#me every weekend for the past seven months: i only have sunday off

[j-esbian]

so so so fucking tired of people who perceive working in an office as the only “”real”” jobs

[numinousmysteries]

Déjà Vu

@eightnightsofmulder

@today-in-fic

Eight Nights of Mulder Day Seven: Potatoes

[on Ao3]

December 1999

Fucking Scully gives him déjà vu. Every sensation is a new discovery, but at the same time, he is so intimately familiar with her body and her soul that it feels like coming home. The delicate fingers that once swept hair off his forehead to check for a head injury now curl around his cock and it feels different, yet the same. Picking up her small, naked body to lower down onto his bed feels similar to carrying her to safety in Antarctica, but it’s also brand new.

He saw the tattoo on her lower back in a case file and once in a decontamination shower, but now he knows how it tastes. He spent weeks hating himself whenever she flinched and tried to hide the pain from the gunshot wound in her abdomen. Now, he absolves himself by pressing a kiss to the scar every time he works his way down her body.

She is Scully and also not-Scully. She is his stubbornly brilliant partner who can shoot holes in his theories (or his shoulder) from a mile away. She is also his surprisingly mischievous lover who sneaks up on him from behind in the shower, gently kisses the middle of his back, and starts working his dick in her hands until he spins around to lift her up and fuck her right there, soap suds dripping down his chest to where their bodies meet.

She is 38 years of Hanukkah, Christmas, and birthday presents wrapped into one petite package.

It’s the first weekend in December and they’re holed up in his apartment after returning from Southern California where he shot a brain-eating fast-food employee. It’s not a normal life, but it’s theirs and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Her only rule is that they keep it strictly platonic in public, but he’s already looking forward to breaking that one.

He wakes up on Sunday morning with his arms wrapped around her listening to her snore. Yes, Dana Scully snores. That wasn’t a surprise when they started sleeping together. Years of overnight stakeouts and crosscountry flights will teach you your partner’s sleeping sounds. He’s always loved her snoring. Just like her, it’s gentle yet persistent, not a deep and guttural utterance but a soft and steady rhythm of air catching in her throat.

He closes his eyes and tries to let the sound of her breathing soothe him back to sleep, but his dick has other ideas. Lying here naked with Scully’s also-naked, velvety soft body pressed against his is just too much stimulation after too many years of drought. He traces her lips with his fingertips as he buries his face in her auburn hair.

“Mmm, Mulder,” she whispers nearly inaudibly.

“Good morning,” he says, letting his hand roam from her mouth to left breast.

He lazily circles his fingers around her nipple, just barely making contact as it hardens into a tight little nub. By the time he repeats the pattern on the right side, she’s rocking her hips back against him. The pressure of her ass grinding against his erection is a sublime form of torture.

“I need you,” he whispers in her ear, and it isn’t hyperbole. He’s known for years that he couldn’t live without her, but it’s only in the past couple of months that he’s learned how much his body simply craves hers.

“So take me,” she says firmly, turning over to face him. She tilts her chin up as if to dare him, and he can see her full lips, the milky white skin of her throat, her perfect breasts.

It’s almost enough to make him come on the spot. He accepts her challenge, rolling on top of her and pinning her wrists above her head with his hands. She lets out a gasp. That’s one new thing he’s learned: Dana Scully likes it rough.

The first time they’d made love, they’d both been so gentle, so afraid that one false move would wake them up from this impossible dream. He’d only just recovered from his impromptu brain surgery but even if he was at his full strength he wouldn’t have dared touch her with anything less than tender reverence. He knew she was tough but he needed her to feel safe with him.

By their third time, she told him, You don’t have to treat me like glass. I’m not going to break. And while he would sooner put a bullet through his own brain than hurt her in any way, he’s enjoying learning what she likes—a little nibbling on her ear lobe, a firm hand behind her head when she sucks him off, no handcuffs…yet.

He presses her wrists into the bed and kisses her hard on the mouth.

“Don’t move,” he says, taking his hands off her wrists to trace the outline of her torso.

He runs his fingers over her breasts and the narrow indentation of her waistline before firmly gripping her hips. He lowers himself until he’s facing the damp curls between her legs. He bows his head, nose first, into her pubis. He fucking loves how she smells.

She spreads her legs open around him and he uses his thumbs to part her outer lips and pauses to admire her swollen, glistening center.

“Please,” she whimpers.

“Oh, Scully,” he whispers into her clit. Then he gives her one long stroke with the flat of his tongue and she shivers around him.

He draws circles with his tongue, savoring her sharp, salty, Scully taste as she makes hot little moans. He picks up the pace and she starts bucking her hips into his face. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes her ass. She’s moaning harder now, a deep involuntary sound from the base of her throat. She tremors against him.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she begs, as if there’s anything else in the world he’d rather be doing.

He’s humming against her clit now as he licks and sucks on her. He glances up and sees her eyes are shut tight and she’s thrown her head back.

“Oh, fuck, Mulder,” she utters. “Get up here and fuck me.”

Her hips keep thrusting up against him as he presses a wet kiss to her inner thigh, then her navel, then the space between her breasts and rises to meet her. She snakes a hand in between their bodies and guides him inside her. She is so fucking hot and wet all around him. She’s already got one foot over the ledge, so he doesn’t hesitate, just drives into her. Each time the base of his cock grinds against her clit she gasps and quivers, and it doesn’t take long before she gives in to her orgasm. She’s thrashing against him and all he can do is hold on for dear life. He buries his head in between her neck and shoulder and thrusts into her wildly. His heart is hammering out of his chest and he realizes he would happily die in this moment, balls deep in Dana Scully. But he doesn’t die. He comes hard, exploding inside her as he greedily sucks at her neck. It’ll likely leave a mark and he’s glad it’s turtleneck season.

Once he’s fully emptied himself, he rolls off of her, taking one of her small hands in his and bringing it to his racing heart. They lie in silence, catching their breath.

“Why didn’t we do this years ago?” she asks

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he replies, staring at the ceiling. “If I’d known it would be this good I would have bent you over my desk the day I met you.”

He feels her shake her head next to him. “Not then,” she says. “We didn’t even know each other.”

“Well, what about three years ago? If I recall, you were ready to go with Eddie VanBlundht.”

It’s been a long time since either of them has mentioned that name. He knows she’s embarrassed by nearly falling for VanBlundht’s facade.

Scully sighs and turns on her side toward him. “Only because I thought he was you.”

“Is it weird that I was a little jealous of the guy?” he asks. “For having the balls to do what I could only dream about?”

“Mulder, I did think something was off about you—or him, rather. But maybe I just wanted so badly for it to be real that I didn’t question it.”

Her words bloom in his chest. She wanted him enough that she was willing to suspend her disbelief.

“So you would have been into it…if I had made a move earlier?” He asks hopefully.

She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here now. We can make up for lost time.” It’s classic Scully. Grounded in reality.

“You don’t think I’m small potatoes?” he asks.

“Oh, Mulder,” she whispers into his neck. “I don’t think you’re small anything.”

“Thank you, Scully,” he grins and kisses the top of her head.

It took them a while to get the timing right, but now that they’ve made it, he wouldn’t change a thing.

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 343: A Sunday at Melissa's, p1

“Oh, hey,” I said, as I stepped into the kitchen that rainy Sunday morning. I had a throbbing headache, a bit like a hangover but as far as I could remember I hadn’t had a drop last night. Or maybe I had? I was also sore just about everywhere, most acutely the, uh, parts between my legs. They’d had quite a bit of use yesterday. What was it? Four times? Five?

“Hey,” drawled Amelia, the other sole occupant of the kitchen. It was early-ish, the weird, heretofore unseen clock of Melissa’s mom had just struck I dunno seven-eight-or-I- don't-know a bunch of  times just a few minutes ago as my head pounded along with it. She was wearing a casual, long sleeved white thermal and some yoga pants. Her makeup was light, which was rather atypical for her.  Maybe it was just leftover from last night. I noticed she was slicing an apple…casually using her impressive fingernails. “Want some?” she asked.

“Uh, no thanks…” I answered, watching for a moment as the long, white-painted nail of her right hand slivered off another slice, cutting through the apple like butter. Just another thing to add to the weirdness that was this weekend, I thought. At the very least, standing there for a moment and watching her distracted me from my vague sense of awareness that things felt different to me than they had yesterday morning. The house seemed bigger to me, the counters higher. Yes, Amelia had been going through this same strange growth spurt as the other girls had over the past couple months and even here in her bare feet she stood at least six feet tall, but I couldn't ignore the creeping feeling that I’d become shorter again, just in the past day. I pushed that frankly terrifying notion deep back in my mind, like I'd somehow done many times before. 

“Is anyone else still here?” I asked.

“No I’m the last one,” Amelia answered, as she casually speared an apple slice onto the nail of her right index finger, “and I’m leaving.”  She popped the piece in her mouth, and speared another. With her other hand she picked up a white travel mug adorned with what looked like the symbol of the New Woman Party, emblazoned in deep pink. 

“Coffee?” she asked. 

The kitchen had one of those fancy single-serve units, built into the counter. 

“N-no thanks,” I answered. 

“Oh yeah that's right,” Amelia said, between another bite of apple and a sip from the mug, “Melissa only lets you have milk.”

I flushed, unable to find the strength of will for an argument. Memories of last night flashed before me. A mug of warm milk…human milk. It sent a shiver down my spine.

“I hear she’s your sugar-mama now,” Amelia continued, regarding me with cool interest as I stood there awkwardly. I hadn’t moved a step since first setting foot in the kitchen. 

“She’s…what?” I asked, a little confused.

“She’s giving you money now?” the buxom blonde said in retort, with arched brow and another bite of apple, “that officially makes her a sugar mama.”

“Oh, th-that…” I stammered. How had she heard? “That’s just a one time th-“

“Sure don’t worry,” Amelia answered, reading the embarrassment right off my face, “It’s no big deal to her. You should see her bank account. It’s huge.”

For a moment, that took me aback. I never considered whether Melissa had money. I figured that she was like most every other twenty-something in today's world, just trying to make ends meet and maybe slowly putting something aside for the future. I knew she’d worked as a small-time model for a bit, but besides that most of her work history had been relatively meager-paying jobs. But, after our conversation last night, considering this elegant home of her mother’s, and now with this nugget from Amelia I was beginning to see things differently. Maybe she was the one with the financial power in our relationship. After my divorce, I certainly didn’t have much to my name. Not anymore.

That reminded me. I had some work to do today, some paperwork, some things I was still responsible for after Olivia had taken the reins. It wasn’t a lot, but I’d been told they wanted it for tomorrow. Some stuff for the building permits and some new clinical trials. “Hey, um, Amelia?” I began, “could I grab a ride home?”

Her answer came straightaway. “No. Melissa will drive you home when she wants.”

That statement, also, struck me funny. And again I didn’t have the fortitude to argue or complain. I guess I’ll be waiting for you. I put that little humiliation to the back of my mind as well. 

I glanced around the room, the white marble countertops, searching for what had originally pulled me downstairs. It had been missing since…I dunno when. 

“Looking for your phone?” Amelia asked, watching me as she took another sip of coffee and grabbed a jangle of keys from the counter. “Check around the pool,” she said, “we were playing with it last night.”

Ah okay. Despite being uncomfortable with the fact that my young employees had been maybe going through my phone, I thanked Amelia and - without much else besides a ‘bye’ - she turned and left the room, taking her coffee with her. I watched her curvy hips sway away and felt a wave cloud of perfume recede from the room behind her frankly jaw-dropping ass and shapely back. 

Immediately, things felt strangely  colder, darker, and I felt a little smaller. Maybe a storm cloud had further darkened the scant mid-November sun. Anxiety began to tickle my bones and I wanted nothing more than to just find my phone and scamper back upstairs to bed with Melissa, where it was warm and, frankly, safe. I could stay there with her until she was ready to drive me home. I had woken with my face alongside her naked breast and I somehow  found the strength to peel away while she slept, but suddenly I really wanted to go back. I wanted her scent and warmth again to the point it felt uncomfortable not to be next to her. I'd become spoiled by it. 

It was a Sunday morning, after all. A time made for cuddling, you’d tell me. 

But, first, I wanted to find my phone. There was nothing in the kitchen, so on unsteady feet, I made it out to the soaring great room while trying to ignore the worsening of my headache. Amelia said it might be out by the indoor pool, so I headed in that direction. Looking over the now-empty couch and floor brought back vague memories, which made me reflect on and justify how I spent last night. My mind, truth be told, couldn’t quite accept that the last 24 hours had really taken place. Echoes of the girls laughing filled my mind as I tried to remember what happened last night. Flashes of breasts and curvy hips plagued me as I searched the couch cushions for my phone. I couldn't remember what really happened, and the more I tried to the more it slipped away. All I could remember was bits and pieces...feelings. I remembered skin and touching and kisses that had seemed all too real at the time but my current sense of logic was already rationalizing these strange memories away,  altering them  for my own mental well being. That I’d seen…or had I?...women grow before my very eyes was ridiculous. It was almost like something out of a movie or an animation. No, that couldn't be right. My mind was clearly getting the best of me. Whatever happened couldn't have been that weird. Maybe I'll ask Melissa after I finally find my phone, I figured. Similar to how I was denying the feelings that everything seemed larger, I didn't want to accept that I may be smaller now than when I first stepped through Melissa’s door on Friday evening. My brain was adapting. Protecting me. Keeping me sane. Or, maybe this is insanity? Is that what you want?

Nonetheless, despite all my subconscious attempts to see the world as normal, standing next to familiar standardized constructs like doorways, light switches and tables I was constantly reminded of my altered state. The sliding glass door to the indoor pool seemed so much bigger and heavier than it should, and it took all my effort to pull it open. 

Stepping into the room, the pool filter was on, and the hum of it buzzed in the chlorinated air. Ripples shimmered over the surface of the water but as I made my way midway around the perimeter I spied it, my phone…sitting on the bottom of the deep end. Ugh.

Phones, these days, were made to be waterproof, right? I mean, I’d never really tested mine out but…maybe it survived? How it had gotten there - were the girls using it to take pictures? Look through my apps and documents? Email and texts? Whatever it was, why did they have it in the pool?  I didn’t need to concern myself with that yet. I just needed to retrieve it. Hm…it was only Melissa and myself here, now. I could shed these clothes (a t-shirt and gym shorts Melissa had picked up for me at the mall yesterday, fresh from the shopping bag this morning while she slept), dive in and grab it. But…I seemed to remember something, some time in the pool yesterday. Had I…had trouble swimming? There was something, some new anxiety I felt when I looked down into the depths of the pool - maybe it was eight feet or so - that kept me from jumping in. A quiet little dread. I wasn’t afraid of the water, was I?? As I stood there debating on whether to get in my eyes spotted a net, a skimmer on the end of a long, telescoping pole hanging on the wall...that felt safer 

Feeling heavier than it should as I tested it, the skimmer net should help me get the phone off the bottom without me having to get in. That made me feel better. So, without too much hesitation I had the thing off the wall and telescoped it out to its full length. It was kind of ungainly, I realized, as I slowly stepped toward the pool’s edge. I dipped the thing in the water, lowered it down and, awkwardly, started trying to scoop my phone off the bottom.

