, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “They’ve got me in a hotel, but I was thinking we could maybe rent a place. Have more space and not feel like we’re in a prison the entire time.”

“Where in Germany are you filming?” Violet asked, sipping her diet coke through a straw.

“Munich,” he replied, stealing a dumpling from her plate. “I was there once for a press thing. It’s pretty, I think you’ll like it.”

“Well, if I don’t, Italy’s right there,” she smiled. “I can just run off to Venice whenever you piss me off.”

“Great, then I’ll come chase after you and we’ll add Italy to the list of countries we’ve fucked in,” he smiled back, waving his fork at her until she laughed. Proud of himself, Dieter leaned over and stole a kiss, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw. “Do you want your gift now or later?”

“You weren’t supposed to get me a gift,” she frowned. “I didn’t get you one.”

“I don’t need shit,” he shook his head.

“You could do with a new robe,” she snarked, taking another sip of her drink while Dieter gave her an unimpressed look. “Fine. I’ll take my gift now, please.”

“Okay, so it’s not…it’s not physically with me because it’s back at my place,” Dieter said, reaching for his phone again to search for something on it. “You remember when we went to the museum—a million fucking years ago?”

Violet laughed and nodded. “Well, I remembered you liked Monet a lot, but I couldn’t just fucking buy a Monet, so instead…” Dieter faced his phone screen towards her, showing her a very close attempt at Monet’s Water Lillies.

“D, did you paint this?” she beamed, zooming in on the picture to study the details.

“Yeah,” he bit his lip as he watched her. “It’s not…perfect. But—“

“But it is,” she turned to him with a touched smile. “It’s you.”

Dieter looked shy as Violet turned back to the picture.

“I can’t believe I’m the owner of an original Bravo painting,” Violet grinned, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder as she passed his phone back to him. “Thank you, D. I love it and I love you.”

Dieter kissed her forehead and smiled. “Love it enough to try the sex-swing that I ordered as a backup gift?”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo x oc #plastic hearts

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starkstruck27 · 3 months

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Day 2 of @harringrove-flip-reverse-it , and I can't wait for you all to read my entry! Prompt: Trope Subversion - Arranged Marriage Title: I Don't Like Your Girlfriend Word Count: 4578 words TWs: Slight Homophobia

“Peter, you’re not going to solve whatever problem you’re trying to solve by pacing around all night, now sit down and eat your dinner before you starve!” Margie Harrington said to her husband. He’d been acting like this for days, ever since their son Steve had come for a visit and announced his big news.

He and his partner had taken a vacation to California a couple of weeks ago, since that’s where his partner was from, and while they were there, they had gotten married. When they came back to Hawkins afterwards, they only told a select few people, and while his partner, Billy, didn’t want to tell his parents, Steve had decided to tell his. After all, it was big news, and he said he didn’t feel right keeping it from them.

They had hidden it well, but his parents weren’t exactly thrilled about the match. Peter was a lawyer, and an important one at that, so he was obviously concerned about the family’s reputation, and to have his son marry someone from the wrong side of the tracks, especially when that someone was a man, it just didn’t look very good. Margie was just happy Steve was happy, but she also knew that eventually, Peter would try to get them to split, and she didn’t know how easily Billy would fold. She didn’t want Steve’s heart to be broken, and she didn’t want that to cause a rift between him and his father, either, but right now, there was nothing she could do.

“I’ll be there in a minute, Marjorie,” Peter called back, waving her off without even looking up. His wife sighed, but she walked away, knowing that it’d be easier to talk him out of whatever he was planning once they both knew what it was than to try and interrupt his thinking process and make him all frustrated. She went into the dining room and started eating by herself, rolling her eyes as she could hear her husband continuing to pace upstairs.

Finally, after Margie had almost finished her meal, Peter came downstairs, a grin on his face like he had come up with a perfect plan, and started eating his cold dinner without so much as a grimace.

“Did you solve your problem, dear?” Margie asked as she cleared her plate, shaking her head a little as her husband hummed and wiped his mouth on a napkin.

“I believe I did, actually,” he said, taking a sip of wine before asking, “Stephen is twenty three now, correct?”

“Yes, why?” Margie asked, rejoining the table with her own glass of wine.

“Well, he’s just about that age to need to be on his own insurance, so here’s what we’ll do. I’ll call him and invite him to lunch so that he can sign himself off of our insurance, right? But in reality, I’ll write up divorce papers and that’ll be what he signs. I’ll figure out a way to get his friend to sign them too, and then when they inevitably split up, there’s no need for it to be a big thing, they’ll already be divorced and nobody will have to know about them being married in the first place,” Peter said, continuing to eat as he sat up, just as proud as a peacock.

“And what if they don’t end up splitting?” Margie asked.

“Then they don’t have to know. Stephen doesn’t know to look twice at whatever documents I tell him to sign, so it won’t matter! What do you think?”

“I think that you’re taking this a bit too far, Peter. There’s a lot of things you’re not considering.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for one, they’re in love, at least enough to have been together since they left high school and to then get married. And another thing, what if Billy is smart enough to look twice when you make him sign? I think you’re blowing this all out of proportion.”

“Marjorie,” Peter sighed, “I have to do something. I cannot just allow Stephen to do whatever he wants and ruin his life, our lives, and the life of his friend. And if I have to arrange their divorce for them myself, then that’s what I have to do.”

“Well, just don’t expect me to be involved,” Margie said, standing up and leaving the table as she added, “I might not agree with the way they went about things, but if Stephen is happy, then that’s all that matters to me. If this is really a mistake, he’ll figure that out eventually, but if not, I’m not going to play a part in ruining his happiness just for our own vanity, and that’s final.”

“Fine, you don’t have to be involved, but just don’t spill the beans on me, alright? I’ll do everything myself,” Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes. Whether his wife would help him or not, he was going to go through with this. His son just could not stay married to that hoodlum, and that’s all there was to it.

The next day, Peter was at his office and, in between meetings, found time to write up the divorce papers for his son. He made sure to dot every I and cross every T, and by closing time, he had everything in order. The only thing left was to call Steve and set up a lunch date. He dialed the number Steve had given them for the phone at his new place, but after a few rings, it went straight to the answering machine.

“Hey, this is Steve,” the machine said in his son’s voice, and then in another that he vaguely recognized, “And Billy.” It went back to Steve’s voice and continued, “We’re either not home right now or we’re avoiding your call. Either way, the beep’s coming, you know what to do.” The message was accentuated by the sounds of giggling and a few snickers, and Peter felt his eye twitch a little as he listened for the beep.

“Hello, Stephen, it’s your father,” he said when it came, “I was just calling to see if you would be willing to come over next weekend and have lunch with your mother and I. I, uh, have some papers I need you to sign. Nothing major, just a few forms to get you off of our insurance now that you’re a married man. Anyway, get back to me as soon as you can and we’ll hash out the details. Have a nice evening, son.”

Steve had been busy with the dishes when the call had come in, but he heard the message as his dad left it, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Billy had returned from switching the laundry just as the message ended, and he saw Steve nearly falling into the sink as he laughed, so he walked over to help dry and asked, “Henderson or Buckley?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, finally getting over the laughing fit.

“There’s only three people in the world that can make you laugh that hard, but I was in the other room, so that means either Henderson or Buckley called and left a message. C’mon, which one was it and what did they say that almost had you drowning in dishwater?”

“Actually, it wasn’t either of them,” Steve said, “It was my dad. He wants to have lunch with me next week. He needs me to sign something so I’m no longer on his and my mom’s insurance.”

“And that’s funny… why?” Billy asked.

