seeminglyseph · 6 months ago
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My brain is so…. I don’t know what. I just want to like. Think about showing up to camp with scavenged food and making a food plan with Gale.
It’s not even about romance. This is my Rain fantasy and why he’s got an outlander background and he’s just Like That. His existence as a character is like. Before I fucking knew what fucking Dungeon Menshi was, I was a guy with a bad relationship with food working on nutrition, and Rain is a guy like. Returning to camp with a variety of foraged wild fruit, veg, herbs, game and is like. Setting it out to be either stored or prepared for that nights meal with mechanical precision because he grew up in a really sparse mountainous region up north where he basically learned a) how to identify what is edible and what isn’t, b) how to preserve food for a long time because winters stretch on a long time and you need to be able to keep food even when fresh food isn’t available, and c) since he’s a big athletic guy he needs to be able to put calories in his body a lot all the time which means he has to find calories and have calories on him. These aren’t game mechanics, but I like to think about them anyway. People forget how many calories people burn wandering the wilderness which is a major factor in why so many people start hallucinating in the woods. It’s not some weird touch contamination species no one discovered, half of you are just starving and dehydrated because it’s the most extreme exercise you’ve ever done and that’s not even an insult. Hiking is a *lot* and most of you did’t even bring granola bars and a water bottle.
Rain is constantly pushing snacks into his travelling party’s hands and making them eat something. Have you had water? Are you dehydrated? Astarion what even is your relationship with food? Like he knows it’s upsetting to have to eat animals but he needs to save his strength ‘til the end of the day, if they don’t find an enemy he can probably bleed a deer or something. It takes a while to get used to the sun after a prolonged withdrawal, be careful not to get a sun fever. Drink some water too. Making sure everyone’s eating berries and citrus to fight off scurvy while trying to can stuff. Just being the weirdest fucking Northern Mountain Man Guy.
He does absolute have a Drow-ness about him, but he’s also one of those funky surface Drow. And for some reason he worships the fucking God of Death. But he’s a healer. And he’s just kinda dumb and awkward and forward until he realizes he can’t and then he panics and falters I should’ve made him a Paladin but I buckled and made him a war cleric instead. But that’s still involves him doing a lot of the healing. But like. War cleric does healing and then follows the idea of “if the monster’s dead it won’t hurt you anymore” and in the universe of my headcanon and gameplay. “If you are better taken care of and equipped and directed, you are in need of less healing” it’s like. Extreme preventative healing. Lmao.
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justreadingfics · 4 years ago
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It’s a Deal (Chapter 7)
Chapter Summary: How you and Bucky feel about the presence of your ex-boyfriend.  
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Words: 4.3k
Warnings:+18 only, mention to smut, overdrinking, embarrassing behavior due alcohol consumption, Natasha knows stuff, ex-boyfriend, minor jealousy, minor angst, floof, Bucky has a somewhat creep confession, but give him a break, he’s never been in love.
A/N: Another smutless one, I hope you don’t mind. Thank you to my sweet Les for having my back. The link to my masterlist, where you can find the other chapters, is on my description. Feedback is highly appreciated.
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Previously:
Your shoulder brushes against him as you walk past Bucky and he turns his body around, following you with his gaze. He takes a long sip of his drink and places a hand inside his pocket, watching as you approach your ex-boyfriend.  
He tries hard to bury deep down inside him the tug on his chest.
“Oh, fuck…”
Natasha’s curse makes him turn to her and he realizes she’s been watching him, with a dumbfounded expression he’s not used to see on her face.
“What?”
She scoffs and shakes her head, seeming in an estate of disbelief, “This whole time I’d been worried with the wrong person.”
No point. Bucky sees absolutely no point in trying to make it like there isn’t  turmoil twisting inside of him. Not for Natasha, anyway, it would be to no avail. Also, he’s pretty sure there’s a kicked puppy look on his face to make it harder for him to put on any kind of façade.
“Fuck,” he sighs and run his hand harshly over his face, “What the hell is this, Natasha?” He whines, failing at trying to not sound as helpless as he does.
“You tell me, buddy.” She points at him with her glass of vodka, tilting her head with interest.
“Shit,” he exhales, looking down, before his face snaps up at her, “I’m … just weird, I’m not myself these days.” Bucky bites his lower lip as if trying to somehow refrain from spilling the words, but he just can’t, he’s dying to let it all out. He steps closer to her and lowers his voice as much as he can with the loud music beating around them, “I’ve spent almost every day of the last month with her. I have absolutely no desire to see or think of another woman and I have to restrain myself constantly, cause if I had it my way I would call her every five minutes to check in on her, and… and when I’m thinking about her - which is all the time, I fucking swear - I wonder if she’s thinking of me, and now? I mean, right now? I feel like snatching the blade right now on my ankle and shooting it right on that fella’s throat.” Finally taking a breath after his rambling, he points in your direction, before turning to see you right when you’re letting out a small laugh at something the punk has said.
“Wow…” Natasha lets out a whistle.
“A few days ago,” he turns back to his friend, “I snuck into her closet to find out the name of her perfume. And you know what I did next?  I bought a large bottle for myself, like a fucking creep,” sheer frustration plasters on his tone.     
“Oh my…,” Natasha snorts at the same time a mix of incredulity and amusement shines on her eyes, “That’s definitely creepy and it’s even worse than I imagined. The almighty Bucky Barnes, the I’m a whore and proud,” she thickens her voice playfully, moving her arms in a mimicking way, “The I don’t do romance and attachments king is a tiny lost puppy with big blue heart eyes, aww,” she inclines her head as if she’s thinking of him as exactly how she’s just described him.
Bucky tries but he can’t actually find the amusement in all of that. The fact one single woman is making him feel that way is entirely new, unpredictable and… scary as hell. He has no clue where to go from there.
Natasha seems to swiftly catch on his little inner self torment and, after letting out a deep sigh, she puts on a small smile and shakes her head, “Don’t worry Bucky, it’s probably a crush. A big one. But only a crush,” she places her hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze, “Y/n is one of my best friends and I know how delightful it is to be beside her. Maybe you’re just infatuated…”
“Maybe…” he exhales and shrugs, “I wouldn’t know… all I know is I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Not that I remember…. but I’m pretty sure I would.” He looks at you again while you’re still talking to the Eddie guy.  
“They have history,” Natasha says in a kind voice, following your gaze.
“I know.”
“He was her first and only boyfriend.”
“I know.”
“She thought she was going to marry him.”
“Damn Nat…” he breathes out his frustration, dropping his head for a moment, before raising his downcast gaze at her again, “Yeah, I know that, too.”
“But you’re Bucky fucking Barnes,” she snaps in a more cheerful voice shaking his arm with a enthusiastic force, “Don’t forget that, buddy,” she shoots him a warning glare, “Also, I’ve never seen a brighter smile on that woman than when she’s talking about you,” she beams.   
Bucky’s heart jumps and a quick breathy smile surges on his lips before he takes in a shuddering breath, “I’m not sure what I should do, though.”
“Well, figure it out,” she lets go of his arm and taps on it, “My advice for the night if you should accept it is let it flow,” she shrugs. “Go on with your thing and see what happens. Just try not to hurt you or her on your way, though,” Nat warns.
“I’m not even sure I-Wait,” he frowns after his gaze is drawn to the spot where you are again, “Did that fucker just leave her alone?”
He instantly struts towards you, ignoring Nat’s snicker.
~~~
“Hey,” you smile, gulping down the nervousness down your throat as you approach your ex-boyfriend. The one you haven’t seen ever since he broke up with you months ago.
“Hey,” he offers you a tight but kind smile back.
You halt on your way, the awkwardness building up a barrier on your way as you’re not sure what to do next. Should you give him your hand to shake? Hug him? Do nothing at all? Not once before you had thought that moment would play out between you and Eddie.
But he seems a bit more resolved than you and shrugs, leaning forward and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “Congratulations again,” he says, still holding you, “You’re the best and most hard working person I know, you deserve it.”
The small smile in your lips grows wider and you accept the compliment, relieved that the awkwardness seems to be tamed. While you’re so close to him after all that time, you notice he’s wearing the same perfume he’s been wearing for years, the one which would make you sneeze all the time, but you never really said anything.
“Thank you,” you lean back, sniffing discreetly to suppress the sneeze threatening to come out, “I’m happy you could make it,” you add. The fact he’s arrived all by himself grasps your interest, considering how everyone around you would tell you he was probably seeing someone else… however, if he did have someone, he wouldn’t bring them to your party, would he?
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it,” he says with a gentle tone, but the formality is still there, you notice.  
You two engage in some small conversation and you can’t help but to take him in and realize that, just like the perfume, Eddie looks exactly the same with everything else. The same hairstyle, same grey t-shirt you gifted him on your last Christmas together, the same constant half smile while he talks… he still speaks quietly, letting out just a few small words, which has always forced you to be the one to push on the conversations…
It’s… familiar… even comfortable, you dare say. But if you’re going to be honest with your own feelings, ever since he walked away, you thought you would be yearning to feel that familiarity again, that it would lead you to a sense of… home.
Why it isn’t quite like that, though?
“You look different,” he says as the subjects of small talk seem to come to an ending point.  
You put your previous thoughts aside for later consideration.
“Oh…Different good or bad?” you ask, tilting your head with a small pull in the corner of your lips.
“I don’t know... just…different, I guess,” he frowns and quickly puts on that half smile of his.
“Oh, well… it’s been a while…“
“Yeah… I guess you’re right,” he says, regarding you with a wondering look in his eyes that makes you shift on your knees, “Listen,” he clears his throat, “I was wondering if we could meet to talk one of these days.”
“Oh,” you draw in a breath. Talking to him, having a real conversation, is something you’ve been wanting to do for a long time. It still feels like you don’t fully understand why you’re broken-up. Regardless the time it’s passed, you still feel attached to him somehow, like, no matter how exciting and new, you’re now living someone else’s life and not the one you had planned for you years ago.
“I mean,” he adds before you can give him a proper answer, “We still need to figure out what to do about the condo.”
The words are like cold water thrown at your face. There you are, thinking he wanted to talk about your relationship, but what’s really on his mind is the condo you’ve bought together. Swiftly, you work on putting a small smile on your face, “Yeah… sure, you’re right,” you nod.
“Hey! Eddie!”
Both of you look towards the female voice and your eyes fall upon a beautiful young woman you recognize as one of the members of SHIELD’s tech team. You’ve worked with her on a joined project of the two organizations before. Chloe… you believe her name is Chloe.
She’s waving at Eddie excitedly, calling him over the little group she’s with. She doesn’t seem to notice you’re standing next to him until her gaze meets yours. The wide grin on her face drops into a quick cringe before she nods in a respectful manner and shifts her look away, whispering something at one of the guys in the group.
When you set your attention back on Eddie, you tighten your lips just as you notice how the bone on his throat bobs right before his flustered eyes meet yours again.
“I-I, ahm, gotta go,” he runs his hand on the nape of his neck, “Can I call you later?”
“Yeah, sure.” Your voice comes out calm and controlled.
“It was good to see you,” he says, before placing his hand on your shoulder, “Congratulations again.”
After you give him a small nod as a thank you, keeping the tight smile on your face matching his, he walks away towards the group and the woman. The one your friends kept warning you about, apparently, given how uncomfortable he seemed to be in front of you after you saw her. As soon as he gets there, you see the two of them talking in hushed words. He keeps a safe distance from her, but his hand on her arm is where your gaze sticks on. 
You don’t have the slightest idea of what’s happening with your feelings right now. Minutes ago you were realizing the familiarity of Eddie wasn’t what you expected it to be anymore, but now, seeing him so close to someone else… a beautiful woman, to be more specific, with her long black straightened hair and fancy blue dress holding each one of her beautiful curves…It just crushes you.  A lump grows in your throat and while your gaze flicks around, you feel small… lost… picturing ways you could flee away from your own party at the same time ten years of your life flash in your mind.
The cold, yet gentle touch of metal in your elbow is what takes you out of your own head, “Hey, everything alright?” says the silky and soothing voice.
Your gaze meets Bucky’s while he stares at you with concerned eyes. Those gorgeous blue eyes of his…There’s already a bit less  turbulence inside your chest and mind. You think nothing of it, though.
“Yeah, yeah…” you smile, “He, ahm… Some friends called him. He had to go.”
Bucky just lets out a hum – which sounds more like a groan – staring over your shoulder to where the little group stands.
“He said he wants to talk…“ you start, and don’t see when Bucky’s breath hatches catches on his throat, his eyes back on you, “About the condo,” you press your lips, “He said he’ll call me.”
While your gaze gets lost ahead, you have no idea that the sadness in them pinches deep inside Bucky’s chest. If you could read Bucky’s mind at that moment, you would find out that the fact your reencounter with your ex-boyfriend hadn’t ended up in some sort of hope for reconciliation hasn’t left him sad at all, but the lost look in your eyes… makes him wanna hold you in his arms and never let go. Not before punching a douche in the face, of course.
“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” he wraps his arm around your shoulder, side hugging and pulling you closer to him, “You’re the fucking boss now and, look around, ” he gestures with his glass of whiskey to the crowded and jazzing place, ”You have a damn Stark party just for you. We’re all here to celebrate the badass motherfucker you are. You’re not just going to let anything ruin your night, will you?” The corner of his eyes crinkle as he grins at you.
You let out a small laugh, the heaviness inside you slowly slipping out of your body as you allow yourself to synchronize with Bucky’s vibe. You can always trust  the upbeat way he presents the world to you to lift whatever mood of yours up.  You look down at your empty glass and shrugs, “I might need a refill, though…or two,” you shoot him a warning look.  
Bucky’s smile stretches even wider and he lets go of your shoulders to offer his arm, nodding towards the bar, “Shall we?”
You gladly accept his suggestion by wrapping your hand around his elbow and walking with him, not even noticing that Eddie’s gaze follows you with piqued interest.
~~~
Quite a few more drinks later and after listening to Tony’s very nice and very Tony speech on his toast to honor you, you’re already fully invested in your party again. Bucky stays by your side most of the time, but you also come across with a lot of your friends from work and a few others, who are all more than happy to put you high on a pedestal for your promotion and party with you. It stings a bit when Camilla, your friend from work, tells you she heard Eddie and Chole are really together, but two or three more drinks after, you end up hitting the dance floor with a few friends by your side, not even seeing when Eddie leaves the party early, right before Chloe.
You’re happy to see that Amanda, one of Bucky’s friends you met that night in the club, has made it to the party, but you’re already too tipsy and it slips from your attention when she comments on how Bucky has been quite distant from her and the other girls for almost a month now.
If you’re going to be honest, you end up not truly noticing a lot of stuff since you’ve been drinking a great deal more than you’re used to, probably due the drill of having a kickass party thrown for you mixed with the unexpected sight of Eddie with a potential new girl - after months without seeing him. As the alcohol does its thing in your senses, you don’t notice the way Bucky looks at you, the way he holds you a little bit stronger when you’re dancing together, how he glares at the guys who tries to approach you or the fact he only leaves your side when he knows you’re comfortable and safe.
All you see and feel now is the music and the lights as you sway your hips to the beats. The party is almost coming to an end, but there’s still a small crowd of people enjoying their last moments there. The alcohol, the music and your friends, more precisely Camilla, Olivia, Amanda and Nat – the last two in the middle of a flirting contest you fail to notice, as well – are the ones around you. The buzz clouds your mind in a delicious way until your back bumps into a hard wall. Your weakened knees give in but before you hit the floor the wall wraps around you and holds you still.
Oh, you know that hard wall of muscles… You know it pretty well.
“Hey, there.” A foolish smile plasters on your lips at the same time the back of your head leans against the wall so you can see his face. His gorgeous and ungodly sexy face, “Your face is sexy,” you decide it is a very good idea to tell him that now.
“That right?” Bucky smirks, holding your gaze.
“Oh, yeah,” you clumsily turn around to face him, prompting him to grab you tighter since you stumble a bit on your toes. You curl the hand holding your glass around his neck, “And you’re big, too,” you don’t even notice but you’re a slurring mess as you speak and look to see your running hand down his broad chest, roughly probing his muscles, “Very, very big,” you exaggerate a sultry tone, the alcohol erasing any kind of subtleness or refinement in you or the notion that there are people around you, while your hand explores further down his body to say it’s not just about his muscles you’re talking about.
“Sweetheart.” Not making a big fuss about it, he gently grabs your wrist over his lower stomach to place it around his neck along with the other one, ”I’m very flattered to hear that, you’re one very nice piece of ass yourself, too,” he engages with you, keeping the playful tone.
You let out a girlish giggle, turning your face towards your friends, the trio now whispering and laughing among themselves as they watch the both of you, “He said I have a nice ass,” you shout, not realizing how loud you actually are as you lift and shake your hips, making your friends laugh harder and causing you to trip on your toes once again. But of course Bucky catches you before you fall.
“How many drinks, so far, huh?” Bucky chuckles, keeping the hold of his arms and eyes on you.
“Three or four,” you answer with nonchalance, bringing the glass to your lips as you hold yourself on his neck, only to pout when you notice it’s empty.
Your friends scoff at your lie behind you, “You can add at least ten more to that count, sweetheart,” Natasha shouts from behind you, punctuating the word sweetheart with a teasing pull on her mouth. 
You make a dismissive face only Bucky can see, “Nonsense, check out what I can do,“ You step back from Bucky with the intention to put on a yoga pose you’re sure will convince your friends of how ok and steady you are and as soon as you lift your leg, you trip again and this time Bucky is not fast enough to catch you before your ass hit the floor.
The four of them rush to help you out as tears fall down from your eyes at how much you’re laughing, holding your glass up. It’s Bucky who ends up picking you up, though.
He and your friends shower you with questions to check if you’re ok but it all falls like a blur sound to your years.
“Ok, I guess it was a bit more than three or five,” ignoring the curious eyes around your group, you laugh making an ok sign with your hands before your stomach churns and you grimace, placing your hand over it, “Oh…” your face drops.
 “Alright, come one, let’s go,” Bucky supports you with his hands and urges you to walk with him.
“Where are you taking me?” You frown, sounding almost offended as he takes your glass from you and hands it to Natasha, gently pulling you along.
“My place… let’s freshen up, come on,” Bucky patiently says, nodding at the girls to say goodbye, who just nod back, knowing you would be in good hands.  
“Ooooo, bye girls, we’re going to his place to freshen up,” you wink exaggeratedly and make air quotations with your fingers, addressing your friends as you clumsily walk away with Bucky.
~~~
“Bridal style,” you loudly announce stretching your hands and legs to the air as soon as he steps inside his living room with you in his arms.
Bucky can’t help but laugh as a snorting giggle follows your words. If he had his way he would’ve carried you from the party, but he didn’t want to attract even more attention to your state. So, on the second trip on your own feet inside the elevator he picked you up. It would be easier that way.
Bucky carefully puts you standing on the floor and, as soon as he’s convinced you can stand on your feet without stumbling or falling, he turns to shut the door, only to have you jumping on him as soon as he faces you.
“Hey, hey,” he manages to say softly, placing his hands on your hips as you shower his mouth and face with sloppy kisses which taste strongly like fancy champagne.
“What? Let’s freshen up,” you answer in a log slur, dragging your lips on anything of him you can reach.
Bucky laughs, pushing you away with a gentle yet steady touch, looking deep into your eyes, “That’s not what I meant… not when you had so much to drink, sweetheart.” He flicks his thumb on your chin.
It takes a moment or two, but realization – and disappointment- finally dawns on your face, “Oh… you meant freshen up for real…” You shut your eyes and tap your hand on your forehead.
Bucky thinks you’re too damn cute for your own good.
You focus on him again, “Are you sure, though?” You insist, shoving a finger in your mouth and tilting your hips, putting on before him the unsexist pose Bucky has ever seen.
Yet, it’s the most adorable thing and his annoying heart swells inside his chest for you as you keep your attempts of seducing him, “Yeah, I’m sure,” he nods unrelentingly, holding back a laugh and waiting to see the follow up of your shenanigans.
“But I’m horny and I wanted to suck your big dick,” you pout, crossing your arms and thumping your foot against the floor.
Bucky takes in a deep breath. He is only human and can’t help that his poor cock twitches at your bratty whine. But your glossy half open eyes and dragged voice reminds him he’s the only one sober enough to make decisions in the room and therefore, his buddy down there needs to chill, “I’ll be more than happy to allow you to do so,” he’s amused when your face light up, “But not tonight, sweetheart,” he puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you towards the kitchen, not without spotting the dirty look you give him.
“You’re no fun,” you complain, barely able to put one foot in front of the other before you stop and swirl around, trusting on his strong hold to not let you fall wearing a devilish little smirk on your face.  
Bucky cocks an eyebrow, waiting for whatever mischievous pearl will come out of your lips now.
“What if…” you start before a hiccup interrupts you, “I show you my boobies?” You offer, leaning over and pressing your breasts together through your dress, “You looove my boobies,” you wiggle your eyebrows suggestively even if your eyelids can’t even remain wide open.
“I do love your boobies,” Bucky can’t deny, not hiding his amusement.  
Apparently, that’s all you need to hear before you throw yourself on him again. Bucky swiftly catches you with a huff, but you can’t do much more than circle your arms around his neck and rest your head on him.
“Love your muscles,” you mumble quietly against him, “There are so many of them.”
“Come on, sweetheart,” Bucky tries, “As much as I love your boobies and you love my muscles, now it’s not the time. Now it’s time to get you some water, maybe a sandwich, huh? Then I can prepare you a shower and you can rest a bit and… Y/N?” Bucky calls when you’re too quiet- not even making a sex innuendo when he mentions a shower.
He listens a not so soft snore as a response and looks down to see you completely dozed, with your mouth agape against his chest. He sighs… still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, goddammit.
“Guess we can skip right to the resting, then,” he whispers through a fond smile.
Taking you in his arms he walks towards his bedroom and places you on his bed. You only stir a bit when he gently removes your shimmery and apparently uncomfortable dress and unties your heels. He dresses you in a t-shirt of his so you can rest comfortably. He manages to make you drink a little bit of water, to which you whine graciously enough, and, after covering you with a thin blanket – because he knows you’re never really that cold at night, no matter the temperature in the room –  he moves to get up and maybe take a shower for himself.
“Bucky,” you mumble and, without opening your eyes, you move yourself to nuzzle against his metal hand sprawled on the mattress, “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”
Bucky is absolutely sure you have no idea of what that question really means to him, how it falls upon the rising tangle of feelings inside him… which is all for you. Wonderful and beautiful and special you, who came unannounced and stirred up something in him he never thought possible. Something he just doesn’t know what to do with.
Moving meticulously slowly not to pull his hand and wake you up again now that you’re deep back into slumber, he lays down beside you. For your question… he doesn’t say anything. Simply because he doesn’t know the right answer yet.
~~~
To be continued. 
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hughiecampbelle · 4 years ago
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Being The Smartest Shelby Would Include:
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Polly knew you were smart from the start
She said so when you were a baby, but of course no one believed her
Everyone thought their kids were special, but you really were
Born just a few years before Finn, you weren't the baby, but you definitely weren't the oldest, so it was hard to be taken seriously
It started with your homework
You spent a lot of nights trying to tell your siblings it was just too easy
You weren't just getting every answer right, you were finishing pages of work in minutes, faster than anyone in your class
Eventually, you moved on to your brothers work
Finding it discarded on the table, you recognized Johns scraggly handwriting
He'd only made it halfway through, so you decided to finish it, even fixing some of his mistakes along the way
You wanted to show them what you'd done, but of course no one listened
At least, not until you stood on your chair and demanded that someone look over your work
It was a bit dramatic, and made for an embarassing story later, but you wanted to be heard
They did, finally, and they were shocked
Tommy handed it to John, who passed to Ada, skipping over Arthur, who eventually got it to Polly
"Well?"
"It's right, all of it. . . ."
"Fuck."
It wasn't just math though. You were reading every book you could find, even the ones your siblings struggled to get through
You had a knack for puzzles, for figuring things out no one else could, able to pull things apart and put them together just in your head
Polly knew, and she was going to do something about it
Anything she could find to keep you entertained, occupied, your mind at work, she'd bring it home
You had an incredible memory too, remembering everything from the contents on the back of bottles you brothers drank from to entire speeches Polly gave when all of you were misbehaving
It was amazing, to say the least
You were a kid when your brothers went off to war, so it was mostly Ada and Polly who spent long nights with you at the table over homework
You didn't think it was fair, that you were forced to stay in school when none of your siblings were
Polly called it a gift, said you shouldn't take it for granted
She had big plans for you, the kind of career kids like you could only dream of
Finn grows up with you reading to him every night
Even helping him with schoolwork, though that didn't last very long
It still irks you Polly let's Finn drop school, not even getting past reading himself, but you know better than to push the subject
By the time your brothers come back, thankfully all in one piece, you've become a bit of a myth or legend around the Small Heath
Not only are you taller and with more acne, a young teenager, you've made a name for yourself, and a business
After school you could be found with a hat on the ground, getting pocket change for your "abilities"
Showing off and splitting the money with friends, you put on shows
Memorizing the faces of strangers, drawing them almost perfectly by hand, reciting lines of poetry from class all from memory, etc.