“Dammit…” I murmured, as at first all I managed to do was push it farther away, towards the pool’s center. A wave of something - dizziness? anxiety? -  washed over me. Maybe I should just wait for you to come down and do it for me? No no, I could do this. I just needed to get a little closer. I crouched down and stretched out over the edge as far as I could. That got me just about…yeah…almost there. I stretched my arms out as far as they would go. They shook from the exertion, but I could - just barely - touch the edge of my phone at the bottom of the pool. Now I just had to pull it back. This would have been so much easier if I were just a bit taller I thought, but goddammit I was gonna get this done. It was just within reach! After a few desperate attempts to pull the phone toward me my body reached its limit. I was already out of breath. I had clearly overestimated how much my body could do in its weakened and shrunken state, but still I thought I could do this. I just needed to reach out…a bit more…

Ahhh shhhhhhhittttt…..

 <<SPLASH!!>>

The water hit my body like a shock as I crashed face first in the pool. My mouth filled with warm pool water as I wrestled with the net still in my hands. Coughing and sputtering my head broke the surface my arms helicoptering wildly in attempt to stay afloat.  I threw the net aside my lungs burning as the panic set in. 

I can’t swim! I really can't swim!!

My legs kicked frantically as I tried to keep my head above water.“AHHHHGgglp-!!” I cried as I went under and swallowed another mouthful of chlorinated pool water. My arms and legs began to pinwheel in uncoordinated spasms, my head breaking the surface for a second as I finally opened my eyes and looked into the great room through heavy glass doors. I tried to cough, to scream, only to be met with yet another mouthful of water.

No one was there! I was alone drowning in an indoor pool inside my girlfriend's mom's house and no one could hear me! I tried to scream anyway, to call for help but all that came out were tortured gasps and sputters as my lungs expelled mouthfuls of water.

This is it?? This is how things are going to end??

My thrashing began to slow as I ran out of energy unable to find purchase on the pool's edge. My head dipped below the surface and I started to sink.

Melissa… I found myself thinking, I'm sorry…

>>>THOOM!!<< a huge crash from above, through the water, and Melissa was there, in the depths with me, breaking the surface and in an instant down under, aside me, in front of me, naked, hands under my armpits and her feet on the pool’s floor. Her eyes were wide, looking into my own panicked ones, and with a burst of strength she pushed us up to the water’s surface.

>>>AHHHHHH!!!<<<

"Shhh…shhhhh…it's okay now. I got you."

I coughed as I struggled to breathe.

Melissa pinched my nose and took me into a long powerful kiss filling me with her breath as she sucked the water out of my lungs.

Air, in my lungs. Then water, rocketing out of them. I coughed. I coughed and coughed feeling my eyes near to bursting. Her eyes were still on me, in half-panic herself.

“JayOhMyGOD!!!” she exclaimed, as she all but shook me back to life.

>>cough cough cough!!!<<

“JAY ARE YOU OKAY?!?!”

She was…she was naked.

>>cough cough<<  >>cough cough<<

“Talk to me! Jay!”

>>cough…cough<<  “yes…yes…<cough>...I’m okay…”

She was definitely naked.

“THANK GOD!”

Still swimming, still treading water there in the deep end, Melissa hugged me to her. Had she just saved my life? I think she did…

========================

More thanks to ResistanceIsFutile for his assistance.

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[theawkwardterrier]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Tagged by my darlings @flyinghome-againstthewind and @walkinginland! It's run-on city in the house tonight, so have fun with a chunky, just written segment of the multi-POV thing 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

He knows that this context is necessary, and yet part of him also knows that he is delaying things, holding back from what truly needs to be said; he must take in a deep breath before he can step into that part, grounding himself with the well-known scents of horse and hay, hoping that they will not hurtle him too deeply backward.

"I met Claire partway through my second year, ye ken that. She was older, and we had come from entirely different places and lives, and I knew I'd be with her forever if she'd have me. She wasna a question, but suddenly other things were."

It is a strange thing, thinking once again on that time. The memories are the darkest of his life, cast in some mixture of anger and blame and pity for his past self who had been so naive, and yet they are also filled such sweetness for him, the unconfined joy of falling in love with Claire: knowing what it was like to hold her hand as they walked, and discovering that first, shocking press of her cold feet against his beneath the blankets, how she smiled, slow and teasing and satisfied, whenever she took him in her mouth, and how he could feel it against him. Those weeks had been about learning a thousand kinds of kisses and the meanings of every tone of her voice, those months filled with firsts: their first meeting and first date and first time together, of course, the first moment waking up side by side in that buckle-floored little flat of hers and the first night lying tangled together and laughing so hard that the neighbors gave them dirty looks for the rest of the weekend. But there had also been the first instance of him stealing a lick of her ice cream only to end up with a smear across his upper lip and the first time she had kissed it off, laughing; their first fight followed by their first stubborn refusal to take the initiative to apologize and their first, desperate chance to make up; the first time he had watched her pacing and grousing about a bad day and the first time she hadn't wanted to speak after one and simply allowed him to hold her as she pressed her face into his neck; the first time he had proudly cobbled together a meal to quiet her growling stomach as she, glowing, spouted off facts learned in one of her anatomy classes; the first time he drunkenly, honestly spoke about the way he pictured their children and the first time she trusted him enough to say that based on her family history and the diagnosis from her gynecologist, that wasn't something she was certain was in their future, his dazed, clumsy happiness transforming to serious reassurance; the first time he had realized that every image of his future had changed from something general and formlessly pleasant to having Claire as its center-point, bold and stubborn and sun-brilliant. (The first time he had mentioned that to someone -- Angus, one of the lads who he played impromptu games of shinty with -- the man had looked at him and said, baffled, "Anyone wi' eyes can tell that ye've already been shaggin' each other senseless, so wha' d'ye need to say that sort o' thing for when you've already got her convinced to gi' it up?")

Tagging my meme buddy @lavellenchanted, plus anyone else who's working on something and wants to share! (@isthisclever, @ckerouac, @smashing-teacups, @fraserstanclub, @roboticonography, @doctorhelena, @thesokovianaccords...?)

[4townie]

Road to 4☆TOWN

part 50 | part 51

“I finally got Marcel in his crib.” Selina sat on the couch beside Jesse. “That only took forever.”

“You can’t really blame him. You’re a pretty comfy pillow.” Jesse offered a tired smile. “If I could sleep on you all the time—”

“Hey, lover boy. Not now.” Selina pushed him away from her. “We agreed on twenty minutes of alone time together before we went to the room.”

“But I have to get up early tomorrow.” Jesse whined.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. You’ll be home.” Selina rolled her eyes. “Can we please just watch something together? I’ve been sharing you for months now, I just want you all to myself for a little while.”

“Yeah, I’ve missed you, too.” Jesse sighed as he pulled her into his lap. “For you, I’ll stay up for an entire movie.”

“Awwww, baby.” Selina hugged him. “Just for that, I’ll let you—”

She was cut off by Jesse’s phone ringing. They both stared at it for a moment.

“How important do you think that is?” Jesse asked.

Selina sighed and crawled off his lap. “Only one way to find out, right?”

Jesse rolled his eyes and picked up the phone. “What?” He answered irritably. After a second, his expression softened. “Wait, slow down. Where are you?”

“Who is it?” Selina asked.

Jesse stayed quiet as he listened to the phone. “Okay, don’t move. I’m coming to get you.” He hung up. “It’s Sean. He was at some party in Beverly Hills and the cops busted it. I’ve got to go pick him up.” He got up and started grabbing his things.

“Oh. Okay.” Selina nodded, failing to hide the disappointment in her voice. “I guess I’ll see you when you get back then.”

Jesse paused. “I promise you and Marcel will have my undivided attention tomorrow.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll be back later.”

———

Jesse eyed his brother as he stomped around the car and got in on the passenger’s side.

“Okay.” Sean put his seatbelt on. “I’m ready to go.”

Jesse was quiet. “Would you like to explain to me why you were at this party in the first place?”

“One of my friends sent me the address and I showed up.” Sean grumbled. “Can’t you mind your own business?”

“I think it’s a little bit of my business, too, considering you made me come out here to get you.” Jesse crossed his arms. “You know I had to leave Selina alone with Marcel.”

“Of course.” Sean leaned on the door. “Everything is always about her.” He shook his head. “I’m getting sick of it.”

“Sean, she’s literally the mother of my child.” Jesse reminded him. “What do you want me to do? Ignore her?”

“You mean like you ignore us?” Sean shot back.

Jesse furrowed his brow. “What’re you talking about? I call you and Danny every other day.”

“Yeah, for ten minutes, and that’s all we ever hear from you.” Sean raised his voice a bit. “For the past two years, you’ve been totally MIA. Do you know what it’s doing to me and Danny? What it’s doing to Mom?”

“Mom started all of this.” Jesse sighed. “It wasn’t right for her to talk to Selina like that and I’m not just gonna let it slide.”

“Oh, so you’re just gonna let your kid brothers suffer instead. Brilliant.” Sean rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you just forgive Mom anyway? She didn’t mean any of that stuff, and she apologized a billion times.”

Jesse sighed. “I know you want to believe she doesn’t really think like that. You want to believe she’s a better person than she is. But you know she’s not.”

Sean was quiet for a second. “She gave us another brother. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“She cheated on our father and lied to him about it for seven years.” Jesse glared at him. “And what’s worse is she let him ignore Danny after he found out. He was just a kid—he’s still a kid. She let him suffer the consequences of her mistakes.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now?” Sean noted. “Letting the two of us suffer because of a feud between you and Mom?”

Jesse paused to process. “Okay, you’re right. It’s not fair to you two. I’m sorry.” He let out a heavy sigh. “How about after rehearsal on Thursday, I swing by and pick you two up for a weekend over at my place? I’ll teach you how to handle your nephew.”

“You mean you’ll let me watch you struggle with him.” Sean chuckled a bit. “You and I both know you haven’t mastered the whole dad thing.”

“Yeah, we didn’t exactly have the best example.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m sorry for what I said just now about being sick of Selina. I didn’t mean it like that.” Sean admitted quietly. “I think she’s really good for you, and I’m happy for you guys.”

“Thanks, Sean. I appreciate it. Really.” Jesse smiled a bit.

“I wanna be a good uncle to Marcel.” Sean nodded. “Whenever you need me, I’ll help out.”

“You mean when you’re not in school?” Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Mom told me about you cutting class. If you really wanna be a good uncle, you should set a good example for him.”

Sean groaned. “But Jesse—”

“No buts.” Jesse nudged him. “I wanna see you do well for yourself. You’re a smart kid.”

Sean stared at his brother. “You’re gonna be a really good dad, Jes.”

“Shut up.” Jesse blushed. “I think it’s about time we get you home. It’s almost midnight, and Mom’s shift will be over soon.”

“Oh, right, you can’t tell her about this.”

“Well, duh.” Jesse rolled his eyes. “That’s what cool older brothers are for.”

———

If you’re curious about the little O’Neill brothers, here they are!

[survey--s]

377.

1) What’re your plans for the weekend? It’s halfway through Sunday and I’ve done as little as humanly possible lol. Work has just been insanely busy over the past few weeks and I just needed a break.

2) Could you ever be vegetarian - why or why not? I could be, but it’s not something I would actively choose for myself again. 

3) Name a quote from your favorite TV show: "And just so you know, it’s not that common, it doesn’t happen to every guy and it IS A BIG DEAL”.

4) What time did you wake up this morning? Around 7.30am but I didn’t get up for another couple of hours.

5) What chores do you do around the house? I mean, this is my house so, everything that needs doing really. The only things I don’t do are the lawn and the bins/recycling as I can’t do much heavy lifting or moving without hurting my back even more.

6) Do you like windchimes, or do they annoy you? They’re pretty, but they’d really annoy me if I had to live with them.

7) How much sleep do you usually get a night? On average about seven hours, give or take.

8) If you could have any outfit, cost not an issue, what would you get? I’d probably be really practical and pick an outfit I could wear riding and to work as that shit is ridiculously expensive.

9) Do you play any instruments? I can play piano and a few chords on guitar.

10) What song would you say describes your life right now? The Lazy Song - Bruno Mars.

11) Do you have snacks lying around your room? No, but.I do have loads of snacks available in the kitchen lol.

12) Did you get up to much today? If it’s morning, what are your plans? I got up around 9.30am, did the housework, had a shower, made a coffee and that’s about it, lol. The only thing I need to do tonight is go and feed Tommy and Millie but that won’t be for another 4-5 years now. 13) What’s your favorite animal to see in the zoo? Tigers, penguins, lemurs.

14) When do you start back to school or college? I haven’t been in any kind of education for over a decade now, thank God.

15) What other social networking sites are you on? Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr. 16) What was the best year of your life? I couldn’t pick just one year. Most years have had good and bad parts. 17) What plans do you have for the rest of summer? Summer is over lol, we’re already in autumn. I spent most of my summer working and horse-riding. It was...tiring, lol.

18) How old is the person you like right now? He’s 38 years old.

19) Do you get an allowance? How much? I mean, I’m an adult with a job lol. I earn about £1500 a month, give or take.

20) What games console is your favorite? What about favorite game? I don’t really play console games anymore, but I always preferred xBox to anything else, though the Wii was good too when it was new out.

21) If you could go anywhere right now, where would it be and why? An all-inclusive beach resort with a private pool so I could just switch off.

22) Do your parents nag you a lot? What about? I mean, not now I live alone, but when I was younger it was mostly about my room being a mess, watching too much TV and sleeping in too late.

23) What is there on the walls of your room? A couple of bookshelves, a mirror and two watercolour painting things.

24) Is there anyone that just really annoys you? Hahaha, oh yes. 25) What are your plans for tomorrow, anything good? I’m working, plus I have a riding lesson as well. Hopefully this one won’t be cancelled as I don’t want to skip two weeks worth of lessons. 26) If you could wake up tomorrow being able to do one thing perfectly, what would it be? I would make it so Archie didn’t have separation anxiety anymore as it would make my life MUCH easier and it would mean I could earn more money too.

27) You have two wishes to make to help the world, and one can’t be “another wish” or anything similar. What wishes do you make? Universal healthcare and no more hunger. 28) Do you reckon world peace is possible or are we just too selfish? Nope, I definitely don’t believe it’s possible. Humans are too selfish and shitty as a species. 29) Do you listen to Bright Eyes? Not anymore, but I absolutely loved them as a teenager.

30) Are you interested in politics, or do you just not care? I’m interested to an extent, but I cba debating it with people or anything.