“Because, I did all that months ago when I moved out of their house. I guess he never read the papers I had him sign, because apparently, he doesn’t know that, which means he’s planning something. He’s got some sort of scheme he thinks I’m gonna fall for, and I’ll bet my entire trust fund that it has something to do with splitting us up.”

“Really? Why the hell would your dad try and do something like that?”

“Because it’s not good for his image if I’m married to a man from the wrong side of the tracks. That’s gotta be his angle, because I don’t see any other reason he’d be this concerned about it. But anyway, the reason I was laughing is because he thinks it’s gonna work. He thinks I’d sign my soul away to the devil if he just asked me to, but I know better than to sign something without reading it first. But, I think I’ve got an idea.”

“For what?”

“Well, he thinks I’ll sign whatever he wants, so I’m going to, but not the way he wants.”

“Okay, I’m intrigued, what’s your plan?” Billy asked, knowing that sparkle in Steve’s eyes, and knowing that it meant mischief.

“So, we’ll go to that lunch, and you’ll wear your best outfit, and we’ll bring Max along for moral support, and then, we’ll sign the papers,” Steve explained, his smile downright wicked.

“And how is that not doing exactly what your dad wants?”

“You’ll see,” Steve said, then added with a wink, “Oh, and I get to put your outfit together. We have to make sure you impress the folks after all.”

The next weekend came quickly, and everything was in place on both sides of the equation. Peter had the papers all ready on his desk, a pen already set on top of them, and Margie had made a fantastic lunch, one fit for kings. Steve had dressed Billy in his best outfit, a mesh crop top with simply sinful tight leather pants that showed off most of his tattoos and piercings, and they had picked Max up on their way to the house, making sure she was in her rattiest clothes, had at least four band-aids visible on her face and hands, and had her skateboard and walkman in hand. It took everything he had to keep a straight face as they walked up to the door, but he managed to keep it together and put on a neutral expression as they rang the doorbell, waiting for his mom to answer.

She had been clued in to their plan when Steve called her to tell her they’d be at the lunch, and she was all set to act accordingly with whatever they threw at her. She opened the door, smiling as she greeted them, and pretended to hide a grimace as she saw Steve walking in with Billy’s hand in his. Max didn’t say a word as she walked into the house after them, her headphones on as she walked past Margie without even a handshake, just as Peter walked in.

“And who is this young lady?” Margie asked, biting her nail as Max walked a bit too close to the living room carpet with her muddy shoes on.

“This is Maxine, we’re fostering her. Y’know, there are just so many poor kids who grow up in foster care, so we decided to do our part and try to give her a good home. The older ones tend to just age out since everybody wants the babies and toddlers, so we figured we’d give Maxine a try and see how things go,” Steve explained, smiling until Max ripped her headphones off and gave him the dirtiest look she could muster.

“It’s Max. If you can’t get it right, then don’t say it at all!” She snapped, dropping her board on the hardwood floor and starting to skate around the kitchen.

“Max, honey, we talked about this. No skating in the house,” Steve said, and Max just rolled her eyes.

“Then can I go outside?” She asked, and Steve sighed.

“Sure, but either Billy or I has to go with you,” he said, then leaned over and stage-whispered to his parents, “If we let her go by herself, she tries to run away.”

“Ugh, I hate you!” Max stomped her foot, crossing her arms as she put her headphones back on and stormed over to the couch.

“It’s a work in progress,” Steve said, following the girl’s lead and heading to the living room to sit while lunch was being finished. He relished in the barely hidden look of discomfort and disbelief on his dad’s face as he said it, having to pinch himself to keep from laughing.

“So, uh, Billy, how has married life been treating you?” Margie asked, slapping on a fake smile and pretending to be uncomfortable as she sat down across from him, Steve and Max.

“Oh, it’s great. Your son is one fantastic piece of tail, and I get to have him whenever I want!” Billy said, reaching over and pinching Steve’s ass to accentuate his point. Steve just giggled and swatted his hand away, and everyone else just laughed uncomfortably.

“And, um, what is it that you do for work?” Peter asked, and it looked like he was near a heart attack as Billy kicked his feet up on the coffee table.

“I’m currently unemployed, but I know a guy who’s been hooking me up with some decent work in sales. It’s a pretty loose gig, but it brings in a lotta dough, and I get a twenty percent employee discount, so,” he said, shrugging as he propped his arms up behind his head.

“And what exactly is it that you sell?” Peter asked, his head starting to pound.

“Oh, y’know, party supplies. Amps, sweet stuff, disco biscuits, special K, electric kool-aid, some bud, you get the gist,” Billy said, shrugging again. He tried not to lose it as Steve’s parents both looked confused at first, but then quickly realized what he was talking about and nodded as if they still didn’t get it. It was hilarious watching his dad try to keep his cool as he put his arm around Steve, and it only became funnier as he had to excuse himself for a moment to ‘check on lunch’ as Steve cuddled into Billy’s side.

“Can I go upstairs and see your old room?” Max asked, sitting up a little on the couch and speaking loud enough so Peter would hear it as he left for the kitchen.

“Sure, go ahead,” Steve said, “It’s just up the stairs and to the right.”

Max got up from the couch then and bounded up the stairs as quickly as she could, leaving Steve and Billy alone with Margie.

“So, you think dad suspects anything?” Steve asked his mother quietly.

“No, I think you’ve got him right where you want him. And it was a great idea bringing Max into this, she’s a wonderful actress. I think if the three of you keep it up, I’ll be able to convince him to leave you be once it’s all said and done,” Margie said with a wink.

“Good. Oh, also, we had another idea that we wanted to run past you first before we did it. Would you be okay if Max threw some food at you then?” Steve asked, the mischievous glint playing in his eyes.

“We’d have her wait until it cools down a little, of course, but after she does, you can say you need a moment and excuse yourself, and that’ll give your husband the perfect opportunity to have us sign those papers,” Billy added, smiling along with Steve.

“As long as she doesn’t throw a whole chicken breast at me, I’m fine with that,” Margie said, shaking her head as she laughed a little. “Oh, wait, I think I hear your father coming back, everybody quit smiling!”

As Peter walked back into the room, he found everyone in the same position he’d left them in, chatting about the weather. As he sat down, he asked, “What happened to the young lady?”

“She wanted to check out my old room, so she’s upstairs,” Steve said, and just then, Max came barrelling back down the stairs, holding something in her hands.

“Oh my God! This is so funny, check out what I found!” She said, waving around a porn magazine.

“Max! Where did you find that?!” Steve nearly shouted, pretending to be panicked as he tore the magazine out of her hands, trying to hide it.

“Under your bed. Gotta say, Steve, you’ve really got a type,” she laughed, holding up one of the pages that had fallen onto the floor. It showed a blonde woman dressed all in leather that had a brunette man tied up on the ground in front of her, and once everyone had gotten an eyeful of it, Steve grabbed that, too, crumpling all of it up and taking it to the kitchen to throw it away. Max continued to laugh, and Billy had to chuckle a little, too. They’d planned this gag along with everything else, but the way Steve’s face went red just like his parents’, it was just too funny.

“Um, I-I think lunch should be ready by now, why don’t we head in to the table?” Margie said, her face still flushed as she led the way to the table. It was set with the semi-fancy silverware and china, and Max’s eyes grew wide as she walked in. As soon as they were all seated, she waited until she thought Steve’s dad would be the only one looking, and she swiped the crystal salt and pepper shakers off the table, stuffing them in her pocket.

“Now, young lady, you are a guest in our home, and we are being very kind to you. You should not be repaying that kindness by taking our things and acting the way you are,” he said, giving her a hard stare.

“I didn’t do anything,” Max said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked as he, Billy and Margie walked in, carrying the food dishes.

“I didn’t do anything!” Max was quick to defend, glaring at Peter.