Sometimes you bring Finn along, promising candy for his silence, making him part of the act
Your favorite is showing off the languages you've lesrned, switching between Romani, French, Italian, and German (to name a few) without a second thought, so effortlessly
Arthur caught you once, but instead of saying anything, he simply cheered you on, laughing at the fact that your business was doing better than the familys
You spent a lot of time in the shop like Finn, growing up there, but never really allowed in on business, not even to listen
Instead you were ordered to be quiet and focus on your studies
And you did, for a few years, slipping notes to John about what you thought would improve business, pressing your ear to the door to listen, putting up with being categorized as "one of the kids" with Finn
And then you made an announcement, one that almost killed Polly
You weren't going to university, and instead you'd be joining the family business
Your aunt put up a good fight, but your brothers were more than happy to welcome you, with rules of course
Ada wasn't too thrilled either, knowing how smart you were, and how special it was, but she wasn't going to stop you
Pol was, or at least she was going to try
"You could be anything you want y/n."
"And I choose this."
"You're-"
"Wasting my potential? So you've said."
You'd be more behind the scenes, working on the business side rather than the side with razors and guns
Your brothers were more than happy to hear that, though you'd gotten more than a few comments muttered by Pol
If you really wanted to, you could always be a doctor or a lawyer later in life, for now this is what you wanted most
You were finally part of your family
Within the first week, you have a full list of what could be improved and you're center stage in the family meeting
To say that was nerve wrecking was an understatement
Tommy had his doubts, of course, but John knew you'd been keeping their heads above water for a long time
"Go on then, you've got our attention."
You were the one they went to check over the books, the numbers, catching mistakes no one else did
It wasn't just spelling mistakes or addition issues, you were taking stock in inventory, in all the bullets that were wasted, the little things that went missing that no one seemed to notice
It didn't take long for you to work your way up, prove yourself not only to Tommy, but Pol too, showing her this wasn't a waste of your time
She's still not thrilled, but you're as stubborn as the rest, and she knows it's a losing battle
At least you're being smart with your work
Tommy made you check over every contract and agreement he made, making sure he didn't miss a single detail that would screw them over
He brought you to the races too, working out probability, though your math was shaky at best under that kind of pressure and uncertainty
You were the one counting the profits and losses too, weighing the options of whether or not to invest
You're really the only one who knows just how much the family makes
That is a dangerous thing in itself
You make friends quite easily
Not only can you speak an array of languages, bonding with everyone, but you've got that Shelby charm and good looks, too
You're quite popular, though your brothers constantly get in the way of any potential relationship
You're smart though, and not just for their gain, but yours too
If and when you're ready to date, you'll find a way
Alfie adores you
Tommy drives him mad, but he'd have you over any day
Not only does he love the fact that you can keep up with him, witty beyond belief, but your Hebrew is perfect
"So, you're the brains behind the whole operation?"
"Something like that."
You're brought along to a lot of in person deals
You pick up on things no one else does, remembering the littlest of things that can and will be weaponized if need be
Their kids and spouses names, the way they look at you, how they speak and carry themselves
It doesn't take long for you to know exactly who they are
"They're lying Tom. I know they are."
"How can you tell?"
"They look away when they answer, their eye twitches, and they always lean forward when they're saying something true."
"You got all that from a five minute conversation?"
You're not only their beloved little sibling, but the perfect weapon
They don't teach you how to use a gun, but you've been watching for years, making note of every tiny detail
When you do use a gun, which is inevitable, it's a perfect shot
Arthur and Tom insist you carry something with you, but you're fine sticking with a simple razor
The guns can stay with them. . . .
Not only does it come in handy with work, but your family, too
You pick up on the way Arthur escalates, talking him down before there's a full outburst
You know the nights Tommy does and doesn't sleep just by the sound of his voice, the way he signs his name
You know when to check up on Ada if she's not doing well after Freddies gone, even if no one else can see the hurt in her eyes
That's the thing everyone seems to forget, is that you're not only book smart, but people smart, too
Constantly making fun of your siblings right in front of them
"Pol, y/n's making fun of me!"
"I am not! You don't even speak Russian."
"No, but I can guess."
He'd never admit it to you, but Finn really is amazed by you
Ever since he was a kid he always looked up to you
School and homework and all that never came easy to him, and it lead to him giving up, so the fact that all of this comes so easy makes him proud to be your brother
"Y/n, curse in a language we all know or don't say it all."
Along with learning weapons along the way, you pick up on how to be a nurse, tending to whatever it needed
From your nieces and nephews scraped knees to bullet wounds
"Do not get blood on my new shirt!"
No one really suspects you to be listening or watching the way you do, so when they need it, you go "undercover"
Gaining the trust of the enemy, pretending to be a stranger that just so happens to get their attention as if you hadn't been figuring out what makes them tick, distracting them with drinks and small talk
If anything goes wrong, you picked up on how to get away, how to fight without getting too much attention, and not just by watching
With a memory like yours, there are some things you'd like to forget and can't
A lot of things do leave you with nightmares, with flashes of panic, with this dreadful feeling in your gut like you'd seen it all before
At one point or another you've called your siblings and aunt in the middle of the night, just to check up on them, see if they're okay
Begging your brothers to be more careful
They rarely ever listen though
"Is there anything you can't do?"
"I can't go on a date."
"Nope, not until you're forty."
"Come on Arthur, you can't scare them all away."
Despite all this, you're still treated like a child
Your siblings still see you as that smart little kid correcting their work and growing bored of even the most complicated things
No matter what you do or say, you'll always be small in their eyes
231 notes · View notes
ayellowcurtain · 4 years ago
Text
I can be your lover
Part 7
Robbe knows Sander is staring, finding the awkwardness between them funny and not gut wrenching like he is. And Robbe is happy to be around Sander too but the guilt is still in the back of his mind.
It’s a nice surprise that Sander doesn’t hold anything he did or said against him. It helps with all the other bad feelings he’s trying to subside, to pile in the back of his brain, trying to make them smaller and smaller so he can focus on what’s happening now. Sander being chill with him, so much so that it feels like he’s making fun of them for being quiet and awkward.
“You went back to the bleached hair…” Robbe tests the waters himself, wanting to know how chill Sander really is. Because he’s amazing at keeping a straight face but Robbe knows he’ll feel in his words and his tone if he’s being nice just to be nice.
Sander nods his head, drinking his beer, his eyes still never leaving Robbe’s. He’s so comfortable and relaxed, leaning against the old and fancy back porch rail, acting like they haven’t just spent years with no contact because Robbe was rude and sabotaged their first attempt of a relationship. It feels nice, the best feeling, honestly, but Robbe can’t forget as easily about the last few times they talked before this.
“I did. As another part of this...restart again.”
Robbe laughs, leaning against the side wall next to him so he can stare back at Sander and stand on his shaky legs.
“How was it? Moving back, I mean…”
Sander shrugs, looking at the view from Noor’s balcony, “I think it’s a lot easier when you’re moving with no intention of doing it again any time soon.”
“Are you staying with your parents?”
Sander looks at him and he doesn’t have to say it, Robbe knows it’s not Sander’s favorite thing to do: go back to living with his parents. They’re lovely but they’re also overprotective and Sander has very little patience after so many years dealing with it daily.
“Yes.” He grunts. “Hopefully for just a few days.”
Robbe exhales shakingly, not sure if it’s because he’s a little cold after drinking freezing cold beers or because of this conversation, face to face with Sander, “Are you looking for a place already?”
Sander nods his head again, leaning against the rail behind him again, putting his beer on the floor next to his feet.
“You wanna see some apartments with me?”
Robbe feels a heat wave rush up through his entire body right away with the implications of that, even though he knows Sander is just making a joke again, loving to make Robbe feel all types of embarrassment and fondness at the same time. Robbe daydreams for a second about seeing a bunch of apartments with Sander, thinking about how they would decorate each one, how it fits for their lives and routines, even their serious conversations about how they would pay their bills would make Robbe excited. He gently rubs his fingers against each other, no bruises or skin asking to be peeled.
That’s how it always was between them: Sander likes to tease Robbe in any way he can because he knows Robbe gets both shy and more in love when Sander is being weird.
“No…”
“I think it would be fun.” Sander snorts, smiling like Robbe hasn’t hurt him constantly for the past few years, “I mean it, Robbe. I’ll behave myself.”
“Says the one that couldn’t keep his hands to himself if we dared to be shirtless around each other by accident, or took a shower together.” Robbe teases right back, knowing he’ll lose if he plays the teasing game with Sander.
“But that’s not fair, c’mon! You’re talking about us being horny teenagers and half naked or completely naked around each other. There’s no chance of behaving in those scenarios.”
They laugh it off, looking at each other until it fades out back to silence, staying quiet for some time, looking at each other, surprisingly keeping their distance and the light, playful conversation. The pile Robbe was trying to minimize is completely gone now.
“Are you missing your old life already?” Robbe puts his head to the side against the wall and he notices Sander losing his focus, staring down at his exposed neck before meeting Robbe’s eyes again.
“No. Not really. I just got here so maybe it’ll happen later. But I’m happy to be home, even if living with my parents for a second.” Sander looks down, smiling to his thoughts, and up again, suddenly with those puppy eyes with a hint of cockiness if Robbe can stare long enough to find it, “And are you happy that I’m home?”
“Yeah…” Robbe takes a deep breath in, filling his lungs to the maximum “I’m sorry for making your life a mess the past few years. But yes, I’m selfishly happy that you’re home. It doesn’t mean anything, of course…”
“It can…” Sander says just above a whisper, in that challenging way he can use whenever he wants that something to happen. It’s hard to have a normal conversation with someone you’re clearly still very much in love with. Robbe knows him too well not to notice these changes in his gaze, in his tone and he’s still able to understand what each of them means.
“I see you came to this party just to make my life more difficult...”
Sander sighs, grabbing his beer from the floor to finish it at once, licking his lips, putting the empty bottle back on the floor. He shakes his head slowly, as if even he isn’t sure himself of his negative movement.
“You think I’m too hurt to give us a second chance and that you don’t deserve it if I do. And you feel bad that you’re the main reason why we spent the past long years apart. You were always the overthinker and that’s okay. I was always the one that only cared about us, fuck the rest. And that’s okay. We’re different people, you not being able to make a life changing decision so quickly doesn’t make you a bad person. Me still desperately wanting you back after everything doesn’t make me weak for a bad person.”
Robbe swallows the little saliva he has in his mouth, slowly trying to digest all the hard truths that were just said, put out like it was nothing when it felt like the heaviest weight on his shoulders for all these years. Sander is not wrong but hearing him say it so blunty, a very Sander way of doing things if Robbe can say so himself, makes everything feel a lot more real - and meaningless compared to the thunder storm Robbe had in his mind whenever he thought about it privately - and it’s easier for Robbe to fully comprehend when someone explains it to him by their point of view.
“It wasn’t fair to keep you in the middle while I was...struggling mentally all over again.”
“It really wasn’t fair for you to not give me a choice but I get it in a way. It’s not the same but if I was brave enough I wouldn’t want you around when I have an episode. But I’m too attached to ask you to ever leave me alone like you did with me.” Sander exhales, smiling at him, “Now that we got that out of our way, can we leave?”
Robbe laughs, in shock, opening and closing his mouth, wanting nothing more than to leave with Sander. But he’s sure everyone is watching them from the inside, wanting to know what’s going on. The second they get inside and go straight to the front door, he knows his friends will tease them about it. Every time they stop talking, Robbe can almost be sure that the music inside is a little too low for a party.
And it still feels uncertain, how they’ll feel about this once they’re awake tomorrow, thinking more clearly, the adrenaline of finally seeing each other and fixing what they can of their problems out of their system after a good night of sleep and hours to get rid of all the alcohol they drank.
“Yes.” He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since Sander left in that plane years ago. Even if he’s scared, his brain doesn’t seem to give him any other option because why would he say no to running away with Sander?
Sander grabs the bottle from the floor and Robbe pushes himself to stand up properly, turning around to push the glass door open, hearing the soft music playing inside quickly embrace them too - definitely too low for a party - and he can only hope the balcony door has a level of soundproofing. He can’t look at anyone in the eyes so he makes a bee line to the front door with no excuse in mind, hoping Sander is following him.
He can’t hear a single comment or a laugh but he can feel the anticipation of everyone noticing how they are already leaving, and together, and he laughs under his breath, rushing past the door, closing it behind him, waiting outside, not even sure at this point if this was what he was supposed to do.
Sander appears after a long, nerve wracking minute, closing the door behind him, smiling at Robbe.
“Did they say anything?” Robbe asks, feeling dumb for staying outside even if just for another second. Anyone can come out and make fun of them.
“Noor came with me to the door. She was staring and not saying a word and they were laughing. I’m pretty sure some advice was whispered but I wasn’t paying that much attention to take notes. You want me to go back inside and check…?” He points back, threatening to go back inside and Robbe holds the sleeve of his jacket.
“No!”
Sander laughs and Robbe shakes his head, blushing, rushing downstairs, finally. It does feel like an escape, makes his heart beat fast and he laughs when he hears Sander’s snort echoing around the building.
He holds the massive front door open for Sander and they start walking home. They know where they’re going and to do what but Robbe can't bring himself to kiss Sander on the street like he so badly wants to do it.
“Use condoms, you dirty boys!” Moyo screams, half his body out from the apartment window and Milan appears too.
“And lube! Lube, Robbe!”
“Will do.” Sander doesn’t scream back, but answers anyway, loud enough for anyone on the sidewalk level to hear, showing his thumb up to the boys that wave back to them and blow kisses.
“That wasn’t embarrassing.” Robbe smiles, looking around them, a little more at peace when he doesn’t find anyone on the street or looking at them from any window.
“It could be worse.”
“How, exactly?”
“They could be coming with us to buy those things…” Robbe laughs because that would really be a lot, a lot worse.
Robbe bites his bottom lip, walking sideways to look at Sander.
“So you don’t have condoms...or lube…?” He frowns, very ashamed to be asking.
“I didn’t want to assume anything coming here tonight.”
“Good. Right. You’re right.”
“Thank you.” Robbe is still thinking about them, stopping to buy condoms and lube on their way home, when he feels Sander’s hand going from one of his shoulders to the other one, finally hugging him, pulling Robbe to face him, walking back, hoping Sander is looking at where they are going.
“Fuck, I miss you, Robbe.”
“I miss you too.” Robbe feels their hearts beating almost just as fast and as loud against each other, and he puts his arms around Sander’s waist inside his jacket, pressing them closer, looking up in a quiet way to ask for a kiss, “I can’t believe you’re home.”
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anothertimdrakestan · 4 years ago
Text
Robin vs Vodka Damian Wayne x Reader
Words: 1k
Requested? Yes! From a lovely anon!
“damian wayne x reader w/29?” (29. dumbass are you drunk???)
LINK TO PROMPTS  -> REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN!
Underage drinking is not it chief don’t do it unless you’re a vigilante. Or dating one...
“Jason fucking Todd why is Damian drunk off his ass?” Dick glared at a sheepish Jason as the teen stumbled around the kitchen begging for his beloved. “I thought he needed the vodka for cooking or some shit, how am I supposed to know he’s gonna drink it?” Jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but laugh as a shitfaced Damian began facetiming his girlfriend. 
“Beloved there’s an emergency at the manor I need you” Damian yelled into his phone before hanging up with a grin. “DAMI NO” Dick scrambled for Damian’s phone while Jason snuck off into the BatCave. 
You sprinted into the manor trying to hold back tears, Damian sounded hurt on the phone, his voice was strained and sad, you knew he needed you for the emergency. Bursting into the manor you locked eyes with Damian who stumbled towards you, wrapping you in his sloppy embrace. His breath stank of alcohol as Dick stared at you. Peeling Damian off you only for him to try to bring you into a kiss you dodged and stared at him. “Dumbass are you drunk?” you asked him looked at Dick who was now staring at the floor. “So we don’t know why but Dami asked Todd for vodka and because he’s Jason he just gave it to him and we can’t find the bottle but clearly he drank a lot and he had his phone and he called you before I could stop him but now that you’re here he’s all yours, I mean he’s been pining for you the whole time apparently.” Dick rambled on before wishing you good luck and practically running out of the manor. 
“Oh god Damian really?” you tried to prop Damian up as he clung to you. “My dearest beloved lets go to the bedroom I wish to hold you” Damian kept trying to connect his lips to yours but the most he was getting was a peck, you did not want to encourage him. Cursing Damian for being significantly taller and heavier than you as you dragged him towards his bedroom while he tried to pepper your face with kisses. “Dami I love the love but can you please help me get you into your room?” you pleaded. 
After a struggle he was on his bed, face down on his pillow. You went back down to grab Dami water and medication for when he woke up. Thankful your parents were out of town for the weekend you decided it would be best to stay the night and make sure Damian didn’t die in his sleep. What you saw when you entered his room made you drop the glass of water straight into the carpet.
Damian had stripped himself down, leaving almost nothing to the imagination, and sat propped up with one arm on his bed. Clearly trying to give you a sultry smile he just looked like a sleepy four year old trying to smile. “Ah beloved I’ve been waiting for you” he slurred in what can only be described as a faux bat-voice. Knowing you now had blackmail for life you suppressed laughter trying to escape his hands as he reached for you, attempting to drag you into his arms.
“Come along beautiful I know you enjoy this, I can see your eyes roaming” he clicked his tongue at you. It was difficult ignoring how ripped he was, you’re eyes constantly got lost watching his muscles ripple as he reached for you. Realizing that even absolutely smashed Damian would still simp for you, you went for the fake cry. “Dami I’m so sad I just want you to hold me tonight is that okay?” your fake cry was weak, but Damian was weaker. Worry clouded his eyes, quickly forgetting any activities he had planned for the night. “Habibi I never want anything more than to hold you, come” he slipped under his sheets and invited you in. Quickly putting on the t-shirt he’d thrown off you joined him in bed. 
Drunk or not, Damian held you like you could break in his arms. For about 30 seconds he traced lazy circles on your back before he passed out. Once you knew he was out cold you went back to grab him more water. Slipping back into bed you drank in how adorable he looked, lightly snoring as he twitched in his sleep. You fell asleep watching his chest rise and fall, trying not to worry about the next morning. 
“Damian oh my god are you dead?” it had been 10 hours since you fell asleep, you figured it was the longest Damian had ever slept. Trying to lightly shake him to make sure he was breathing you heard a groan and sighed knowing he was in fact, alive. He slowly rolled over, eyes squeezed shut in visible pain. Offering him the water and medication you ran your fingers through his hair trying to comfort him. After swallowing the medication he grabbed your hips and dragged you into his embrace. “Sleep now or pet me” he mumbled as he held you to him. With a smile you laid with him for a couple hours longer until he eventually got up.
After he’d changed and thrown up a little bit he was almost entirely back to normal. Sitting with Damian as he sketched you brought up the question bugging you all night. “Dami can we talk?” he looked up at you nodding. “Well you’ve never drank before and all of a sudden last night you were shitfaced” you giggled remembering last nights events but shook that off and looked expectantly at Damian who was flushed with embarrassment. “Habibi I’ll tell you but you must swear you won’t tell a soul” ready to learn the terrifying reason that drove your boyfriend to alcohol you nodded. 
“I thought I was stronger than alcohol” he looked at you sincerely and you doubled over laughing. Only Damian Wayne takes on literal vodka as an adversary. “I’ve gotta be honest Dames, you lost” you snorted, almost reduced to tears imagining your boyfriend glaring at a bottle of Tito’s. Sheepishly he nodded, and you couldn’t stop laughing even as Dami glared at you. “One more babe, one more joke then I’ll be done,” reluctantly he nodded, knowing nothing was going to stop you. 
“Robin’s greatest foe, fermented grains”
1K notes · View notes
kyber-crystal · 4 years ago
Text
➳ pickup lines || s.w.
summary: you’re oblivious to the fact that sam, your best friend is hopelessly in love with you. and it kills him inside because he’s been dropping hints for as long as he can remember. 
warnings: none, just fluff and a cliche best friends to lovers trope :) 
words: almost 2k
a/n: for @marvelsswansong​ ‘s late birthday present! sorry this was so late and that it’s so bad RIP i tried to write it in one go...anyway our boy sam deserves some more recognition sksksk
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“Guess what this shirt is made of?” Sam smirked as he pointed at himself. “Boyfriend material.”
You rolled your eyes, suppressing a chuckle. “Oh, stop it.”
He slid into the seat next to you at the kitchen counter, swiping the spare muffin from your plate. “Y’know what’s on the menu today? Me-n-u.”
You just shook your head, spreading jam across your toast before biting into it. “Wow.”
“They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth,” he cleared his throat, “well, apparently, nobody has ever been standing next to you. You are absolutely breathtaking.”
“I look gross,” you argued as you tried to hide your face with one hand, “I got three hours of sleep after helping Bruce in the labs and I’m a mess.”
“Don’t be silly, Y/N. You always look beautiful. Especially to me.”
Even if he was joking, you couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in your stomach at his comment.
“Oh my god, will you shut UP,” Bucky groaned. “You’re cheesy as fuck, Wilson.”
“You’re just jealous because nobody likes you,” Sam retorted. 
“Ooh, shots fired,” you whispered, cupping your hands around your mouth, “need some ice for that burn, Barnes?”
“He isn’t wrong, though,” Wanda shrugged, pouring herself a mug of coffee, “the chemistry is evident here. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten together yet.”
You let out a long sigh and went back to focusing on finishing your meal, not noticing the several glances Sam stole out of the corner of his eye at you.
...
“Y/N. “
“Natasha,” you replied without breaking your concentration on murdering the punching bag in front of yourself. 
“Girl, how long are you going to keep this act up for?”
You dropped your fists by your side, sighing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You and Wilson.”
“What about it?” you questioned as you began unwrapping the tape from your hands. She handed you your water bottle and you took a long sip, “We’re best friends. I don’t see anything special about that.”
“Best friends or not, he clearly likes you. I’m not gonna sugarcoat this: you’ve been the most oblivious idiot ever. If what he’s doing isn’t obvious enough, then I don’t know what is.”
“He does not. Sam’s just being Sam. That’s who he is. It’s in his nature to joke around.”
“Does he use pickup lines on me in every other sentence he speaks? No. Does he do that to Bucky? Never-”
“Because him and Bucky are rivals, and you guys are just f...”
“Just friends! Babe, you proved my point.”
“Oh, shut up...”
“If you don’t take matters into your own hands, then I will. You keep turning the poor man down and you don’t even know it. Tragic.”
“Natasha, I do not like any-” The redhead gave you her signature ‘look’, crossing her arms over your chest. Your shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.”
“What reason do you have to be scared? You’ve gotten shot, you’ve led countless teams into battle before, you’ve taken out aliens with the power of your fists alone. Hell, we survived the Red Room together, and you’re afraid of catching feelings?”
“What if I embarrass myself by telling him?”
“Are you nuts? He’d be over the moon if you did so much as react to what he said. Poor guy’s feeling discouraged by your poker face. Give him a chance. He’s your best friend, you don’t wanna ruin the relationship you have together.”
“Fiiiiiine.” You whined and tossed your sweaty towel at her. “Now leave me alone so I can go take a shower.”
She laughed and tossed it back. “Alright. Tell me when you’re officially dating!”
“I hate you!”
“Love you too, babe!” she called out after you as you left the facility.
...
“SAM!” you yelled from the bathroom “Get your ass over here!”
“Am I in trouble?” he asked innocently as he peeked his head through your doorway. “You need something?”
“I forgot to bring a shirt with me. Can you get mine from the laundry? The black one?”
“Yeah, of course.” You heard him shuffling around before falling silent, then there was a knock on your door. “Here. Take this.”
“Thanks,” you nodded before taking the shirt and closing the door behind you. 
You looked down and let out a groan when you realized he’d mixed up the shirts and given you his instead - a V-neck you’d seen him wear plenty of times when you, him, and Steve went on morning runs together. It was ridiculously tight on him and you absolutely hated it because you couldn’t help but stare. But you didn’t like him. Definitely not.
Right?
Right.
You trudged down the hall to the kitchen, walking into to see Bucky’s and Sam’s awaiting smirks.
Crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow at him, “Samuel, where is my shirt?”
“Dunno,” he feigned innocence, “I got mixed up.”
“Okay.”
“I’m no photographer, but I can picture you and me together,” he sent you a finger gun and a flirty wink. 
You rolled your eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. “You’re such a sap.”
“Y/N! Hi!” Peter dropped his backpack and rushed forward, tackling you into a big hug. 
You stumbled backwards in surprise but quickly returned the gesture, ruffling his hair playfully. “Hey, kid. How was school?”