[twins2994]

Minnesota Twins-Chicago White Sox Series Preview

10.3.22-Bailey Ober RHP (2-3) 3.18 ERA Vs. Johnny Cueto RHP (7-10) 3.39 ERA

10.4.22-Josh Winder RHP (4-5) 4.31 ERA Vs. Lucas Giolito RHP (10-9) 5.00 ERA 

10.5.22-Louie Varland RHP (0-2) 4.71 ERA Vs. Davis Martin RHP (3-5) 3.65 ERA

The Twins At A Glance- The Twins finish out the 2022 campaign this week in Chicago and it was a tale of two halves. They exceeded expectations and were in first place in the first half. Injuries and poor performance were the detriment of the team in the second half as the Indians took off in September. The Twins won the series opener in Detroit then fell in the final two games. Luis Arraez leads the batting race with a .315 average. Aaron Judge is four points behind him at .311, but is getting walked in almost every at-bat lately. Carlos Correa has been hot in the final month of the season. He is hitting .345 with seven homers and eighteen RBI in September. Gio Urshela is hitting .330 this month. Matt Wallner has held his own in his first go in the big leagues. It’s been fun to get a taste of the Twins young pitching in the minor league system. Louie Varland has shown glimpses of good stuff, Simeon Woods Richardson looked decent after a rough first inning on Sunday, and Bailey Ober has been solid since being activated. Jhoan Duran has given up two runs over his past seventeen innings of work. Emilio Pagan has fifteen strikeouts over his past eleven innings. 

The White Sox At A Glance- The White Sox won two out of three games in San Diego this weekend. The Padres already are in the playoffs, so the games didn’t mean as much as we thought. The Sox held the Padres to one runs in the two wins and lost the middle game. Tony La Russa will announce his retirement from managing on Monday. He had a good first year, but injuries and other reasons led to the demise of the Sox in 2022. I think the team played too tight and were on edge with La Russa being the manager. Miguel Cairo has been good in his absence and might get a chance at a full-time role. Elvis Andrus has been good since heading to the South Side. He went 5-for-11 in the Padres series with two homers. Yoan Moncada played in all three games in his first game action after suffering a hamstring injury in August. Eloy Jimenez has eight homers in September as he’s been hot. The Sox have shut down Tim Anderson for the year. He has been dealing with a hand injury since August and I think he could play if the games meant anything. Liam Hendriks has allowed one run over his past 9 2/3 innings. Aaron Bummer and Reynaldo Lopez have been good late options out of the bullpen. 

What To Watch For- The Twins are (9-7) against the Sox in 2022. Chicago is two games ahead of Minnesota for second place in the American League Central. This series was going to be the Opening Series of the year if we started the season on time. The lockout happened and spring training needed to be three weeks and pushed back the first six games of the season. It seems like the Twins and Sox always play a million times, so maybe the lessened divisional games will be a good thing in future years. There will be four series within divisions starting next year. Bailey Ober is (2-1) with a 3.34 ERA in seven starts against the Sox. Johnny Cueto is (4-1) with a 2.63 ERA in six starts versus the Twins. Josh Winder has a 3.95 ERA in three games against the Sox. Lucas Giolito is (7-8) with a 4.26 ERA in nineteen starts against Minnesota. Louie Varland allowed two runs over five innings on Thursday against Chicago. Davis Martin threw five shutout innings in his only game against the Twins on September 2nd. This is the last series of the year and a long six-month journey is over for me. What a year it has been!

-Chris Kreibich- 

[impishtubist]

for the ask meme: "tell me what's wrong" for sirius & harry!

Okay, this one got way out of hand, so I'm putting most of it under a cut. Thank you for the excellent prompt! CW for the Dursleys being terrible to a child, but don't worry, Sirius makes it better :)

18. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Petunia Dursley opened the door and said, “He doesn’t want to go with you.”

“What?” Sirius stared at her in disbelief. In six years, Harry had never refused a weekend with Sirius. “Why?”

“How am I supposed to know?” she huffed. She reluctantly stepped back to let Sirius in; he couldn’t remember the last time he had been allowed in the house. Whenever he came for Harry, he had to wait on the doorstep until Harry came outside. “I don’t care what you say to him, but get him out of here before Vernon comes home. I will not have him stay here and ruin our weekend.”

Sirius bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and brushed past her. Six years. Six years of holding his tongue (and leaving his wand in his motorbike) around Harry’s foul relatives so they wouldn’t revoke his right to have Harry for a weekend once a month. Six years of playing nice while he slogged through both the wizarding and Muggle court systems, pursuing any avenue that might allow him custody of his godson. He wanted nothing more than to hex the Dursleys into next week, but he was no good to Harry in prison.

He made his way upstairs to the smallest bedroom, where Harry had a bed and a desk and not much else. Sirius had learned early on to keep most of Harry’s things at his own house, lest they be destroyed by his cousin. He knocked on the door.

“Haz, it’s me. Can I come in?” he asked softly.

A tiny voice said, “Yeah.”

Harry was sitting on his bed, his hands folded in his lap, quiet and still the way no seven-year-old should be. Sirius crouched in front of him.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispered, putting a hand on Harry’s knee. “Your aunt says you don’t want to come with me this weekend.”

Harry wouldn’t meet his eyes. He sniffed and shook his head. “No. I’m gonna stay here.”

“You know that I would never force you to do something you don’t want to do,” Sirius said. “But tell me what’s wrong? Please?”

Harry’s lip wobbled, but he shook his head. Sirius’s heart broke for him.

“Harry, please,” he whispered. “Just tell me what’s wrong, and if you still want to stay here, that’s fine. I won’t force you to come with me. I promise.”

He held up his pinky finger, Harry still being at the age where a pinky swear was the most solemn promise one could make. Harry tentatively clasped his finger, then slid off the bed and padded over to his desk. Sirius stood and followed him. Harry pulled open the top drawer.

“I’m sorry, Siri,” he whispered, tears filling his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

On Harry’s third birthday, Sirius had given him a framed picture of James and Lily holding their newborn son. It had sat on Harry’s bedside table ever since. Harry loved this picture. He brought it up nearly every time Sirius saw him, wanting to know about the day he was born and the parents he had never known. Sirius had lost count of the number of times he had told Harry the same story, and he’d happily keep telling it for the rest of his life.

The frame was now broken, the glass shattered, the picture ripped in two. Sirius knew at once that this wasn’t Harry’s doing--even if he’d accidentally knocked over the frame, that picture had been ripped by human hands, and Harry would never have done such a thing.

“Harry,” Sirius said, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible, “what happened?”

“I was bad.” Tears were flowing down Harry’s cheeks now. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Sirius sank to his knees so he could properly look Harry in the eyes. “You are not bad, Harry. Who did this to your picture? Was it your cousin?”

Harry shook his head. Sirius’s heart sank. It was one thing for a spoiled, entitled child to ruin Harry’s things, but an adult being purposely cruel to Harry…

Well, what did he expect?

“Was it your aunt?” he pressed, and when Harry shook his head again, he asked, “Your uncle?”

Slowly, very slowly, Harry nodded. Sirius let out a slow breath.

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

“Broke a glass,” Harry whispered, breath hitching as he fought back sobs. “I didn’t mean to. And Uncle Vernon s-said that I should--that I should know how it feels to have my things broken, since I keep--I keep breaking theirs. S-so he broke it. And he--he ripped the picture. Padfoot, I’m sorry.”

“Baby,” Sirius said, pulling Harry into his arms, “you didn’t do anything wrong. Is that why you didn’t want to come with me this weekend? You thought I would be mad at you?”

Harry nodded against his shoulder, and Sirius didn’t think he had anything in his heart left to break, but oh, he was wrong. He sat on the floor and settled Harry in his lap, trying to console the sobbing child while his mind raced. This couldn’t go on. He had spent six years playing by the rules, doing everything the right and proper way, and what had it gotten him? James and Lily’s son having to live with people who hated him, who were cruel to him, who starved him of love and affection. What good did playing by the rules do when Harry was miserable?

Sirius took a deep breath, clarity settling over him and calming his frayed nerves as he came to a decision. He was about to do something very, very stupid, and Dumbledore was going to be furious.

Good.

“Harry,” he said, “how would you like to go camping with me and Uncle Moony this weekend?”

Harry looked up at him, face blotchy, eyes overbright. “R-really?”

“Really, Haz. I’m not mad at you at all, and I still want you to come with me this weekend.” And forever. “You know that special backpack I got you, the one that’s bigger on the inside?”

Harry nodded, wiping his cheeks.

“I want you to get that, and fill it with all your favorite things that you have here. Any shoes or clothes or books or toys.” There weren’t many here at the Dursley house, but Harry had a few belongings that he liked. “It’s going to be a special camping trip, where we take all of our favorite things with us. Okay?”

While Harry hurried off to pack up his things, Sirius went back over to the desk and peered down at the shattered frame and tattered picture. He regretted leaving his wand in his motorbike, because it would have been faster to use it, but a few passes with a wandless repairing spell was enough to restore the picture to pristine condition. He then repaired the frame and slipped the picture back inside.

“Here,” he said, putting it in Harry’s backpack. “We’re going to take that with us as well.”

“Really?” Harry’s eyes were wide.

“Absolutely. You ready to go?”

Harry nodded, and Sirius did one last pass of the room to make sure nothing important had been forgotten. Satisfied, he took Harry’s hand and led him downstairs. A scowling Petunia waited by the door, no doubt to make sure with her own eyes that Harry left.

“We’ll see you Sunday night at the usual time,” she said briskly. Sirius always kept Harry as late as he could get away with, dropping him off at Privet Drive well after dinner.

“See you then,” Sirius said. That gave them a two-day head start--he could work with that.

Outside, he got Harry settled in the sidecar with his helmet on, then swung his leg over the bike and started the engine. When they were high in the clouds over Surrey, Sirius had relaxed enough to start planning ahead, instead of reacting. The first step was to stop at his place in Islington to pack some necessities for them both. Then, the two of them would head to Remus’s and enlist his help, preferably by taking him away with them. Sirius could only imagine how that conversation was going to go.

Hey Moony, I may have just kidnapped our godson and now we probably have to flee the country before they realize what I've done and start looking for us, want to come with?

Beside him, Harry gave a whoop of laughter, and Sirius grinned. Whatever happened now, it would be worth it, as long as Harry was happy.

[christ0pher-evans]

Shattered Heart

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader Warnings: Angst / Cheating / Mentions of Sex  Word Count: 1.9k 

A/N: I never usually write RPF angst fics, only fluff or smut, but I was drowning in many of my drafted smutty stories (not a bad thing) and I felt like I needed to clear my head with something different. I had this idea and Chris was the best fit. If you don’t feel comfortable reading RPF then please don’t! Based on ‘I love you’ by Billie Eilish. Please reblog and like🖤

 ♡

PRESENT DAY Laying in bed, wrapped tightly in Chris’ arms and listening to his soft snores over your shoulder was your confirmation that it was the weekend. Any other day you would be waking up alone, Chris already long gone and busy working. You shifted carefully before sliding out of his gentle grip, putting on your oversized jumper which was discarded on the floor from last night. 

Once you were downstairs and waiting for the pot of coffee to finish, your gaze lingered on the big garden to your home; the hammock that held a blanket from summer evening cuddles, Dodger’s toys flung carelessly from energetic play dates and the makeshift bar that you had built together for the parties you always hosted. All things that highlight the life that you and Chris had started together seven years ago. Smiling to yourself and caught in your memories, you didn’t even hear Chris coming down the stairs. You only realised his presence across the kitchen once you turned around. Taking him in quickly, you noticed a look of anguish fixed on his face. 

“It’s not true, tell me I’ve been lied to”

“Babe, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Upon trying to approach him, to check he was alright, he hastily stepped away as if he was frightened from your touch. Looking away from you, he stayed silent. 

“Chris?”

Now, you were airing on the edge of nervous, genuinely worried something bad had happened but something was also telling you to stay put, to not move closer to him. You kept your distance, leaning against the breakfast bar for support against the unknown. 

“Y/N, I… I have to tell you something.” 

Sick rushed to your throat at the tone of his voice; coarse and frightened. You stayed quiet, too scared to ask him to continue. 

“Last night..” he took a deep breath, “last night, at the work dinner, before I came home; I kissed someone else.” 

Chris took another deep breath before he looked up. You were already looking at him, tears building in your eyes. Gripping the edge of the counter, you bit your lip and took a shaky breath, too afraid to do anything else incase you collapsed from the utter heartbreak washing over you. 

“Y/N, please say something.”

The sound of Chris speaking startled you, suddenly conscious of how long you’d been frozen, practically in suspended animation. Your ethereal bubble of love and adoration abruptly shattered, even the sound of his voice was making you shudder. 

Deep down, you were burning with rage, but your voice only came out as a whisper, “Tell me it’s not true, tell me you’re lying.”

You pleaded, praying and begging that this was some horrible practical joke that he wanted to play on you. 

“I - I’m not lying..”

“So, just to be clear, you went to a work dinner when you knew that I would be spending the fifth night in a row, in our home, eating alone-?” 

Chris went to interrupt but you weren’t finished. You were determined to get your point across before you crumbled. 

“-You went out and kissed someone that wasn’t me and then came home to me, sat and had wine with me and then made love to me but didn’t have the respect for me to tell me the truth the second you walked in the door last night?!” Staring at Chris, you felt the first tears drop onto your flushed cheeks. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh but when everything was fracturing around you, your emotions were the last thing you were trying to control. 

“Up all night on another red eye, I wish we never learned to fly” 

THREE YEARS AGO “Chris, I thought you said you were going to be home this week? It’s our four year anniversary!” You sighed into your wine as you sat eating dinner with him one Sunday evening. 

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry but they want to squeeze in a week of location shooting, it was a last minute decision.” 

You flicked the contents of your dinner round your plate, sad at the thought of another week at home alone. As an editor for a fashion magazine, you could do a lot of work from your home office therefore you’d already told your boss that you were working at home all week to spend time with Chris. In these situations you were so grateful to have an understanding and flexible job but frustrated to have such an in-demand and famous boyfriend. Sitting in silence with Chris, you couldn’t help but feel like this was another nail in the proverbial coffin that was your relationship. 

“Come with me!” Chris blurted out nervously. “You were working from home this week anyway, why not just work from London?” 

Your heart felt warm suddenly. The idea of spending a week in London with Chris was exciting and the sense of feeling wanted squashed your previous anxiety. 

“Of course I’ll come with you, if you want me there?” 

Chris leaned forward, reaching out and pulling your face to his, lips gently brushing against yours as he whispered, “There is nowhere that I could be in this world where I wouldn’t want you by my side, ever.” With that, he caught your lips in a bruising kiss. 

SIX MONTHS AGO “Chris..” you sigh, holding your phone away from your ear so he doesn’t hear the sob that escapes your lips. “I just don’t think that flying me halfway across the country will fix these problems!” 

You were exhausted with fighting a losing battle. You played with the loose tendrils of hair that had fallen around your face, waiting for his reply, wondering if he understood your hidden rejection of his offer. 

“Y/N, you can’t tell me that you want to see me and sort our problems out in person but moan when I offer a perfectly valid solution! I know I’m away a lot at the moment, but your job is so flexible, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just come with me in the first place!” 