“Yes, she did. She took the crystal salt shakers and stuffed them in her pockets,” Peter countered, and Steve looked at Max disappointedly, shaking his head.

“Max, we talked about this. You don’t take things that don’t belong to you, now put them back,” he said, putting his hands on his hips as Max groaned, but put the shakers back on the table. Steve glanced at his dad after the whole exchange, and was pleased to see his eye starting to twitch again, an obvious sign that they were getting to him.

After that, they all sat down and started serving themselves. Margie had made chicken with broccoli and potatoes, and for most of the meal nothing major happened. This was mostly due to the fact that nobody said a word as they ate, any and all conversation topics seeming loaded with too much opportunity for awkward tension, so nobody bothered to try. That is, until Steve saw that Max was eating everything but her broccoli.

“Max, honey, you have to eat your broccoli, or else we won’t get ice cream on the way home,” he said, nodding at her plate, but she only scoffed.

“I’m fifteen, Steve, not five, and I don’t like broccoli,” she said, rolling her eyes yet again.

“Just eat it, alright?” Billy backed Steve up, making his tone as sharp as possible until it was practically a growl.

“No,” she said, “I don’t like broccoli.”

“Just fucking eat it, Max. I’m not gonna say it again!” Billy raised his voice at her.

“I won’t say it again, either! I. Don’t. Like. Broccoli!” She raised her voice right back, picking up a couple of florets in each hand and throwing them, some hitting Billy and Steve, but the majority going off to the sides and hitting his parents. After her tantrum, Max stood up from the table quickly and stormed off to another room, her headphones back on her ears as she hid in the living room. Billy stood up as if he were going to go after her, but Steve grabbed his arm and pulled him back down, telling him to give her a few minutes to cool off before they both said something they’d regret.

Meanwhile, his parents just sat there, both in disbelief at the girl’s horrible behavior and the way Billy had tried to handle it. For a minute, it seemed like nobody was going to move, as if everything had been stopped by the tantrum and now somebody had to restart time. Finally, Margie was able to get into character and stood up, still pretending to be in shock as she muttered, “I-I need a moment,” and left the room in a rush.

“Stephen, why don’t you come into my office and sign those papers now, and then I think you all should leave, your mother seemed terribly upset,” Peter said, standing and looking at Steve in a way that told him he didn’t really have any choice in the matter. Steve just nodded and said okay, and he and Billy followed his father to his office.

“It’s an insurance thing, so will you need just my signature or both of ours?” Steve asked as they got into the office, glancing at the papers on the desk.

“Both of you will need to sign it,” Peter said, flipping to the right page and holding out a pen to Steve. He signed, then passed the pen to Billy, who signed as well.

“There, we should be all squared away, then,” Steve said, handing the papers back to his dad. “Sorry about all this, dad, this was supposed to be a nice afternoon. Tell mom I said sorry too, okay?”

“I will, son. Have a nice evening,” he replied, the first genuine smile he’d had all day coming to his face.

Steve led the way back to the living room so that they could collect Max before leaving, making sure his dad was well out of earshot before he started to laugh quietly. They got Max and quickly left, saying a quick goodbye to Margie when they saw her on her way to the office, asking her to give them a five minute head start before she went in there. She agreed and hugged them all before they left, waiting until she heard their car rumbling down the road before she went to find her husband.

“So what was it that he tried to get you guys to sign?” Max asked from the backseat, taking some of the band-aids off her face.

“Divorce papers,” Billy grinned wickedly, “But we didn’t actually sign them, don’t worry.”

“Nope. Poor dad’s in for a shock once he finally takes a closer look at those things,” Steve agreed, winking. “Now, let’s celebrate! Who wants ice cream?”

Back at the Harrington house, Margie had just entered the office, schooling her features to be neutral before she knocked on the door frame and walked in.

“So, I think we can agree that the next order of business is making sure they don’t adopt that horrible little girl, am I right?” Peter said as Margie sat down, kicking his feet up on his desk as he filed the documents away in a folder.

“I take it they signed, then?” Margie asked, biting her lip so as not to break the facade just yet.

“Sure did, see for yourself!” Peter said, flipping to the right page and holding the paper out to his wife. She couldn’t help it anymore, she let out a little giggle and said, “Um, dear, you might want to take a second look at those signatures.”

Peter looked at his wife like she lost her mind, and quickly whipped the paper around to see what she was talking about. His mouth went dry as he saw it, and his eye started twitching again, because instead of two names on the signature lines, he saw two parts of a sentence. In the neatest cursive he’d ever seen, the phrase “Suck a Lemon, Old Man!” was written on the lines.

As her husband started completely dumbfounded at the paper, Margie finally lost it, bursting into a fit of laughter that didn’t end until the papers Peter had been holding were halfway through the shredder.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing about, Marjorie! This is a disaster! This whole damn afternoon was a disaster!” He ranted, throwing his arms up in frustration. “Now I’ll have to write up a whole new set of papers and figure out some other plan!”

“Oh, come off it, Peter!” Margie finally calmed down enough to say, “This afternoon was a disaster by design! Stephen knows you, he knew that there was more to this, especially since he got his insurance in order months ago. They planned this whole thing to show you that you’re upset about nothing.”

“You call what happened out there nothing?!” Peter asked, completely exasperated.

“No, that was absolutely something. That was the worst case scenario. But that’s not how their relationship actually is. They wanted to show you that for as worried as you are about their relationship, it could be a hell of a lot worse. It was all acting. Max isn’t a foster kid, she’s Billy’s little sister, and they asked her to help them today by acting as badly as she could so you could see that at least they don’t have a juvenile delinquent they’re trying to raise. Steve dressed Billy up like that and had him say all those things about dealing drugs and such so that you can now think that at least our son didn’t marry an unemployed drug dealer with anger issues. It was all just like one big prank.”

“And you were in on it?!”

“Yes, I was.”

“Why would you do that to me?!”

“Because they asked me for help and I gave it to them,” Margie said, sighing, “Look, Peter, I realized a while ago that if I try and control everything about Steve’s life, not only would I never win, but I’d end up losing him in the end. He’d get fed up with me and if it hit a certain point, he’d cut me out completely. So instead of trying to control him, I’ve decided to support him instead. He’s made a lot of mistakes and he’s going to make more, but rather than try and prevent them from ever happening, I’m going to help him through those mistakes so he learns from them. And I don’t think he’s making a mistake with Billy. They’re in love, just like we’re in love, and they deserve to be in love without someone else controlling their every move. And if, heaven forbid, they ever do realize it’s a mistake, then I’d rather be here to offer Steve a shoulder to cry on than to laugh and say ‘I told you so’, wouldn’t you?”

Peter looked lost in thought as Margie’s words sank in, and finally, he sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I guess I should just be glad that nothing they said today was real, huh?”

“Now you’re getting it,” Margie smiled softly, taking her husband’s hand and kissing it gently.

“And I suppose I should call them tomorrow and apologize, shouldn’t I?”

“I think that would be best. Then maybe next weekend we can have a real lunch and we can all get to know each other the right way, hm?”

“Fine. But if that girl decides to tag along again, make sure that broccoli is not on the menu,” Peter said, making them both laugh.

#billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #max mayfield #harringrove flip/reverse

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totowlff · 6 months

Text

chapter seventeen — i'm not entirely to blame

➝ it's so easy to lie to yourself...

➝ word count: 3,5k

➝ warnings: mentions of smut

Toto lived in an extremely quiet, charming neighborhood just outside of Oxford, in a little hamlet called Boars Hill. His house was set on two acres of land that was mostly surrounded by trees, with a spacious and well-maintained back garden. Since the first time Cassie had visited his house, when Ingrid was still just an idea in their heads, she had a good feeling about it. She could even see herself walking down the narrow country roads pushing Ingrid in her pram, or watching Ingrid romp around the back garden as she and Toto sat watching her in chairs on the patio, just like a real family.