He made a face. “Sucked. I actually need your help with an assignment. I’m supposed to interview three role models in my life about stuff and Mr. Stark is in the middle of a conference call right now so...yeah.”
“Oh!” Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Me? I’m not special-”
“If you weren’t special then Ned wouldn’t constantly fangirl over you to me. He always asks me if it’s true you can shoot lasers out of your eyes and hands.”
You chuckled. “I feel honored. Count me in, Queens.”
The two of you headed off to the labs together, and as soon as you left, Sam let out a loud groan, his face falling into his hands. “She doesn’t get it. I keep throwing hints her way but she doesn’t get it at all. I don’t understand. What exactly am I doing wrong?”
“Y/N isn’t an openly affectionate person. She rarely ever tells people how she feels. She usually conveys her emotions through killing her enemies and channeling all her energy into punching bags,” Bucky replied simply. “And the occasional Mario Kart deathmatch. She’s not very easy to read.”
“Even I had a hard time getting to her,” Wanda admitted. “She’s very...private. Prefers to keep her feelings to herself.”
“Does she even have any sort of clue?” Sam looked over at the young woman with a desperate look in his eyes. “Otherwise I’ve been humiliating myself all this time, for nothing.”
“She likes you, but she’s too afraid to admit it,” Steve suddenly spoke up. All heads turned in his direction. “It’s a thing I picked up from my ma when I was young. I can read into body language. And hers, well...she likes you, Sam. She’s just very subtle about it.”
Hope glimmered in his eyes. “She does? So she doesn’t mind my pickup lines?”
The super-soldier laughed. “As terrible as some of them may be, yeah, she doesn’t. I’ve seen her walk away flustered many times.”
“What do I do now?”
“You’re gonna win her over, once and for all,” Natasha declared. “And we’re making sure of that.”
...
“Y/N.”
“Pete.” You glanced over at the teenager, who had stopped furiously scribbling notes down in his notebook, “what’s up?”
“What’s up is you and Sam.”
“What about us?” You quirked an eyebrow. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” The boy wrinkled his nose, “I know he likes you, and you like him. So why do you keep pushing him away?”
“Peter-”
“Y/N, I’ve known about this since we first met. So why haven’t you made a move yet?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s trying his hardest to win you over and you’re refusing to budge! I bet he feels so bad about it.”
“Oh, God, I know...” you rubbed your forehead and let out a long sigh, “I just don’t know how to react.”
“Send a pickup line right back at him! He loves pickup lines, so gauge his reaction on that!”
“Alright...”
"Back to Chemistry! Which you two clearly already have...”
“Queens!”
“Okay, okay!” You both burst into laughter. “Okay!”
The team had all agreed on an outdoor barbecue, so you all gathered outside on the massive rooftop of the compound to eat dinner. Tony, Thor, Steve, and Rhodey were busy flipping the meat, Wanda and Pepper were setting up the refreshments, while the others were lounging around and casually conversing with one another. 
You noticed Sam standing alone by the edge, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared out ahead at the horizon. He seemed to be deep in thought, but as soon as he turned around and saw you approaching him, his face lit up with a grin that the others knew he only had when you were around. 
“Hey,” you offered him a small smile. You felt your heart skip a beat as you locked eyes - the early evening glow only made him look better than he already was. “Penny for your thoughts, Wilson?”
“Are you a magician? ‘Cause when I look at you, everyone else disappears,” he stated.
“Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you,” you replied smoothly, taking him by surprise. This was a first --
“Am I dreaming, or did Y/N just send me back a cheesy pickup line?”
“I did,” you laughed lightly, breaking into what he thought was the most beautiful sight on earth - a million-dollar smile. He’d never forget it. “How’s your week been?”
“Uneventful. You?”
Your face fell momentarily, and he felt his heart drop at the same time. “Could’ve been better.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
You took in a deep breath before responding. “Fury’s got me leading Team Alpha in a recon down south in the Outer Banks. Then as soon as I get back, I’m called to represent the team at a press conference about disaster relief. After that I’m stuck filing reports for a solid six hours and I end up only eating one meal that day. So yeah...it’s been pretty rough.”
“Did you make up for all that lost sleep, though?”
“A little. Compared to my typical three hours, I’d say 5 is a good enough improvement.”
“Progress is what matters. And you did that,” he nodded. “Look, if you ever need someone to talk to...you know I’m always here, right?”
“Definitely. That doesn’t eliminate our weekly Mario Kart competitions with Bucky, right?”
“Of course not.”
“Good.”
You stood there in silence for who knows how long, until he spoke up again.
“Did you know that when you smile, you can’t breathe?”
“Really?” You looked straight at him and gave him the brightest smile your face could produce. 
“I’m kidding. I just wanted to see you smile.”
At that moment, all the Avengers immediately stopped what they were doing and froze on the spot. 
“I think you broke her,” Peter whispered as he poked you in the shoulder multiple times, and you didn’t move. “That was smoother than butter.”
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish but no words came out, face burning with heat - the butterflies in your stomach had turned to hummingbirds. Since when did he make you feel this way?
“Yup,” Bucky coughed, “she’s definitely in love with him.”
"I’m not in love with him, I love him. I have for a while,” you muttered so quietly that he almost didn’t catch what you said. 
Now, it was Sam’s turn to be left speechless.
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westcoastrry · 4 years ago
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Harry neglects his wife and has to make up for
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I’m practicing different POV’s. So here is this unedited 2.3k word blurb where Harry has neglected his wife because they are both overwhelmed with being new parents, and he has a lot to make up from. Also, this is unedited.
TW: SHOWER SMUT CHOMP CHOMP
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You are an independent Woman.
Harry knows this as well. You two were very excited for your first child. You glided through your pregnancy with ease. Sure, you blew up the size of a horse, feet swollen and felt like you were carrying another human inside of you (because you were), but Harry rarely really ever fussed over you.
You preferred it this way as well. You valued your independence and enjoyed having time for yourself. However, when Harry was home, you both enjoyed spending quality time with each other. Cooking, cuddling, watching movies, and pregnancy sex.
Harry loved having sex with you when you were pregnant. It was something about the way you glowed, how your boobs swelled up, and how you were constantly horny and became nineteen years old again, hooking up in every place possibly. In Harry’s office when you would go visit him when he was working late. In the back seat of the car, after you two would go grocery shopping, and he just looked too good in his black jeans and fitted sweater.
Now things have changed.
Harry has been working a lot more. Constantly in the studio working on his next album and having meetings with the record label and Jeff to figure out when exactly he needs to be finished with the album so he can start touring.
Harry kept up with his duties as a parent. He tucked your daughter in bed every night, fed her breakfast, and put her back to sleep before he left for work.
However, it seems as though Harry forgot he was also a husband as much as he was a parent.
Harry and you had a tradition to have dinner together at the table, at least three times a week. It was a rule Harry came up with himself so he can stay more grounded in his marriage and make sure he was catering to his duties as a husband.
That quickly faded when your baby girl was born.
No more talking to each other about how your day went before you both went to sleep, no more midday cuddles on the couch while watching re-runs of Grey's anatomy, and no more sex.
It's gotten to the point where you thought Harry was no longer physically attracted to you. Post-pregnancy, you gained a lot of weight and not just on your tummy but your thighs, hips, butt. You wanted to work out but had no time to fit that into your daily schedule as a mom.
God, did Harry not like your body anymore? Did he not like you?
These thoughts constantly swarmed your head, and suddenly it felt like you weren't good enough for him.
“Y/N!” Harry calls from the kitchen.
You weren't sure what time it was. You have been sleeping in since Harry has been taking over morning duties. You roll over to check the time on the clock, and it says 10:00 a.m. What is Harry doing here? He should be at work.
“Y/n,” Harry says, jogging up the stairs and opening the door up to the bedroom. “I’m going to the grocery store. Do you need anything?”
You sit up straight in your king-sized bed and rub your sleepy dry eyes. “The grocery store? What are you doing home?”
“It’s my day off love,” He reminds you. “Asked for a day off this week. Want to spend time with my kid.”
What about you?
Maybe it was the fact that Harry’s parents went through a rocky divorce, and as a kid, it made him feel ostracized by his father. When you first got pregnant, Harry had fears about not being a good enough Dad. It took a lot of encouragement from both you and Anne to show him that there is no book to parenting and you are supposed to take things one day at a time…
“Love,” Harry says again, interrupting your thoughts. “Do you need anything? I saw you ran out of the liquid iron that you take.”
“No, I’m fine. Go ahead.”
“Alright, I will be back.”
Once Harry leaves, you were going to take a relaxing shower, but Jasmine was crying, which most likely meant she was hungry, meaning Harry forgot to feed her before he left.
You frantically get out of bed to rush to the nursery, and when you pass yourself in the mirror, you don’t even recognize who you see. Your curly hair is thrown into a bun on top of your hair, and you can see how greasy it is. Your silk pajamas that once could be considered sexy are torn up from how old they are, and it didn’t help that your boobs were leaking milk last night, staining the clothes. Your face was covered in acne; whether that was from stress or pregnancy hormones was beyond you.
“Hey baby,” You whisper to Jasmine, quietly picking her up out of her crib and bringing her downstairs on the couch. “What's wrong? Are you hungry?” Wiggling your right boob out of your pajama top, you lift Jasmine's head, so she is able to latch on to your nipple to drink.
Jasmine drinks hastily, gulping down every last bit she can get. It's endearing how attached she is to you, but it's also draining. You love your job as a mom, but you also miss your job at the hospital as a nurse. You miss date nights with Harry where you get all dressed up but are always late to your dinner reservations because once Harry sees your outfit, he just has to bend you over the counter.
You miss being a wife.
“I got you iron,” Harry says, walking through the front door. “Have you been forgetting to take it? You know the doctor says you need to take it, or else your headaches and dizzy spells will come back. How long have you been out-”
Harry stops talking when he hears you start sobbing. Uncontrollable sobs that would alarm anyone if they heard them.
This was the type of cry that follows right after exhaustion. When you have yet to catch up with how fast life is moving around you.
Jasmine begins to cry along with you, and Harry drops all four Trader Joe's bags on the floor and runs over to you.
“Y/N, what's wrong? Are you hurt?”
You continue to cry, and Jasmine detaches from your nipple and wails along with you.
Harry crouches down to your level at the couch.
“Hey, Y/N, why don’t you give me Jasmine, yeah?”
“No,” you protest, wiping the tears from your face with your free hand. “She is hungry, and I need to feed her.”
For the first time since Jasmine was born, Harry physically sees how tired you are. He noticed how the color from your brown skin was drained, prominent dark circles under your eyes that you have never had before, and your usual scent that Harry absolutely adored was covered by Jasmine’s baby sickness.
“I can feed her Y/N,” Harry carefully states, examining the situation, not wanting to make you even more upset. “I will feed her. You just need to relax.”
“No,” You stubbornly hold Jasmine to your chest. It's not like you didn’t want a break. You did. But you were mad at Harry, and you just wanted to feed your daughter alone.
“Y/N. You need a break.”
“So now you notice,” You spit back at Harry, whose face runs cold. “When were you going to notice? When were you going to pay attention to me H.”
Now that just breaks Harry’s heart because he really hasn’t been paying attention to you. He can’t even recall the last time he had a conversation with you that wasn’t pretending to Jasmine or what you needed from the grocery store.
He has been a shit husband.
“Okay. I’m sorry. Let me just handle Jasmine. You can go shower.”
You take a deep breath, trying to prevent yourself from crying even more. You grab your crying baby by the armpits and push her towards your husband.
“Darlin’,” Harry starts, but you have already taken off up the stairs needing a second to compose yourself.
Harry heats a bottle for your daughter and, while he is feeding her, gives his mom a call. “Hi Mum. Could you take Jasmine for the night? Yeah, everything is fine. I think Y/N and I need some time to ourselves.”
+++
Anne had come to pick Jasmine up an hour later, giving Harry time to pack a bag for her. You spent a good fifteen minutes crying on the floor until you decided it was time to take a shower.
The steaming hot water felt good against your skin. Usually, there was no time to take a long nice relaxing shower, so this felt good. You had lit a few lavender candles Harry, and you received from Gemma as a wedding gift and decided that you were gonna take this time to relax. You can worry about everything else later.
“Darlin’” You hear Harry’s voice call from out the shower. “Can I come in?”
You weren't going to respond at first. But then you realized how stupid that would be, just to ignore your husband.
“Yeah.”
The door to your glass shower opens up, and Harry steps in. You don’t look at him because you know for a fact that your husband looks like a greek god without clothes on, and this was not the time to be ogling at your husband. You had to stand your ground.
“I’m sorry,” Harry huffs out. Keeping his distance from you.
“Nothing is wrong H.”
“Don't do tha’. Don’t shut down on me, petal. Please.”
“I’m not doing anything H.”
“We need to communicating Y/N. You are my wife-”
“Are you sure? Because you haven’t been acting like it.”
Harry slowly walks towards you testing his boundaries by pressing his front to your back.
“I’m sorry. You are right,” Harry admits. “I’ve been neglecting you.” Harry starts to place wet kisses on your neck, and you can’t help but lean the other way allowing Harry more space to suck on the soft skin.
“This is not something you can fix with sex Harry.”
“Know it's not,” He states. “But I need to be a better husband. Apart of that, is fucking my wife good, right?”
His hand runs up and down the curves of your body.
“Love you like this. You know that?” He whispers in your ear. “Love your body so much.”
“I- I’ve been meaning to work out," you stutter over your words. I want to get back to my old self, but I can’t seem to find the time-”
“Who cares?” Harry cuts you off. “If you want to start working out, I’m fine with that. We can do that together. But I don’t have any complaints about the way you look right now.” Harry's hand snakes to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Seriously, my love. No complaints. My baby grew in this body.”
“I will always find you undeniably sexy. Even with your hair,” Harry cheeky says when he brushes his hand over your heat and feels the stubble that's growing.
“Haven’t had time to shave,” You moan out when Harry's free hand captures your nipple and rolls it around between his thumb and index finger.
“Don't care,” Harry growls, taking the shower head off of its standing.
Harry effortlessly changes the showerhead setting with his thumb and brings it down to your heat. You jolt back against Harry, not expecting the feeling.
“Hands-on the glass.”
“Are you really in a place to be ordering me around?” You definitely say.
“Are you really in a place to be questioning my authority?”
When you don’t move, Harry takes your hands and places both of them on the glass door of the shower for you.
“Been neglecting you. You and your body. I’m sorry. But I’m going to make up for that. Promise.”
Harry brings the showerhead back down to your heat, and you swear it's a better feeling than the small pink vibrator you use when Harry is away on tour.
“Wait,” You protest, trying not to get too lost in the pleasure. “Wh- where is my kid?”
“At my mums. Now relax. I want to make you cum.”
“Harry,” You moan out when you feel his free hand grab your boob.
Your hand leaves the glass door to try and grab onto Harry’s bicep, but he quickly puts it back on the door.
“Keep em’ there.”
“Fuck, that's it H.”
The shower was fogging up, candles still burning, and your moans filling up the room. It's been a while since you had an orgasm, so you knew this one was going to come quick. It was over once your legs began to buckle.
“Hold yourself up petal. Ass up for me.”
“Can I cum, Harry, please? Fuck, I can’t hold it.”
“You're asking nicely. Good girl. But you always ask nicely, and I always give you what you want? Should I switch that up for a change?”
“No, please,” you whine. “I need to cum Harry. Please.”
“Okay doll, go ahead.”
Your orgasms ripples through your body. It’s truly a euphoric feeling, one you haven't experience in a while, so it's no surprise that your hands begin to slide down on the shower, but Harry is there to catch you.
“Shh, shh,” Harry coaxes at you. “I got you. You're okay.”
You were always one for cuddles after sex, but it was something about the way you turned around and wrapped your arms around Harry and pulled him into a deep hug that caught him off guard.
“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed my husband.”
Harry strokes your wet hair. “I’ve missed my wife. Missed you a lot. I’m sorry I’ve been a shit husband. I have got a lot to make up for.
“You do.”
“Let's start with dinner,” Harry suggested. “Take out. We can watch Greys Anatomy too.”
“Only if you fuck me on the kitchen countertop first.”
And that sounded like a pretty good deal to Harry.
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kaqeyamas · 4 years ago
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♡ —  folklore plots.
okay so, i just wanted to take a moment to make sure it’s known that these plots aren’t direct interpretations of the songs on taylor’s new album. they’re just ideas that i came up with based on little pieces of each song, or while listening to it!
The 1
give me a plot where muse a & muse b are exes. their relationship was actually pretty decent, despite muse b never showing enough attention or affection, hence why even after a year or two of being separated, muse a is still hung up on the other, and kind of searching for them in every new relationship and behind every corner. they were convinced they were the one, and seeing them again certainly hasn’t made that feeling go away at all??
Cardigan 
“but i know you, dancing in your levi’s, drunk under a streetlight” and i’m just picturing this pair of friends who have always kind of gotten into trouble, who were absolutely the type in high school to sneak out to get drunk and wander around town together, whether it lead to drunkenly adventuring the sidewalks of random streets in town, drinking and dancing along the way, or finding themselves at the local lake with half a bottle as they talk about everything and anything under the moon. they were literally like... night owls and that’s when their friendship really existed?? and maybe as adults, they haven’t seen each other in ages and when they do all of these old memories come back like “wow i was never that happy with anyone else??”
The Last Great American Dynasty 
toxic toxic toxic. these two bring out the absolute worst in one another, but one thing is certain -- the only way they were ever going to escape was if one of them died. muse a comes from money, and lives as such. expensive drinks, and infidelity. muse b is made into a monster in the town’s eyes, because they know of their partner’s cheating and they’re rightfully angry and upset, but they stick it out, because the money is too good to pass up on. it’s messy, and they’re constantly fighting, but when things are good? they’re so good. almost good enough to forget the bad. 
Exile 
muse a was growing restless in a relationship that felt like it was going nowhere, and muse b was oblivious to it, until it was too late. now muse a has a new partner, and muse b can’t stand it. but neither of them can truly shake the idea that they’re meant to be together -- muse b just needs to do something about it.
My Tears Ricochet 
i’m just not writing this one out because i honestly can’t think of anything that’s not super toxic, and that’s not my cup of tea. (TLGAD already is pushing it; sorry y’all!)
Mirrorball 
muse a has never truly felt like they fit in anywhere, until muse b shows up. they aren’t exactly sure what it is about them, but just being around them makes muse a want to be somebody completely new. whoever muse b would be interested in. making jokes to get noticed. wearing flashy outfits to keep their attention. but, at the end of the day, muse b thinks they’re perfect just as they are. this has super soft vibes and i’ll accept nothing less. 
Seven 
picture this -- they’re seven years old, and next door neighbors. fighting off monsters and building forts in their living rooms. their parents think they’re going to end up getting married when they’re older, and that probably would have been true, if muse b hadn’t switched schools senior year. fast forward ten years, and they run into muse a in their home town and every good memory comes flooding back because best friend love never dies.
August 
this is nothing more than a summer fling. (or is it??) muse a and muse b get to spend three months together, wrapped in the sheets and enjoying the sunshine together. making memories and ignoring the reality that they couldn’t last once the season ended (maybe one of them had to go back home in august) but they made those three months count in every moment. smiles and love songs and fall came in and stole it all away. (make it angstier by saying this fling only happened because muse b had broken up with their significant other before the fling started but by august, they want them back, leaving muse a heartbroken)
This is Me Trying 
muse a and muse b were head over heels. madly in love, and destined for it all. the big house, the happy family, wedding bells and all. until one drunken night, muse b makes the mistake of cheating on their partner. but they know they fucked up, and they’re not about to let the worst mistake they’ve ever made ruin the best thing in their life. they won’t go down without a fight, and if it takes apologizing for the rest of their life, they’d do it, just to get muse a back. lots of angst, and super sad. honestly?? i want this to make me cry.
Illicit Affairs 
make my whole life and give me a cheating plot. but not the kind of cheating plot that’s built on toxicity and mindless decisions!!! muse a is married and unhappy with somebody that doesn’t treat them right. maybe it’s abusive, maybe it’s just empty and the passion isn’t there? cue muse b, who lives down the street and has always made a point to wave and smile when they spot muse a outside, and their friendship builds to the point of sleeping together on accident. but it’s not a one time thing, or meaningless. they fall into bed because when they’re together, it’s the first time muse a has felt alive in ages, and suddenly they’re in a whirlwind romance, sneaking around to hook up and share little moments together. muse a feels guilty and shameful, muse b hates putting them in this position but is too attached to stop, and they both know that muse a’s marriage is going to implode if they get caught. -- but that’s not enough for them to give up. (make it interesting -- let them get caught?? END THE MARRIAGE!! give me angst.)
Invisible String 
you guessed it. this is a soul mates plot, and i’m not even sorry. muse a and muse b have never truly met, but their lives have always overlapped. whether it’s crossing one another in the grocery store, or sitting in a resturant at the tables that face one another. sitting in the same movie theater on opposite ends, or accidentally getting one another’s coffee at the local starbucks. after too many run ins, it’s impossible to ignore the similarities and the coincidences, and they decide to spend an evening together, getting to know one another -- and to nobody’s surprise -- they’re a perfect fit. muse a gets all of muse b’s jokes, and muse b likes all of muse a’s “flaws” and they’re just as dopey and gross as you’re probably imagining. 
Mad Woman
i’m not writing this one either.
Epiphany 
this one could go either way, and it’s entirely up to you and what fits your characters/what you feel most comfortable writing! muse a is either a soldier, or a healthcare worker. either way, they’ve both been through a lot, and seen more loss than any person should. but in a seemingly bleak world, muse b exists. the reason muse a works so hard. whether it’s somebody to come home from, after being overseas (if muse a is in the army!) or squeezing in time between doubles after a four car pile up came into the hospital (if muse a is a healthcare worker!), muse b is there to hold them, and remind them that there are good things left in the world and they’re just so healthy. 
Betty 
i’m just here to hurt myself at this point, but !!! give me a couple that everyone thought would make it. years together, and completely wrapped up in one another. they’ve been dating since high school, and now they’re about to enter their last year of college. muse a went back home for the summer, while muse b stayed at their apartment near campus. they stayed in touch, but as the summer progressed, muse b heard from muse a less and less, only to find out that muse a had spent the summer with somebody back home. when muse a finds out, they end things, but immediately regret it -- even if they won’t admit it. they’re just praying that muse b will come to their senses and come back. meanwhile, muse b is just trying to find the courage to face them, knowing that they only made this mistake because they were young, and thought they were bored of the “same old thing” even though it turns out nothing could ever compare to muse a. suddenly they’re at muse a’s front door in the middle of the night, knowing and hoping that they’ll get the love of their life back. (will muse b actually accept, despite how much they miss them? or will they slam the door?? will it be awkward if they get back together? will the trust ever come back??)
Peace 
muse a has always struggled with money, but when they fell in love with muse b, they swore they’d do whatever they could to provide the best life for them. but words don’t pay the bills. no matter how hard they work, it feels like they’re always struggling to keep their heads above the water. while the late fees build up, however, there’s no denying that their relationship is based on the purest love. the kind of love that leaves a person speechless. muse a would do anything for muse b, and vice versa. muse a constantly feels as though the other deserves better, because they want to give them more. give them everything, and they just can’t. but they don’t realize that for muse b, their love is enough. 
Hoax 
alright, so... this one’s not healthy. but, i’m writing it anyways because i’m in love with this idea?? SO muse a and muse b have been on and off for years. they��re always finding ways to hurt each other, whether it’s flashing their newest fling in the other’s face during the breaks, or picking fights for fun when they’re still together. when it’s bad, it’s so bad. but when it’s good, it’s so good, in ways that only make sense to one another, because no matter how many people they sleep with or relationships they break, they always find their way back to one another, convinced that there’s not a single person that understands them the way they do. they’d rather be angry and fight than be without one another. no matter how many times they call it quits, their hearts belong to each other and nobody can even begin to compare. make this more interesting by developing growth!! make them realize it’s not healthy! make them realize what they want, and that they have to work to have it! sacrifices and affection! real love! not just passionate sex and pillow talk secrets. not just years of history, but the effort to make it work because wasting times on their silly game just isn’t working anymore!
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managedmischiefs · 4 years ago
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north//chapter fourteen
genre: angst
pairing: season twelve spencer reid x female oc
warnings: description of physical assault, prison, just all of the bad prison arc stuff
word count: 4.7k
summary: spencer and amelia feel the effects of being forcibly separated and it impacts them in similar ways.
honestly, spencer’s pov in this chapter is one of my favorite things i’ve ever written so i hope everyone enjoys it <3
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AMELIA
"Come on! You don't even have to do anything! Just go and clean up. We'll go with you and help!" Yaz pokes my shoulder incessantly, trying to get a reaction out of me. But I just keep my eyes on the tv in front of me, bundled up under a blanket.
"Lia," Michael sighs and slings his arm over my shoulder. I want nothing more than to shove it off. “It's been like, three months since-"
I'm quick to speak up to correct him. "Two and a half."