You involuntarily groan, irked by what Chris had thought was a perfectly acceptable compromise. He had missed the point completely. Flying from state to state, hell even country to country for the past six months just to get an iota of time with your husband was taxing, it was also forcing you to surrender your own life to follow his. All you wanted was for Chris to understand the sacrifice you’d been making. 

“Okay Chris, I’ll book my flights now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You sighed, disconnecting the phone call and slamming your phone on the sofa in frustration. 

Reflecting back on the past few years, you felt ashamed at your naivety with Chris. You had taken everything with a pinch of salt because you could only imagine how difficult it was for Chris to uphold a relationship, let alone a marriage, with his career, so you were happy to make a small sacrifice if it resulted in spending time with Chris but now you realised, you were sacrificing everything for his happiness, not yours. 

“Cryin' isn’t like you” 

PRESENT DAY The words you had spoken hung over the room like a dark cloud. You knew you were being heinous before you’d given him a chance to explain but you were heartbroken. Your fingers skimmed your lips, disgusted that they’d entwined with Chris’s after he had kissed another woman, disgusted that they had begged him for release as you made love after he had kissed another woman. 

As you wiped your own tears from your eyes, you noticed tears spilling from Chris’s eyes. Your body went rigid - you had only seen Chris cry a handful of times. The feeling of sympathy and guilt should have been foreign to you in this situation but you felt pain from his misery. You could see the torment in his eyes, and you knew that he was angry with himself for hurting you; maybe, just maybe you could sort this out and salvage your marriage. 

“Shouldn’t I be the one that’s crying?” You tried to make light of the problem but recoiled at the distastefulness of your question. 

Moving to the now well-brewed pot of coffee, you poured two mugs before placing one at the other side of the breakfast bar for Chris, a symbolic waving of the white flag. You sat down, anxiously waiting to see if Chris would follow, hoping that you could sort this out like adults and maybe try to recover your trust and your marriage. That’s what you wanted, right?

“Maybe we should just try, to tell ourselves a good lie” 

You took the first sip of your second cup of coffee, still sitting in silence. You had been pondering with how to start the conversation but was admittedly hoping Chris would instigate it. Looking like that wasn’t going to happen, you tore off the bandaid and asked the question you had been dreading finding out the answer to. 

“So, can you start from the beginning and tell me what happened? I think I need to understand what transpired before we move forward.” You spoke calmly, channelling your nerves into picking at your nail varnish. Distracted by the chipped pattern on your nails, you were startled when Chris spoke up. 

“So, um, obviously you and me, we’ve been dealing with what feels like a long distance relationship; even though we live in the same house.” Chris paused from a moment, and you thought he was going to start crying again. You had to look down into your coffee, scared that if you started crying also, you wouldn’t stop. 

“Not that we haven’t handled that before, but this time it felt different, it felt worse. I know it’s not your fault Y/N and it’s not mine either, our jobs are so demanding but I was just feeling so alone.” 

Your heart was shattered at Chris’ confession. Knowing that you were both hurting from the same issue but keeping it to yourselves, it seemed absurd. 

“She was always there. I saw her every day at work, definitely for many more hours than I was seeing you each day, and she is nice. She became my friend and my comfort.”  

Now you felt like you’d been stabbed through the heart. Hearing Chris talk about another woman being everything you thought you were to him crushed you. How could you ever trust him again when he chose another woman to confide in?

“We get on really well, and um, whilst we were waiting outside the restaurant for our taxis, it just sort of.. happened.” 

The rest of the conversation passed by like a bad dream. Remembering snippets of trying to stay calm as Chris told you he made the first move, screaming at Chris when he told you he would still see her at work every day and crying into his shoulder when you admitted you wasn’t sure if this marriage  had a future. 

Chris had left hours ago to stay at a friends house to give you some space. You glanced at the tissues surrounding you - reminders of the tortuous day - as if you were looking for the answers among them. Wiping your puffy eyes for the final time, you waited for something, or someone, to make the decision for you. 

Now, it felt like the quiet at the end of a storm. Like your nightmare had come full circle. You sat in the same spot, alone. 

Part Two: Troubled Heart

[mrs-gucci]

Since requests are open, can I request a one-shot with Kylo as a serial killer and is married to the reader who discovers evidence connecting him to the killings (e.g. blood on clothes), but he doesn’t hurt her and she doesn’t turn him over to the police. I was thinking that maybe he only kills people who “deserve” to be killed, but that’s up to you. Thank you.

A Good Reason {vigilante serial killer!Kylo Ren x  Reader darkfic}

author's notes: helloooooo anon! thank you so much for sending this in!! I honestly really enjoyed writing this for you and I’s incredibly pleased with how it turned out. did this turn into a 4.3k word fic instead of my usual 1k-2k word fic? absolutely it did.

**THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK THEMES/CONTENT. READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.**

warnings: some angst. smut. some fluff. marital fights (verbal, not physical). vigilantism (or at least that’s what kylo believes it is). 

(possible) tw's: serial murders (implied, not in-detail). mentions of blood (not in-detail).

word count: 4.3k

At first, when you married Kylo Ren, you weren't suspicious of him leading a possible double-life or being involved in any shady business. He worked normal hours, wore a suit to his regular nine-to-five, and spent most weekends at home with you.

 Yes, he wore a cold and stern demeanor and was very reserved when it came to sharing feelings, but he loved you with all he had. He truly, truly loved you.

When you said your vows to each other, he promised not to keep anything from you, that he'd always be open and honest with you. Lately, you've been brought to believe that he's violated that part of his promises. He was hiding something from you.

It all started a few months ago, when his nine-to-five started becoming more like a seven-to-eleven, then more of a days-long trips-to-god-knows-where type of job.

He’d come home and go straight up to the bedroom to shower, which was sort of odd since he didn’t usually do that, but not enough to be too suspicious. He still kissed you right when he got home, still sat next to you on the couch after his shower to watch some Netflix, still fucked you with everything he had that night before bed.

But those little things, the ones that you cherished so much, the ones that kept you a loyal, unsuspecting wife, quickly began to fade away as this mystery job began taking over his entire life. 

 Now you see him maybe once a week, twice if you’re lucky, thrice if you’re especially lucky. But, he’d almost always have to leave in the middle of the night or early the next morning. He’s been much more irritable and much less affectionate whenever you do end up seeing him, and you’re just done with it all. 

Tonight, he was home for the first time this whole week, and when he came downstairs from his shower, you just asked.

“Are you seeing someone else?”

His eyes widen, then a small scowl crosses his face. “No. What brought you to such a conclusion?”

“You’ve been gone all week, every week for the past two months, that’s what.”

You snap, all the emotions about everything finally coming to the surface.

“What the fuck else am I supposed to think you’re doing when you don’t tell me anything about where you’re off to or what you’re doing while you’re there?”

Kylo’s jaw clenches as he pours a glass of wine for himself.

“As I’ve told you, several times before, it’s confidential. I can’t tell you what I’m doing, even if I want to.”

“How about you start off by admitting to me that you quit your job at Skywalker Technologies?”

Your eyes begin to swell with tears, but you keep yourself composed for the most part.

His head whips over to you, eyes looking into your soul. “Who told you?”

“I called them Monday morning, talked to Voe.” You say. “When you were away that second week, when you didn’t come home at all until Saturday night, then left again early Sunday morning. She said you handed in your resignation a month ago and that your employment with the company had been terminated two weeks after that.”

He frowns, eyebrows furrowed in the center of his forehead. He mutters something to himself, but he’s too far away, you couldn’t hear what it was.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? You know I wouldn’t have cared; we have savings and I could go back to full-time if need be.”

 “You won’t need to work anymore after I get paid this month.” Kylo says, suddenly. “You’ll be able to retire, do all those things you wanted to do, travel to all the places you want to.”

You’re speechless, unable to process all of this sudden information. You stand, walking over to him, looking him directly in the eyes. “But I wanted to do all of those things with you, Kylo, and I thought you wanted to do them, too. None of them will be as special or as fun if I don’t do them with you.”

 He takes a long sip of wine, setting the glass down on the countertop before turning to face you head-on. His fists are clenched as his arms cross over his chest and he huffs softly.

 “I don’t know what to tell you, Y/N. I’m trying to work hard to provide for you and I, to provide the means to give everything you could ever want.”

 Your bottom lip begins to quiver, and your teeth sink down into it in order to keep it still.

“And I understand that, but I’d rather have my husband than his money. I miss you, Kylo, I miss spending time with you.”

Even his cold demeanor, his ‘tough-guy’ facade drops for a moment as he watches you stand in front of him, holding back tears. He hates making you cry, and it’s always so much worse when he knows that he’s the direct cause of your pain, of your hurt.

Suddenly, you’re enveloped by a pair of strong arms, scooped up off your feet and carried bridal-style up to your bedroom. He says nothing on the short journey upwards, although usually he doesn’t, and he sets you down gently on the bed.

Kylo’s a man of few words, more of a physical being, you’ve learned after three years of dating and two years of marriage. His eyes begin to blacken, pupils blown wide as his large, veiny hand gently traces your silk-and-lace-covered figure. 

He always loved seeing you like this, makeup-free and in a beautiful nightgown, one that he bought you. His fingers trail up and down your side, down your thigh and calf, before eventually tracing the waistband of your panties beneath the silk. 

His suit pants have already begun to tent as his fingers trace random patterns on your abdomen, soon moving up to the mounds of your breasts, where your nipples have already pebbled.

“How could I ever want anyone but you, little lamb?” Kylo whispers, almost to himself, moving his hand down your body so his pointer finger can hook the seam of the nightgown, pulling it up over your hips. He’s pleased when you lift your hips automatically, allowing him to fully expose your sheer panties to his starved eyes. “Spread your legs for me, I want to see you.”

You bite your lip, feet walking apart to slowly reveal your clothed folds to your husband. He looks with great interest at the fabric, noticing that it’s already absorbed too much of your slick, creating a small but visible wet patch at the crotch.

He brings his hand to cup his length through his pants, a quick grunt rumbling through his chest.

“I miss you.” Is all he says, head tilting slightly to the side as his eyes flicker over you. “I enjoy my new job very much, but it truly kills me to be away from you for so long, Y/N. I just want to make you happy, to provide you with a lavish lifestyle so that you can have and do whatever you want without worry.”

Your heart pitter-patters in your chest at his words, causing you to sit up on your elbows.  “But at what cost is that coming at, Kylo? It feels like I’m losing you, and I don’t want to, nee can’t, lose you.”

“You won’t. I won’t ever let that happen, lamb.” His cock is swollen almost completely, pressing dangerously against his slacks. “I will always come back to you, no matter what.”

You let your legs fall open further. Normally, you’d continue, saying that he always promises that exact thing and never delivers. But, you haven’t seen him in a week and none of that seems worth it right now.

You just want to enjoy him.

“Please.”

He smirks softly, reaching to undo the buckle of his sleek black leather belt. His pants and boxers are soon on the floor, the bottom of his button-up divided in the middle by the large protrusion of his groin.  

You lick your lips instinctively as it bobs slightly under your appreciative gaze, tip reddened with a small bead of precum collecting steadily at the slit. You’ll never get used to the beauty, the sheer mass, that is Kylo’s cock. 

“Take yours off.” He whispers, unbuttoning his dress shirt at a teasingly slow pace. “Show me how you glisten so beautifully.”

Your thumbs hook in the waistband of your panties, hips lifting off the mattress as you slide them down, flicking them aside with your foot. His eyes are glued to your newly exposed flesh, gaze like that of a starved man as he looks over your shiny slick folds.

His button-up is quickly discarded and then he’s pouncing; suddenly on top of you, pinning your hands above your head while rubbing himself through your arousal. He kisses you with great passion, perhaps with a bit of urgency, as he sheathes himself inside of you with one swift forward stroke.

You moan into his mouth, back arching up as your insides stretch to accommodate his intrusion. He wastes no time establishing a steady in-and-out rhythm, soft grunts joining each one of his forward thrusts.

“Oh Kylo...my love...” You breathe, head tilting back when his lips meet your neck. “You’re so good, baby, always make me feel so good.”

Kylo’s hips suddenly begin to snap forward, pounding into you as he falls onto his elbows, breath hot on your skin.

“Been waiting all week for this sweet pussy.” He growls into your ear, kissing the spot just behind it. “Missed feeling you wrapped around me, lamb.”

A line of sweat forms on his forehead as he drills you into the mattress. This was your absolute favorite thing about sex with Kylo: he was so gentle yet rough, the perfect balance between both sides of the spectrum.

Your orgasm is rapidly approaching, now, his shaft rubbing your walls building the ideal friction for a long and earth-shattering release. 

“I’m nothing without you.” He suddenly breathes, a choked cry escaping his pillowy lips as he lets your hands go, instead gripping your hips tightly. “You’re my e-everything, my whole fucking world, Y/N.”

You weave your hands in his raven locks, gasping as he fucks you harder. 

“My god, Kylo, I love you.”

“Lamb.” His lip begins to tremble. “I won’t last. I c-can’t…”

Your hands come to rest at the bottoms of your knees, forcing your legs further back and apart, allowing him to reach deeper inside you. He inhales sharply, jaw slack as his eyes flutter shut.

“It’s okay, Kylo, you can cum.”

He sits up on his haunches, lifting your hips up to meet his, the once steady pace now sloppy and desperate. 

“Christ...f-fuck…yes.” He breathes, head falling back. “Gods, I love you, I lo--ggnnnnaahhh!”

His hips pause deep inside your walls, eyes flying open as he leans forward a bit, spilling his thick release rope after rope into you.

You reach down and begin rubbing your clit, back arching further as a soft moan comes from your lips. Your walls clench and Kylo’s hips pick a deep thrusting pace once more, eager to milk your orgasm as much as possible.

“Kylo!”

He looks down at you. “Cum.”

That’s all it took before you went tumbling over the edge, crying out as your release hits then floods all throughout your body. Your fingers dig into the muscle of his bicep as you ride out the high.

Kylo collapses next to you moments later, the both of you catching your breaths for a minute before intertwining and eventually falling asleep in each other’s loving embrace.

-

When you wake up the next morning, the sheets next to you are cold, showing no sign of the man that inhabited them last night.

He’s gone...again.

What did you expect, really? That you have one night of loving-yet-mindblowing sex and that was somehow enough to convince him to stay with you? 

You sigh, sitting up and getting out of bed, shuddering as your flesh is exposed to the cool air of the bedroom after hours under the warm covers.

That night, much to your surprise, you get home from dinner out with a few of your girlfriends and see Kylo’s car in the garage. 

Two nights in a row? This hasn’t happened in a long time.

A rush of excitement surges through you as you walk into the house, looking around the kitchen and living room, not seeing Kylo anywhere.

And then, you smell it, overwhelmingly so. 

Bonfire smoke.

Who in the world would be having a bonfire right now? It’s a Monday night. And even when your neighbors did have one, it never smelled this strongly before. 