“No, Cassie, we’re not a real family”, she scolded herself as she made a left turn onto Bedwells Heath, looking carefully through the trees for Toto’s drive. She’d missed it once or twice before.

It wasn’t that they weren’t already a family of sorts; they’d come together to have a child, which meant they would be linked together in something resembling a familial unit, just not in the traditional sense. They were just friends, who were going to be parents together, but without the affection couples normally had for each other.

Except, though, sometimes their feelings for each other, at least for Cassie’s part, felt bigger than she would be willing to admit.

Plus, there was the sex…

The memory of Thursday night sent a rush of heat running over Cassie's skin. After bringing her to climax twice and giving her a few minutes to catch her breath, she felt the same heat as before. Just as she was going to remark on the sensation, she was interrupted by Toto as he kissed her again, his hands holding her tightly before sliding to the spot between her legs and making her come a third time.

However, when Cassie made a move to return the favor, Toto stopped her.

— Tonight is about you, Cassie. Just about you.

As she parked her car in front of Toto’s house, she clenched her jaw as she remembered the way he had cleaned her up and put her to bed, kissing her gently on the forehead before he left her flat, ignoring her pleas for him to stay. Seeing him leave hurt more than it should have, but there was nothing that could be done.

Toto would never be hers completely.

As she stepped out of the car, she looked up at the front of the house, admiring the traditional-yet-modern exterior, especially the way the front of the house looked like a circular tower, with a large panoramic window on the top floor. A vision popped into her mind — she and Toto sitting on the sofa together, his arm around her shoulders, her snuggled into Toto’s side. No work to do, no races on the other side of the world to get off to, just the two of them enjoying each other’s company, watching their daughter play with dolls or blocks on the colorful area rug as a summer rainstorm rolled through the meadows surrounding Boars Hill.

A perfect, quiet afternoon.

She shook her head as she pressed the button for the doorbell, chiding herself for letting her imagination get carried away again. A few seconds later, it opened, revealing the smiling face of the house’s owner.

— You know you don't need to ring the doorbell, right? — Toto said, smiling. He was wearing a chambray button-down and a pair of loose-fitting khaki trousers. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, exposing a plain white t-shirt underneath. To Cassie’s surprise, he was also wearing a pair of glasses with round, black frames. She wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him dressed quite so casually. Even when he had accompanied her to the clinic, he tended to wear a pressed Oxford shirt and some sort of dress trousers. She knew he occasionally wore glasses, but it was rare.

— I didn’t want to seem presumptuous — Cassie replied — Besides, I don't live here.

— Not yet. But you will.

— Temporarily.

— Yes, but I still hope you see it as home while you’re here — he replied, opening the door wider — Come in and make yourself comfortable, please.

With a small smile on her face, Cassie walked past him, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. Leaving her bag in the entrance hall, she waited for Toto to close the door to follow him through the house, stopping for a few seconds to look at the compass rose tiled into the floor of the entranceway. She had always found that detail of the house very charming.

— Are you hungry? I can make some tea before…

— It’s fine. I ate before leaving home.

— Are you sure?

— I'm fine, really — she replied, trying to reassure him.

Toto let out a sigh.

— Well, if you don't need anything, could you come upstairs with me?

Cassie nodded, following Toto up the stairs to the second floor, where the nursery was. He had shown it to her in the first few weeks of her pregnancy. However, instead of turning right, towards the door of the nursery, he turned left, opening the door and asking her to step inside.

It was a large suite with a king-size bed facing a large window, which had an impressive view of the garden at the back of the house. There were also two armchairs next to a fireplace, as well as a large painting above it of an Alpine landscape, perhaps in Austria. Staring at the painting Cassie realized which room she was standing in.

— Why are we here in your bedroom?

— Because it will be yours. Well, while you're here.

She blinked.

— But… This is your bedroom, I couldn’t possibly…

— There are three other bedrooms I can sleep in. It’s no trouble.

— Toto, I can’t…

— Cassie, you need to be comfortable, especially after the birth. This room is big, has a very comfortable bed and a private bathroom en suite. Also, it’s the one that’s closest to the nursery.

— I don't need a big room. Any place will do, even the nursery. We can have the decorator put…

He shook his head.

— No, we’re not going to put your bed in the nursery.

— But if I stay in the nursery I’ll be close to…

— You won’t be able to get any rest if you stay in the nursery, Cassie. You won't sleep because you'll be keeping an eye on the baby. You know that being fatigued will not help you recover after the baby is born, and it will just make taking care of her more difficult.

Cassie clenched her jaw and looked away from him. He wasn't wrong. If she was with Ingrid constantly, she’d be on high-alert at all times, and wouldn’t ever be able to get any rest, even when she needed it. She would hate for something bad to happen to the baby because she was tired.

— Okay — she conceded — I'm not going to sleep in the nursery, you’re right. But, I'm not going to take you out of your bedroom. I can stay anywhere else, but not here.

Toto sighed.

— Okay, come with me.

The two went to another bedroom, a little smaller, but no less comfortable-looking. The minimalist, almost-generic decor gave the impression that it was just a guest room, not used very often; everything looked almost brand-new.

— The only problem with this room is that it doesn’t have a private bathroom, so you will have to use the one in the hallway. Otherwise, it’s just as nice as the master bedroom.

— It's great — she smiled, heading over to the bed and sitting on the mattress to try it out. Toto sat next to her, a small smile on his face.

— I'll ask Bertha to get everything ready for you to settle in next week.

— Next week? — Cassie said, her eyes going wide.

— Yes, so you have time to get comfortable and…

— Toto, I was going to move in after I’m discharged from the hospital with the baby, I couldn’t possibly…

— But there are so many things for us to do before the baby arrives — Toto exclaimed — We have to tidy up the nursery once it’s ready, buy more clothes, get the car seat, get all of the baby’s things organized, pack your bags for the hospital, you still have doctor’s appointments, we have to go to visit the maternity ward…

— I don't need to move here for that.

— And how are Bertha and I going to help you organize things if you’re not here?

Cassie raised an eyebrow.

— With your hands?

Toto gave a sarcastic laugh.

— Very funny.

She laughed.

— I know.

— The point is that, with you here, it will be easier to make decisions about things, especially regarding organization and routine in the first few days. Furthermore, I —Toto hesitated for a few seconds.

— You… What?

— I wanted to enjoy this time with you. You know, the…Nesting period, I think they call it. Plus, doing things for Ingrid without you is strange. Every time I buy things for the baby, the salespeople ask where my wife is, so I lie and say that it is for a friend’s daughter, because if I tell them it is for my daughter, they will want to know more about her, and I don’t want them to get the wrong idea and that they will think trying to have a family this way is strange, and…

Cassie sighed in frustration, taking Toto’s hand in hers.

— We're not doing anything wrong, Toto. We are only doing what we want, which is having a family. Just because we’re not doing it in the most traditional manner doesn’t mean we’ll be any less of a family. Trust me, a traditional family isn’t always a happy one. I am speaking from experience, so trust me on that.

He looked at her, a small smile on his face.

— But we can do things better, Cassie.

Something inside her jumped, her heart pounding in her chest.

— Better?

— Yes. Move in with me.

— Toto…

— I'll feel a lot better if you're here, and Bertha can help keep an eye on you when I'm traveling.

— Toto, I'm not a child who needs to be supervised.

— But you have a child inside you. And she needs to be supervised.

— Yes, by me.