Michael and Quinn exchange a tense look. "Okay," Quinn nods, "two and a half months. It's been two and a half months since you've drawn, or painted, or sketched, or done anything even related to art. We know you're upset about Spencer but you can't let yourself be so upset. You need to find something that's gonna bring you happiness, and art has always done that."
"I don't wanna," I answer like a stubborn child, an answer that any of my siblings would have given me about things like going to bed early or eating vegetables. I pull the blanket up to my chin and stroke my thumb across my newest tattoo, tucked away and out of the sights of my nosy, annoying friends.
Frankie turns and shushes Quinn. "Like I said, Lia, why don't we go and just clean up your studio? We can drive over and just clean up? That's it. You don't have to do a photoshoot or create anything new. Just clean. Sound good? An hour tops."
I look around the faces of my expecting friends and tighten my jaw. I try to steal Spencer's skills and profile what their ulterior motives could be. They all hated Spencer before meeting him, and even after they met him, they weren't completely fond of him. So why are they trying so hard to get me to feel better? Why does it feel like they’re trying to get me to forget about my boyfriend in prison? I should be worrying about him every second of my day instead of prancing around town, cleaning up my studio, and going about my life as if Spencer isn’t suffering. But I’m sure they mean well. And I’m absolutely positive that my legs are sore from sleeping on the couch and from being in that same position all day.
"Fine," I concede, and they all silently cheer. "But I'm driving myself."
The drive to my studio is nearly insufferable. It’s silent and overwhelmed with a tension that I created but can’t seem to let go. The sights around me are familiar but blurry, like I can’t even tell which stores are which without someone in my passenger seat spitting out fact after fact after fact as I drive. I can’t drive down the street and try to recall all the good times and all the dates and all the drunken stumbles back home with the love of my life on my arm. It’s far too painful to constantly remember that I can’t go home and see Spencer and I can’t spend hours on the phone with him like I do when he is away on a case. I can’t see him. 
When I arrive at my studio, I realize why they were so insistent that I come out to clean up. I can't remember the last time I was actually in here to work but it's an absolute mess. There are canvases everywhere, bottles and tubes of paint on the floor, splashes and splatters of paint on the walls, brushes everywhere, crumbled up sketches in the trash, and way more. The studio needs much love and I guess now is the time to give it.
Michael immediately turns on music and everyone gets to work, but I don't. I pick up an empty tube of yellow paint and squeeze it in my palm. My head is starting to pound and I can't even stop it as tears start to fall down my cheeks. Who knew that one person could produce so many tears? 
Spencer loved when I wore yellow. I have this one short, backless dress that he loved. He especially loved that he had easy access to my skin, always tracing shapes on my back and murmuring about how soft my skin is. He always said that he loved the way the yellow complimented my blonde hair and how it contrasted against my colorful tattoos. He even went as far as to buy me another yellow dress for my birthday last year. 
And he loved when I used yellow in my paintings too. One time, I sent him a picture of a piece I was working on and he emailed back a book about how the use of yellow paint expressed the happiness of the piece or something like that. He raved about a painting I did of the sun and how my use of yellow wasn’t scientifically accurate, but it was beautiful nonetheless. 
"Amelia?" Quinn speaks but I don't look at her. My cheeks are wet with tears that I barely noticed and my hands are clutching the tube of paint so tightly that it would burst if it were full. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to upset you. If we-"
"I'm gonna go," I say hastily, clutching the empty tube in my hand as I breeze out of the studio, leaving my bewildered friends to either clean or leave. They know the way out and they know where the keys are. They don’t need me.
I'm wandering into the bullpen like it's second nature because, at this point, it basically is. Nobody on the team bothers to say anything to me. They never do. They're too worried I'll blow up at them or start crying. I don't blame them.
I rap my knuckles against Dave's door and wait for him to shout for me to come in, and when he does, I enter slowly. He gives me a small, pitiful smile as I move in front of his desk. I set the empty yellow paint tube in front of him and then sit down, bringing my knees to my chest.
Dave looks down at the tube, his eyebrows furrowing. "Paint? What's this?"
I blink and it forces tears out of my eyes. "I don't know how to live without Spencer."
Dave leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over my chest. He studies me, profiles me. I hate when Spencer did that. He always got this look on his face when he profiled me, but Dave has a better poker face. "And paint has something to do with that?"
"I just went to my studio with my friends and I finished off all this paint and there were brushes all over the floor and-" tears start pouring down my cheeks again, wetting my neck and the neckline of my sweater. "I came home the other day and I'd left the balcony door open. How stupid. I'm forgetting to lock my doors just because my boyfriend is in p-" I gulp, having to force out the disgusting word, "prison. How fucking stupid. How stupid am I that I can't function without him?"
"You're not stupid," Dave shakes his head. Nothing about his tone or his body language is helpful in the slightest. Nothing and nobody will help. "You two are reliant on each other and that's not a bad thing. I'm sure Boy Genius is always on you about locking your doors and I'm sure he's always giving you statistics on break ins and-"
"He doesn't," I cut him off sharply. "If Spencer's telling me statistics then it's about stars in the sky and how to properly care for my plants so they stay alive longer or just- it's never about things you guys talk about here. It always about things that I'd like. He does it to protect me. He doesn't tell me about serial killers unless I ask, and I only ask when I can see that he had a really hard day at work. It's just me, Dave," I put my forehead to my knees, shoulder shaking as sobs take over my whole body. "I just don't know how to live without him. I don't know how to function without him holding my hand and him calling me to promise he's okay and-- I just can't. I can't do it."
"You did it before you met him," Dave stands from his desk and moves in front of me. He puts his cold hand on my shoulder and it sends a chill down my spine. "You lived a long life before you met him, and you're living now while he's temporarily gone. It's hard, I know, but it's only for a short time."
"I just want him to be okay. That's all I really care about."
///
SPENCER
///
My whole job is about helping people and I've spent my whole life caring for others, mostly my mother. In my professional life, I'm always keeping an eye on my teammates to make sure they aren't in danger. I consider it to be part of my responsibility to look after every single one of my teammates. They're my family and I rely on them to help me too.
I never thought my helpful nature would come back to hurt me. I never thought that trying to help out a friend would come back to hurt me so badly. All I wanted to do was help Delgado. That's it. Calvin is protecting me and the other men in here wouldn't dare to cross him. They know how miserable he could make their experience here and they'd rather beat up someone else than get on Calvin's bad side.
All I did was speak to a correctional officer at chow. That's literally all I did. Yes, I did rat out the gang to the officer for beating up Delgado, but they don't know that. They aren't going to be disciplined for it. I ask the guard for water first as a cover, but clearly, it wasn't enough.
And I've been through a lot in the field. I've been tackled, and punched, and shot, but getting beaten up in a prison is completely different. The guards couldn't care less about the inmates. No matter how much I screamed and pleaded for help, no one came. And even still, there was another inmate outside my cell keeping watch so my attackers could run and not get caught.
I’ve gotten beaten up a lot in my line of work and I can confidently say that this one, in a dirty prison cell, is the worst I’ve received. They held me down against my bed and used a rag to muffle me, but it covered my mouth and nose and it almost suffocated me. They beat me to a pulp, drawing blood on my forehead and almost cracking a rib or two.
It was an unrelenting beating and I eventually succumbed to the pain because I convinced myself that they were going to kill me. I snitched and death would be the consequence. I stopped fighting and just let them take their turns at swiping my face and my chest and my stomach because what could I do? Nothing. As Calvin loves to remind me, the rules are different in here. I don't have a badge and a gun to make the torture stop. I have to endure it or find my own ways to make it stop, and this is a moment to endure it. I'm rendered useless.
The beating only ended when the inmate outside whistled, probably a preplanned signal, because the two others immediately jumped off of me and ran out of my cell. As soon as the towel was pulled away from my face, I gasped in a breath and clutched my aching chest, wincing in pain.
Wilkins came strolling over, peering into my cell. I knew he knew exactly what had just happened by the smirk on his face, but he chose to do nothing. He chose to stroll over instead of running and he didn't yell at the other inmates. He just stared at me and smirked, shaking his head.
"That'll teach you to keep your mouth shut, Snitch."
And those are the words that echoed in my nightmare that night.
I'd rolled over and coughed up a generous amount of blood, grimacing at the taste in my mouth. My body trembled and shook when Wilkins left, even more than when he was silently mocking and watching me. Wilkins doesn’t care to do his job but at least with him standing at my cell door, I had the tiniest bit of protection. But with him gone, the other inmates could come back and finish the job. I shook and stayed rolled over on my side for twenty minutes, staring at the floor and waiting for my cell to close.
When it finally did close, I didn't even let myself sigh of relief. I just fell onto my back again with a groan. I could barely move. It hurt too bad. Everything always hurts nowadays. Things didn't hurt on the outside. Living didn't hurt before I got arrested.
Getting visitors the next morning is not what the ideal situation is. Rising from bed is more of a challenge than it normally is. My body is sore and aching and all I want to do is curl up in my obnoxiously uncomfortable bed, if this slab of metal and a blanket could be considered a bed, and go back to sleep. But I know I'll get in trouble if I don't get up for role call, so I ignore the pain.
I don't dare to look around at anyone on my block as the officer shouts our names, checking to see that we're all here. I just keep my head held high and my hands at my sides and try to show that I couldn't care less about the beating that is causing me so much unrelenting pain.
But then they call our names for a visitor’s session and, of course, my name gets called. I'm usually grateful to get to see anyone from my team, but now? Today? After last night? I'd prefer if they didn't come back until after these bruises were gone. But there's nothing I can do so I allow the guards to put cuffs on me and lead me to the visitor’s room.
As soon as Penelope sees me, she gasps and drops her jaw. She starts to rise to her feet, but I sharpen my glare at her and when she sees my expression, she stays in her seat. When I sit down at the little table and put my cuffed hands in view, like I'm required to, I watch her eyes fill with tears.
"You-" she whispers, "you're hurt. What happened?"
"It's not a big deal," I answer nonchalantly. "It could've been worse." She's not convinced, her jaw dropped as a few tears drip down her cheeks. I keep my jaw tight and as much as I want to comfort her and hug her and promise that as badly as this hurts and as horrible as I'm sure I look, I'll be fine. But there are a million eyes on me right now, including my assailants, and if I show any kind of weakness, a beating like last nights will surely be in store for me again.
Penelope not-so-subtly glances around at the other prisoners around us. "Reid," she leans towards me and tries to lower her voice, "I am going to march right down to the warden’s office and I'm going to-"
"No, you're not," I snap, and my sharp tone of voice makes her jump back, her eyes widening. But for some reason, the look on her face doesn't even make me regret the way I've spoken to her. The look on her face just bothers me more. Why doesn't she get it? Clearly, I have to spell it out for her. "It'll just make worse things. I've got it handled, Garcia."
"Are you sure?" She practically whimpers. "I could-"
"How's everyone else? How's the team? How's my mom?" I deflect from the obvious issue at hand and instead turn the focus to my loved ones. All but the one I wanna hear about.
Penelope starts to nod slowly and she moves her glasses to wipe her cheeks free of tears. "We really miss you. And in our free time, we're working really hard on your-"
"Shh," I try to hold my hands out but the handcuffs rattle, and my eyes dart over to a guard who is alerted by my movement. He gives me a pointed look as if telling me not to do anything stupid. I put my hands back down and look over at a stunned Penelope, leaning in closer. "Don't talk about my case, Garcia. People don’t do that in here. It’s not right and it’s not safe. Just don't talk about it."
She gulps harshly, another single tear dripping down her cheek. "Okay," she nods again, and it's obvious that she's confused. But I don't have the time or the energy to explain why I'm acting like this and I don't even have it in me to care. I didn't even want to be at this visitor’s meeting. I'm only here because I have to be. "Um," she taps her fingers against the table, "we just really miss you, Spencer. Your mom is doing really well with Cassie."
"Good, I'm glad everyone is okay," I nod and I sit back, glancing around for a clock. When is this thing over? I'd rather be in my cell than here. I never thought I'd think that.
Penelope raises her eyebrows and her eyes soften. "A-Amelia? Do you wanna hear about her?"
As soon as I hear her name, my heart starts beating faster. My mind flashes with all the most beautiful images of Amelia that I can recall. I can practically see her in front of me. I can almost feel her under my fingertips. I swear I can taste her chapstick on my lips as she kisses me. I rub my fingers together as if I can feel the fabric of her denim skirt. As if I could unbuckle her belt and take her right on my bed right now. I shake the thought from my head. Don't go there, Spencer. Nothing good ever comes of when your mind goes there.
But I can't get her out of my head. I can stop seeing her lying on my lap, peering up at me as she mulls over which record to put on. Etta James or Taylor Swift? That's always the question of the day, isn't it? It always seems to take her hours to decide on an answer, and she usually doesn't. She'll usually work up an appetite with her thoughts, and when she's gone to get a snack or a glass of wine, I decide for her. Always the same. Always Taylor Swift.
But her smile is always so beautiful when she comes back into the room. When the music finally flows through her ears, the smile that comes to her face is one that could end wars, cure cancer, solve world hunger. I didn't think I could ever understand how bubblegum pop music could make a person so happy. I didn’t think I could ever understand how bubblegum pop music could make Amelia want to drag me off the couch or out of bed and force me to dance with her, whether it be in the middle of the night or just as the sun is peeking through the always-open blinds of her apartment.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to bring myself back to reality. I try to forget about the girl that's waiting for me in the free world. I try to ignore that she's probably shed tear after tear and I haven't been there to wipe them away. My brain produces images of her gasping for air with her head between her knees and I ball my hands into fists.
I'm angry. I'm fucking furious. I want to be there to hold her and whisper in her ear and tell her that her panic attacks are short-lived, that I'm right there. I need to be there to hold her and kiss her and love her. I need her because I can't do this without her. I don't know what to do if I'm not spending my time protecting her. Everything I do is to protect her. I don't know how to function if I'm not holding her hand, or if I'm not pushing myself through every day just so I can call her at midnight to promise that I'm okay. I've become so reliant on Amelia, and maybe that's wrong, but I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. I just want my life back. I want my life, I want my job, and I want my girlfriend.
I want my girlfriend. I want to move in with her like we planned to and I want to propose to her and I want to marry her. I want to have a whole house full of kids who are loud and messy and loving and adorable and a crusty dog who slobbers all over the couch and chews my shoes. It's not fair. None of this is fair. Amelia doesn't deserve this. She deserves someone better than me.
But I can still see her. I can still see her fucking smile, and I can still hear her goddamn laugh, and I can still feel the fabric of her dumb hair scarves. She's engulfing me in her. She's not even here and yet I feel like I could reach out and she would be in my arms, kissing my neck and telling me that I'm safe and that we can just sit on the balcony and talk. We don't have to go to bed if you don't want to, we can just talk.
What I would give to hear her voice again. I'd give everything I have, and right now, it's not much. I'd give everything plus the clothes on my back to just hear her tell me I'm safe, or to tell me about a new painting she's thinking about starting, or to ask me to tell her a random fact about a food item she is about to buy at the store.
The last thing I want right now is to hear about Amelia. I want it all, or I want nothing. I don't want to hear that Amelia misses me, or that she's crying and having panic attacks in the middle of the BAU, or that she's sleeping in my clothes (or worse, not sleeping at all), or that she's lashing out at everyone. No, if I'm not having her in front of me, kissing me, hugging me, I don't want to hear about her.
"No."
For what seems like the millionth time, Penelope's eyes widen. "No? You don't wanna hear about-"
"No, I don't," there's a pit in my stomach that I try to hold down. I try to not let it take control of me. "I don't wanna hear about how horrible she's doing, okay? So just tell her that I lo-"
I can feel a million eyes burning into every bone in my body and so I stop myself. My lips freeze mid-sentence and I release the steel grip my hands hold around my cuffs. Penelope's are just another pair of eyes that bore into my frame, and I usually love her concerned and mothering nature, but now, it irks me to no end.
"Whatever," it pains me to cut off the sentence I crave so intensely to say, but I can't let my guard down. I can't be vulnerable and I can't show weakness.
"Whatever," Penelope repeats, almost mockingly, her voice cracking. "So you-"
"Could you not say anything to, um," I gulp, "her about this?" I gesture to my face where I can feel the pulsing and throbbing bruises tormenting me. I drop my shoulders and start to fiddle with the way-too-tight handcuffs around my wrists, but then I decide that that's a horrible idea, and probably a good way to get harassed by the correctional officers. "I just don't want her to worry about this. I'm sure she's worried enough. I don't want to give her another reason to, you know, panic."
"Times up! Inmates, get back to your cells."
Without so much as another glance at Penelope, I stand and turn my back to her. I lift my chin as I'm pushed and shoved into the lineup and then pushed and shoved back to my lonely, isolated cell. I'd rather have it this way, behind bars where the other inmates can't get me.
I drop down to the floor, pressing my forehead against the rusty bars, staring out at the drab, bland, boring beige walls. The paint is peeling and the bars, honestly, look like they could be broken with a hard enough kick. And, of course, the colors of the walls do nothing to brighten up the dead environment. The colors aren't anything like those that adorn Amelia's body on the regular.
A frustrated groan escapes my lips as I bang my hand against the bars. Why did I have to think about her again? Why did I have to let her infiltrate my thoughts?
But the colors of her. The colors swirl around in my head but as hard as I try, I can't get her colors to fill this horrible cell I'm confined to. I try to imagine her denim skirts, knit sweaters, and pea coats strewn out on the bed as she chooses what to wear in the morning. I try to remember the feeling of accidentally stepping on one of Amelia's millions of piercings when they fall on the floor after she takes them out before bed. I try to see her laying down on my bed, her sketchbook in her lap, and her colored pencils beside her as she rambles on and on and on, talking more than me, about what she's drawing and how she's planning on achieving her vision.
But no matter how hard I try, I can't get her into the cell with me. She doesn't belong here. Her art doesn't belong on these chipped walls, and her clothes don't belong on this poor excuse for a bed, and her absurdly positive attitude doesn't deserve to be squashed in here.
I rub my eyes and try to forget. I try to forget all about her and I try to erase her from my mind completely. I push myself away from the bars and stand, but standing does the opposite of what I want to do. Standing gives me a perfect view of the tiny window across from my cell, but more specifically, the sky.
I stare up at the clouds, my hands gripping the bars as tight as I possibly can. My eyes well up with tears and my knees start to buckle under my weight, and as my tears start to drip, they sting the cuts that I didn't even realize I had on my face. It’s not like I have a mirror to examine my injuries. 
They are just blobs. There are no dragons, or hands, or tables, or staircases, or cars, or Christmas trees. They're just clouds. There's nothing fancy about them. I'll never be able to see it. I couldn't see shapes when I was with Amelia. What makes me think I would be able to see shapes without her?
I push myself away from the bars and throw myself onto the bed, covering my face with my hands. This is useless. I'm useless. There are echoes of chatter from men on my cell block and it makes my head hurt. If Amelia were here, she would cradle my head in her lap and brush her fingers through my hair, and she would trail her fingertips over my forehead and over the bridge of my nose, all while whispering sweet nothings to me. I groan with frustration, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face under my flat pillow.
"Hey, Reid," Calvin's voice joins the echoes from the cells around mine. "How's it going over there?"
 TAGLIST
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shortythescreen · 5 years ago
Text
come over chapter 2: the invitation.
Warning(s): NSFT/18+, fem reader, dysfunctional family dynamics, semi public sex. 
Relationship(s): Octane/Female Reader.
Summary: Octavio’s family is having an event for their donors. He’d really rather not go but you’d make it a lot more bearable. 
Author’s Notes: I LLIIIIIVEEEEEEE. It took forever to get here y’all but here it is! Part 2 of Come Over! It was originally like, 10k words so I split it into two. Which means Part 3 is already written and I’ll just wait to see how this does before I put it out. 
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3.
Octavio doesn’t avoid his family.
He doesn’t! He really doesn’t. Seven chances out of ten, he picks up the phone when his mama calls, and if he doesn’t it’s probably because he’s in the arena. Or out. Whatever.
He’s sent his papa text messages during every major holiday he isn’t there for. Not that he isn’t there for a lot of them! He’s hasn’t missed El Dia de los Reyes in. Ever. Even if he didn’t show up for his parents’ New Year’s Eve party days prior. Not that he hadn’t wanted to, he’s just a busy guy. Busy guys don’t have time to go to every social event their billionaire parents host.
That’s what he’s trying to tell his mama.
“Mami, I’m busy with the games-” he tries, pressing his fingers to his temples, for once grateful that his mama doesn’t know how to operate the video camera function on her tablet. Otherwise, she’d see the twist of his lip as he speaks. He kinda thinks she might still be able to hear it, considering Elliot is skirting him as he walks through the common room, trying to distance himself from the hostility in his voice.
“Octavio, ya.” She bites and the tone of her voice seals his lips shut. Fuck. How’s that even fair? “The next game isn’t until Monday. You can be back on planet by Sunday night if you leave tomorrow.”
“Ma, I can’t,” Octavio tries, but his mama cuts him off.
“Yes, you can! Octavio Jose, you use Silva Pharmaceuticals for the games. This party is to celebrate all the donors that give us the resources to create the stim you use. You will come to this party, shake hands, jump hoops and do whatever these people want, or we will revoke your supply. Do you understand me?”
Octavio’s nostrils flare, his leg jiggling as he pushes his teeth against his tongue piercing. The stretch of metal against his muscle is half painful, but he ignores the ache in favor of clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Do you hear me-”
“Yes, ma, I’ll be there, bye.” And with that, Octavio taps the pad in front of him, effectively ending the call. He’ll get some messages later about hanging up on her, but he doesn’t care. All he wants to do right now is put his head through the fucking table next to the tablet.
“That, uh, sounded pretty heated,” Elliot says and Octavio snorts, turning pinched green eyes up to his fellow legend. He’s holding out a water bottle, clutching another in his opposite hand, and Octavio snatches it from his hand, not even bothering to grumble a thank you as he guzzles half of it. “Whoa! Easy!”
“I have to go to a party this weekend,” Octavio bites, ignoring the way that Elliot’s lips stitch shut, like his did when mama told him ya. Elliot hums, sipping more cautiously at his own water.
“Wow, what a predac- p-perdim- that kinda sounds like a dumb reason to be upset,” Elliot drops the sarcasm as he fumbles over the word and Octavio barks a laugh.
“Compadre, I wish it was,” he grits, pressing the flat of his palm against his still jiggling knee. It keeps moving. “My parents are hosting some stupid thank you donor thing.”
“That doesn’t sound that bad,” Elliot says, hopping over the edge of the couch to settle beside Octavio. He throws his boots up, resting them on the coffee table in front of him, the slide of the front door accompanied by some more footfalls. “You’ve thanked Silva Pharm on camera before.”
“It’s not the same,” Octavio grunts. Donors lived for Octane. They lived for his thrill seeking and heart stopping shows. They loved his tattoo and his catch phrases and wanted him to keep it up.
His parents didn’t want Octane. They wanted Octavio. And not even the real Octavio – the one they’d always wanted him to be. The one who was content being a dutiful son. The one who didn’t blow off his own legs with a grenade. The one who didn’t renounce his position as the heir to Silva Pharm.
“My mom said she’ll revoke my supply of stim if I don’t go,” he tells Elliot, who sucks in air through his teeth.
“Ooh, yikes. Guess you don’t have a choice, huh?” Elliot says. Octavio grimaces, now sipping at his water, hand still trying to placate his jittering leg.
“No he don’t. He knew that when his mama called,” a voice says and Octavio glances over, catching Ajay at the fridge on the edge of the common room. She’s pulled out a flavorless yogurt and busies herself scraping it into a bowl.
Ajay has been talking to him little by little, but they haven’t talked about the- incident. Of him lying. He lied to her. He regrets it most days. Right now, he really does, because he could really use her advice.
“Maybe it won’t be that bad!” Elliot says and Octavio sniffs, looking down at the coffee table to avoid Ajay’s eyes as she flops onto the couch across from them. She, too, kick her feet up onto the coffee table, slouching into the cushions.
“Maybe,” Octavio says, not moping into his water.
Silence passes between the three long enough for it to begin to feel stiff. Ajay breaks it with a loud sigh, and his eyes turn up, finding her staring at him.
“What?” He asks.
“Do ya parents still need a photographer?” She asks instead of answering him. Octavio blanches, sitting upright, and his leg stops in its insistent shaking, the click of his metal foot ceasing abruptly.
“What?” He asks again and Ajay blusters her lips, stuffing a spoonful of yogurt between her cheeks.
“Ya parents never let you bring a plus one ‘cause you always bring some so’n’so,” Ajay says and before Octavio protests, she continues, “shut up, yes ya do. If they still need a photographer, bring ours. She’s ya friend, right? She’ll make it more bearable, and she’s official, so ya parents won’t say nutin’.”