The curtains on the back door were drawn shut, which was a bit odd, but when flashes of yellow and orange peek out from behind them, your eye is caught. You walk over and pull them open.

At the same time you do that, a tall dark figure appears through the glass, causing you to screech.

Your husband quickly opens the door, holding his hands up in front of him. “Hey, it’s alright, just me.”

“Kylo, jesus christ.” You say, hand over your chest.

When you look up at him properly, you freeze. 

Blood. On his face, spatter similar to the pattern of freckles and moles sprinkled over his pale skin.

Blood. On his dress shirt and pants.

He realizes what you’re looking at, realizes his grave mistake, inwardly cursing himself for not washing his face and taking the bloodied clothes off right when he got home. Damnit.

“Kylo...what…?”

For once, he has absolutely nothing to say, no excuse for what you’re seeing. He can’t think of a single damn thing to say for himself, to defend the blood soaked into his skin and into his clothes.

He looks you right in the eyes, his intense gaze staring right into your soul.  “What I’m about to tell you must stay between us. You cannot tell anyone, and I mean anyone, about it.”

You nod.

“This new job…”

Kylo whispers.

“I’m a hitman, a murder-for-hire, whatever you want to call it.”

Your eyes go wide as saucers and you pull away, trembling slightly. 

“But, I promise, I only kill bad people.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Oh, well in that case!”

“I’m serious, Y/N.” His jaw clenches. You’ve clearly hit a nerve. “I need a good reason to kill someone, and I’ll only kill people that truly deserve it.”

“So you’re a vigilante? Why didn’t you just fucking say so? That totally changes everything!” You say sarcastically, still in shock that you’re even talking about this. “And you’re saying that when you kill people, it’s alright, but when other people do it it’s not? Murder is murder, Kylo, it doesn’t fucking matter if they ‘deserve’ it or not.” 

He takes a step forward, closing the space between you. You take another step back.

“What I do,” Another forward step. You step back again, back hitting the wall. “Is different. I do it for good reason, I do it to see justice served unto people who fucking got away with whatever bad thing they did.”

The breath is taken from your throat as your bloody husband stands in front of you, hot breath tickling your skin. His head hangs, lips next to your ear.

“And if you tell anyone about this, murmur even a single word about it, you’ll be killed.” His hand trails down your arm lightly, making you shiver. “The people I work with and that I work for...they won’t hesitate to order a hit on you. They’re very rich and very powerful with very little remorse.”

You put your hands on his chest, pushing him away just a bit, enough for you to look up at him properly. “Do not threaten me like one of your fucking targets, Kylo. I understand the weight of the situation, and I don’t appreciate you speaking to me like I’m stupid.”

He presses you against the wall, caging you in with his body, arms on either side of your head. His breath suddenly turns shaky as he plants a kiss behind your ear.

“Lamb...please.” He pleads, voice barely louder than a breath. “You h-have to keep this a secret. They’ll kill you without a second thought, and I can’t...fuck, I c-can’t lose you.”

Tears begin to swell in your eyes.  “Why’d you even do it? Why’d you do this, Kylo?”

“I wanted to.” Kylo huffs, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. “It...it makes me feel good, Y/N. It makes me feel alive, and I know that it’s wrong, but I’m addicted. I feel powerful, like I can deliver justice to those who really deserve it, and have power over life and death.”

His cock hardens in his bloodstained slacks, rolling himself subtly against your stomach. God, this is so wrong, so disgusting...and yet, nothing else feels more right. 

You’re so torn. You should turn him in, have him put in jail for what he’s done. You should leave him, should be repulsed and scared at the idea that your husband kills people for money. You should feel scared of him, scared at how much he enjoys killing people.

But, none of that is what you feel right now. You don’t feel repulsed, you don’t feel scared of him or like you want to leave him. You don’t feel any of those things.

You feel hot, your skin like magma as he grinds himself against you. “Promise that you’ll never hurt me.”

He nods, growling at the friction on his aching cock.

“Never, lamb, never ever. I would never hurt you, you’re my everything, my beautiful wife. I’d rather die than harm you in any way.” 

Your arms wrap around the back of his neck, pulling at his raven hair. “Go burn those clothes, then come upstairs and I’ll help you wash off.”

His lips tug up into a soft smile, pressing his hips into you one more time.

“I’ll need your help with more than just washing off, little lamb.”

“Mmhmm,” You hum. “We’ll see.”

Kylo nips your earlobe before pulling away and heading out back to the bonfire, unbuttoning his shirt along the way.

Should you turn him in? Probably, but you won’t. Not out of fear of getting killed, you know he’d never let that happen anyway, but because you love him. You love him so much it fucking hurts, and you know it’s wrong to cover up something like this, but damn if it isn’t the most exhilarated you’ve felt in your whole entire life. 

You rush upstairs to start the bath, sprinkling in some of those eucalyptus bath salts and those oils he likes so much, shedding your clothes in anticipation. 

He comes up a few minutes later, wearing only his boxers, and he pauses in the doorway to admire your figure from behind. How did he get so lucky?

“Smells good in here.” He says softly. “But I think I like the view a bit more.”

Your cheeks warm, looking over your shoulder at your raven-haired husband. “I put some of your favorite salts and oils in.”

Kylo steps up behind you, hand tracing your sides before settling on your hips, pulling you back against him suddenly. His lips plant soft, feather-light kisses on your bare shoulder.

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.”

He smiles against your skin. “And very humble, too.”

You reach around and pull the elastic waistband of his boxers, letting them snap back against his skin.

“Take these off and get in the tub, handsome. Let me take care of you tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He chuckles in your ear, pulling away a bit so that he can take his boxers off, tossing them aside before stepping into the tub. He keeps his legs spread just enough for you to settle between.

You grab the soap, his shampoo, and a loofah before joining him in the hot water, sighing as it instantly soothes your taut muscles. 

Your knees fall on either side of his hips as you move to straddle him, kissing the tip of his nose when you settle. You turn on the pulsating shower head, moving it along his scalp. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head as the jets work wonders on his scalp. And when you run your hand through his locks with the shampoo, he groans softly. He leans forward, kissing and sucking at your neck as you wash his hair for him.

“So good to me.” He whispers onto your skin, running his nose along your jawline. “I love you so much, little lamb.”

You kiss his forehead softly, turning on the shower head again.

“Love you too. Do you want conditioner?”

“Please.” Kylo nods.

Your fingers knead the conditioner through his hair, rinse it out, then put some soap on the loofah. You work the soap into his firm body, gliding easily over each ridge as you work over his chest and arms, then down to his abdomen.

His cock is steadily hardening with each touch you give him, and you subtly grind back and forth, hips gyrating on top of him. His head tilts back and he holds your hips, pressing his crotch up closer to yours.

“Mmmm, be patient.” He takes the loofah out of your hand, beginning to rub suds over your dampened skin. “Lemme wash you, too.”

You whine softly, this intimate touch creating such a beautifully twisted moment. You’ve just found out that your husband is a serial killer, and here you are, bathing with him, completely unafraid.

Maybe you’re crazy, and maybe you’re out of your fucking mind, but none of it matters. Not when it’s just you and him, not in moments like this.

Once he’s finished washing you, the loofah is quickly tossed aside and he’s on you in an instant; lips on yours, hands exploring every inch of your freshly-cleaned skin. He groans softly against you, calloused palms finding the mounds on your chest, giving them a gentle squeeze.

Your back arches under his touch, head falling back, a small sigh leaving your lips. His thumb and forefinger give your pebbled nipples a few firm pinches, enjoying the way you so evidently react. 

“Hands and knees, little lamb.” Kylo whispers, low voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You nod, smirking as you turn over, water sloshing around as you do so. You position yourself accordingly, wiggling your ass back and forth to tease him. 

His hand suddenly comes down on you, a loud smack echoing through the bathroom. You squeal softly, loving it when he gets a little rough with you. 

He sits up on his knees, pumping his half-hard cock with meaningful strokes, bringing himself to full hardness before rubbing his head through your folds. Your hips instinctively grind back against him, and he smacks your ass again.

“Behave.” He warns with a smirk, kneading your warming skin. “Desperate tonight, aren’t we?”

You roll your eyes, chuckling softly. “It’s your fault for getting me all worked up in the first place.”

Kylo hums, lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in with little delay, immediately picking up a steady rhythm. You moan, body rocking back and forth with each of his thrusts. 

“Mmmm, yeah K-Kylo.”

Your insides tighten around him, pulling a surprised grunt from deep in his throat. 

“Fuck.” His hips speed up, the increasingly frantic slapslapslap of skin colliding surrounds the both of you.

As your orgasm draws nearer and nearer, you begin pushing back against him, meeting his every forward thrust. His fingers grip the meat of your hips tighter as he fucks you even harder, desperate to make you cum.

“C’mon, my little lamb, cum around my cock.”

He breathes, bending down and planting his hands on either side of you.  His head turns so that his lips are at your ear.

“I’ll never let them hurt you, Y/N. I’m nothing without you in my life, a-and I’ll never let anything--goddamnit--bad happen to you.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, teetering on the edge of climax just from his whispered promises, the guarantee that he’ll protect you, that he’ll never hurt you or let anyone else hurt you...that he loves you.

When his thick finger comes down to tease the sensitive nub between your thighs, you’re done for, crying out loudly as your release quickly coats his shaft. Your body jerks and jolts as he continues to fuck you even harder than before, his noises heavy yet soft in your ear.

“Yes, fuck, I’m gonna c-cum!” Kylo growls, hand wrapping around your neck. “Gonna fill you s-so good and full of my cum.”

You’re ready, always ready for him, and he cums mere seconds after muttering the words.

“Ohhhhh god, jesus christ!” He groans loudly, burying his face into your back as rope after rope paints your walls.

Kylo keeps himself buried inside you long after he cums, not wanting to let you go. He meant what he said before; he loves his job, but it’s not easy being away from you, the love of his freakin’ life.

If anything ever happens to you… No. He can’t even think about it.

Eventually he does pull out, sitting back in the tub’s now-lukewarm water, pulling you down with him. He kisses your neck and shoulders, holding you close against him.

“I’m spending the night tonight, and most of tomorrow, here with you. I’m all yours until then, lamb.”

You smile softly to yourself, leaning back against him. “And I’ll be embracing every single second of it.”

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven. 

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind. 

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there. 

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair. 

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story." 

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.” 

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh. 

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?” 

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web. 

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project. 

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile. 

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter. 

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise. 

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine. 

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes. 

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile. 

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior. 

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging. 

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers. 

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle. 

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee. 

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

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[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (ii)

word count: 3.3k

warnings: fem!oc, alcohol consumption, cursing

series masterpost: here

a/n: part two baby! thanks for all the love on part one, it means the absolute world. i have so much love for this story and i hope people are enjoying it :))

Life is settling into a comfortable rhythm.

After spending a good chunk of her young adult life being incredibly studious, Magdalene can finally have the social life of someone in their mid-twenties. Though she’s still spending a fair amount of time by herself in the basements of the University of Denver’s library, Bette convinces her to go out more. Magdalene tries to fight, citing extra work or a good book as an excuse to stay home, but it doesn’t work very often. The pleas of her friend are how Magdalene finds herself currently lounging poolside at Erik Johnson’s house on a Sunday afternoon.

“How’s the new career treating you?” Tyson asks. “I feel like we haven’t seen you in a while.”

Magdalene laughs. “I’ve seen Bette plenty,” she says, “She thinks I won’t take a lunch break unless she shows up.”

“Would you?” the blonde girl questions with a quirked brow.

“Probably not.”

“I rest my case.”

A small crowd gathers around as Magdalene begins to detail the specifics of her job, but she doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as she once would have. In the month or so since graduating school she’s found herself slowly being incorporated into the Avalanche family. It’s almost certainly because Bette and Tyson championed her case, explaining that she doesn’t have much of a support system beyond the two of them, but she doesn’t mind. A few of the guys ask her questions about her work, curious as to why someone would want to spend their life combing through piles of old things. Everyone stays engaged in the conversation until there’s a shout from the kitchen that dinner is ready.

Magdalene shuffles in line behind André, filling her plate with various pasta salads and a hamburger. Once situated with enough food for two meals she returns to the pool deck, sitting on the edge and dipping her toes into the cool water. Bette comes and finds her a minute later and the two of them begin to eat.

She’s still relatively new to the group’s dynamic, but Magdalene can’t help but notice that Ryan is never around. In fact, Magdalene hasn’t seen him since her graduation party. Taking a casual sip of her wine cooler, she asks her friend about the man’s absence.

“Why is Ryan never at these sorts of things?”

Bette shrugs. “Isn’t a huge one for parties. He was supposed to come today, but I guess something came up.”

“I’m not huge on parties,” Magdalene huffs, “But that doesn’t stop you from dragging me to every single one.”

“Unlike you, Gravy gets enough regular social interaction that his absence is permissible. If Tyson and I didn’t take you out you’d talk to your cat more than normal.”

She wants to fight back, but knows it’s pointless. Bette has a point – if it weren’t for her the only people Magdalene would interact with are her boss and her cat. Instead, she grumbles under her breath and changes the subject to the trip Bette is in the middle of planning. It’s coming up in a few weeks, and Magdalene wants to hear a bit more about it before she commits. Despite what she thought about taking time off so close to starting work, it was encouraged by June, but she's refraining from telling Bette that. If it doesn’t sound like she'll enjoy it, Magdalene is banking on being able to use the excuse.

Bette explains that she’s renting a large lake house that is perfect for a relaxing week away from adult responsibilities. The property has kayaks and a hot tub, which pretty much ensures that Magdalene will want to be in attendance. She’ll hold onto that information for a little while longer though, if for no other reason to make Bette squirm a little. At some point Tyson comes to sweep his girlfriend away and leaves Magdalene at the party alone. She makes polite conversation with some other players for a while before heading home herself. Ryan never shows up, despite how much Magdalene hopes he will. At the very least she wants to properly thank him for doing her a favour, though her hoping to see him is much more selfish. He intrigues her and she wants to know more about the tall man with the dazzling smile and a proclivity for wearing all black.

☼☼☼☼

Barn Owl Book Company is filled to the brim when Magdalene approaches the store from the side street it annexes. She should’ve expected it – it’s the first of the month and their newest books are hitting the shelves. However, Magdalene doesn’t exactly have time to wait in line. June gave her only fifteen minutes to run and grab them coffee before they continue the massive task of digitizing a private collection that has just been donated to the university. She estimates it will take almost a month of extended hours to get everything done, and Magdalene believes it. There’s so much to wade through but she knows the end result will be satisfying.

Luckily the café line is fairly short, and Magdalene reaches the counter in a timely manner. “Hey,” she greets the barista warmly, “Could I just grab two medium iced cappuccinos?”

“Anything else?”

“No, that's everything. It’ll be on debit,” she smiles. Magdalene reaches into her backpack to grab her wallet only to find that it’s missing. Shit. The barista has already left to make the drinks, completely unaware that her customer is unable to pay.