— And by Bertha — he said, giving one of those mischievous smiles that made her heart race. Seeing Cassie rolling her eyes, he added — And there's no point in making that face, Cassandra.

— You sound like I'm incapable of taking care of myself...

— I’m only saying this because I am concerned about the well-being of the woman who — he paused for a few seconds, as if he was evaluating the words he was going to use before continuing — Is pregnant with my daughter. That's all, Cassie.

Cassie was about to answer him when the doorbell rang downstairs. Toto stood up, saying that he was going to meet the decorator and she should wait for them in the nursery. Walking down the hallway with one hand resting on her stomach, she tried to shake off the anxiety that was building up by breathing deeply.

When she stepped into the nursery, she was a little surprised by the amount of things in the room already. In addition to the stroller, baby carrier, and the package of things from Mercedes-Benz that Ola had sent them after Toto had told him he was going to be a father, there were bags of baby clothes, and several boxes printed with the logo of a well-known toy shop in London. She had pulled a onesie out of a bag to look at, running her fingers over the screen printed lettering that read “future CEO” on it when she heard footsteps behind her.

— Well, this is the room — Toto said to the woman next to him. She was quite a bit shorter than him, with dark hair, styled into a pixie cut. She had glasses with dark-rimmed frames, and was holding a briefcase in one hand and a tablet in another. — And this is... Cassandra.

She dropped her clothes and went to the designer, smiling.

— Nice to meet you, Cassandra — she said, extending her hand to shake — I'm Taylor.

— Likewise, Taylor. You can call me Cassie, by the way.

— As you wish, Cassie — the woman replied, smiling — Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to just ask a few questions so I can get to know both of you. For starters, how long have you been married?

Toto’s eyes went straight to the floor, and Cassie noticed it. He was definitely uncomfortable with that question. And that was what made Cassie smile at the woman.

— A few months. We decided to make it official after we discovered the little one was on its way.

The response made Toto look up suddenly, looking somewhat shocked at what she had said. However, if Taylor had noticed that reaction, she didn't notice it.

— Oh, that's great. And have you lived here for a long time?

— I moved here in 2012 — he answered. His entire demeanor had changed since her arrival. If he was cheery before, now he seemed distant and distracted — I did some renovations, but nothing major or thinking about a function for this specific room.

Taylor walked around the room a bit, taking photos with her phone, analyzing the walls and the window for a few seconds. Placing her bag on the floor, she took the tablet and its stylus out of its case. After a few taps, she began to scribble something on the device's screen, a thoughtful expression on her face.

— Is the baby a boy or a girl?

— Girl — Cassie replied.

— Do you have anything in mind regarding decoration or colors?

— No pink — Cassie replied, definitively — No unicorns and rainbows.

The woman smiled slightly, writing something down on the tablet. Then, she began to explain the ideas, as well as the trends that could be incorporated into the room and that would make their routine with the baby easier. She also discussed some of the pictures of cribs, closets and changing tables that Toto had sent her. Finally, she asked if they had a theme in mind or if they were thinking about something neutral.

— Well, I do — Cassie said, making Toto look at him — When we decided to become parents, the first thing Toto did was buy a plush bunny, and I don’t know why, but… It has stuck with me. I think that would be cute.

— Do you agree, Toto?

— Yes. Maybe something with rabbits — he mumbled, crossing his arms.

After asking a few more questions, taking measurements and making a joke about how much stuff they already had for the baby considering that Cassie wasn't even halfway through her pregnancy, Taylor said goodbye to them, stating that she would send new drawings with her ideas to the nursery by email to Toto. Then, politely, he motioned for the woman to follow him back to the house’s hall of entrance.

Alone in the nursery again, Cassie took time to stare at the white walls. She caressed her belly slowly, imagining herself in a comfortable rocking chair, breastfeeding her daughter. She imagined showing her the pictures of rabbits on the wall, the lamp on the ceiling, the cozy crib. She imagined herself changing her clothes and diapers, while talking and making faces at her, making her daughter giggle.

The room would be perfect.

The footsteps that sounded behind her made her look back, a small smile on her face. Toto had returned to his room in silence, with his eyes lost on the walls and his hands in his pants pocket.

— What did you think of her ideas? — Cassie asked, approaching him.

— Good — he replied, his voice flat.

— I liked the idea of indirect lighting that she suggested, to bring a more cozy atmosphere to the room, but I'm still in doubt about the style of the decoration, whether something more classical or something more modern is better — she continued, walking around the room — But her idea of using niches here to decorate is fantastic, isn't it?

Toto nodded, his gaze directed at the swaying treetops outside the window. It was the confirmation she needed to realize that he was strange, distant, even a little cold. And he had been that way ever since Taylor suggested the two of them were in a relationship.

She stepped toward Toto carefully.

— Toto? — Cassie asked softly, his eyes meeting hers — Look, if you're feeling bad about what I said, I just thought it was easier to lie than to try and explain our situation, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable...

— Cassie, it’s not that, it’s just — he said, interrupting her abruptly — I’m just frustrated. Fuck.

— Why? — she asked, softly.

He ran a hand across his forehead, clearly uncomfortable.

— Because, even with all my work, all my effort, everything I said, not just to you, but to the lawyer and to myself, I failed.

— Failed? What do you mean?

— I failed to uphold our agreement by getting involved with you.

She swallowed hard, watching as Toto ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was about to come unglued. He was feeling guilty, but it was all Cassie’s fault. It was her fault that she hadn't been able to simply ignore her own horniness.

And it was consuming her.

— I know I shouldn’t have asked you that on Thursday...

— But you did — Toto grunted, looking a little irritated. His reaction made Cassie look down, feeling embarrassed. “I deserved that”, she thought.

— Toto…

— But the problem isn't you — he said, making her raise her head quickly, meeting his eyes — The problem here is me.

— But…

— You are in a vulnerable moment, feeling the effect of hormones, and all of that. It's not your fault for feeling urges and desires. But I'm to blame for not respecting the boundaries we set in the conversation with the lawyer. I should have said no to you, Cassie.

— And why didn't you? — she asked softly.

Toto stared at her silently, as if he was measuring his words. With every second, the tension inside Cassie grew.

— You said you needed my help. And I promised to help you. I was simply keeping my word — he finally replied.

— Then why are you so upset?

— Cassandra…

— After all, you were just keeping your word, simple as that.

— It's not that simple, Cassandra! — Toto exclaimed. She didn't know the reason, but her heart started to beat harder, her palms sweating. Hearing a man raise her voice, even as innocuous as the situation was, reminded her of her father, as well as the loud fights and arguments they had.

— And why not? — she managed to ask, her throat tightening.

— Because we made a legal agreement, stating that we would not have any romantic involvement.

— You know that's just a piece of paper, right? I'm not going to sue you for having sex with me.

— That’s not the point. We made a commitment, Cassandra, I had committed to giving you support and support to bear and raise our daughter. Of course, we started the wrong way, but I had already got it into my head that it was necessary, after all, to have a child, you have to have sex...

— Actually, there are other ways…

— For two fertile and healthy adults, having sex is the first option. But that's not the point, Cassie. My point is that, after doing what is necessary, it was my intention that things returned to what we had agreed upon.

He hesitated, running his hand over his face again. After a sigh, Toto continued.

— I like you, Cassie. You are an incredible, courageous, intelligent woman… I would never have a child with you if I didn't like you, but we went too far.

Cassie clenched her jaw. She couldn't say anything, the pain in her chest growing by the second.

— I think it’s better for us to… Put a limit on this.

— A limit… — she stammered.

— Yes, we need to re-establish our boundaries here. I will continue to support you, taking care of you. That won't change. The idea of you moving here still stands, everything remains the same. But, no intimacy. No kissing, no sex.