Octavio swallows, holding Ajay’s stare. She always seems so critical – like she knows what he’s thinking even when he doesn’t think he’s thinking at all. He wonders if she can tell how he’s been around you recently – if she’s noticed how you show up at his house late at night.
“Plus, she’s totally hot,” Elliot remarks and Octavio bristles and, oh yeah, Ajay notices. Her face remains neutral, but she thumps her foot against Elliot, who whines as the coffee table rattles beneath them.
“I’ll think about it,” he mutters, turning back to his water.
-----
It’s probably a bad idea for Octavio to invite you to his parents’ party.
After his… realization, he’s sort of been avoiding you. Not directly because Octavio doesn’t directly avoid- anything, really. He doesn’t avoid things. He’s not avoiding you. You guys just haven’t had sex since he said te amo into your throat. That’s all.
He’s not totally avoiding you, though. He still sends you shitty memes and you still tell him to let you work. He even brought you lunch the other day because your dumbass forgets to eat. Which is why he’s carrying over some empanadas to your studio.
Apex spared no expense for someone who was going to be key to their marketing. Your studio has vaulted ceilings and the pristine, white walls and tarps are constantly lit by either the natural light of the sun or the way too tall studio lights.
You seem concerned with neither, hunched in front of the triple monitors posed in front of your shooting area. He’s pretty sure that’s a picture of Bloodhound you’re editing.
“Hey,” he says, and you jump, your rolling chair skittering back as you dazedly blink up. Your eyes pinch as you squint, clearly perturbed from looking away from the screen after however long you’d been staring.
“Jesus! Fucking say something next time, Oc, you scared me!” You say and Octavio snickers, lips curling into a devious grin against his will.
“C’mon, amiga, you should’ve heard me coming,” he says, tapping his metal foot on the black tile. You huff, turning back to your computer.
“Shut up. What do you want?” You ask, leaning a little closer to the screen, despite having already zoomed in pretty damn far on Artur. Octavio grabs the chair at your left that you usually reserve for when your bosses come to visit, then flops down. The wheels careen him a little away, but he grabs the edge of your desk and pulls himself up.
“You need to eat, muchacha,” he says, holding up the brown paper bag. You purse your lips, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Wordlessly, you take the bag from him, then move away from your computer.
You lean back in your seat, kicking your legs up onto his lap. Instinctively, Octavio reaches down, grabbing the edges of your feet to keep them in place on his thighs. He thumbs at the edge of your shoe and his nostrils flare. Damn it.
“Thanks,” you say, the crinkle of the bag the only sound for a little. Octavio rests an elbow on the edge of your desk, turning to look at what you’d been doing to Artur. He can see your notes at the top of the screen, scrawled with some digital pen: no alterations to the bird – it would be disrespectful to Houn-
“What’s the matter with you?” You ask, startling Octavio out of his reading. He turns his head to face you, your cheek bulged as you chew.
“What do you mean what’s the matter with me?” He asks back and you roll your eyes, swallowing hard.
“You’re never this quiet,” you say and Octavio huffs, turning to face the screen once again, his leg beginning to bounce in anticipation.
“Fuck off.”
“Fuck you, stop moving.”
“I’m not a fucking—a fucking—joda, what’s that word?”
“What word?”
“You know, for the- for the thing. When you put your feet up. Reposapíes.”
“What, like an ottoman?”
“No, fuck. I mean, yes, but that’s not the word I was thinking of.”
“A footrest?”
“Eso! Yes! Fuck you, I’m not a footrest.”
You press your lips together and silence passes between you for a moment. Then you snort, shoulders folding in. You raise your brows at him, and he sighs, chuckling through a groan, leaning back in his own seat to drag his hand down his face.
“Kinda lost steam there,” you say, and he squeezes the tips of your toes, half in warning, and you giggle. Your expression softens and you nudge his stomach with the toe of your shoe, tickling at the edge of where a sensor exists in his abdomen. “C’mon, Oc, what’s going on? You can talk to me…”
He knows he can. Octavio has vented to you about lots of things before. He’s vented to you about Anita, back before she started to cut him a little bit of slack. He’s vented to you about his phantom pains, on the days that he wakes up and forgets that he doesn’t really have legs anymore. He’s even vented to you about his parents before – about how his father has never quite accepted the man he’s become and how his mom is like an ice sculpture. Beautiful from a distance, but cold, and quick to melt under heat.
Still, with the… incident, he’s hesitant. He feels like he’s digging himself a deeper hole than he should. But he’s here. On Ajay’s advice. Ajay’s always known what’s best, in a way. At least, it seems that way.
“I have to go to some stupid donor function for Silva Pharmaceuticals or my parents are gonna revoke my stim,” Octavio blurts and he sees your expression soften a little, the edges of your brows drooping, your lips half pursing, and he hates, hates the loud LUBB-DUPP in his ears.
“That fucking sucks,” you tell him and he half snorts.
“Si, I know… But you would make it less sucky,” he says, “you… wanna come? I always have a plus one but my ma doesn’t like when I bring just anybody.”
“And your fuck buddy isn’t just anybody?” You deadpan, raising a brow, and Octavio hums, tugging at the toe of your shoe on his lap.
“You’re a professional photographer,” he reminds you. “It would only be for a night. Less than twelve hours. Fourteen if you include ride time to Psamathe.”
“Oh, Oc…”
“Mami, please? Please. My parents would pay you for the shots. There’s gonna be tons of booze.” He tries.
“Octavio-”
“You don’t even have to talk to anyone but me!” He insists.
“Oc-”
“I hate these things. We can get a hotel right after and you can ride my face right up until I have to be back for the game-”
“Yes! Yes, Octavio!” You cry, reaching over and grabbing his shoulders, your body bending awkwardly, tummy crinkling the empanada bag in your lap. You shake him a little. “Yes, I will come with you, Jesus Christ. I was gonna say yes to begin with!”
“Why didn’t you just come out and say that then?” He huffs, though the tension drains out of his shoulders and he smiles at you, lips pulling up further at one corner. His chest expands with breath, like a weight has been lifted.
“I was trying but you don’t shut the fuck up.” You mutter, shoving his shoulders and he throws his head back, laughing into the vaulted ceiling of your studio.
-----
The week comes and goes within the blink of an eye and Octavio is… Definitely not ready to go to this stupid event. He’s texted you a little more throughout the week, telling you the kind of attire that’s expected at these dumb functions and reminding you that you don’t have to bring any crazy equipment with you.
He calls mama at the last minute, of course, telling her that he’s bringing on a photographer who expects to be paid in full for her services. She’s huffy about it but mostly seems glad someone will be capturing the event from the perspective of the Silva family – though why she kept his pa’s name after the divorce, he’ll never know. Anyway, it’s not like they can’t afford to pay you.
Octavio wears the black tie he knows his mama will hound him not for wearing but he refuses to put the blazer on. Instead, he’ll just carry it, black fabric hanging off his forearm. The sleeves of his white button up are rolled up to his elbows and even though mama could make a big stink, he’d remind her he could have showed up in what he wore in the games – including the Jade Tiger outfit.
It might have been a little too intimate to pick you up. The thought of knocking on your door at an appropriate hour, of being in his monkey suit and offering you his arm, made this feel more like it was a date and not just a favor. Instead, Octavio ordered you a cab and now, he’s waiting for you just outside the entrance of Ship’s Landing.
He’s tapping away on his phone, playing a racing game that he’s definitely going to beat Makoa’s score in. His tongue pokes out and he leans a little closer, glancing up only when he hears the whistle of vehicles going by, hoping to catch sight of your cab.
It’s in the middle of a jump that requires all his attention, a taxi stops right in front of him and the door opens. Octavio glances up, looking back down at his game, only to stop and look back up again, this time lowering his phone to get a better look.
His heart must be running a relay, must be trying to get a lead with a grenade, because the second he sees you, all he can hear is that loud noise again. Like an explosion of movement through his arteries and veins, his heart desperately trying to pick up with the adrenaline in his system. For once, it isn’t a fight, or an explosion, or a race that causes it, though. It’s you.
It’s you, struggling to get some huge camera tote out of the taxi while in high heels (he told you that you just had to bring a camera, damn it). It’s you, wearing a shade of vermillion that matches the fabric of your dress that hugs your figure. It’s you, with the off the shoulder, sweetheart neckline, and Octavio is surprised he can still recall anything about fashion. He’s kind of kicking himself for it too, because he can’t stop thinking of how much of a sweetheart that cut is, how easy it would be to slide it down your chest.
Octavio’s chest constricts, pupils blown wide as he imagines those heels digging into his ass as he fucks you, the sharp pinch of them spurring him faster, harder. It would be so easy to push you back into the cab, pay the driver a little extra to keep quiet while he shucks the dress up to your hips and sucks on your clit until you’re crying.
You guys should skip this. As a matter of fact, he should pay the cab driver to take you guys home so he can rip that dress off you. So, he doesn’t have to see you glide around in it, taking pictures, laughing and holding glasses of chardonnay at some stupid promotional party he doesn’t give a flying fuck about it.
“Oc?” Your voice snaps him from his reverie and Octavio realizes you’re staring at him, lips pursed, half waving to get his attention. “Can you shut the door?”
“Oh, yeah,” he breathes, moving forward to shut the cab door. “You… look really good.”
“Gee, thanks,” you say, smirking his way, and the rare little dance of mischief that glitters in your eyes makes his heart constrict. Fuck, he’s in so much trouble. This was a bad idea. Why did Ajay tell him to do this?
“We should skip this thing,” he tells you, waggling his brows, and you purse your lips at him.
“And get your stim revoked?” Right. He’d forgotten. Which is saying something, a voice in his head that sounds very much like Che says. He bats her away.
“Shut up, I know,” he mumbles and you two walk towards the ship his mama had ordered to take you to Psamathe. It has the Silva Pharmaceuticals logo on the side and he waves away the driver who stands with his arms folded at the passenger doors.
Octavio opens the trunk, taking your camera tote and laying it down in the backseat. You fuss at him, telling him that you can hold it in your lap and that this extravagant looking ship definitely has the space for you to hold your camera. He waves you off, telling you that you’re going to be in the ship for two hours, and you don’t need to be holding the bag in your lap the whole time.
After that, you two set off, towards his home planet. The ship his ma ordered is, of course, top of the line. The interior is plush, and over cushioned, with a tiny little bar on the opposite side of the long seats. You gaze around in wonder, squinting at the compartment at the top of the ship that he knows contains a disco ball.
“Jeez, your family pulled out all the stops, huh?” You ask and he snorts, scooting towards the edge of the seat and grabbing a bottle of Aguardiente his knows his pa keeps stashed for when he has to ride with ma to events.
“Gotta show up in style,” he mumbles, grabbing one of the little cups stacked on top of a fancy looking cupholder. “Would look bad if I came in just a cab.”
He feels your gaze burning on the side of his face and he holds out the first glass of liquor to you. When he looks in your direction, you shake your head, and Octavio shrugs, taking the first shot with a loud ‘aa’ sound afterwards and a little clench of his teeth. Coño, that shit’s strong.
“You’re really stressed about this,” you conclude, and Octavio turns to look at you again. Your hands rest idly in your lap and your eyes seem to look right through him, finding all the little weak spots, the little internal ticks that made him say that stupid thing into your neck.
“I am,” he says, “you can help me de-stress, if you want, chica.”
He waggles his eyebrows at you, masking his discomfort at how easily you read him with a little laugh. To Octavio’s surprise, you reach over, placing a hand on his thigh, and his eyes meet yours with dark intent.
“Yeah,” you say, then lean in, and kiss him. His heart constricts in his chest and he hate, hate, hates Ajay right now.
At the same time, he loves her. Thinks that he should thank her, should apologize and thank her, because you’re kissing him slowly, lips warming him with every gentle slide. Your chin tucks a little closer to your chest as you bow your head, just enough to catch his lower lip between his teeth. He sighs, squirming at the gentle scrape, the distracting buzz of your hand creeping closer to the space between his thighs.
“If we fuck, can you manage not to get cum on this dress?” You ask him as you pull away and his dick throbs at the thought of fucking you.
“Absolutamente, mami,” he mutters, hands creeping out to grab at your hips. He wants to pull you on top of him, pull whatever panties you’re wearing to the side. Watch his dick disappear inside you. Watch you throw your head back while he pulls down that sweetheart neckline-
“I don’t believe that,” you grumble but you’re pushing him down onto the long seat. Octavio lands with a thump and he’s kind of thankful he doesn’t have much hair. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, watching you make your way down his body. You don’t stop to place gentle kisses on his stomach, or any of that other fluffy bullshit that makes his stomach flutter, and he’s grateful and disappointed all at the same time.
You wrangle his belt open, the button of his pants and his fly following. You only scoot his waistband down enough to reveal his boxer briefs and the choked off sound that leaves him as you fenagle his dick out of the small gap in them is embarrassing.
“Shit, mami, you don’t have to, we can wait,” he says, even though his fingers are already tangling in your hair. Impatient. You smirk up at him.
“I don’t think you can,” you reply, before you drag your tongue up the underside of him. He gasps, like the air has been punched from his lungs, hypersensitive from weeks of having not been touched. You let saliva pool in your mouth, then stick your tongue out, watching it drip down. It makes his dick glisten, slippery with your saliva, and a dark spot forms at the base where he’s poking out of his boxer-briefs.
“Baby,” he whines and now his hand has tightened, trying desperately to push you where he wants you. Your licks and kisses are good, but not enough, not for how hard he is, for how he wants to fuck into your throat.
You only smirk, dragging the flat of your tongue up, the tip of it flicking just beneath the head. His hips jerk at the sensation and he rolls his neck back with a little groan. Octavio is always so vocal, so willing to tell you what he wants and what he doesn’t. Right now, what he wants is for you to take it, suck his dick until his eyes cross and he cums down your throat.
“I’m working on it,” you reply, and he definitely hadn’t realized he said that out loud. Oh well. You finally, finally, gracias a Dios, take the tip of him into your mouth. You place your puckered lips over the very tip, tongue poking the salty slit, and Octavio’s mouth falls open. Yours does a moment later and your cheeks hollow as you make your down the length of him.
“Puuuutamadre! Baby! Fuck!” Octavio gasps and he’s thankful to be riding in such a large ship because he’s certain if he kept it up, the driver would definitely know what was going on. He also kind of doesn’t give a fuck, hips trembling with the effort to not fuck your throat. You bob your head up and down, tongue glued to the hard length of him, and fuck, your eyes are closed, like you’re enjoying this.
You have the audacity, in all of this, to drag the tip of your finger around the base of him. He’s so close to being fully buried inside you. You push yourself, making wet noises that go straight to his dick as your lips finally touch the opening of his underwear. Then, the tip of your wet finger prods his rosebud, and that’s all it takes for Octavio to cum.
Toe curling, jaw dropping orgasm. That’s all he can think of when you finally get him to cum, the mere tease of your finger inside somewhere so intimate making his thighs clench. He shudders out, fist clenched tightly in your hair, trying to keep you down and still respect if you need to come up for air, but, coño, do you make it hard to keep that split train of thought going. He feels you swallow, throat folding around his cock, and the motion itself makes him whimper, for once overstimmed.
You slowly pull away, lips swollen and wet and red, sitting back on your knees with a shit eating grin. Octavio is catching his breath, trying desperately to slow his racing heart which, for once, isn’t caused by stim stabbed into his thigh. You gently massage his thighs and, Jesus, he really wishes you wouldn’t do shit like that.
“You good?” You murmur and the husky edge of your voice makes his spine tingle. He nods, slowing his breath to normal.
“I forgot how good you are at giving head,” he tells you and you snort as he looks around. When he doesn’t spy a handtowel, or something that isn’t a napkin that won’t stick to his dick, he gives up, tucking it away with your drool still on it. He adjusts his fly, slowly sitting up, muscles more relaxed than they’ve been in the week since he’d gotten that phone call.
“I expect you to return the favor on the flight home,” you say and he grins, for the moment distracted from the impending doom of his parents.
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demaury · 5 years ago
Text
defying gravity (5.5k)
“I’ve lied. To you.” 
He turns his head to Eliott, who suddenly seems far too interested by the tobacco packet he exhumes from his pocket to look at him straight in the eye. Lucas watches as he tucks a filter tip between his lips and goes on to fill the roll.
“If that’s the moment you admit you’re a psycho who followed me all the way from Paris, it couldn’t have come at a better time, I’m ready to die.”
OR. Lucas hates everything, but perhaps not everyone. 
You know, it’s almost funny, when you think about it.
Three days ago, he’d never have guessed that there’s a single thing in the world that could be worse than the idea of his dad’s remarriage. And yet here he is. Hiding from the crowd of family friends and family members behind a grey Audi, dressed as a fucking penguin, constantly trying to loosen the knot of the shitty tie everyone has insisted for him to wear — all the while riding a spectacular hangover on what’s probably the warmest spring day ever.
It shouldn’t be this hot already. Not in fucking April.
His hand shoots up to wipe away a drop of sweat rolling down the back of his neck, just above the collar of his dress-shirt.
It’s a nightmare.
Everything is just so noisy and so- so peopley. He adjusts his sunglasses on his nose, and reaches for the water bottle he managed to score from a disbelieved waiter at the bar to take a sip. Wherever his gaze lands, it’s like someone is looking back and is ready to make conversation — hence why he sought refuge behind a fucking car, far, far away from the tent, because that’s just how much he needs to avoid people at the moment. They’re all so cheerful, chatting eagerly around a glass of champagne, and between the town hall ceremony and the huge-ass country house his dad has ranted for the occasion, he’s lost count of how many ‘Lucas honey you’ve changed so much!’ have been shot his way. Nice of them all to collectively ignore that although he’s not exactly tall, he still got taller since the last time he saw any of these people.
A few kids are scattered around, playing football, and he recognizes one of the ten-year-old girls as his now-stepmother’s daughter. Which probably makes her his stepsister, now that he thinks about it. Fuck. Call him slow, but it’s never really sunk in up until now. They are all playing like there’s no tomorrow, running and screeching and yelling and screaming some more, and he grits his teeth in a wince as a hammer pounds against his frontal lobe with every single glass-shattering sound they manage to produce. It’s probably for the best he doesn’t have a car here, otherwise he would have hopped in and driven back to Paris before his dad would even think about searching for him — although to be fair it’d surely take a while before that happens.
His eyes dart to the side when he hears footsteps approaching, already ready to tell whoever it is to go fuck themselves, when his stomach clenches brutally and his eyes widen behind his sunglasses. He has to do a double-take because it is not fucking happening, right?
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he hears himself mutter.
Problem is, he’s not the only one to hear it. The gorgeous-looking dude walking in fucking slow-motion on the gravel path near-by hears it too, and soon there’s a pair of grey eyes landing on him. Lucas mentally thanks the sunglasses on his nose — how else would he be able to handle that look, now that he’s sober? The guy’s pace falters about a meter away from the Audi Lucas is sitting against, a small frown of confusion making his brow furrow.
Lucas sighs and pushes his sunglasses up on his head. It’s always nice to know that whatever you do, the universe still has some jokes in store for your miserable existence. Of all the what-the-fuck experiences he’s had in his life, this one is probably a solid top-three.
Grey-eyes-dude stares back at him, and his gaze narrow when realization downs on him. “Okay, just so you know, I didn’t follow you all the way here,” he guy says, sounding almost defensive.
What’s his name again? Lucas racks his brain in search of an answer, but he’s not sure they’ve exchanged names at all in the first place. That being said he’s not entirely sure they didn’t. Nice job, brain. In the meantime, he makes a point to look unimpressed. Like it’s his daily lot to have one-night-stands, stalkers, and goddamn models following him around, hours away from the city.
“Didn’t even think of it,” he shrugs, hoping to strike casual.
The guy looks vaguely embarrassed as he drapes his jacket over his arm. Funny how he wasn’t so careful last night about literally any of their clothes. Lucas grabs his water bottle, maybe just because he needs to do something, anything at all, but as he takes a sip the guy’s still standing there, looking like that, with his navy slacks and light-blue button-up, and believe it or not but it’s surprisingly hard to make eye-contact with a guy who had his dick inside you less than twelve hours ago.
Like, seriously. When it’s not an exclusive relationship situation, it’s the epitome of w-
Hold the fuck on.
A weird feeling creeps up his spine.
What is he doing here? Not in a fuck-he’s-creepy kind of way, but in a fuck-this-is-family-only kind of way. He doesn’t know half of the people who’re under the tent. Let alone those who weren’t there for the pre-ceremony chit-chat. Fuck, what if he’s one of his cousins? Did he just bang one of his fucking cousins? He tries counting but he doesn’t even remember how many of them he’s supposed to-
Shit he’s started to talk, Lucas freezes as Mr. Fuck-Don’t-Be-My-Cousin is already mid-sentence.
“What?”, he calls out dumbly, cutting him off.
“The bride,” the guy says again, and he gestures towards the tent like Lucas can possibly forget there’s a wedding going on. “She’s my sister’s godmother.”
Oh. Okay. That’s better.
Not a cousin. Good.
Go-od.
He presses his lips together with a nod. “Small world,” he mumbles. It’s not like he’s actively trying to be sarcastic, but that’s just the way it sounds like. Whatever. There’s an awkward silence stretching, until his slow brain catches up. “That’s my dad,” he simply offers with a vague gesture of the hand. “The groom. Or whatever that’s called when it’s not the first time around.” He folds his legs and brings his knees close to his chest, letting his eyes wander away.
“Why are you hiding here then?”, the guy asks and Lucas rolls his eyes to himself. He’s really tempted to tell him that them banging last night doesn’t qualify as an obligation to make small-talks on cue at formal gatherings. “Shouldn’t you be like, celebrating out there?”
“I’m celebrating,” he counters, and when his one-night-stand-turned-shrink cocks an eyebrow, he waves his water bottle. He’s sitting flat on his ass on a patch of grass, desperately trying to let the world forget he’s ever existed — which is working spectacularly, obviously —, it’s quite noticeable he’s living his best life at the moment. “Fine, I needed a bit of quiet. Hangover and all. Happy?”
Praying that his dad chokes on the wedding-cake by the end of the day is definitely an activity that can keep it busy for a couple of hours anyway. Not that it’s his business. Or anybody’s.
The guy clears his throat. “Right,” he says, and he offers a small shrug. “I’m going to, uh, greet everyone.”
It sounds almost as a question and Lucas turns his face away, putting his sunglasses back on his nose with a noncommittal noise. He pretends to find an interest in the kids’ messy football game, which for some reason seems to have turned into a kickball game in the meantime, to avoid following him with his eyes as he walks away.
*
He has to leave his hiding spot, eventually. Not that he’s dying to.
The afternoon has already long merged into early evening as he does so, and the sun setting has made it much more complicated to stay outside in a simple dress-shirt without his teeth starting to clatter. He gives a few tight smiles as he makes his way under the tent, where everybody is cruising around and reading the nametags to find out about the sitting arrangements.
His name is two tables away from the main table, which he should be grateful about, he guesses. The last thing he needs is to end up squeezed in-between his dad’s already half-drunk witness and his stepmother’s sister. He might be an adult, legally speaking, but there’s a limit to the amount of adult-bullshit he can go through in a single day and he’s already dangerously dangling off the edge as it is, there’s no need to push any more than that. He lets his eyes wander on the other nametags on each side of him. There’s one with his paternal cousins’ name and another one he doesn’t recognize — Eliott.
Maybe it’s from Marjorie’s side, he thinks offhandedly.
Who cares.
He’s about to slouch into his seat when a small huff makes his head swivel to the side. His hook-up from last night is staring at him, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s just walked straight of an Armani campaign. “I’m going to start thinking you’re the one following me,” he says, cocking an eyebrow, and when Lucas frowns, he takes a step closer and pointedly draws the chair next to his own like it’s really no bother.
Eliott. So he’s Eliott. Great. Nice. Awesome.
“You wish,” Lucas retorts, and as much as this guy is triggering his fight-or-flight instincts, he tries to shove them back down as he sits down as well.
Hear him out. He’s not big on random hook-ups. He doesn’t do well with the whole no-strings attached bullshit, so throwing himself at a goddamn stranger isn’t something he does. He banged a random guy once.
Fucking once.
Jesus that will teach him to think with his dick.
Maybe it’s all that sunshine outside that grilled his brain but he’s sure he can feel him stare at him — probably just to test his nerves, like the rest of the world seems inclined to do. When he throws a quick glance to the side, Eliott nonchalantly looks away, his hands resting calmly on his thighs, and Lucas rolls his eyes to himself. No one has to know they’ve ever met each other anyway — and even then, ‘meeting’ is a bit of a strong word. Not that it’s such a problem or that he’s ashamed or anything, there’s just literally nothing to say. Sure, the sex was great. But that’s literally it. At this point he’s not even sure he remembers what they had to drink.