Magdalene hears a voice from behind her say, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.” She turns around to find Ryan Graves standing there with a book tucked under his right arm.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she mumbles appreciatively. “I don’t know how my boss would take it if I showed up empty handed.”

Ryan laughs shyly as he pulls his card away from the machine. “I get it, everyone needs a little caffeine this time of year.” The barista comes back with Magdalene’s drinks, which she takes with a smile and a wish for a good day. The two of them head towards the exit, and Ryan pauses once they’re on the sidewalk. “Which way are you headed?”

“Back to work,” Magdalene says, nodding her head in the direction of campus. “I’ve got approximately five minutes to get there before June rips me a new one.”

“June?”

“She’s my boss,” she explains.

Ryan nods in understanding. “I’ll see you around Magdalene,” he smiles, turning on his heel and heading the opposite direction.

In a moment of bravery, Magdalene yells at his retreating figure. “Will you? We never seem to cross paths.”

“I’ll be at Bette and Tyson’s this weekend, and I’m counting on your company.”

Magdalene finds it incredibly hard to focus the rest of the afternoon. She keeps thinking about what Ryan said, which makes her a rather lousy archivist. June sends her home just after seven even though they had plans to stay until ten, citing the fact that she’s scanned the same photo three times before noticing. Caligula’s meowing for pets when she gets home isn’t even enough to distract her from the comment. The absentmindedness continues for another day or so, and it’s becoming so bad Magdalene is worried that June is going to fire her for incompetence.

It’s only when Bette calls to invite her over for dinner and drinks that her mind levels out. “I was wondering when I was going to get the call,” she chuckles absentmindedly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” is the response Magdalene receives.

“Well,” she explains, “I ran into Ryan at Barn Owl the other day and he paid for my drinks because I left my wallet on the table at work, and he said he expected to see me at your place this weekend. So if you never invited me I was just going to show up.”

Bette is smiling, that much Magdalene can infer by the lull in conversation. “I haven’t got the time to call you yet,” she concedes, “But consider this the official invitation to our house for a small party.”

“Anything we’re celebrating?”

“Nope. Have you ever needed a reason to party?”

Magdalene laughs. “Yes. Need one almost every time actually.”

The rest of the week passes fairly quickly. To make up for her blundering earlier in the week Magdalene offers to work a full day on Saturday, by herself, to get the project back on track. June accepts the proposition eagerly, and Magdalene lets Bette know she’ll be coming directly from work. Saturday rolls around and she spends most of her time getting lost in the past lives of the artefacts she’s dealing with. If someone were to ask Magdalene what her favourite part of archiving is, that’s the answer she’d give. There’s nothing more satisfying to her than holding a piece of history in her hands and imagining all the stories it would be able to tell if it could speak.

By the time she’s put in a full work day and finishes locking up the basement floor her department occupies, Magdalene is pretty sure they’re ahead of schedule on the project. She genuinely feels terrible about her misperformance and hopes June will be able to forgive her. On the way to Bette and Tyson’s Magdalene listens to the Leonard Cohen greatest hits cd that came with her car. The previous owner was presumably a big fan, and over the years Magdalene has come to appreciate the folk singer. She never got to see him in concert before his death but turns to his music when she needs to relax. Right now is the perfect time to listen to ‘Hallelujah’ on repeat because she’s seriously freaking out about the idea of spending the night talking to Ryan. Though she still wants to properly thank him and possibly become friends, something about him makes Magdalene nervous.

There’s no way for her to tell if Ryan is there when she parks in front of the house. She doesn’t know what kind of car he drives, or if he caught a ride with someone. Magdalene debates texting Bette to see if he’s there already but decides against it, knowing she’s an adult who is more than capable of pushing down nerves.

She doesn’t bother knocking and just steps into the respectably sized home. The music is loud enough that no one would have heard her anyways. It’s much more of a party than Magdalene was expecting – Bette invited her for dinner and drinks, not a gathering that could pass as a frat party. There are bodies everywhere, and she isn’t sure if she’ll ever catch a glimpse of her friend.

“You seem to be dressed for the wrong kind of party,” a voice chuckles from behind her.

Magdalene turns to see Ryan leaning against the wall, eyeing her business casual attire. “I came from work,” she explains, “And didn’t know it was this kind of party to begin with. I would’ve at least brought a change of clothes.”

“You look terribly out of place,” he agrees. “Can I grab you a drink? The hosts are too busy playing beer pong to, you know, be hosts.”

A giggle escapes Magdalene’s lips at the comment. Ryan seems to have a similar sense of humor to her, which will be beneficial for passing the time if Bette is already on her way to being wasted. “A glass of red wine would be nice.”

Ryan pushes off from his perch and heads towards the kitchen. The crowd parts for the six-foot-five hockey player, and Magdalene follows in his wake quite easily. Knowing the space as well as her, Ryan grabs a wine glass from the cupboard Bette keeps them in and pours the dark red liquid into it. He waits until Magdalene has situated herself on the island before handing her the cup. She takes it with an appreciative hum and waits until he’s grabbed a beer for himself before raising her glass in toast. Ryan does the same, and their glasses clink before each of them take a sip.

“What exactly is it that you do? I bet it’s something super cool and studious, but I seriously don’t know what the hell being an archivist means.”

Magdalene explains her job to Ryan, who is extremely interested. He asks nearly a hundred follow-up questions that she answers sincerely, throwing in a few jokes that luckily crack him up. Conversation moves to his career and then life. Magdalene learns that he’s from Nova Scotia, though he stays around Denver these days, and that if he wasn’t playing professional hockey he’d like to have a career in publishing. Ryan doesn’t press too hard when Magdalene refuses to open up about her family, which she appreciates. It’s a delicate subject that she keeps guarded close to her chest, and a friend’s kitchen in the middle of a party isn’t the place for her to divulge her deepest secrets.

The two of them get refills before exiting the room. Even more people seemed to arrive since Magdalene walked through the door, and the kitchen is no longer an empty safe haven. The music is so loud she can feel the bass thumping in her chest, giving the living room a club-like atmosphere, and it’s too much. Magdalene tugs at the hem of Ryan’s sweater to catch his attention. “Want to go somewhere quiet?”

“I doubt there is such a place,” he yells over the crowd going crazy over some early 2000s hip-hop track.

“Follow me,” she says with a smile, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of the staircase to the second floor.

It takes a minute for them to wade through the throngs of people, but it goes much faster once Ryan takes Magdalene’s hand and splits the crowd. A few boys, who don’t look older than twenty-one and almost certainly snuck into the party, notice where the pair are going and shout congratulations. Ryan shoots them a glare so sharp it could cut stone but doesn’t drop Magdalene’s hand. Once safely on the much quieter second floor, Magdalene makes a beeline for the bathroom.

“Are you coming or what?” she asks when there doesn’t seem to be footsteps following her.

Ryan hesitates. “I, uh, can just wait out here while you’re in there,” he stammers.

Magdalene’s laugh rings out through the empty hallway. “I’m not going to the bathroom. We’re going out the window.”

He isn’t sure how that’s any better, but Ryan follows the brown-haired girl into the room. It takes considerably more work for him to fit through the frame, but after some directions from Magdalene he makes it onto the roof. She sits down and pats the space beside her, encouraging Ryan to do the same. They stay out there, discussing anything that comes to their heads, until the party’s numbers dwindle drastically. Magdalene makes sure to properly thank him for both attending her graduation and spotting her coffee money, and she thinks Ryan might blush a little when she offers to get the next round. He asks about her love of The West Wing, and they launch into a long conversation about the show and cast. The sun fades to black and the cold sets in, and Magdalene finds herself wrapped in Ryan’s sweater without asking. It’s only when she notices it’s approaching midnight that Magdalene clues into how tired she is.

“I think I’m going to head out,” she yawns. Ryan nods in agreement and holds the window open for her to slip in through. Once downstairs, Magdalene goes to lift the sweater from her frame but Ryan stops her.

“Keep it for drive home. I’ll get it back next time we see each other.”

Still feeling bold from the alcohol that left her system hours ago, she reaches out to poke him in the chest. “And when will that be, hm? You seem to enjoy leaving our meetings up to chance.”

It’s Ryan’s turn to laugh. “Think you can swing an extended lunch break on Wednesday? I’ll be at Barn Owl all afternoon. Maybe you can join me for a coffee.”

Magdalene likes the sound of that and agrees. She leaves without seeing Bette or Tyson once, but she doesn’t mind. They’d be happy for her blooming friendship – or at least she’s pretty sure they will be once she calls to fill them in on the details.

☼☼☼☼

Wednesday rolls around without incident, and Magdalene is given a full hour to eat instead of thirty minutes. Walking time has to be accounted for, of course, but she should have nearly forty-five minutes to spend with Ryan if she plays her cards right. There’s no crowd this time, and it’s incredibly easy to spot Ryan sitting in the window she loves to claim as her own.

“Hey,” Magdalene greets, “Did Bette tell you to sit here?”

He shakes his head, perplexed at the question. “No, why?”

“It’s just my favourite seat in the store, that’s all. I thought she told you how to gain some extra brownie points.”

“Should I be concerned about the amount of points I have?” Ryan teases, sliding a cup and pastry bag across the table and into her hands.

Magdalene shakes her head, smiling widely. “You’re doing alright so far. Keep up the good work.”

They eat at a comfortable pace, taking breaks to engage in interesting topics of conversation or take sips of their drinks. Ryan insists his life is boring, but Magdalene is enthralled by the stories he tells. It’s completely different from hers and she feels as though she can live vicariously through the tales of walking through the historic downs of the east coast and swimming in the Pacific Ocean on days off in California. After squeezing every story possible from the man Magdalene shifts gears slightly.

“So, are you going on the trip in a couple of weeks?”

“It’s looking that way,” Ryan shrugs with relative indifference, “Nate doesn’t think he’ll be able to come back, something about a development camp he’s running having the dates switched. He’s asked me to take his spot.”

His neutral mood confuses her. When Bette mentioned his probable attendance months ago, it sounded like he was enthusiastic about spending a week with friends doing nothing to swimming and drinking. “You don’t want to go?” Magdalene probes.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but sometimes the group parties a little harder than I like to,” he sighs, raising a hand and running it through his hair. That’s something she understands completely, having spent a few too many nights being the sober one out.

“I’ll be there.” It’s Magdalene’s turn to shrug, but the comment holds an incredible amount of hope.

“Well then, that changes everything.”

Was Ryan flirting with her? She spends the rest of lunch thinking about the possibility, and truthfully, it occupies her brain for the rest of the day. However, she keeps her focus and June is none the wiser to the butterflies in her stomach. Work finishes without much fanfare, and her dinner is silent save for the few meows of conversation Caligula offers. It’s late by the time Magdalene falls into bed, cat snuggled into the pillow beside her. On a whim she decides to check Instagram and sees a message request from none other than the man who’s smile has been replaying in her mind. A follow request accompanies it.

Thought that maybe we could quit leaving our meetings to chance and plan something next time :)

He has to be flirting. There’s no other explanation for the witty banter they’ve shared this week, or why he’s reaching out to her on social media. The butterflies in her stomach multiply tenfold as Magdalene types out a reply.

I don’t know, it’s kind of fun being shrouded in mystery. However, I now have the opportunity to stalk your profile ;)

Before she can overthink her use of the emoji, Magdalene shoves her phone in the drawer of her nightstand and rolls over. A slight smile can’t help but appear on her features as she falls asleep, already curious about what his reply will be.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds (add yourself to the taglist!)

[tomboyneedshercoffee]

Lovedust Epilogue || Peter Parker x Stark Reader

Epilogue: The end to a new beginning

Word Count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: PLEASE READ!!! And just like that, that concludes this series. I want to thank you all for supporting me and my writing, I couldn’t ask for sweeter followers to have along the way and because of you guys, this story has grown into something that has stuck with me through my everyday life. Every comment, every like, every reblog means the world to me and it is thanks to YOU that I felt comfortable enough to continue to share this story. I love these characters so much and I’m sad to see them leave but I can rest happy knowing that things ended the way they should and with that, I have my peace with them. Also peep the last few lines that are the same as the first few lines of the series ouch. Sorry to get so gushy but wow, after over 30k words, 8 parts, and many tears/laughter, lovedust is officially over. 

Warnings: Fluff because you all deserve it

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || epilogue 

[five months later]

‘Some things never change’ you thought to yourself as Peter’s music slipped its way through your bedroom walls. You had asked for a lazy Sunday morning and the promise of being woken up to sweet but inevitably burnt pancakes. 

The music wasn’t dreadful; you didn’t recognize the melody but it was eerily similar to something you would hear Steve play in his room from time to time whenever he wanted to feel nostalgic. Go figure, you and Peter had always teased Steve to ‘drop the oldies but goodies’ playlist so you couldn’t complain now that Peter got his hands on it. 

You slipped on your robe over the pajamas you had no intention of taking off for the remainder of the day before exiting your room. Once you had made it to Peter’s room, you didn’t bother to knock and instead, opened the door to find your boyfriend scrolling through his phone to change the song. 

“ I was promised breakfast in bed so unless you’re looking up how to make the pancake batter, you better make your way into the kitchen Parker,” You teased lightly, causing Peter to throw his phone to the side of his bed. 

“ I didn’t think you’d be awake so early,” Peter stretched his hands out to you and just like second nature, you stepped into his arms and leaned against his chest,” you never wake up before twelve on the weekend.”

“ Well I was working on my paper but someone had to play their music so loud,” You looked up at Peter who only gave back a sleepily, sympathetic smile. 

Peter hummed a soft apology as he moved his hands down to your waist to pull your frame closer to his. He could smell your shampoo- no- he was sure you had used his shampoo yet again but decided to spare you from another lecture of stealing because of how relaxed you felt in his embrace. 

With the music playing in the background, he started to sleepily sway side to side which only made you laugh again.

“ Are we dancing right now? What about my pancakes?” 

“ In a second, I just want to hold you for a little bit longer.” 

“ These better be some pretty bomb ass pancakes then.”

“ Just be quiet and let me dance with you.”

You huffed but didn’t resist, instead, you melted into his embrace even more and closed your eyes. 

With your summer drawing to an end, you could only hope to savor these precious moments with Peter, especially since you had no idea what the following fall would have in store for the two of you.

You knew he would always be around but things wouldn’t be the exact same. You two had taken advantage of living only a few feet away from each other but it seemed like life was moving too fast for your liking now that you had college right around the corner. 

The past couple of months had been nothing short of a blessing. It was a lot to handle at first as the two of you sorted through whatever insecurities or mistakes that occurred before the relationship but slowly, you two managed and tied up any loose ends that were still poking out. 

You weren’t afraid to say it outloud, of course you loved him. But there was something even stronger that helped you two through it all and that was forgiveness. There was no point in holding anything over each other’s head because the end goal was as clear as day and you were relieved knowing that the past was the past. 

Although you would catch yourself thinking back to the terrible memories you had of tormenting each other, it almost felt like you were looking back at ancient tapes filmed through a different lens. You both grew from it so now, when you looked back, all you could see was growth and effort.  