The thought of never kissing Toto again made Cassie's chest hurt, as did the thought of never feeling him touching her in a tender, sensual way again. To think that she would never again see him the way she had in those two nights was almost suffocating. Cassie had no idea how she would be able to move on knowing she would never have him again.

She felt like arguing, telling him that she was incapable of doing that because she was completely in love with him and was willing to tear up any paper and face anything to have him for herself. Maybe this was the time to say the three words she most wanted to say to him.

Yes, that was the time.

— Toto…

— Are you okay with that? Can we go back to just being friends?

“No, Cassandra”, she told herself.

— Yes, we can.

#toto wolff #wlffog #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #toto wolff angst #toto wolff fanfic #formula one fic #formula one fanfic #f1 x oc #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 x oc #formula one x oc #etlwlff

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cowboycatd · 1 year

Note

cowboycatd perchance would you write a totally impromptu idea that I just came up with on my own with absolutely no input from you about dads!bealil and kid libby learning to climb

Wow, how spontaneous! How original!

Marcel’s hands tremble as he tightens the chest straps of the harness. His ears burn under the penetrating gaze of the tall, severe woman standing behind him. She’d walked in just ten minutes ago with another woman, haughtily demanding service. She didn’t even bother to introduce herself or her party; Marcel had to gather that information himself from the waivers. The four-year-old thankfully standing relatively still is called Elizabeth followed by an unnecessary number of names he can’t recall, and her parents who are not still are apparently Lilith and Beatrice.

The instant he finishes with the harness, Lilith swoops in and nearly bats his hands away as she checks for herself the snugness of the fit.

“Are you comfortable, Libby? Is it too tight?” She tugs on each strap, moving from the chest to the waist to the legs.

Libby shakes her head and gives a thumbs up.

Marcel suppresses an annoyed eye roll. Sure, he picked up working at a climbing gym as a summer gig, but he knows how to set up a child’s harness better than this woman who’s clearly here for the first time.

She stands out like a swan among mere mundane ducks. Both she and her wife do. Lilith is dressed to the nines in a turtleneck, slim cropped slacks, and high heeled boots. She looks ready to sit down at a three-star Michelin restaurant or whatever rich people do. Marcel really wouldn’t know. Why she thought wearing an all-black ensemble to a climbing gym of all places is beyond comprehension. Marcel smiles to himself imagining her covered in chalk on her way out. Her wife is barely more casual, donning a soft sweater layered over a button-up.

Lilith finally steps back after fretting over the harness. She pulls at the collar of her turtleneck and directs her piercing glare back at Marcel. Beatrice hands him the small purple helmet he’d gotten out with a smile.

“Okay Libby,” he kneels down and puts on his best cheerful tone. He buckles the helmet under her chin and gives her a pat on the head. “What I’m gonna do next is tie you into this rope and then you can get started climbing!”

“Can I go all the way to the top?” Libby asks with awe while craning her neck up, eyes wide.

“Let’s try one-third first-“ Lilith is interrupted by her wife.

“Yes, Libby, if you want.”

Marcel tries to ignore the parents’ hushed debate about safety and heights as he ties Libby in. He loads his ATC and performs his safety checks.

“All right, whenever you’re ready!”

“Wait!” Lilith nearly shrieks, losing some of her poised demeanor.

Marcel avoids reveling in vindication at this and takes a deep breath. He turns around and plasters on his best customer service smile.

“That knot will hold her if she falls?” Marcel has an image of Lilith stabbing him through the chest with a sword flash in his mind. She looks like the type who fences.

Beatrice loops an arm around Lilith’s and gently pulls her back. “Marcel knows what he’s doing, darling.” She gives Marcel a stare of her own. He shifts his eyes. Lilith clenches her jaw and tilts her chin up at him. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“Dad! Look at me!” Libby shouts as she slowly begins climbing. Dad? She’s clumsy, her tiny hands grasping at the large holds. Even the crimps must be jugs to her.

Lilith gasps when Libby’s foot slips for the first time and she hangs only by her arms. Marcel makes sure to pull out all the slack to nearly the point that he could drag Libby up the wall if he so desired. He swears he can feel Lilith analyzing the tautness of the rope from behind him.

Meanwhile, Libby kicks at the wall once, twice, before her foot miraculously lands on a hold. She giggles as she continues her slow ascent. Her hands reach for a hold here, a hold there, stretching out until she can grab onto something, whether it’s an actual handhold or a foothold. She appears to prefer a three-finger drag and Marcel finds himself envious of her grip strength-to-weight ratio.

Marcel imperceptibly shakes his head and concentrates on giving her the best possible belay, maybe the safest belay anyone has ever given in history, under Lilith’s glare he can still feel boring into his back. He wouldn’t be surprised if Beatrice is doing the same.

“Dad! Dad! Look! Look how high I am!” Libby turns her head and looks down at them.

“Be careful, Libby!” Lilith shouts up, twisting her wedding band around her finger.

“Baba! Look!” Libby shouts again and accidentally knocks her helmet against the wall in her excitement.

“Keep going!” Beatrice says. Dad? Baba? Interesting names. Maybe it’s a British thing.

The quiet argument reignites once Libby is halfway up the wall.

“That’s quite high enough for her. It’s her first time!”

“She can stop when she wants.”

“Bea-“

“Baba! Dad!” Something spikes in Marcel’s chest at her tone. “I’m scared!”

Libby’s two-thirds up the wall now. She looks down and squeals, then whimpers. Her body tightens up and she freezes.

“It’s okay, Libby, let go if you want! I’ve got you!” Marcel walks closer to the wall and pulls in slack.

“No, I’m scared!” Her legs shake and she grips the holds for dear life. “Baba! Baba! Dad!”

“Do something!” Lilith comes up behind him and hovers like a swamp monster from the movies he watched when he was a kid. Her voice is shrill.

“I told you!” She then directs at Beatrice.

Beatrice pulls Lilith back once more. “Listen to Marcel,” she calls up. “He’ll help you!” Marcel just catches a quiet, “she’ll be all right, breathe, love.”

“Okay Libby, here’s what we’re going to do.” Marcel’s knuckles are white with how tightly he’s clutching the rope under both parents’ scrutiny. “I’ve got you tight, just let go one hand at a time, okay? I’ve got you.”

Libby’s bottom lip trembles. Uh oh. Marcel’s not ready for a toddler’s unmanageable meltdown, not today.

“Be brave, Libby! Listen to Marcel!” Lilith is calmer now, encouraging.

Libby slams her eyes shut and faces the wall once more. One hand releases. A high pitched whine.

“Come on, Libby!”

“Just hold the rope! I’ve got you!”

The other pops off. Libby wraps both hands at chest level around the rope, eyes still squeezed shut.

Marcel takes care to lower her slowly so she doesn’t swing side to side. Both parents rush to her the moment her feet touch the ground. Lilith kneels down and lays a hand on Libby’s shoulder while Beatrice sinks into a low squat and wraps one arm around her wife’s shoulders and another around Libby’s.

“You did so good, Libs.”

Marcel gives them space and takes a few deep breaths. He doesn’t bother to untie Libby’s knot, not until the parents are done. With luck, this will be the only route she climbs today.

“Did you see?” Libby says as a grin stretches. “I went so high!”

Lilith lays a hand over her heart. “We saw, Libby. Done?”

“No!” Marcel groans inwardly at hearing this. “Again! Again!”

The following week Marcel is thankfully off belay shift and is instead responsible for check-outs. No need to deal with children and their ridiculous parents today. Yet, his stomach drops at the sight of Libby’s family walking in the door again. It’s okay, I don’t have to belay her today.