What are you concerned about anyway?, a voice snickers. He can be perfectly chill about it too. No problem. Why would that be a problem? Because on a scale of 10 Eliott happens to be a solid 15? Hell, he should be bragging about it, if anything. But there aren’t many people to brag about it with in the first place, so. The silence stretches between them and Lucas begrudgingly takes in his surroundings. A brunette in a floral-patterned jumpsuit rounds their table, and from the corner of his eye he can see her nudging Eliott in the shoulder. “Hey, mom wants us to take a selfie with Marjorie.”
“When did she become obsessed with those?”, Eliott grumbles without budging, but another nudge gets him rising from his seat with a sigh.
There’s an unintentional eye-contact as Eliott is leaving the table, but Lucas’ eyes automatically dart onto the three glasses sitting in front of him. It’s like they’re making fun of his hangover. Ah ah ah you should have gotten drunk tonight.
Well, maybe he’s gonna do that.
Maybe he’ll just steal a bottle of whisky or whatever they were offering at the bar and down it by himself in the bedroom waiting for him inside the house. He grumpily digs out his phone and starts scrolling through his IG feed and his twitter timeline. It’s already near impossible to drown out the noises all around, but it gets particularly complicated when the few cousins mentioned on the nametags come to his table to settle in their designated seats.
“Shit, Lulu,” his cousin Charline exclaims as soon as she’s done adjusting her frizzy red hair, “we’ve been looking for you for hours.”
He gestures vaguely. “I was there. Talking. With people.” Hiding from you all.
Her brother Nicolas sits next to her, and two more girls slide into the remaining chairs. He’s not good with faces but he’s 100% sure they are from his stepmother’s side. There’s a bit of an awkward silence at first and a few attempts at small-talk, only disturbed by the ‘thank you’ Charline chirps happily when a waiter spinning around the tables like a professional octopus drops a freezing cold water bottle and two bottles of wine at the center of their table, next to the centerpiece.
“Who’s Eliott?” Charline wonders, frowning, as she leans closer to peer at the nametag next to him, and Lucas reclines against his backrest with a mental huff when her hair hits him in the face.
One of the two girls in front of him grins. “Oh, we got Eliott? I thought we had Gaby. He’s her brother.”
“Marjo is her godmother, right?” The girl nods and Charline turns to him excitedly, hopping from one topic to another like she’s paid to do that. “Hey, we didn’t get to talk yet. How are things going for you?”
Awesome. I drunk like a moron last night and I almost missed my train because I couldn’t walk straight this morning. Oh, and the guy I slept with on an impulse is five minutes away from sitting his ass next to me for the next six hours to come. So exciting indeed. He doesn’t even know why it’s a big deal. Probably because he’s a man of principles. Yes. And the principle of one-night-stands is precisely not to stick around long enough to give the other person the time to regret their choices.
He gives her an unimpressed look and a no-less impressed shoulder raise. “It’s fine.”
He reaches for the water bottle to fill the biggest wine-glass at his disposal, when Eliott swiftly slides in the seat next to him. There’s a round of ‘oh hey’ ‘hi’ ‘I’m Eliott’ ‘it’s written on the nametag’ ‘oh yeah’ that Lucas is trying his best not to partake in, which isn’t made any easier by Charline’s throaty laugh that surprisingly enough (note the irony) gets really fast onto his nerves.
“I’m working in an art gallery,” Eliott says at one point.
There’s a whistle. “Shit, that sounds serious,” Nicolas observes.
Did he mention that Nico’s sense of responsibilities is non-existent? Last he heard of him, a few years ago, he was trying to pick a college with a good party scene. If he had been born American, he’d be your typical fuckboy lurking around the frathouse at 25 — Lucas himself is not exceptionally ambition-driven himself, but there’s a limit.
“It’s mostly sending emails,” Eliott huffs a laugh. “And running around before the automatic alarm sets off at night to get everything in order.”
Charline goes onto flaunting her degree in sociology, like she didn't move to Quebec because it’s easier over there, and Lucas is this close to roll his eyes — but instead he bites it down, because he’s survived this long without causing a diplomatic incident to let it all go to waste. The conversation picks up without him. He keeps himself busy with his phone and his plate, while everyone else chit-chats obnoxiously. They talk about family memories and Christmas mornings, about vacations at the beach, about missing swim-trunks stories and kindergarten tantrums, and with every single one of them he feels his grip tightening around his fork. A day to celebrate, my ass, he thinks bitterly, stabbing a piece of his food.
“Wine?”
His eyes meet Eliott’s, who waves the bottle of red wine.  
He shakes his head. “Thanks, I’m gonna stick to water,” he mutters, and suddenly it’s like everybody remembers he exists, for better or for worse. Eliott is busy filling the glass of one of the girls but he shoots him a glare anyway. It’s his fault. It has to be.
“You’re still a student, right?” Charline asks between two bites of the first course.
“I graduated last year,” he replies stiffly, travelling a piece of his fish terrine in his plate, and since she’s still not looking somewhere else he elaborates: “I’m on a six-month internship in a private cabinet.”
“Oh, yeah! Accounting, right?”
“Architecture.”
There are plenty of reasons why she wouldn’t remember his major, objectively he knows that, but it goes with the fact that she barely remembers his age and that he’s practically sure the last time they texted was for Christmas two years ago — it only fuels his desire to flee. His attention drifts away to the main table, where his dad and his new wife stand up from their respective seats to start greeting each table. They’re lucky enough (joke) to be from the main family, so it’s a given one of them will drop by their table in a little while, and he’d rather die than have his dad looking all pleased and cheerful asking him why he’s not having fun.
“I need some fresh air,” he mutters to no one in particular, as he grabs his jacket and his phone before leaving the table.
Not like anyone will care.
Not like he gives a fuck if they do.
*
Since he’s not a fan of losing himself in the woods near-by and that hiding in the improvised parking-lot has gotten a lot creepier now that it’s dark as a pit, he’s opted for the bedroom that has been assigned to him for the weekend. At first, when his dad and his stepmother started talking about the sleeping arrangements, they had talked about him sharing with at least one if not two cousins, but he had been petty enough to say that if he had to share, he might as well not come at all.
He didn’t mean it. Like, sharing was really no big deal. He was just trying to push until his dad eventually burst and so he got a reason to dodge this whole bullshit altogether. But his dad had not burst. He had not done much, aside from sighing, shrugging, and saying that he’d get a bedroom to himself.
What a fucking joke.
He’s sitting on the balcony, trying to calm his nerves with a cigarette, when there’s a small knock on the door. He turns half-heartedly, only to stare at Eliott standing in the doorway, one shoulder nonchalantly resting against the doorframe like he’s always belonged here.
“How did you find me?”, he grumbles.
Eliott offers a small smirk in return. “Trust me I’ve majored in finding quiet spots to sulk.” He seems to hesitate, before he takes a few tentative steps in the room.
Lucas swallows down a huff. He’s half-tempted to tell him that he isn’t about to explode, but he simply turns away. “I’m not sulking. And you didn’t have to come, I’m fine.” Even if he flings himself off the railing, it’s only the first floor anyway. The worst that could happen would be for him to break his back. Or a leg. In short, more shit to deal with. It’d deter anyone.
Eliott footsteps grow closer, and soon he’s stepping on the balcony. “Do you want me to go?”
Not really. Maybe a little. He can’t really make his mind.
“Whatever,” he shrugs, vaguely gesturing with the hand holding the cigarette, and it makes the smoke draw intricate patterns in the air.
He’s not a heavy smoker. He’s just your typical stress-smoker who needs some nicotine in his system to avoid a major breakdown — he always ends up breaking down anyway, but whatever. Eliott seems to ponder for a hot minute, and Lucas is this close to burst and yell ‘in or out’ when he eventually brings himself to sit down next to him. They stay quiet for a moment, the silence only disturbed by the loud conversations coming from under the tent.
“I’ve lied. To you.”
He turns his head to Eliott, who suddenly seems far too interested by the tobacco packet he exhumes from his pocket to look at him straight in the eye. Lucas watches as he tucks a filter tip between his lips and goes on to fill the roll with tobacco.
“If that’s the moment you admit you’re a psycho who followed me all the way from Paris, it couldn’t have come at a better time, I’m ready to die.”
“Nah,” Eliott lets out, his lighter flickering as he lights up the cigarette a moment later. “I wasn’t at your table. I switched the nametags when no one was looking.”
He doesn’t really know why but it draws a small snort from him, as he tugs on his cigarette. It’s not that he hates having him around, he just didn’t expect him to exist outside of the bar from last night. It was the deal, right? He’s pretty sure it was. He remembers flashes of skin and ragged breathes, he remembers fisting his hand into Eliott’s hair and he remembers creeping out of his flat in the middle of the night. There’s a reason he didn’t leave his number behind — but at the same time it sort of balances out with the rest, and he can’t pinpoint why.
Except that now Eliott is sitting there, and he exists, and the leather jacket has left way to a suit jacket, and his hair is all combed. It’s weird, Lucas decides.
“I wish you had removed mine instead of yours,” he mumbles. At least it would have kept the cousins away.
Eliott huffs a laugh, glancing at him. “Way too obvious. You’re the son of the groom, I’m sure they paid extra attention to where you’d be sitting.”
Lucas slowly shakes his head with a snort. “You’ve got a high opinion of my dad.”
Like everybody else, he almost adds. No one is really able to fathom how much that charming and easy-going man can be borderline cold and uncaring when he sets his mind to be — and that’s even without mentioning that he’s never even bothered acknowledging he’s gay. It’s just like Lucas never came out.
A group loudly erupts in laughter under the tent, and Lucas’ eyebrow twitches in exasperation as he puffs out a cloud of smoke. “Can I ask something?”, Eliott asks, thoughtfully considering the cigarette between his fingers. “You don’t have to answer.” Lucas shrugs, letting some ash fall into the empty plastic cup he found on the way up here. “Why did you come at all if you don’t like them?”
It draws another snort from him. He makes it sound like it’s… yeah, like it’s easy. “Peer pressure,” he says neutrally. There’s an ocean between not wanting to attend this wedding and making it plain, and actually getting away with not going. He heaves a sigh and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not that I don’t like them. They just… You know. They’re all nice and fun until you actually need them.”
He brings his cigarette to his lips and tries to focus on the gulp making its way in his chest to avoid thinking about his eyes and the way they’re starting to sting. He presses his lips tighter. “My mom. She’s schizophrenic. Half of the people you see here were once part of her family too and I can count on one hand how many of them actually offered to help whenever shit would go down.”
And that includes my dad. Between those who clearly didn’t want to deal with it and those who kept acting like she was a ticking bomb whenever she was in the same room as them, there weren’t many left to spend Christmas with or throw birthday parties. Shitty annual family gatherings stopped when he was 14 and no one really tried to push for them to be maintained. Every kind of relationship needs work on both parts to function, even family, and he’s not the only one to blame for shutting them out.
Eliott doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. He doesn’t really care anyway. It’s not like he’s expecting anything from him. He puts out his cigarette against the ground and drops it in the plastic cup.
“I know what it feels like,” Eliott muses, exhaling a puff of smoke. Lucas gives him a questioning look, and Eliott answers with a twist of his mouth. “The ticking-bomb thing. People dropping you.” He has a sigh, looking away as he brushes invisible specks of dust off his pants. “It sucks big time. Even when you think you’re over it, it still stings.”
It stings. “Yeah.” They fall silent again, and Lucas folds his legs against his chest to try and warm himself a bit, resting his chin on his knees. “You should probably head back anyway, my mood isn’t gonna improve in a matter of seconds.” It’s not because he’s dreaming to be literally anywhere else on the planet at the moment that he has to ruin the party for everyone, he guesses.
“Don’t worry, I’m not expecting anything else,” Eliott scoffs. Lucas shoots him a half-surprised, half-offended glance. “I mean, I offered you a drink last night and you straight up went ‘no names no talking’ on me.”
It should make him feel self-conscious. Embarrassed. But instead he finds himself huffing a laugh and the smile on Eliott’s lips broadens. “Is that a laugh I’m hearing?”
“Fuck off, you’re not that interesting.”
Eliott hums with an eyebrow raise and puts out his cigarette. He keeps the smoke trapped in his mouth for a second, then he tips his head back and releases it in a long puff swirling away in the darkness. It shouldn’t look so good and yet. It’s probably easier to look sexy while smoking when you look like an Armani ad printed on glossy paper.
“It kinda bummed me out that you didn’t leave a number,” Eliott says, quietly, and for a moment Lucas is too confused to put 2 and 2 together. He turns his head eventually, meeting Lucas’ eyes, and his only response at first is to twist his mouth a little.
“I’m not really an expert in one-night-hook-ups, but isn’t that the point?”
Eliott ponders the answer, and eventually gives a casual shrug. “Dunno. I’m not good with those either. I get attached, things get messy.” He punctuates it with a wrinkle of his nose before looking away, right in front of him.
Lucas’ voice sounds a little rough when he braces himself to ask. “Is that what’s happening?”
Why would someone like Eliott even get attached to someone like him anyway? That’s fucking surreal. It feels like he’s being trapped in a prank show. Will hot-dude-Eliott manage to make regular-Lucas believe it in the next two hours? Stay tuned to find out! Eliott glances at him sideways, and the way he ducks his head, it seems like he’s purposefully trying to make himself smaller. “Will you freak out if I say maybe?”
“A little, probably,” he admits. About your taste in men, definitely. Eliott doesn’t reply anything, and for some reason he finds himself leaning to the side a little, and gives him a slight nudge of the shoulder. “Relax I’m joking.”
“A laugh and a joke?” Eliott deadpans. “Turns out you’re quite the life of the party after all. Can’t wait to see you run downstairs on the dancefloor.”
As if. Lucas lets out a snort and shakes his head. “I’m not moving unless they play Emile & Images.”
As soon as the name dangles off his mouth, he knows he could very well be screwed. Knowing what crappy DJs like the one currently working in the backyard like to play, it’s a given that Jusqu'au bout de la nuit is on the track list. Eliott seems to have followed the exact same train of thoughts, because he starts laughing, his shoulders relaxing and a large smile brightening his features.
“That’s literally two tracks away, no take-backs,” he snickers, but when Lucas rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh, it comes out shaky. Eliott pauses, frowning. “Dude, you’re freezing. C’mon, let’s go inside,” he says, immediately rising on his feet.
Dude. Is he fucking serious? Lucas stares at him with wide eyes from his spot on the ground, not budging. “Did you really just ‘dude’ me?”, he scoffs, lifting himself off the floor. Seriously, if it’s his way of friend-zoning all of a sudden, hello whiplash.
“I was trying to be casual, thanks for ruining it,” Eliott retorts. He heads inside the bedroom without looking back and Lucas closes the bay-window behind him as he steps in. “Plus, I thought names were off the table anyway.”
Lucas waves dismissively as he sits down on the bed. “That was before you showed up here and we both had a nametag attached to our plate.”
Maybe he’s just not made for one-night-stands. Maybe that’s just the universe’s way of telling ‘you suck at those, get a grip’. Yeah. Probably. After a while Eliott joins him, settling at the foot of the bed. There’s a silence stretching a little, and he doesn’t know what to think of it now. They can hear the music coming from under the tent, distant and muffled but far too present for either of them to be able to forget about it.
He presses his lips together and glances at Eliott. “Lucas,” he says eventually, holding out a hand still tingling a little from the cold, “22 years of daddy issues crammed into a surprisingly muscular body.”
It gets him a chuckle, rough but sweet. “Eliott,” he says, squeezing his hand. “Your local, problematic dubstep fan with a gravity problem.”
“Dubstep,” Lucas repeats, raising an eyebrow.
“Dubstep,” Eliott nods, unabashed, almost defiant.
He hasn’t let go of his hand yet.
Lucas isn’t quite sure he wants him to.
*
He stirs awake with a small grunt when the mattress starts dipping. It’s weird. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep in the first place. A rustle of fabric accompanies Eliott’s movements while he sits up to sweep his phone unlocked, still clad in his button up and his dark slacks.
“Sorry,” Eliott whispers sheepishly as he glances at him. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Lucas pushes himself onto his back, drowsily reaching to rub a hand over his face. He’s slept with clothes on before, but never with a suit — and it sucks. The sleeves of his shirt are too tight, his pants feel like sandpaper and his belt is digging into his midsection.
“What time is it?”, he mumbles approximatively, but it turns out a bit more muffled and with fewer words than that.
The room is completely dark, aside from Eliott’s phone, and he no longer hears any music outside. Last time he remembers checking the time was… maybe around 2? 3? He didn’t do it often though. There was surprisingly enough of Eliott to keep him busy, conversation wise. That’s probably why they are laying down the way they are, in the middle of the bed.
“Almost 6. I have to go,” Eliott says, sitting on the edge. The look of confusion Lucas sends him apparently prompts him to add: “Marjorie rented a cottage for my parents, and my sister’s looking for me.”
Everything is a bit blurry, though, and what he gathers at first isn’t exactly a full sentence. But the moment Eliott’s starting to move, he reaches out, hand winding onto his hip a bit haphazardly. It’s too dark for him to be able to see anything, so he has no way of knowing what Eliott’s reaction might have possibly been when he mumbles: “Can you stay?”
Please. He doesn’t add it, for some reason, which is weird because his mom raised him well in the end, but Eliott doesn’t seem to mind that it’s lacking. “Yeah, okay,” he says after a moment. There’s another outpour of bright light that makes Lucas squeeze his eyes shut and bury his face into the comforter, when Eliott unlocks his phone to type a quick text.
That’s absolutely not something he should ask for. That he shouldn’t even be in a position to ask for.
But he wants to be selfish — just this time. The light goes out as quickly as it arrived, leaving him completely blind as Eliott lays back down, and it feels almost wrong not to be able to look at him when he just knows they’re so close. But again, his eyes are heavy and his mind a bit fuzzy. He’s almost drifting back asleep already by the time he feels gentle fingers grazing his cheekbone.
“Lucas,” he whispers, so softly that he almost thinks it’s not meant for him to hear at first. “I think I’m falling for you.”
“You and your gravity problems,” he mumbles with a small huff, but he leans into the touch anyway.
Maybe something good can still come out of this, is the last thing he thinks before sleep takes over.  
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ahoyhairington · 5 years ago
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Steve Harrington as a dad: Headcanons
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Warnings: dad!Steve, pregnancy, mentions of smut, childbirth, fluff, angst
Word Count: 3k
A/N: I’m back with more dad!Steve content! Hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave a comment or some feedback to let me know if you liked it! Reblogs/likes/comments are always appreciated.
As soon as you and Steve had enough money, you left Hawkins
You didn’t see anything there for you anymore and you wanted to escape the haunting memories of the events that took place there
You both moved somewhere more populated, like Indianapolis
You settle on a small, white house in a suburban neighborhood that has baby blue shutters and a decently sized backyard
It’s not much but it was perfect for the two of you
Plus, being as young as you were there weren’t many places willing to let you move in
You also didn’t want to ask Steve’s parents for money, because Steve refused to be tied to them in any way
You do everything yourself like moving furniture, painting walls, decorating the living room
It’s a bonding experience in and of itself and you both almost killed each other at least seven times because of how overworked and annoyed you both got
As soon as you get comfortable you immediately adopt a dog
It’s a puppy from a local shelter with two different colored eyes and it immediately falls in love with Steve
(It’s also lowkey gives Steve baby fever but we’ll get to that later)
The puppy is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and literally becomes Steve’s best friend
They’re always playing together and if Steve is gone for too long they mope around the house like he’s abandoned them
They also love to sleep on Steve, even after they’ve quadrupled in size and are far too heavy to be laying on anyone’s lap
You always come home to both of them napping on the couch
Steve jokes around that one day the dog will crush him but he secretly loves it
Okay anyways back to baby fever
One day, you’re both outside enjoying your evening walk in the neighborhood with your then puppy when they see your neighbor’s kids playing in the yard
They freak out and take off running and the leash accidentally slips out of Steve’s grip
When Steve gets to them, they’ve tackled the poor toddler to the ground
Steve’s like “Oh shit oh my god I’m fucked my dog is attacking a kid” but really the toddler is laughing and squealing and she loves your pup’s kisses so much
Obviously, you both apologize to their mom that was outside watching them from the porch 
She plays it off and isn’t mad at all and says that they saw you guys walking the other day and her kid freaked out and wanted to play with them but she told them no so she’s glad they finally got to “meet”
When you approach her, you realize she’s holding another small baby, a baby boy, clearly only a few months old
Steve internally is losing his shit because he’s never really been around babies but has always thought they were the most precious things ever
After that, Steve uses your dog as bait to see your neighbor’s kids more
Eventually, you become close with them and Steve is always chatting it up with the toddler girl and bringing her home treats
He plays dress up with her all of the time and they call each other “Prince” and “Princess”
You jabbed at him once saying he’d gotten too soft and he successfully played it off but internally that’s when he realized he wanted a baby of his own
One that looked like the perfect combination of you and him
Steve always thought kids were for people that settled, but now his mind had changed
The kids’ mom loves you both and thinks of you as her own children, so she learned to trusts you very deeply
Which means you’re the one she goes to one day when she has to abruptly leave the house for the day
At first, you regret saying yes because you thought your days as a “babysitter” were over
But seeing Steve come through the door with a 4-year-old girl that adored him leeched onto his leg and a 7-month-old swaddled in his arms Does Things To You
Since the girl is better acquainted with Steve, you let him take her while you stayed on infant duty
You heard them in your spare bedroom
Steve using different voices to impersonate different characters of the game they’re playing
He got more dramatic each time he realized she laughed louder when he did
It made your heart swooooon
But so did Steve’s when he finally got the girl to lay down for a nap and he came to sit with you in the living room only to find you passed out as well with the snoozing baby boy on your chest
You looked so peaceful and natural and Steve couldn’t help but take note at how that’s what you would look like holding his baby one day 
The second their mom picks them up, Steve is already scheming up a plan to babysit them again
Okay now onto the actual pregnancy lmao
You’d been feeling sick for a few days now
It’s a nauseous feeling that never really goes away but you just thought you caught the virus that was going around at your work
It wasn’t until Steve made a poor “Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” joke one morning when you were throwing up into the toilet that it even crossed your mind
When you were finally able to get into the doctor’s office, they confirmed it for you
You were pregnant and you didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or terrified
You loved kids and, clearly, so did Steve but how would he feel about raising one of his own?
That night you came home and threw your stuff down, clearly exhausted from hearing such life-changing news
Steve heats you banging stuff around so he goes to see what’s wrong
When you see him you start crying and collapse into his arms and he’s just standing in the kitchen holding you up by your shoulders
He finally coaxes it out of you and gets you to tell him what was bothering you but you being pregnant was the last thing he expected to hear
In theory, he’s overjoyed but in reality, he’s scared
Not only because you’re clearly upset about having a baby and he thinks you don’t want it as much as him but also because he never thought this would be a situation he’d be in
He holds you close for the rest of the night, kissing your forehead and reassuring you that everything will work out and that having a baby isn’t necessarily such a bad thing
You eventually warm up to the idea of having a mini-Steve or a mini-you running around the house and Steve is so relieved and then only gets more enthusiastic about it
He’s literally the perfect partner to have when you’re pregnant
He’s always pampering you and making sure you’re as comfortable as you can be
When he joins you on the couch, he doesn’t even ask he’ll just grab your feet and swing them into his lap and start massaging them and talk to you like it’s nothing
Watches whatever shitty movie you want without putting up a fight
Doesn’t say anything when you get emotional at dumb stuff because of your hormones
(You cried when the dog died in a movie and even though Steve wanted to laugh at you, he just laid there massaging your back until you calmed down)
I also think Steve would grow a lil tummy of his own during your pregnancy
Your cravings are weird and you eat a lot so naturally, Steve joins in which means he gets a little softer in the middle
Steve hates it but it’s really cute and fun to lay on at night
Speaking of bellies, Steve is obsessed with yours
When you start showing, it’s impossible for Steve to keep his hands off of you 
He’s always got to have a hand on your stomach
Whether it’s you laying in between his legs on the couch with his arms around your bump or just having his thumb brush over it under the table when you’re at dinner with friends
It’s just a little reminder for himself that his lil bub is in there
(I also think he looooves fucking you when you’re pregnant but I don’t have time to talk about that rn)
He could sit and feel the baby kick for HOURS
He thinks it’s the most entertaining thing in the world to draw shapes on your belly and wait for the baby to react by kicking
You have to tell him to knock it off constantly because it makes the baby push on your bladder and then you have to pee three times more than you already do
He likes to use pillow-talk at night to talk about what you think your baby will be like
He’s always wondering what kind of kid they will be and what kind of music they’re gonna like and whether or not they’ll inherit his untamable hair
(They definitely do c’mon now let’s not kid ourselves)
I think he gets really anxious for a while over if he’ll be able to handle being a dad
His own father wasn’t the best example and he swears up and down that he won’t be like him but there’s always the “what if” in the back of his mind
The last thing he wants is for his child to despise their parents the way he does his own 
I don’t think he’d bring it up until you coax it out of him, though
You find him out of bed one night standing in the nursery you had both just put together that afternoon and he’s just staring at the crib with a solemn look on his face
You rub his back and finally get him to talk and he just starts crying because he’s kept it bottled up for so long
Steve’s parents were always a touchy subject with him so you know that his emotions and fear are high for a reason
You bring him back to bed and big spoon him for the only time throughout your entire pregnancy
You don’t really mold well together because of your bump but Steve likes it better that way anyway
The rest of the night is spent with you running your fingers through his hair, pressing small kisses to his bare shoulders, and quietly reassuring him that everything will be fine
And it is
Ok let’s move on to when the baby is actually born
Steve goes into panic panic mode when your water breaks
He’s running around in all directions trying to make sure you guys remembered to pack everything and he kinda just forgets that you’re sitting there on the couch covered in amniotic fluid waiting for him to help you get up
You’re like “Steve the baby isn’t coming for like at least 12 hours will you please just help me put my shoes on it’s not that serious”
He holds your hand the entire time at the hospital when you’re pushing even though he thinks you might have broken his pinky
He tries to convince you to let him look at the baby as it’s coming out and you finally agree but when he takes one look at your baby’s head poking through he’s like “yeah no that was definitely a bad idea” 
When he actually sees the baby for the first time as he cuts the umbilical cord he criiiiies 
Like a whole lot
He loved them so much when they were in your belly but now they’re alive and kicking and screaming and not just something for Steve to fantasize about
I see Steve as being a girl dad, so let’s say it ends up being a girl
For some reason, I feel like he’d want to name her something kinda weird but still cute
Something like Violet or Brogan or Aria or Phoebe or Rey
She’d look just like Steve with crazy brown hair and brown eyes
He’s obsessed with her and refuses to put her down
He has absolutely no problem taking baby duty on at night because that just means more quality time with his baby girl
Every time she cries it breaks his heart even though he knows she’s just hungry or needs a diaper change
He learns that he sleeps better with her laying on his chest
And so does she
She loves her daddy and it’s the cutest! thing! ever!