Your heart sunk for a moment as you swayed in his arms. You held him tighter at the thought of change and how different things would be in the future. Who’s to say that you two would even be together forever, of course, you wanted to be with him forever but this life wasn’t guaranteed. 

You could hear his voice right now, telling you to stop thinking of your morbid hypotheticals and so you did. You wanted to enjoy this moment right here and now, you just wanted it to last a bit longer. 

You hardly flinched as you felt Peter’s bare foot step onto your toes, only smiling at the apology that slipped out of his mouth. He could tell he had snapped you out of your daze and Peter, being the ever so curious one, asked you what you were thinking about. 

“ We’ve come a long way huh?” You said as you felt Peter nod above you,” I’m going to miss you.”

“ Hey, hey, don’t be sad. You know I’m always going to be around baby,” Peter pulled away to study your sad expression, his thumb coming up to wipe underneath your eye to make sure you weren’t crying. 

“ I know I know. It’s just...this is the end of a chapter and I don’t know if I’m ready to say goodbye to it just yet. What happens after all of this?” You asked as Peter pressed a soft kiss on your temple to ease your mind. 

“ Like you said babe, breakfast in bed,” He teased, knowing that it would make you laugh. 

He felt his heart skip a beat when his attempt had done the trick, even if the laugh was short, it was still a tally in his book. 

“ Things will change and that’s okay,” Peter said after a moment as you stayed quiet,” we’ve changed a lot and look where we are now. Did you ever think months ago that you and I would ever be this close without killing one another?”

“ Definitely not.” 

“ Exactly, but you know what won’t change?” You looked up at your boyfriend as he smiled back at you,” I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

Your heart swelled at the profession. It was almost like a talent of his to find the right words to say to make your anxieties seemingly evaporate off of you. 

Even though it came out as a whisper, you meant it with your whole chest, those three words you couldn’t find yourself ever getting tired of saying. It slipped so easily out of your mouth, almost as if someone was asking you something as simple as your name. 

“ I love you too-”

Peter barely professed all of it before you pressed your lips against his, his shoulders instantly relaxing at your action. He has kissed you over a hundred times within the last couple of months but each time, he still felt over the moon when given the chance to be intimate with you. 

It was always when you pulled away that suddenly, he was grounded but in a way that still made his heart feel feverish with pure adoration. 

You always smiled after pulling away from his lips because just like the first time you two ever shared a kiss, he always wore the same loving but goofy grin on his face as if he was a schoolgirl. And you loved it. 

Peter couldn’t help himself to kiss you again and for the next few minutes, you found yourself either swaying with your boyfriend to the soft sound of the instrumental love ballad or stopping for a moment to press your lips against his. 

The moment was fleeting after your dad had barged in a minute later, grumbling about how the door needed to be opened at least five feet but even so, you knew the feeling would stay in your memory for life. 

So as you came out to the kitchen to watch your ‘super-family’ attempt to make an edible breakfast, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. 

You weren’t sure how much room was left in your heart but you knew a person who you would always have space for. Peter Parker.

taglist:  @eridanuswave​ @juliet-winterson​ @akacalumtrash​ @ilovepeterparker13​@parkerboop​ @juliebean247​ @multi-fan-lover​ @ffffan-----girlll @lukesbabylon​@danicarosaline​ @parkeret​ @marvel4geeks​ @hollander69​ @spideyyeet​ @spn-assemble-seven​ @vibraniumdaisies​ @spaghetittiesbcimgay​ @vi-bi-bye@lemonsnips​ @aduky​ @faithfullcompanion​ @stopthemotherfuckingmusic@satellitespidey @foreverpark​ @marvelobsessedteenager​ @deadpoetsbackup@zalladane​ @starcourt-s​ @parkersinfinitywar​ @stargazingcarol​ @littlesugarb​@itsteph13​ @jennasmmith​ @liljennyx3​ @harryspet​  @todaynotseen @oh-whatabeautiful-parker​  @tiny-friggin-human @popluckbih    niiight-dreamerrrr     sovereignparker  marie-is-in-the-darkbuckyboy-soldier   maia030   parkershoco wolverinesbeer   cherrysruin  sunkissdes  kiainspace  songofcosplay spideylovin write-from-the-heart  thatcrazywhovian09eternallyvenusthollandxmsrawog  idiosadeoroimawkwardandherewearefoundwolvesthequeen-oni silverwolf-samainspiring-beamultiversegalaxygirl lastupidebitchetteidekwho1amsilverwolf-sama  wishing-wanting annoyinglyloudcomputer  faithful-music akacalumtrash  agusdoti   panickedbrain serendipitous-amorshannonthewriter-blog    darth-andy   farfromtom   xroselightsmurdermornings dorbiksbitch   baby-unidorn   yes-multi-fandom-girl multiversegalaxygirl a-disappointing-teen-author rivas0309 vlogsquad-wannabe   spicy-embryoo takemetoneverland420teenage-tragedy  roxybefab   hopebaker timeless-crowmarvel4geeks  desteweirdo panicattheeverywherekid   1-800-noahschnapple miragee3cjphoenix135liawhite03zeusmysterboinkybarnesleftarmaunicornmademedoitActionsMinimizeClosetomshufflepuff  drishtisikarwar  peterparkourefrantasmicjillanaholland   imdoingathingmom shawni-h lukesbabylon  dsl1999 queenmochi heyarely16  jokersqueenofchaos agusdoti karmaboundlife lalabruhh  blackloveangel13  flufflymota07 un-viaje-en-las-estrellas lozzybowe  teenwolfrebel   panickedbrainspaghetittiesbcimgay   itscaminow shirukitsunepetersquipsbuckybsxroselights saucyparkerrzeusmystermsmimimertonfudgemesteveharrington1999yaniraboinkybarnesleftarm  parayeet-amiright  peterparkoure   zoey-one-oh-fun  drishtisikarwar  theunicorndinosaur  spideylovinflufflymota07  marzbarz1360 sspidermanss  honeyheartzz overcaffeinatedbuttired @toreadortowrite​  kyarahollander2013 my-soul-is-the-moon marvel-snowbaz cuddlefishpeter 1-800-jackgrazerspicy-embryoo shannonthewriter-blog  @tomshufflepuff​ @xoxohollands​   starriglcss  fandom-phaser  starryseavey the-specific-oceans  @sspidermanss​  1-800-noahschnapple

[stilemawillow]

MTIJ | Ch.15 The Bus Isn’t a Place For High Heels

|mtij masterlist|

pairing: levi ackerman x reader (eren jaeger x reader)

word count: 9.8k

summary: a girl with a variety of hidden complexes has to live with a french asshole for nine months. easy? on the surface. problematic? definitely. romantic? not too much, or at least they’d make it a point to say so everytime when asked. the end? please, their dynamic isn’t as simple as that.

Saturday. Most dictionaries would tell you it was a weekend, the day on which God was done creating the world and decided enough was enough before resting for all of Sunday. But as a high-class member of society and a person living in the 21st century, I had the privilege to work five days and rest for the remaining two until the circle spun back to its beginning. In this case, Saturday was humanity’s holy grail and I personally wished for it to be untainted, free and for my use only, every week of every month of every year, till the day I died. For the past 173 weeks, I’d gotten exactly what I’d wanted, but obviously not today. Because it was Saturday and it kept getting worse, awkward mishaps piling up like the forgotten homework on Eren’s desk.

It would be useless of me to recount what the mishaps were but I was interested in the number so far, thus why we begin with the fact I had to come into school to make up for my future spring vacation. Then the fact I had P.E., which enabled Hitch to come onto me like an angry mix between a rhino and a hyena. Third mishap was probably my short fuse and the fact I’d kicked a fucking bench to cool off, which, by the way, I wouldn’t recommend to any individual with dignity who didn’t want to have a giant purplish bruise on their leg. Hitting the air was a way more harmless, exhausting and safe option. Onto mishap number four, which pictured the intern coming along in the Jaguar and telling me about the restaurant we had to go to. Counting the dozen small things during our lunch would be useless so I could directly skip to the kiss we’d had to perform at the end, followed closely by the fact we were dumb as fuck and had given away the Jaguar, along with all my belongings.

A close seven was the humiliation at the book store and maybe eight was the new magic number because I greatly hoped for public transport to be my last unfortunate situation at the top of the pile. My uncle and aunt probably thought my fiancé and I were having the time of our lives, walking around the square and giggling to ourselves on our lovey-dovey fairytale-like date but reality was a bit different than that. After we’d called our truce, we sat at the bus stop and I was quick to think up a game to drown the uncomfortable silence with, so I challenged the ebony-haired intern to bet on what colour cars would pass us. The rules were simple. When the street was empty, we bet on colours without specifying the particular shades and waited to see who would win when a car rolled by. Our scores didn’t make the official board in my head because, frankly, we played for twenty minutes and I didn’t really want the numbers to spike because of a simple betting game based on luck. Or, well, in my case knowledge.

Because I won, of course. I wouldn’t call it cheating but it was an advantage I refrained from boasting about, because I’d played this game a lot with Eren and Annie, and the blonde had beat me only once. The secret to success? Why, I was a person who did a lot to entertain themselves. Also, somebody who drove their own car for two years now. What conclusion stemmed from that? Well, that I knew very well what types of cars the city had and which colours were popular. Annie and Eren hadn’t picked up on that after almost a decade of playing and I doubted my father’s intern – however smart or intelligent otherwise – would get the gist of it on the first try. True to my prediction, he didn’t. And technically he caught up with the fact I named mostly dark colours but it was his own fault for being somewhat of a gentleman and not opposing me when I claimed the spot of choosing first. Eight out of ten times, I got it right and his glare only made me laugh. Thus, over fifty cars later, the scoreboard in my head looked like this:

Asshole: 3 Me: 5 Out of a Total: 8

It felt good to be a winner. The feeling didn’t last long once we got on the bus. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say all eyes were on us and with good reason – our betting game had made me forget for a little while that we still looked like a mafia couple heading to a lavish banquet. All we were missing was the gun strapped under Levi’s shirt and the knife tucked into my stockings, you know, right by the slutty slit, where it would be easy for me to reach and grab it. We paid for our tickets and there were no free seats so maybe that was the number eight mishap that led to a rather painful ride. Painful both emotionally and physically, seeing as we had to smush ourselves into the crowd with nothing to hold onto. 

"Don't fucking push me." I growled in displeasure at Levi, whose elbow was by now digging halfway past my ribcage and poking my poor liver. The intern was reluctant to move away but just as he made an attempt, the woman pressed flushed into his side decided it would be the perfect time to sway, push at him and thus make his elbow jab into my ribcage with doubled intensity. "Ouch!" I yelped spitefully, trying to take a step to the side and accidentally bumping my back into the chest of the man standing next to me. In comparison to him, I looked like a baby mouse next to a rat on steroids. Wasn’t too proud of that. He casually glared at me before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stiffly tightening his grip on his suitcase. I cringed internally and looked at the raven with a scowl, making him click his tongue.

"If you haven’t noticed, princess, I don’t control everybody on this bus. We’re in the same boat.” The bus came to a halt right after he’d finished talking, which almost made my ankles tie. I wobbled and tried to hold onto my balance whilst spitefully asking how many of this “everybody” was in tall heels? He rolled his eyes and held onto the side railing that unfortunately wasn’t accessible to me. The man behind me was holding the one over my head and, even with my four-inch advantage, I was still incapable of reaching it properly. I clutched the books closer to my chest and followed the bus’s motion as the doors closed and it drove off. "Excluding your highness you mean?" The intern’s retort made me glare as I attempted to grasp the handrail above my head. Futile and humiliating was what that looked like. 

The people surrounding us, thankfully, seemed indulged enough in their own misery not to laugh at me. Besides the cold businessman behind me and Mr Professional-French-Asshole next to me, I was also surrounded by a trio of kids from the front (every time they snickered, I couldn’t help being conceited and think they did so because of me) and a pair of women on my other side – a middle-aged woman with a lot of Walmart bags and a plump young girl boredly scrolling through her phone. If I had to pick, the biggest annoyance of all those was the intern. Mind you, he was the only one out of the bunch I was acquainted with and that was the exact reason asking him for help was immensely humiliating. Not to mention he’d probably much rather push me over than aid me. 

"Grab on." Patronising and cold, and I glanced at him as he gestured towards his free hand. He was an inch shorter than me right now, I was staring at him in complete bafflement and when the bus took a sharp turn I almost knocked the girl’s phone out of her hands in my attempt to stay upright. Her reproachful glare made me cringe shamefully as I glanced at the intern’s awaiting expression and frowned prior to wrapping slinging my arm round his. Acceptable in terms of stability but not so much for our image, seeing as everybody probably thought we were a couple and this wasn’t helping me correct their assumption. Then again, pride above all. That meant I’d let them assume and prevent them from laughing at me if I refused and happened to fall over. “How much time left?” The raven’s question made me hum as the bus stopped at a red light and I had to tighten my hold on his arm.

"Twenty minutes without traffic." I was staring at the doors ahead when the kids in front of us snickered and made my eyes narrow as a random memory floated to the surface of my mind. Elementary school for me was hard because being rich and having parents on the brink of divorce made me exactly the spoiled princess the intern thought I was. My only friend had been Annie and everybody else, well, had been my enemy. Bullying was a regular occurrence, almost entirely the norm.

One day, I got into a fight and my father was called to the principal’s office. In typical Raven fashion, he sassed him, walked out with my hand in his and approached the kid I’d hit and his father in the hallway. Before the other man could say anything, my father requested an apology from the kid. Mumbled, yes, but there. Then, at the other father’s snide expression, Rolland Raven said something (“If I hear my daughter’s been bullied again, I’ll be forced to act accordingly. Your kid’s one strike in and if we get to the third, your only mistake will be that you didn’t take me seriously.”) that would’ve put Liam Neeson’s performance to shame. We walked out of the building and I never once heard him berate me for using violence but he did note a proper Raven’s job would be to take everybody down using nothing but their words. The following day, the kid’s father personally came up to me and gave me an apology basket to bring home. This was one of many examples my father gave me throughout the years as to accidentally prove that he was somebody whose approach to most situations was an approach I wanted to one day have as well. 

"Entertain me." The bored command made me snap back to reality, where the intern was looking at me expectantly. I snorted at his tactlessness and sarcastically asked if he expected of me to dress in a drag and do the hula, to which he cocked a thin brow. My face paled in mild panic because he couldn’t have possibly recognised the source. But he did have a little sister. But he surely didn’t know--- “Did you just quote The Lion King?” And he just had to prove me wrong because he obviously recognised it. Yes, not like Disney movies were only for little kids. The movie marathons Annie and I had monthly were a perfect example. This, however, wasn’t something I planned on letting him know, hence why I immediately denied. "Isn't the word you're searching for “yes”?" His voice was cold but his eyes were as if laughing. 