Something tickles at the back of his head when he takes in their appearance, though. Lilith…is in a power suit with a tie and all…but Beatrice looks determined today. Unnervingly so. She’s dressed in athletic wear and carries a bulging bag on her shoulder.

“I’d like to complete a belay check-out, please,” she says.

On one hand, this means he doesn’t have to endure the sweat-inducing, shirt-drenching, body-shaking ordeal from last week. He remembers being completely wiped out after belaying Libby for a mere forty-five minutes. On the other hand…did they have problems with his belaying?

What he says is, “Sure!”

He walks the family out to the top rope wall and writes “Beatrice Williams” on the form pinned to his clipboard. Libby sits on Lilith’s lap as they observe the check-out process.

Marcel is stupefied as he watches Beatrice pull out a harness from her bag. It’s not even hers; it’s a child harness. The harness is neatly moved to the side along with a child’s helmet, tiny climbing shoes, two adult helmets, and two adult harnesses. One of the adult harnesses is loaded with an ATC, a GriGri, a PAS, and even extra locking carabiners. He has to keep his jaw from dropping, lest Lilith burn him with some sort of quip.

“Have you taken a class?” Marcel asks politely.

“I’ve watched some videos and practiced at home,” Beatrice replies casually as she pulls on her harness.

“Baba watched eight videos!” Libby announces proudly, holding up her hands with six fingers up.

Lilith mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, “and bought a rope, and gear, and practiced with two belay devices without a climber for hours at home.”

Beatrice pointedly ignores this and uses one hand to deftly remove the ATC from a gear loop, loads it, and clips it to her belay loop.

“Ready,” she says.

#davey writes #fic: dads #love you to pieces em #warrior nun #kinda #climbing AU #also kinda #to be trusted with dads...no higher honor #marcel...is an idiot please know this...but a good belayer

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murdocksdaughter · 11 days

Text

the thread of black and green

lonely discomfort - chapter one

warnings: mentions on childbirth, mentions of death and grief word count: 2.2k

It’s been eleven months since Alicent had married Rhaenyra’s father and she was ready to give birth at any moment. Rhaenyra grimaced as she watched her old friend waddle around pregnant with her first child. It didn’t feel right, Alicent was still a child herself. The cycle of a woman’s fate has started.

Rhaenyra didn’t know if she could watch history repeat itself. Even if it was Alicent who suffered the way her mother did, ‘Not again’ were the words that hung from her lips. Though she never verbalized them they stayed at the forefront of her thoughts. A part of her hoped it would be a boy, and that perhaps it would spare Alicent the pain of having anymore children. But what would that mean for her claim? A son is born and this creates questions on if she should really rule.

This was far too complicated for her head, she felt a headache breach her consciousness. She squinted her eyes, and scrunched her nose. Much in the fashion of when a dragon is in distress and bares its teeth. “My Princess, you alright?” Her sworn sword, Criston asked.

She shrugs, “The pressure on my head feels as if it has tightened,” She mumbles out, Her eyes now squeezed shut as she had to move her jaw to speak. It was not a pleasant feeling whatsoever. Criston nods before calling for a handmaiden to get the Princess some water.

“Shall I also have someone call for a maester as well?” He asked.

“No need you do enough as is Ser Criston,” Rhaenyra smiled gently at her sworn protector. The shared moment was politely interrupted by Alicent’s handmaiden giving a small cough. Criston straightened his posture and Rhaenyra turned to see the very pregnant Alicent in front of her. The Princess for a second was taken aback when she remembered she was watching Alicent hobble across the gardens.

The two don’t speak much and she hadn’t expected Alicent to approach her. Rhaenyra, trying to be respectful of the woman in front of her, stood up for a quick bow. “Your Grace…” she mutters out. “For what do I owe your presence?” She asked with more confusion in her tone than she liked to have.

Alicent smiled before taking a seat opposite of her Rhaenyra. “I come to you to ask a favor, if you do not mind?” Rhaenyra fought a smile that was rising in her. It was long since they had spoken outside of family gatherings such as the occasional dinner and feast in honor of namedays or whatever merriment her father wanted to indulge in.

“Of course not…” Rhaenyra's voice was tighter than she liked. The awkwardness between the two was so evident.

The Queen nods, “My brother, Ser Gwayne is riding in from Oldtown, he should arrive this evening and I am in no state to receive guests at the yard. I ask for you to receive him in my stead?” Alicent’s voice was shaky and weak. Rhaenyra nodded, she knew that Alicent cared much for her brother, remembering when they would still close she mentioned once or twice a week from letters he wrote.

“If it would please you then, I shall receive your brother. Although I did not know he was coming to see you, how pleasant…” Rhaenyra quips. Alicent nods, “Yes I shocked myself. I wrote to him a few months back informing of the news, I didn’t think he could see me. I believe Father had something to do with it…” Her voice drifts off at the end.

Before Rhaenyra could respond a handmaiden came with a chalice and water jug in hand. The poor girl’s eyes widened in fear, believing she had forgotten a cup for the Queen. “My apologies, Your Graces. I’m such a fool for forgetting a cup for the Queen.” Her voice shook with the begging of mercy.

Alicent just smiled, “Need not worried, I only just arrived.”

“Shall I fetch you one?”

The Queen shook her head, “No need I am fine.” The handmaiden nods before taking her leave, head hung in slight shame. Rhaenyra sipped on her water, but it was idle action. She no longer felt the need for water. Sitting across from Alicent it was so quiet, too quiet. The feeling of tension made her want to claw herself out of her own dress.

“I believe I shall take my leave, Your Grace.” Rhaenyra stood up biting her cheek. “I may need to freshen up for the arrival of your brother.”

Alicent nodded, giving Rhaenyra her permission to leave. The princess nodded politely before walking away to her chambers, Criston in tow. She slumped onto her lounge chair. Mentally cursing herself for agreeing to receive Gwayne in the courtyard. ‘Seven hells’, Rhaenyra thought to herself as she stood up calling a handmaiden to help pick out a more presentable dress.

Soon after flipping through options she chose a velvet red dress with burgundy embroidery on the edges of her sleeves and collar. Rhaenyra added gold accessories reflecting scales such as her dragon Syrax. And a thin waist chain that reached her knees. Taking a deep breath Rhaenyra looked over herself in the mirror.

Her hair pulled back in half up half down with a braid on each side. Rhaenyra thought she looked presentable to receive guests. In all the time it took her to change, Criston had entered to inform her that Gwaynd should be arriving soon.

Following Criston to the yard, Rhaenyra bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t understand why she felt off kilter. But regret of the task filled her. In the past few months Rhaenyra has isolated herself, the person she spoke to was Criston. However that was only because he was charged with following her everywhere as her personal guard.

Rhaenyra shook herself of doubt and composed her body. Holding her chin high in a manner to befit a Princess. She stood in the courtyard awaiting the banners of Hightower to appear. It did not take long as they strolled in high, Rhaenyra shot a look of nervousness to Criston.

She’s barely seen Gwayne in the time she’s known Alicent, let alone speak to him. She can feel as words start to stick to her tongue. It worsened as she saw the esteemed guest. Their eyes locked his mouth falling agape, Rhaenyra knew her presence was unexpected. He came off his and walked up with a polite smile.

“Well it is a pleasant surprise to be welcomed by the Realm’s Delight herself, it is a pleasure to see you Princess Rhaeynra.” Gwayne had picked her hand and gave a small kiss on the back of it.

Rhaenyra felt a small tinge of color come to her cheek, though she thought herself a well tempered woman. Who was not affected by the flowery flirtations of knights or lords. But it had been a while since she was referred to by such a nickname. She smiled and gave Gwayne a bow.