(Just the sight of Steve napping with her squishy cheeks scrunched up on his chest is enough to make you want to have another baby real mf quick)
Steve is always taking pictures of her
Which means you’re always in them too
They’re always candids that you think are going to look stupid and you hate when he does it but later on down the line when your kids are all grown up they love seeing how badass and attractive their parents were and you forgive him for all of the times you yelled at him about it
There’re ones of you passed out while breastfeeding (a common occurrence Steve finds absolutely adorable), ones of you looking sleep-deprived as hell while you’re rocking her, ones of you covered in vomit while holding her at arm's length
You get him back by taking like 1,000 pics of her yanking on his precious hair and random ones of the two of them passed out on the couch sleeping in the same exact position as each other with their arm up over their head
(When she’s older and her friends see the pics they develop the fattest crush on him)
((But bold of me to assume he wouldn’t already be the biggest dilf))
The kids are sooo excited to meet her and she ends up loving them as well
The first person Steve called when the baby was born was Dustin and after that, they immediately made plans to have Robin drive them to come visit you as soon as possible
They’re absolutely smitten over her and they keep telling you guys over and over how proud they are of you
(It makes Steve cry but only later that night after they leave)
You joke with them about how you babysat them and kept them out of trouble for so long so now it’s their turn to do the babysitting
Which they never mind because your baby is just too damn cute!
Robin still teases him about, “What’s she gonna think when she finds out her dad is a big ol DOOFUS?!” but Steve doesn’t take it personally anymore and finds it endearing
I see Steve as being his baby’s best friend
He’s always trying to get her to smile and play with her and he’s the exact opposite of most dads that sit around and expect the moms to do all of the work
He’s super involved with her and always wants to make sure she’s having a good time
He takes her to the park with your dog to walk a lot
And every single person that passes by you three gushes over her and congratulates you on making such a beautiful baby and having a perfect family
It makes Steve feel so good to be validated for stuff like that because he knows it’s true
Speaking of the dog
The dog LOVES HER
They’re super protective of her and bark at anyone that gets too close to her until Steve calms them down
Your daughter loves to nap on the dog’s belly and have them give her kisses
You also have a lot of pictures of them growing older together
When she takes her first steps, it’s when Steve is home alone with her
He’s sitting on the couch watching tv while she plays in the floor with her toys like she always does 
Steve wasn’t really paying attention until he realized he stopped hearing the rattle of her favorite shaker
When he looks down he sees her propped up on the coffee table and starting to take off from it
He realizes she’s about to start walking and loses his shit
He cheers her on and calls for her to come to daddy and she manages to take three or four steps before falling into his arms
Steve immediately picks her up and throws her into the air and covers her in kisses and tells her how proud he is of her and he can’t wait for mama to get home so she can see what she did
Her first word is also ‘papa’ and it makes Steve cry too
She’s such a daddy’s girl and you’re so relieved because of how worried Steve was over whether or not he’d be a good dad
She’s always bubbly and happy and Steve always looks forward to coming home from work, because even if he has the shittiest day possible he knows seeing her smiling face light up as soon as he walks in the door makes the whole day worth it
He’s always getting sentimental over everything she does because he wants to give her the world and he’s so proud of the little human he helped create and raise
Before she’s even a year old Steve is already talking about having another
You laugh in his face like “yeah right” but then you realize he’s serious
You tell him that you want to wait until she’s at least 2 so you can give her the right amount of attention while she still needs it
Literally the night of her second birthday party after all of the guests leave and the decorations have been taken down and your daughter is in bed in a sugar coma, Steve does his best seductive walk to your bed to try to rile you up
“You said wait until she’s two,” he said while breathing down your neck, peppering kisses along the sensitive skin, “She’s two now. So, are you ready to try again?”
1K notes · View notes
kisses-holland · 5 years ago
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bruised
A/N; This is my first imagine and i hope you guys enjoy! Let me know if you would like a part two. Requests are open as well :)
Summary: Y/N Holland and Tom Holland get into a massive argument, leaving the reader extremely hurt. Y/N ends up at a party, where, not only does she get hurt physically; but mentally as well. 
Pairing: Brother!Tom x Reader, Harrison Osterfield, Sam Holland, Harry Holland
Warnings: Underage Drinking, Angst?? Tom, Harrison and the rest of the gang are assholes, a little bit of blood
Word Count: 2.4K
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“You do this every time. You start drama and all these fights and then you decide to play the victim!” Tom yelled at you. You and tom were at each other’s throats again. Constantly bickering over the littlest things, but always putting it past each other; being the fourth youngest Holland child, you were close with all of your siblings.
However, this time, this fight, was different. You had a feeling you and Tom were not gonna be able to come down from this. 
“I just want to hang out while you’re home, Tommy. You're always with Harrison or some slut you find at a party, whose name you won’t even remember. I never get to see you and I miss you, ya know?” you say, fighting the tears that were bound to spill out of your eyes. 
Tom scoffed at your reply. “You're always with your friends, you’re the one whose never home, and when you are home, you’re always cooped up in your room. Don’t play that shit with me.” he rolled his eyes, trying to get to his bedroom with Harrison hot on his trail. 
“Tom’s right, Y/N. You’ve also been kind of a bitch lately. Maybe try fixing your attitude of yours and he’ll want to hang out with you.” Harrison smirked, and walked into Tom’s room. 
To say you were shocked, is an understatement. You have always seen Harrison as another older brother, and hearing him say that to you, hurt. If not your brother, Harrison was always there for you, through everything. 
Shocked and hurt, you decided to just leave them be so you can all cool down. You sat on your bed, quiet sobs escaping you as you heard your brother and his best friend talk about you in the other room. Deciding to do something productive, you started picking out outfits for your best friend’s party tonight. Your best friend, Kait, was 17 today, and what better way to celebrate than to have a few close friends together for drinks, right?
Deciding on a sheer black top, a bralette to wear underneath, and ripped blue jeans, you decided to do your makeup and pack your overnight bag so you wouldn't have to come home drunk and disturb your family. 
While doing your makeup, you texted Kait and asked her to bring double the amount of alcohol for you, since you were wanting to forget about everything that's happened today. You gave no fucks, and you weren’t even coming home tonight, so what's the big deal?
You were wearing more makeup than you usually do, and your outfit was a bit outside your comfort zone, so when you walked downstairs and saw Sam, Harry and Paddy shoot you daggers, you weren't really surprised.
“Where you headed to?” Harry asked, arms crossed. 
“Why do you care?” You asked, not ready to deal with your other brothers.
“We don’t, we just wanna know why you’re not apologizing to Tom after today, and why you’re running away from your problems.” Sam grinned, joining his twin brother. You stared at them both, in shock. Sure, Harrison was a little rude to you, but Sam and Harry? You didn’t expect it from them. 
You were about to say something, until you heard Kait’s car outside. 
“Just tell mum I'll be staying at a friends tonight” you muttered, before leaving. 
“You seem like you need a destressor.” Kait laughed, as you got in the passenger seat of her car.
‘Tell me about it. Did you get it?” You inquired about your alcohol.
“Yup. 12 pack and a litre of vodka. Should be enough for you, right?”
“It’s perfect.”
Five hours, ten drinks, and half a bottle of vodka later, you found yourself on top of your friend, Hanna’s back, taking pictures. To say you were wasted, was an understatement. You could barely walk, let alone talk.
“Jazzy, please take more-more pictures of me and-and Han” You slurred, laughing like a maniac. 
All of a sudden, you hear a vague “watch out”, followed by a hard object connecting with your face, and you falling on the ground, not moving. 
“Oh my god, Y/N! Someone help!” you hear a faint voice yell, until everything went black.
You remember the feeling of blood dripping down and across your face. You remember the ringing in your ears, and the excruciating pain in your head. And now, here you were, in a white room that did not look anything like yours.
But then you noticed. 
“Why can i only see from one eye?” you thought. 
Immediately, you pushed a button beside your hospital bed, resulting in a nurse coming to your aid straight away. 
“Oh good, Y/N. You’re awake. How are you feeling, dear?” she asked, giving you some water and a couple pain meds.
“Why can’t I see? My head hurts so bad” you cried.
“Shh. Calm down, sweetie. Someone threw a bottle at you at a party last night. Now, I do have some news for you. That bottle fractured two bones around your eye socket. You are required to come back tomorrow morning for a check up with the plastic surgeon, and we will also need your parents’ contact information so we can let them know what happened, as your emergency contacts didn’t answer.” she stated. 
“Plastic surgeon?” you gulped. You hated hospitals. Surgeries were a whole different level..
“I'm sorry, sweetie. But if the fracture doesn’t get better on it’s own, we’re gonna have to perform the surgery.” she gave you a sympathetic smile.
“Did my friends leave my phone here?” you asked quietly. 
“They sure did.” The nurse kindly gave you your phone. “I’ll be right outside. Just push the button If you need anything” She smiled and walked away.
You furrowed your eyebrows. What were you supposed to do? Who were you supposed to call? Your parents would absolutely flip if you called them. Sam and Harry wouldn’t care, and Tom and Harrison were out of the picture. Hell, they didn’t even answer when the hospital called them. Paddy wasn’t old enough to drive yet. Your only option at this point was to take a cab, except all of your clothes were covered in blood. You groaned, because now you’re actually going to have to call your parents.
One thing about Tom is that he can’t keep his mouth shut, whether it’d be movies or exciting events, but he also can’t seem to keep things between you in situations like these. You know that he has told your parents everything, and you know your parents are disappointed as ever. You wouldn’t be surprised if there was a text from either your mum or dad, explaining how disappointed they are. 
Shaking the feeling of guilt, you quickly dialled your mum’s number. You knew that if she was listed as your emergency contact, she would answer straight away. but since your emergency contacts were Tom and Harrison, she had no idea that her daughter had slept in a hospital room overnight.
“Hello?” Nikki's groggy voice made you feel guiltier, knowing you had woken her up. It was one of the only days she had to sleep in, since she worked early hours in the morning times on weekdays.
“Mommy?” You whimpered, trying hard not to cry. You weren’t sure if it was the pain you were feeling due to your injuries, the fact that you couldn’t open your left eye, or the fact that basically your entire family was mad at you, that was causing your tears.
“Y/N? Sweetie? What happened? Aren’t you staying at Kait’s house? Why are you calling me so early? Go back to bed, hun.” Your mUm sounded like she was a little bit more awake, but after the sob that left your mouth, she was already getting out of bed.
“I did something really bad, mommy. can you please come get me? I'm sorry.” you couldn’t keep it in any longer. everything that’s happened the past day has came down on you, and you couldn’t stop thinking about it; no matter how hard you tried.
“Y/N, where are you sweetie? What happened? Dom- wake up.” You heard your mum yelling at your dad to wake him up. 
Feeling even more bad, you managed to tell her that you were at the hospital, and that you were in the emergency room.
“I’ll be there soon for you, baby. Hang on tight. I love you.” Nikki quickly hung up the phone and got dressed, running down the stairs as fast as she could, finding all four of her sons and Harrison in the kitchen making breakfast.
“Woah there mum. Slow down. Where ya headed?” Tom asked, looking at her with concern.
“Did any of you guys get a call from Y/N last night?” she asked, quickly pouring herself some coffee in a travel mug.
“No, why? We all went to bed pretty early, too.” Tom said, not wanting to talk about his little sister who he’s still infuriated with.
Truth was, he did get a call last night. Both him and Harrison did. Except, the caller was unknown, and due to safety reasons, they both agreed to not answer the phone call. Not thinking anything of the calls, both of them went to bed.
“I'll just be right back.” Nikki quickly ran out the door, barely putting on her shoes before she ran to her car, and rushed to the hospital where her only daughter was at. 
20 minutes later, after almost breaking a couple red lights and going as fast as she could, Nikki arrived at the hospital out of breath.
After being led to your room, she immediately gasped at the sight. There you were, dry blood all across your face. your left eye was purple and swollen shut. A big bandage was covering your eyebrow and half your forehead. 
“Oh my- baby girl” Your mom cried as she held you.
“I'm sorry mommy. I shouldn't have went out last night. I'm so sorry” You sobbed, trying to ignore the pain coming from your eye. “I can't see from my left eye, mom. please help me.” You started wailing. Sure, bad things happened to you now and then, but this? 
“Who did this to you, baby? I promise I'm not mad. Just tell me what happened” She asked, helping you up and change out of your hospital gown.
“I-I don't know. I was taking pictures with Hannah and all of a sudden I felt something hit me and I fell to the ground. The nurse told me that someone had thrown a bottle at me. I don’t know if it was an accident or on purpose, and I don’t know who it was. I'm sorry, mum.” You cried, as more tears slipped out. 
Nikki quickly pulled you into her warm embrace, and you suddenly felt safe again. 
“C’mon, let’s get you home.” You were signed out of the hospital, with the nurses giving you sympathetic looks on the way. 
“Can I sleep when I get home? I'm tired.” You say. Considering the fact that it was 7:30 in the morning, Nikki did not deny your request.
“Anything for you, baby” She sighed, wanting so desperately to know who hurt her daughter, and why they had done it.
20 minutes later, you were home. Nikki unlocked the door and you were greeted with all of your brothers and Harrison eating breakfast. you tried so desperately to hide your face, but just your luck, paddy had seen it before you could even dash up the stairs to your beloved bed. 
“Y/N?” Paddy asked frantically. He had never seen anyone in this state, let alone his own sister. 
And just like that, all eyes were on you. 
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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago
Text
I Found - Chapter 15
So this story is turning out a lot longer and more intense than I ever planned on, so I hope y’all hang in there lol
Warnings:  talk of unrequited love (sort of), anxious moments
Tagging: @alievans007  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @hemmyworthy
Nik had failed to get them a private flight. Unable to secure a chopper or jet on such a short notice. Proving that there are indeed things not even her svelte touch and magic reach can procure.  
She is stressed; eyes constantly scanning the crowd,  lips set in a terse line, her body constantly swaying or rocking back and forth on her heels.  The airport is crowded; larger than usual crowds for that time of the year.  And it has put her on edge. Everyone looks suspicious. Any unfamiliar or louder than normal sound causing her to jump.  Unusual for her, Tyler thinks. She isn't usually that skittish.  She'd garnered quite the reputation of being unflappable. Stone cold even. Yet he knew there was more to her than that. Layers she never let anyone see. Except for a select few.
“I can't believe I'm going to say this to you of all people, but you need to calm the fuck down,” he says, as he pays for the coffees they'd grabbed at the nearest concession stand. “You're even making me nervous.”
“This is a bad idea,” she responds, running the palms down the her thighs. Those dark eyes usually wild and shifty.  “It shouldn't have come to this.”
The cashier hands him his change and his receipt with a cute smile. And he smirks when he notices that's scrawled her name and phone number on the strip of paper.  He balls up it up, tosses it into the nearest trash, and then picks up the coffees, holding one out to Nik.
“I'm married,” he informs the obviously embarrassed cashier. “I'm flattered. I am. But no. Just no.”
“Tyler Rake...friend of the ladies...” Nik snidely remarks, as they fall in step alongside of each other. “You haven't lost your touch.”
“I don't know about it being a touch. Or if girls like that have some fucked up daddy issues.”
“You're not that old.”
He snorts.”I feel like I'm eighty.”
“Knee?”
“Knee. Back. Shoulder. What doesn't hurt?”
“You still medicating?” she's watching him out of the corner of her eye, coffee cup pressed against her lips.
“Not the way I was before, if that's what you're asking.”  
 When she'd showed up at his place in the outback with the Dhaka job a year ago, he'd fallen into dangerous habits: ignoring doctors' orders and popping pills like candy, always chasing them down with booze.  It had become his way of escaping.  A way to numb both the physical and mental anguish.  He hasn't touched a bottle since he was released from the hospital. His wife deserved a husband that wasn't an addict. Or a husband that was dangerously close to being one.
“I just want to make sure you have your head on straight. After what I heard this morning...”
“Water under the bridge. Nik. I thought I was making the decision that was best for my family.  It made sense to me at the time. I didn't take everything into consideration. I should have thought about what it would to do to her. Being separated like that.”
“She needs you, Tyler. I don't think you realize just how much. You can downplay it all you want, but she needs you.  Maybe before all of this, she would have been able to just walk away and get on with her life.  And maybe she should have before things went as far as they did. Maybe you both should have.”
“With all due respect. Nik, that's none of your business. What went on between Esme and I...behind closed doors...had nothing do with you.”
“It became my business when you crossed the line, Tyler. You were there to protect her. Not fall into bed with her. It was a job. And that's all it should have been. Both of you should have known better.”
“Maybe we should have. Maybe we should have stopped when we still had the chance. But we didn't.  That's a year ago now. You're always on Esme about letting her shit from the past go. Maybe there's some shit you need to get rid of too.”
“If you're talking about you and I...”
“There was no you and I, Nik. I told you at the start there never would be. We've had this conversation many times.  And I'm sorry if you've got issues with Esme and I being together. Or us being together hurts you in some way. But I never made any promises to you. I was straight with you right off the hop. And you were okay with that. Or at least you said you were.”
“You've made yourself clear time and time again, Tyler.  But you seem to forget who was there for you before all of this. Who had to pick up the pieces every time you fell apart.”
“We're friends. That's what friends do.”
“The things we were doing went far beyond what normal friends do for each other,” she points out, and he sighs. “And I don't have a problem with you and Esme being together. I have a problem with how it happened.  With how you both crossed a line that never should have been crossed. You both should have known better.”
“Maybe. And I know you want to hear me say that I regret it. Handling the things the way I did. Not walking away when I could have. But I don't. I don't regret it.  I don't regret falling in love with her. I regret what I put her through. But not for loving her like I do.”
“You're forgetting that this wasn't something that just had ramifications for the two of you. I wouldn't worry about it so much if it was just the two of you. But you brought a baby into this, Tyler. A child. Who didn't ask to be dragged into any of this.  This isn't just you and Esme you have to worry about. I don't even worry about the two of you. You can handle yourselves. But a  baby, Tyler.  An innocent. You don't want to admit it, but you're the one that put that target on her back.  You may not have meant to do it. But you did.  It was bad enough that you crossed that line. But it was damn foolish to not be more careful when you did.”
It's a hard, painful truth.  But not one he hasn't come to on his own. Especially within the past couple of days; those haunting thoughts in the middle of the night that he'd been the one ultimately responsible for the threat upon his family. The guilt that came with knowing that if something did happen, it was entirely his fault.
“I'm not saying it's not a blessing that she's here,” Nik continues. “Because it is.  And I'm not saying you're a terrible father. Because you're not. I know how much you love her. How you'd lay down your life with her. I'm saying that this all could have been avoided....the threat against her...if you'd just at least been more careful.  If anything happens to her, you'll never forgive yourself, Tyler. You'll never get over it. You won't be able to forget. You'll never be able to rest.  And I won't be able to let you.”
****
When the nausea comes, it hits hard and fast. Bringing with it cold sweats and dizziness and leaving behind a wicked headache. A dull, throbbing ache that settles behind her right eye and the base of her neck. Even now, as she stands at a sink in the hotel bathroom, she can feel it; the room spinning around her, the bile still sitting in her throat, the sweat that beads on her forehead and gathers at at her temples. She closes her eyes; tightly gripping the edge of the sink, the porcelain cold and smooth against her palms.  
It's stress, she tells herself.  Just stress. You're nervous, Scared.  You're going back to the last place on earth you want to be. Look what happened there the last time.  
She knows it's more than that. Nothing life threatening, but something that had life altering ramifications.  Something totally unplanned and unexpected. Terrifying, even.  Not a place she'd wanted to find herself at this point in time. With all the uncertainty and the worry and the very real threat that she could lose everything.
She swallows back the sting of bile, clears her throat, looks at herself in the mirror. The dark circles under her tired eyes,  the lack of make up, the messy hair. She no longer recognizes herself. She'd lost herself a year ago.  The second she'd stepped out of that helicopter in the Australian outback. She'd been strong, confident, in complete control of her own life and at peace with her own decisions. At war with her past but satisfied with her present. Looking forward to her future.  It all begun to change the moment she'd stepped into the run down shack.  She hadn't known it at the time; the enormous effect that one man would have on her life. Or the nightmare that waited for them on those streets in Dhaka.  
But she'd known there was something different. About him, About herself. Something that she couldn't resist, even though everything had told her she should.  That little pilot light  that flashes in the corner of your eye, warning you about incoming danger.  She'd ignored it. In that little shack and in that disgusting Dhaka hotel room. Losing a little more of herself with each passing minute.
It wasn't regret.  She didn't regret what had happened. That she had given herself to him; mind, body, soul.  She had discovered the love of her life within the confines of those four dirty walls. She didn't regret him. Choosing him. Or the live that she had to give up in order to be with him. Or that she'd...despite all the mistakes of her first failed marriage..decided to become his wife. And she most certainly didn't regret their daughter. The greatest gift she'd ever be given.
Love is a fickle beast.  Being satisfied with the life you have...the love you have...but still missing the past.
No. Not regret. Sadness. A sense of longing for simpler times.  For a better ending than what happened on that bridge. Thoughts of what it would have been like to be in that little shack. With him.
And that damn chicken.
***
She turns on the cold water and cups some in her hands; sipping at the cool liquid before splashing it into her face.  Eyes closed and head forehead as she allows the droplets to plop into the sink. She blindly reaches for the power towel holder; ripping off three sheets and then drying her face.
She jumps when she sees the figure behind her. The bathroom had been empty when she'd wandered in. And she hadn't heard the door open or anyone walk in the entire time she'd been in there. But there she was. A young woman in a cotton sundress; her skin gloriously tan and her long blond hair pulled into a messy up do.  Neither woman moves. Their eyes locked one another through the mirror.
“You scared me,” Esme says at last, unable to ignore that uneasiness that settles in. Not the nerves of travelling, or of what she knows is happening within her own body, or the worries of the upcoming job. But the unsettled feeling  that sinks in when your gut is telling you that there is something wrong. Something very wrong.
It's only when she speaks that the woman behind her finally moves. An apologetic smile on her lips as she steps to the sink beside her. Esme immediately takes two steps sideways, driven to put distance between them.  
“I didn't mean to startle you,” the blond says, never turning the water on but fixing her hair in the mirror, using her baby finger to smooth out the gloss gathered at the edge of her lips.  She is young; twenty five at the oldest.  Pretty in a conventional way. All blond hair and impeccable make up and well manicured nails. Someone that others would consider a  non threat.
Esme had learned long ago that threats didn't come with a look. And it was usually the people you'd least expect.  In the confines of her hoodie pocket her cell phone vibrates. Tyler. Asking where she was. If she was okay. Always protective. Sometimes to a fault.
“Nervous traveller?” the young woman asks.
“I don't like to fly,” Esme concedes, and moves towards the exit.  
“I saw you out there. With your baby.”
She stops, fingers curled around the door handle.
“How old is she?”
“Two months.”
“Still a wee one.  She's adorable. Your first?”
“And only. So far.”  Her cell vibrates once again. And she knows she should answer it.  That she let him know what's happening.
“Well she's beautiful. Congratulations.  Enjoy these times.  They end quick. And you never know what might happen.”
The nausea threatens again. She manages to ignore it. Needing to flee. To get to out into the open. To a safer place. And she yanks the door open and steps out into the busy airport; the sights and the sounds and even the smells a welcome relief from the suffocating uneasiness of the bathroom.
And that's when she sees him. Watching her. A hundred meters away. Same ball cap. Same red sweater. Same backpack. Her fingers tighten around her cell phone, ready to make that one text that could make this all go away.
“Wondered where you'd gotten off to.”
The familiar voice makes her jump. Her insides lurch. And she places a hand over her uneasy stomach.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she scolds, frowning at Jason as he sidles up beside her.
“I thought something had happened to you in there. Thought maybe you'd fallen in.”
“I just needed to take a breather. Get my shit together. Do you see that guy. The one with the...” she glances over her right shoulder, where the young man from this morning had been standing. Watching her with cold, emotionless eyes.  “What the hell...” she furtively scans the crowd. Searching the sea of faces. “...he was just there.”
“Who?”
“The guy from this morning. The one Tyler talked to on the street. He was just there. Watching me.”
“That would be a little too much of a coincidence, don't you think?”
“Too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence,” she reasons, frowning as she fails to spot the face.
“Maybe it was just someone who looked like him,” Jason offers.
“No,” she insists, her voice rising. Frantic. Confused. “It was him. It had to be him. He had the same sweater. The same hat. The backpack. It had to be him.”
“Probably just someone that made you think of him. If it's been playing on your mind since this morning, you probably just thought you saw the same things.”
She feels like she is going crazy.  She tries to piece everything together. From the strange encounter that morning on the street, to the woman in the bathroom, to the man she just saw.
“I'm sure it wasn't him,” Jason says. “It's been a long day. Your brain is playing tricks on you..”
The old Esme would have told him to go fuck himself. That she knew her instincts. That her gut was never wrong.
But that girl had ceased to exist a year ago.  
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halitophobia · 5 years ago
Text
Blind Eye - One
Pairings ⟶  OC x Hank's Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank's Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)
A/N ⟶  Hello! I'm a little new to the DBH world, but I'm in complete awe of the story and Connor haha....anyways, I have been thinking about writing a series for him for a while and decided to go for it. This is mainly for testing the water - I'm not new to writing fanfiction or Tumblr (at.all.), but sure am new to putting my own work out to the public. So here goes nothing...(P.S. I'd absolutely love feedback and constructive criticism ! Truly ! TRULY.) Uh.. P.P.S. This is basically chapter one - just want to see how it goes :)
Disclaimer ⟶  I for one, obviously do not own any of the characters from the DBH universe whatsoever
Warnings ⟶  (for this blurb specifically...) quite a handful lots of swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...? (for this series...) slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), all warnings from the blurb, angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????
Word Count ⟶  3000
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 
----
NOV 5th, 2038 - 11:53:07 PM
         You hang up your phone, eyes covered from your damp palm, and let out a breath you hadn't realized was being withheld. Your hand sloppily drags down your face, and you squint out the car window. The streams of rainwater on the glass blur the scene, resulting in hues of spinning red and blue. You huff, narrowing your eyes at...seemingly nothing. You shouldn't even be here. You shouldn't have given in. If it weren't for the damn situation back at your apartment, you'd probably be enjoying a searing-hot shower; or better yet, shamelessly devouring an excessively large bowl of sugary cereal.
"Miss?"
         You're pulled away from your somewhat pleasant thoughts by the gruff taxi driver sitting in front of you. You sniffle by accident, revealing other unwanted emotions, and swirl your hand in your bag. Silently praying to yourself, you wait for something circular and cold, or thin and crumpled to brush your fingers. 
After a solid minute or two, your hand tightens on a cluster of bills. You yank them out, thrusting them toward the man. Avoiding his gaze, quite obviously, you knit your brows together, really hoping you don't have to say that famous line...
"S'all I have." your voice annoyingly childish.
He scoffs. "You're lucky I don't have enough energy to argue."
         With your eyes still locked on the door cupholder, his hand slaps yours. You feel his chewed fingernails scrape your palm, the money following suit. He grumbles something about getting out of the vehicle, which you gladly act upon.
         Entering the delightful weather, you squint your eyes and do your best to use your hand as a visor. Scurrying past members of the crew whining like toddlers, you stop before a line of familiar yellow tape that keeps you from your destination.  An officer standing on the opposite side warns 'unauthorized persons aren't permitted past'. Tell me something I don't know...
         Your lips part, a snappy remark waiting patiently at the back of your throat, when a short plump man waddles toward you.  
"By God, is that actually you, Y/N?" he awkwardly chuckles, eyes halfway shut from the rain trickling down his forehead.
"Detective Collins," you reply, forming a tight smile.
"Let her in, the big man requested her." he smiles back.
         Reluctantly, the officer lifts the tape, watching you swoop under. You straighten out and wait for the white-haired man to start blabbering about how long it's been.
"It's been a while, huh? Was just starting to get used to not having you around." he teasingly grins, bumping your shoulder.
         Nodding, you follow him onto the porch of a house simply waiting to crumble apart. The detective continues to talk about what it had been like after your absence and you flutter the collar of your heavy coat. Feeling your throat physically invert from the horrid stench, you grimace, shaming yourself for forgetting about this part of the job. Your ears truly tune into his voice as he starts to talk about the case. The dusty clogs in your brain begin to turn, grasping at key facts such as 'presumed murder weapon is a kitchen knife', 'no sign of a break-in', and 'owning an android that is nowhere in sight'. You can't help but pull back your top lip in a hateful snarl. You don't like that word. You don't like that word at all. In fact, you never did. Shaking your head, you glance around, taking in both the chaotic environment you basically grew up in, and the evidence gleaming before you.
         Lowering yourself eye-to-eye with the...late Carlos Ortiz, your gaze wanders over his abdomen. It's grimly decorated with multiple stab wounds which you can't help but study closer. Your eyebrows slightly lift, and one might think you were unimpressed, but you were just amazed at the rage embedded within the victim's gut.
"The victim fled to...the living room." a young voice claims, making your focus falter.
What's an intern doing at a place this brutal?
         As the question floats through your mind, every muscle, pulsing vein, and wavering breath coursing through your body comes to a halt - for that is when you hear it. Or should you say him. No, I really shouldn't...
"And he tried to get away from the andro- what the fuck?" you close your eyes, preparing yourself for the new crime scene to unfold. Here we go...
"Y/N? What the...wh..." his knowing voice somewhat amuses you; you've never heard him this...speechless.
         Steadily, you bring yourself to full height, still not having turned to see the Lieutenant. Feeling that instinctive mode envelope you, you tug a spiteful grin from your lips, finally shifting to see-
"Hi. Hank." his name crawls out of your mouth like a shiny, black beetle.
         You watch his eyes widen, only to shrink into slivers. His mouth recoiling into that signature frown, and his breath creating angry puffs of steam. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" he spits, crossing his arms over his chest. Same old geezer.
You scoff. "That's no way to greet your little girl."
         He glares harder and makes threatening strides toward you. "You are not my fucking little girl." he shoves a finger at you, "You better get out of my fucking way. This is my case, and you are not going to be involved." You raise your eyebrows, pretending to be shocked by his filthy mouth.
"And that's definitely no way to speak to your little girl."
         His yellow teeth come to show and he growls at your ignorance. "Ben! Get your ass in here!" his words are poison. Within seconds, the round detective makes his way through, a knowing and pained expression pressed into the creases of his face.
"Hank?" a nervous crack in his voice says it all.
"Why on fucking earth would you let this snake onto the crime scene!" Hank fumes. You laugh and shake your head. Naturally, you sense fellow detectives and crew seep their way into the living room. Audience is right on time... "She's villainous, disastrous, manipulative, and downright fucking evil!"
         You nod, shrivelling your nose, "You're one to speak, Hank." letting some loose hairs fall in front of your eyes.
         He tousles his hair in disgust, "You really think they're just going to hand you your job back and everything will be fine and dandy?" Hank shouts, saliva shooting out between his teeth.  
"Captain Fowler has been desperately trying to get me back on the team, calling me constantly like a horny frat boy!" you claim, making sure your voice comes level to his. "So, sorry to break it to you, but it's clearly already happened."
"I can't believe it! I can't believe it's happening again!" he turns away, circling back to you. "You just get to clip clop your fucking way back into my life and career without having to pass one goddamn obstacle!" his fingers tug at his grey locks, sweat collecting at his hairline.
"Oh yeah, life's tough, huh Dad? Not having to pass an obstacle, ever been kicked out of your own home with only thirty-two fucking bucks clutched in your hand and a bottle of beer in the other?" you bark, acknowledging the others in the room is long gone from now.
"How many times are you going to bring that up!? You decided to bring that absolute bag of shit in my house and have the audacity to let him stay!"
"You didn't have to throw us out!" your throat is stinging now. Your blood is scorching hot, and your jaw is nearly if not fully cemented together. "Drunk off your fucking mind, shoving us out the door and throwing glass bottles at our heads, I mean, what kind of father were you?!"
"You don't get to do that." his voice descends two octaves; dangerously steady. "Y/N Anderson, you do not get to fucking do that." your eyes have now burned into his and you find yourself digging crescent moons into your palms.
"Who's to say?" your words also deep and slow. You're leaning in to size him up, warn him, threaten him, whatever you want to call it.
"Lieutenant and Detective Anderson! If you two do not calm yourselves the fuck out, I'll have no choice but to remove both of you from this ca-" Ben's still here? Since when?
"I am not an Anderson." you correct.
         Hank breaks the deathly-still eye contact and moves his head to inspect a crack in the wall. He shakes his head and mutters under his breath.
"You never were."
        Your eyes pop open and that withering fire ignites inside you once again, electricity rippling down do the minuscule hairs on your fingers. "Fucking come again?" you yell, moving to get right into his face.
         Let's just pause, shall we? This is the same pattern you two always fall into. You say something to sting him, he finds a way to bite you back, and you get offended. It's your stubbornness you've never gotten rid of. This mass of steel in the both of you, sitting at the bottom of your stomachs, never ever willing to budge. You've both a tree trunk up your asses and what's happened in the past has done quite the opposite than removing them. Just...come on, listen to this. This argument is a bicycle missing its back tire - going to go absolutely no where. This acid you throw back and forth, a cute duel of 'hot potato', engraves wounds to the both of you; it never ends. Honestly, you don't think it ever will. And what could have ever happened to cause a world war between the two of you? Let's just say these past few years have been utterly devastating and neither of you have taken it well.
         Exactly four minutes and twelve seconds go by, and your hand is latched onto the Lieutenant's throat. His hands are suffocating your biceps, and in return, you decide to start kicking. Detective Collins wraps his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you away from your 'opponent'. You see a young man do the same to Hank - a little less effortlessly.
"Get the hell off me!" your father rages, whipping his arms from the brunette's grasp.
         You sharpen your eyes and study Hank's ‘partner’. No. fucking. way. "This your little pet?" you rip your arms from your restrainer and proceed to enter the fighting arena. "After all that's happened, you end up getting a weasel to train. And even better, it's a fucking android?" your words are deadly now. You feel betrayed. Backstabbed. Run over by a damn bulldozer.
         There's a slight hesitance in Hank's response, and to you, it only plasters upon his face, a large sign reading 'WARNING! I'm a loser!' "I wasn't-" he starts, but you're just too quick.
"An android!" you repeat, everyone already knowing the taste of your venom from the first time.
"Y/N dammit, will you let me-" Hank's voice is wavering, ever so slightly. Of course only you notice.
"This thing will corrupt the case! You really want to trust scraps of polished metal and plastic hair? It doesn't understand emotion or motive! How will it ever track down a suspect?" you growl, twisting your wrist within the steel rings holding you back.
"Telling me I had the audacity to invite a guy home," you continue, "yet you have the audacity to work alongside this piece of junk; the cause of-" you can't help it. It still hurts. Your words are discarded due to the contraction of your throat. Pull it together, no time for this shit. You cover it up, in the mere seconds of weakness. "I bet it’s got a name, huh? This your new so-"
"I did not agree to work with this thing!" his rotten finger is thrown at the bot, "I don't even remember the fuckin' name!" he says this as if he's defending himself.
"My name is Connor. I am the android sent by Cyb-"
"SHUT UP!" your voices in-sync, a combined evil no one would ever want to cross.
----
         Satisfied by the first...'warning', Connor pivots away, wandering back toward the kitchen. Both your voices are woven with malice, he considers. Your blood is pumping at immense speed, and if it weren't for your human forms, you'd have already combusted by now. The emphasis on your sentences make it very difficult for him to differentiate swear words from others. Pausing for a beat, he peers over at you, deciding to analyze.
ANDERSON, Y/N
Born : D/M/2014 //  Short Order Cook (currently unemployed) 
Criminal record : Pick-pocketing, shop-lifting
         Moving along small hints about you, Connor shifts his attention to your E/C eyes. Despite the low light, he notices the skin surrounding them is vaguely swollen and pink. Below them, your cheeks are gently stained - from rain? His processors scratch that thought. Probability claims...
Subject has been crying. (approximately 45 minutes ago)
Stress Level : 100%
         Moving his attention directly across from you, Hank's level of stress is no lower. Connor sees Detective Collins making a phone call to Captain Fowler, only to be immediately rejected. It's midnight on the last day of the week, Captain Fowler doesn't give two shits.
         Duty sprinkles itself back onto the android's head, and he turns directly toward various splatters of thirium. Easily, he drowns out your agitated argument, and continues on with solving the case.
----
         You're out of breath. Completely and utterly out of breath. Your chest is heaving, your jaw is sore and your brain is dangerously pulsing in your skull. You've expectorated every single insult and swear your tainted ears had ever taken in. Your shoulders ache, for Detective Collins had restrained both of you a little while ago; either protecting you from each other, or the others daring to stay in the room. From the outside, you and your old man look like feral wolves, battling for the role of Alpha - except this is just family dinner; without the handcuffs of course.
         The other officers have managed to have you on the opposite side of the living room, wraith still oozing from your pores. Hank looks as though he's on the brink of a stroke. He's drunk and probably already engaged for a second round of bickering. Bickering? Yeah..yeah we'll call it that.
         This is why you shouldn't have come. You knew - every atom in your damn body knew something bad was going to happen. During the call before being dropped off, Captain Fowler insisted Hank wasn't going to show up. You'd gotten these calls over and over again. Your father's attendance had been downright awful. From what you've been told, people will find him hunched over bars, head low, and buzzing with alcohol. You laugh bitterly at the thought - nothing's changed. Hank Anderson everyone, yes, also known as the fucking prick of the year and Mr. My-Daughter-Can-Eat-Shit-For-All-I-Fucking-Care.
"Hey! Hey! Hey! Whadd'ya doin' with that chair?" Hank's voice is harsh and dry.
         Everyone's eyes are now drawn to the android that is currently shuffling a fucking chair out of the kitchen. Dumb fuck...
"I'm going to check something."
Wow. Its voice is annoying. Its walk is annoying. Its uniform is ugly. Its snappy remark is really just- I mean, how could he do this to you? You stare at your father and squint your eyes. He barely looks itched by that thing. In fact, he looks amused. By instinct, you're butthurt. In a different reality, happening at the same time, he's just shot you in your back and made out with your fifth grade teacher. At least, that's how you'd imagine it. Painful and disgusting.
         Clearing your littering thoughts, you glance around. Most of the team had moved back outside. You're just leant on your right hip, arms still clipped behind your back and you realize your nose is getting pretty fucking itchy. Ruthlessly, you rub your nose against your shoulder, earning a snort from Detective Collins. Oh, so he finds this funny...
"That asshole got his hands back," chucking your temple toward Hank, "why can't I?" you challenge, prepping for an argument toward Ben.
         You watch his double chin twitch, his lips parting and coming together. He's afraid of you. Weighing in the facts, you don't think it bugs you as much as it should. To keep it that way, you roll your eyes and shift to your other hip.
"Connor, what the fuck is going on up here?"
So the bitch calls it by its name. 'I don't remember its name' my ass...
         A pause indicates its dead. Or gone. Both would be great. "Sounds like your puppy's ran away." you show an exaggerated pout, "Con Con's gone gone." The silver-haired man glares at you, brewing up a comeback.
"It's here, Lieutenant!"
Of course.
         The next 10 minutes consist of crew members hustling in and contemplating what to do with the assailant. You're long forgotten, wrists still enveloped in crisp metal. You watch the scene unfold, seeing a dark-skinned bot sulk past you, its 'hands' in the same situation as yours. You could cut yours off, knowing you have something in common with it.
         As the posse mosey's on by, you burn holes into the side of your dad's head. Thouroughly enjoying the bird he sends your way. Then, due to the flow of movement, you catch...eyes with it. Your face scrunches up and you hold back every nerve sizzling to attack - you know your limits; especially with cuffs.
         It holds eye contact with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. That is, until you see the corners of its mouth lift ever so fucking slightly. And just as you glance down to examine the expression, it's completely gone before your eyes. Was...was that a fucking smile? This collection of plastic and wires has the fucking nerve to fucking smile at you?
Oh, you've just dug your own grave, Siri.
----
I think I’ll definitely start chapter two.
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msjr0119 · 5 years ago
Text
Forgive me
A mini series, includes suicide and abuse.
Based on true events but using TRR characters who are owned by Pixelberry.
Using usual tags let me know if you want to be removed...
@annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012
****
Liam Rhys the Crown prince of Cordonia, had hesitantly agreed to his friends plans about visiting New York for his bachelor party. His brother, the former Crown Prince had recently moved to New York but Liam hadn’t kept in touch with him. They were close as children, but since his abdication they became more like strangers. Leo returned to Cordonia as and when he liked. Walking around the city, Liam thought about his brother; wondering what he was doing, wondering if he was married, had kids, had a job. Wondering if he was happy living the life he could do. If his paths crossed with his older brother he could quite easily throttle the playboy who thought more about his dick than his royal responsibilities.
Drake Walker had chosen quite possibly the most run down dive bar he could find to start the nights events off.
“Welcome to the states, your highness. Nothing beats alcohol and greasy food...”
Liam sighed, he didn’t even want to be here- he didn’t even want to be the Prince anymore. Walking through the doors, this really was a dive bar- it was empty and quiet. The bar stools looked as if they would potentially snap if you lent on it, covered in dust.
“Where’s the music?” Exclaimed Max feeling disappointed- he loved music and to dance. This place felt like they were in a morgue.
“Forget the music! Waiter!” Drake clicked his fingers. The waiter ambled up towards the men forcing a fake smile.
“Yes Sir. What can I get ya?” Daniel asked politely, whilst checking his watch. Hoping they wouldn’t be indecisive regarding their order.
“Four deluxe burgers and a bottle of whiskey.”
“Yes sir, my colleague will bring your drinks shortly as I have finished my shift.”
*****
The men looked over at the waiting staff, the waiter that had taken their original order was just leaving- he kissed a girl on the cheek before he left. The four men’s eyes all fixated on the beautiful goddess stood in front of them.
Turning around with a bottle of whiskey and four tumbles- Riley locked eyes with the four men. No it can’t be. Gulping, as if she had seen a ghost- she failed to realise that the items had slipped out of her hands. Her feet covered in a whiskey residue.
“So what’s your family and closest friends like? Will I ever meet them?”
“I’d rather you not meet them. They are a bunch of misfits. A bunch of hypocrites too apart from Li my kid brother. He’s the kindest man alive and will be the perfect king for our country. He’s loyal too. He has these sparkly baby blues that will swoon anyone.”
“So do you. Although you’re a flirt. I don’t think he’s like that is he?”
“Deep down I think he probably is. But he is an expert using his stoic expressions. If you ever met him you’ll understand. You’d probably fall in love with him too.” Riley laughed, she does fall in love easily but she wasn’t ready to commit to anyone in this situation.
“What about your friends then? I’ve heard about all your family now.”
“Well there’s Liam’s best friend, Drake Walker. He’s a miserable bastard- always sulking, whiskey in hand, he’s handsome don’t get me wrong. But he’s not the type admit feelings. He’s had a tough life.”
“Miserable bastard- I think you’re overreacting?”
“No I’m not. He will stand in the corner of the room at events people watching. I just think he needs to let his hair down and get laid. Then there’s Lord Maxwell...”
“A snooty Lord?”
“No, he’s quite the opposite. He’s a kid at heart- hyper at times. He’s cute in a way. Puppy dog eyes all the time- he’s the spare heir and constantly gets criticised but honestly Ri, he is the most kind hearted person I know. He’s friendly and outgoing - everyone instantly loves him. Then there’s Tariq...”
“Is he a snooty Lord? Come on, there’s got to be some snob in your friend ship group.”
“Oh yes! He’s a snob all right. I avoided him at all costs. You’d recognise him walking down the street- he pays an extortionate price for clothes and shoes. He’s worse than women. He will only order expensive food and wine.”
******
“Riley! Clean it up now!” Her manager snapped at her- making her jump and come out of her trance.
The men heard the glass smash and immediately stared at the waitress who looked shocked. Liam stood up, walking towards her- he bent down and helped her pick up the glass.
“Are you okay... miss?”
“Er, Riley. I’ll get you guys another bottle of whiskey. I’ll pay- it’s on the house.”
“No need. I can afford to buy them both.” Of course you can- shit it really is them. Tears began to form in her eyes, returning to the bar- watching the four men she realised Leo’s descriptions were true. How could she tell them the truth? The tragic accident that occurred three months ago. Her heart was breaking once more.
“I’ll be right back Liam.” Liam looked at her confused as to how she knew his name, as she turned her back on him. Returning to the table- he provided a bewildered expression and remained silent.
“Please tell me you’re not falling for the waitress?”
“Drake... she knew my name. She said Liam. How does she know my name?”
“Er she probably overheard us... the nosey bitch.”
Liam nodded, still not believing she overheard them- the distance between them and the bar was too far.
“I’m so sorry for the delay, here are your drinks. Your food will shortly be here.”
“Thank you, Riley. How do you know my name?”
Shit. It slipped out of my mouth
“She’s a crown chaser Liam - obviously.” Drake snapped, assuming she knew about cordonia.
“Obviously I am Drake Walker. You’re an arsehole! I’m surprised you’re not hiding in the corner sulking.”
Maxwell burst out laughing uncontrollably, confused at how she described Drake to a t but it was funny seeing Drake’s eyebrows raise.
“How would you describe me then?” Maxwell smiles, giddy wondering how the friendly stranger would describe him.
“The spare heir Lord Maxwell. Friendly, outgoing- a kid at heart. And Lord Tariq you’re just a snob. Now we’ve done the introductions I better return to work. Enjoy your night gentlemen.”
“This is crazy! She knows all about us.” Drake stated, his jaw still agape with the rude attitude the waitress had towards him.
Liam stood up from the table- he wondered how she knew this information. If she had researched Cordonia- she wouldn’t be able to describe their personalities.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure. You’ll have to follow me around though.”
“So how do you know us all? I’m intrigued.”
“I don’t know any of you. But we had a mutual friend.”
Had? I don’t know anyone in New York apart from....
“Who?” Liam questioned hoping that it was his ignorant brother.
“Leo.” Riley managed to say his name, her chin trembling ever so slightly.
“That explains it. How is my brother? Have you spoken to him recently? I haven’t heard from him in over three months.” Liam snarled in a sarcastic manner.
“Liam, come and sit with me. I’ll get you a drink- you’ll need it.”
Walking back over to the bar, the other men watched the interaction- assuming Liam was trying to ‘pull’ the waitress. Riley handed him a scotch, holding his hand- her eyes began to water.
“So... Erm...” Riley bit her lip. Not knowing how this conversation was going to elaborate.
“Did you know the real reasoning behind Leo’s abdication?”
“Of course. He said he wanted to find love and not have the crowns responsibilities.”
“The truth is....He found love. And... your father found out. He was furious. Erm. Oh god Liam. I don’t know how to tell you.”
“Just fucking tell me Riley!” The other three men overhead Liam unexpectedly swear and shout at the stranger. It was out of character for the Prince. They all stormed over to the bar. Riley began crying uncontrollably, Drake had never seen Liam make a woman cry before- usually they would kiss him, especially if they knew his true identity.
“Leo.. I was married to him. We have a son.”
“So why was my father furious? Because you had a child out of wedlock? He abdicated so what did it matter? I have a nephew?”
“Yes, he’s called Lucas- he’s 1 next Saturday. Our marriage was a sham. Liam- he abdicated because he was homosexual. He found love with a man- I was the fake part of his life. Your father knew about me and Lucas but found out the truth on an impromptu trip here. Leo... he ... he couldn’t take living a lie anymore. Your father and Regina disowned him. Constantine told him ‘you are not my son, you never will be’ before slapping him across the face. Three months ago....Leo took his own life.”
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