“Thank you Ser, your sister sent me in her stead, she is in no condition to receive guests in such public settings but she is quite excited to see you.” Rhaenyra replied, proud of herself to salvage her well trained composure.

“I did not realize she was still with child, the gods graced me with luck to be here before the birth.” Gwayne quips.

Rhaenyra nods, “She is far long though, Her Grace may endure labor any day now.” she comments. A small pause falls on the conversation and the princess takes a sigh. “Come let me show you to your chambers for the stay.”

Gwayne had finally settled into his chambers. Taking dinner in his room as he unpacked a few things, such as hanging a few tunic in a wardrobe. It felt nice to have a spacious room, a comfortable bed and some semblance of privacy. Gwayne did not know how much more of the small Inns he could take.

A knock at the door broke his train of thought. He looked up before calling them to come in. A handmaiden walked with eyes trained on the floor. “Her Grace requests your presence, Ser.” She spoke in a meek voice. Gwayne nods, taking note of the young woman’s introverted behavior.

“Yes, well I believe I owe my sister a visit,” He jokes, “By all means lead the way.” He holds out his hand to have her lead him. The walk was not a terribly long walk to the Queen’s Chamber. Gwayne could only internally laugh, his sister staying in the Queen’s Chambers. However, a part of him felt slightly bitter. He was left in Oldtown with his mother. The feelings of abandonment did rise him until he turned from boy to a young man and worsened when his mother fell ill.

Then she had passed and he had to deal with grief alone. And though he was with his family, it was not his family. It was lonesome and isolating. He hoped one day Alicent would return so he wouldn’t be so alone. Or his father would call him to court. None of that had happened; he had been forgotten in the Hightower of Oldtown.

As the door opened he gave a curt nod to the guards. As he entered his sister’s room his name had been announced. Alicent was laying down on a lounge chair, dressed in a pale green flowy dress. Her hair braid back into a single brain the rest upon her shoulder.

Gwyane bows to greet his sister, “Your Grace” he mutters. Still astonished at his sister’s state. Her face hadn’t changed a bit. Alicent was still so young, so fresh faced. It was difficult to look at her in this state. It was a violent reminder that his baby sister was a woman now, despite her physical appearance.

Alicent waved the formality, “Come here Gwayne.” her arms stretched out. Her voice sounded like their mother, god she looked like their mother. His heart broke slightly, the memory of his mother’s death was still fresh. He still prayed for her every day. And occasionally nights were spent crying in the miss of her absence. Gwayne pushed those thoughts away as he made his way to embrace his sister. Long since had the shared one, not since they were children.

They weren’t children anymore.

Gwayne heard a small sob come from Alicent, it was muffled as his clothes caught the sound. But he only held her tighter. This was not right. She should not have to cry. He pulled away to brush the tears from his sister’s face. Through the cries he heard her spudder out how scared she was.

“I’m sorry sister–”

“No there is nothing you could do not, I must face this. As scary as it may be.” Alicent choked out, quickly trying to compose herself. Gwayne frowned and his brows furrowed.

“And you will be strong when facing it…and brave.” he whispers to her.

Alicent’s tearful eyes, “I am not strong nor brave.”

Gwyane grabbed her hand to steady himself. Level his voice and regain his composition, more for his sake than hers. “I remember when you were born, I could hear the cries of our mother echo. It was the loudest battle cry I’d ever heard. Mother was so brave, so strong. Women bear more pain than a man could know and they do it….” His voice trailed off. Willingly would not be the right word.

This did not feel willingly.

“They do it knowing the risk it and the toll it will take, at least for most cases. I do not know, I am no expert.” Alicent smiles at her brother. He smiled back, he got to see a glimpse of the girl he knew before she rode off to this castle.

“Your words are encouraging brother.” she whispered.

“You are my Queen, ultimately I am here to serve you. Your Grace.” Gwayne slightly mocks.

Alicent rolled her eyes, “No don’t remind me” she complains, waving him off. It warmed his heart a bit to see his sister’s face brighten a bit. And the shackles placed on her by their father didn’t fully shut out her light.

Gwayne enjoyed his time doting over his sister. Sharing stories face to face, like siblings should. The sense of loneliness that plagued started to subside. He no Longer felt the need to fill his time with sword training and horse riding.

But this morning he was up at an obscene hour, Kingslanding was draped with a layer of fog. The soft dawn light only illuminates the sky. The inky black remnants if the night fade off to the west. Gwayne took this time to pick his old routine. Sword in hand he trained the courtyard, it was far peaceful when those were up were the staff of the keep and that was it.

Going through his usual forms he mentally counted out as he swung his blade firmly.

‘1,2,3,4. Set.’

It was therapeutic, a calming sense of meditation. His own way of further building his connection with The Warrior. Perhaps his own version of morning prayer. Instead of a knelt at an altar in devotion, he swings his sword. Many of his morning training leave Gwayne in states of philosophical thought. This time of reflection with no distraction, he lets his mind wander as he becomes one with his weapon.

Soon he took a rest, setting his sword on a nearby table. Gwayne breathed in deeply, taking sips of the water a maid had left him. He was very grateful for the attentiveness of the staff of the Keep. A creak of the gate caught his attention. As the doors opened it revealed a royal carriage roll through.

The door of the carriage to reveal Rhaenyra in her could with dragon scale detailing. Gwayne quirked an eyebrow. She turned to look in his direction, a shocked face forming through her features.

“Ser Gwayne, did not expect to see you here so early.” He nodded her head to greet her.

“Nor did I? Where have you gone?” He inquired, eyeing her coat.

“I went out for a ride on Syrax, let her stretch her wings and I need to escape for a bit,” She swallowed heavily.

Gwayne’s first thought was, ‘It must be a riding coat..’ mentally replying to his own inquiry. Then he noticed a sense of discomfort in Rhaenyra as her eyes darted around looking at the surrounding buildings. He knew that Rhaenyra’s mother had died in childbirth. It couldn't be easy having to watch all of the unfold in front of her again.

“The arrival of a new child is always a delicate time…” He watched as Rhaenyra looked at him, eyes narrowed. Her tongue poked out slightly as he watched the wheel turn in her brain to form a response.

“For all of its delicacy it’s hard to believe it's worth it. Only so many times can you watch it happen before you lose faith entirely.” Rhaenyra’s eyes casted down at the ground below them. He can feel a sense of frustration and anger radiate off her. The subject was a touchy one. “I shall see you later Ser Gwayne I must wash up.” And he only watched as she made her way quickly into the Red Keep, her footsteps light like a fox.

Infact Rhaenyra had not seen him all day. She had hid in her chamber, oscillating between tears and pure rage. She felt so conflicted on her feelings and who was she to turn to? Her mother was gone, her father never took feelings into consideration anyway and Alicent. Her name tasted like a wine that had soured on her tongue.

This island of isolation had driven her mad. As she found herself hidden under a bed like a little girl who was so scared of the monster lurking in the dark. Rhaenyra fought the tears that seared her from the inside, the feeling of the sob closing her throat and tightening her chest. Her world felt as if it collapsed in on itself.

“My Princess, dinner is being serve–”

“Please just bring me a plate.” Rhaenyra answered sharply.

“Your father had requested your presence.”

“Then inform him I am indisposed and shall be having dinner in my room, please?” Her voice cracked. She couldn’t see her father especially as they got closer to the birth of her new sibling. “Please…?” She reassured her request.

“If that is what you wish for, my princess.” Rhaeynra watched as the shadow of her handmaiden left her room. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest she felt it in her ears. Her hands shook as she braced them against herself. Pressing on her chest to hold her composure.

“What you wish for…”

#house of the dragon #hotd #gwayne hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #gwayne x rhaenyra

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