"No, the word I'm searching for I can't say because there are preschool toys present." My arrogant statement was accompanied by a glare, to which he clicked his tongue and looked at me with something akin to condescension. Either that or I’d villainized him to such a point he possessed only three types of looks – a lost one, a spiteful one and a condescending one. He casually noted I hadn’t been too sneaky with the Toy Story one and the middle-aged woman behind me pushed past my body in her attempt to reach the bus doors. I stumbled forth, almost dropped my books and felt his arm let go of mine to instead wrap around my waist and pull me against him. My hopes of this being a normal spite-filled bus ride with no physical contact resembling intimacy hit rock bottom and stayed there to weep in their hopelessness. “I’m surprised you even noticed the first one.” The driver hit the breaks, his hold tightened, the doors opened, the kids snickered and I couldn’t stare at my feet because I’d be headbutting the intern. 

"For your information, I think I’m just as knowledgable as you, if not more.” I gaped at him in offence but his face was like an impenetrable fortress, except there was this little open window on the second floor and past it – the glimmering blue specks challenging me to doubt his cold self-assuredness. Almost like he wanted me to argue with him. And I took the bait immediately because my ancestors would be very disappointed in my Raven ways if I missed an opportunity to prove my intelligence or, in this case, dedication to memorising Disney movie scripts. “Go ahead, princess. Floor’s yours.” My eyes narrowed at the flat taunt and we stepped back when a few more people got off at the stop. The intern’s back was pressed against the window and the group of kids was stalking us, too drawn to eavesdropping on our childish topic to resume discussing theirs.

"South America. It's like America, but south." I blurted out the first quote that came to mind and the raven’s frown stayed put as he returned it was from Up. Almost like it had been too easy. “Your turn.” I waited for him after clearing my throat and making him realise he was still holding onto my waist. His grip disappeared and I begrudgingly slung my arm round his again. We were standing shoulder to shoulder when he spoke ("Geez, I used to take lunch money from guys like this.") and I didn’t even need to hear the accent that went along with his words to know immediately which the movie was. I’d binged it with Eren two weeks ago, after all. “Too easy. Atlantis The Lost Empire.” I was smirking, proud and confident and very very sure my knowledge surpassed his. We were staring at the doors, he looked like a scary sculpture and I looked like a Mathematician solving a hard equation in my quest to browse my memory for something that would stump him completely. So I chose a classic. “It looks awful.” Vague as fuck. Perfect. This would surely secure my victory. Or so I thought.

“That’s because it’s on you, dear.” His indifferent voice didn’t suit the line but he quoted it word for word. This was war. And despite the fact I should’ve felt threatened or frustrated with the fact he was putting up a fight, I was just a bit giddy because he was proving to be a worthy opponent. Almost like we could go a few minutes without fighting or being passive-aggressive to each other. I hummed and bit back a smile whilst commenting that he wasn’t too bad, to which he only huffed. “Not so bad yourself, princess.” The praise was unneeded but, for the first time, I didn’t feel like he was being condescending. Or maybe he was and the game had riled me up to the point of forgetting I hated him. "Tell us where the talking llama is and we'll burn your house to the ground." Came his next quote, to which I bit back a snicker.

"Uh, don't you mean “or”?" Suppressing laughter, enforcing my acting lessons and quoting back all at once was a strenuous job that, upon a closer look, seemed to entertain our young group of stalkers rather efficiently. Then he kept the script going with a blank expression and a flat voice ("Tell us where the talking llama is or we'll burn your house to the ground.") and I watched our reflections in the bus doors when a traffic light stopped us next to a dark office building. Then I decided to bring things to a whole new level by using the impressions I’d done in my prepubescent period to win over my boyfriend’s heart. "Well, which is it? That seems like a pretty crucial conjunction." I faked a high-pitched sassy tone and caught the raven twitch at my side. My eyes were on the reflection and I swore my breath hitched in my throat when I saw the corner of his straight lips curl upwards. He huffed, I blinked and it was gone. Must’ve been my imagination. I kept blinking in stupefaction when the bus drove off and made me tumble. We would’ve clashed if one of the kids in front of me hadn’t lost its balance. I reached to grab its shoulder and realised a bit too late I’d let go of the intern completely.

I would’ve fallen atop the children if the ebony-haired male’s hand hadn’t caught me before that. I stared at him awkwardly, the books were pressed between our bodies and when the bus’s speed normalised, the kids were giggling at our pair. The gentle pressure on top of my lips was suddenly back. His cologne was strong, my hatred should’ve been stronger but the mean voice in my head ended on top. What do we have here? Bad thoughts? You know, I wouldn’t blame you if you fell in love. Since you already fell and all. We have just one more step to get through. I refused to shake my head and appear like a complete lunatic. The blue specks were blurry but bright and then his fingers began withdrawing.

"It would seem that you've fallen for me, princess." His touch almost seemed to linger but that might’ve been my imagination playing tricks on me again, like it had with the reflection. I was just a bit red, just a bit mesmerised, just a bit angry with myself and surprisingly not with him, just a bit aware of the fact he went out of his way to embarrass me, if only for the simple joy of listening to the kids laugh at my constipated expression as I stepped away from his touch, fixed my dress and jabbed my shoulder into his with my back pressed flat against the window. I hated my high heels and I knew the perfect thing to say that would serve two purposes – a little bit of mockery and a whole lot of spinning the topic back round whence it’d been a tad more peaceful, if certain peace was something that could even be achieved when it came to us.

"Well, you know how men are. They think “no” means “yes” and “get lost” means “take me, I'm yours”." Not to be cliché but strong females in kids’ movies did something to my sexuality. That, added to my family’s influence, probably made me who I was right now. A morally grey female on the path to independence whose Prince Charming occasionally depended on her a bit more than she did on him. Maybe if I hadn’t found true love early on, I would’ve wallowed in my misery contrary to embracing the teachings of single life and its supposed advantages. Either way, this would, for sure, settle the score in my head.

"You're the most amazing person with weak ankles I've ever met." The intern’s cold retort made me glance at him. I was glaring because he’d been quick to catch on to the source of the quote but his expression left me in the dust because the blue specks amongst the grey were like an endless galaxy and they were saying (“Count us, (Y/N), count us, and even if you glare at us, we don’t mind because we mean it.”) something that made my shoulders go rigid. Hercules and Meg had been a duo I’d fancied as a little girl. The girl with the dark past working as a double agent and the naïve hero with heart of gold falling for her schemes and, subsequently, for her. This before me wasn’t Hercules – in spite of that, I almost felt like Meg for a split second because I’d enjoyed myself but that wasn’t right even with our established truce and now it was time to go back to my schemes. The businessman with the suitcase was looking at us and the girl’s eyes spared themselves a second away from her phone’s screen in order to throw a suggestive glance at our duo. Embarrassment clawed its way to the tips of my fingers and I clutched the books closer to my chest, absentmindedly twirling the silver ring on my left hand to distract myself.

We kept tossing quotes at each other for the remainder of the ride. I was sad to announce nobody won for a lack of rules that would dictate a victory contrary to a loss. Three more falls occurred. Two more tripping accidents. And exactly one scenario where the intern was the one to lose his footing due to being pushed by the band of cruel kids in front of us. The most details I would share (in order to keep some of my privacy and some of my sanity) were that my left boob was collateral damage, I was glaring and saw, for the first time, the impenetrable fortress buckle in mortification at the prospect of accidentally having touched me inappropriately. He was red, the colour didn’t suit him and the mental scoreboard in my head didn’t budge but giving him a taste of his own medicine was sweet and I did laugh loudly enough for the whole bus to cease their activities and spare us a glance. They wrote us off as a lovesick couple and proceeded whatever it was they were doing but it almost felt weird to realise that one last day of perseverance parted us from acting like complete strangers around the house. Maybe I was happy about that. Maybe the mean voice in my head begged to differ. Either way, on our way out of the bus, the intern’s elbow chose the perfect moment to stab my abdomen and make me grunt as I stumbled out in my high heels.

“Oh, look at that, I’ve been impaled.” It was laced with spite and pain, and I was pacing towards the front door but the key-bearer wasn’t trying to catch up and maybe my ears were lying to me but I could swear I heard stifled chuckling behind my back while awaitingly glaring at the door. It haunted me for the remainder of the day but I chose to pin in on incoming delirium, early stages of old age, bad hearing and whatever else I could think of. I refused to admit I’d made the cold statue laugh, even if it had been for a mere five seconds. I refused to admit also that whatever the name of the sound, it had made my heart act weird for a bit. Just a bit. Just a skip. Nothing of importance.

It was safe to say the first thing I did when I got home was snatch the Jaguar keys from the counter and go grab my stuff from the car in the garage. Then I spent the rest of the day in my room, till it was time for me to go downstairs and have dinner with my family. My mother had made a mainly vegetable dish, I barely ate and my uncle and aunt didn’t mention at all the lunch we’d had – my parents mentioned nothing of it either. Obviously, this was going to be a peaceful dinner. I called Eren and paced around the backyard after it was done, the intern was in my father’s office working on papers for next week and suddenly it was 10 p.m. – the perfect time for me to change into my pyjamas and go to sleep. Exactly one highlight was the fact the intern walked in right as I was putting on my bottoms, so I tripped in them while hissing at him to close the goddamn door, which got slammed with the speed of sound. 

I called him in with a growl after I’d calmed the angry cherry shade of my face, he quietly settled into his sleeping bag for the last time and I turned my back to him, tightly shut eyes and pursed lips till I drifted off, which was exceptionally hard because the guy I hated, who I’d kissed earlier today was on the floor. Maybe a good comedian could twist this situation into a good skit about how a pair of spiteful strangers forced into a fake engagement were the mirror image of a pair of spouses after twenty years of actual marriage. Buckle your belts, kids, the future doesn’t look that different from bitterly scrunching your nose at the breathing pattern of the person getting cramps on the polished parquet next to your bed. It was about eight hours later when my subconscience told me it was time to wakey-wakey.

That was done, of course, in the gentlest ways possible. By making me turn like a human fidget spinner, tangle in my sheets and gracelessly tumble from the bed. There was a pained grunt, sharp pain in my foot and chest and my eyes were supposed to be open but my vision was heavily impaired. For a second I got scared I’d gone blind because, well, karma. Maybe for cheating on my boyfriend. But no, one second was needed for the situation to clear in my head, mostly because the pained grunt hadn’t come from me. I pushed myself up, blinking rapidly and trying to chase the drowsiness from my features as the intern’s disgruntled expression stood inches away from me. 

"What the fucking hell?" The mumbled question made my vocal cords pause because this was such a typical representation of a man’s morning voice it struck me as weird the intern even had it in himself to hit a deeper octave than he usually did. He blinked at me twice but his lids soon fell and he threw an arm over them to block the sunlight coming in from the window. I felt a yawn going up my throat, let it out in a very unladylike manner and proceeded to excuse myself for almost brutally murdering us both in the early hours of a Sunday.

"I had a nightmare." Not a lie. Fragments of it were still doing circles in my head. Eren and a horde of pigs were chasing me and I thought I fell off a cliff and they followed at the end but I couldn’t be sure. Would make a good script for a comedy-horror but that wasn’t the point here. My eyes went back to closing and the shock factor of the nightmare and the tumble weren’t affecting me at all – in that moment I knew exactly two things: it was blasphemy not to sleep in on a Sunday and the body in the sleeping bag under me was like a furnace whispering casting spells on my easily tempted mind. Then it occurred to me the body didn’t belong to my boyfriend, thus it would be a blasphemy to let myself be affected by the spells.

"And you had to drop on top of me of all things?" I glanced at the clock and ignored his question and yes, my mind acknowledged I couldn’t drop, play dead and go back to sleep on top of him (tempting as that might’ve been) but that didn’t mean the little amount of conscience I had in me had spread enough to control my limbs. It was seven a.m. and this was my thirteenth reason, if you know what I meant. I sat up with a mumbled apology and groaned at the sudden headache attempting to split my skull into two perfect halves. I just barely muttered under my breath that my head hurt, knowing the raven would either ignore me or briefly lecture me on how hatred resulted in stress. "I'll give you a pill later." His morning voice made me blink at him as if he’d just told me he’d kiss it better. The impossibility of ignoring the allure of his tone, paired with the fact he was offering help, resulted in me frantically looking around the room to check if we had an audience. Because he wasn’t kind and considerate when it wasn’t for the sake of the play. Must’ve dropped his asshole persona because he was too sleepy, I concluded. Still, it was alarming.

"Are you alright?" Suitable inquiry, if you asked me. The live epitome of the word “cold as fuck bad boy asshole who don’t smile for nobody” was telling me he’d give me a pill for my headache in a voice completely devoid of sarcasm. It was natural I would immediately assume something was wrong with him. Maybe, biologically impossible, but maybe the one glass of wine he’d drunk yesterday had a drug with a timer in it. Or he was sick and about to die and being kind was on his bucket list. Or somebody had kidnapped, brainwashed and returned him while I slept. Possibilities were raining in my head, almost to the point of considering the scenario of having to drive him to the ER because he had a brain tumour. Then he gave a weak snort and turned his back to me.

“Of course, I’m fine, Petra. You’re the one I’m worried about.” Soft mumble with just a pinch of mockery in it but otherwise – the single most gentle tone of voice he’d used in my presence. My eyes widened and I blinked at his back like an owl – something was wrong here, after all. This was disturbing. Was he still dreaming? And who the fuck was Petra?

Must care about her if he goes as far as to openly say he worries. My mind woke up bit by bit the more it analysed the puzzle pieces on the table. Sure, some were stuffed under the bed and others were probably playing hide and seek in the backyard, but the ones I had right now were enough for me to overthink for a while. Under normal circumstances, I’d use this for blackmail in case he decided to be annoying or I’d push more to test how long of a conversation he could lead with me in English whilst calling the name Petra. Sure, but the fall probably deactivated my sadistic switch because I did neither. His hair looks soft. Which reminds me, he’s probably stealing from my conditioner. I hummed suspiciously at his head and was barely reaching forward when my logic gripped the reigns. Hold your horses, girlie. You hate this guy around the clock, okay? No breaks at 7 o’clock were mentioned in the written agreement. Yes, they weren’t, I nodded along while withdrawing my hand and slowly rising to my feet to approach the balcony door.

Total babe from head to toe in my unicorn pyjamas, I knew. I opened the balcony with a quiet sigh and listened to George’s snoring echo in the quiet morning and it occurred to me I was batshit crazy for getting up at 7 a.m. on a weekend without being held at gunpoint to make it happen. The fresh air made a chill run down my spine, then I breathed in deeply and decided that I’d be a productive person today – which just meant getting up early and having a peaceful lonely morning downstairs all by myself. Every new parent’s dream, far as I could guess. So I let my grandma-like mental age show, I went back to the intern, who, in his sleep, had pushed his sleeping bag away, and my hands quietly put it back over him. Genuinely hoped he wouldn’t wake up because this would be hard to play off as something done out of spite.

"I'll go make coffee. Want one?" Futile to ask him, I knew. But I had to act like a good fiancé and, well, we’d called a truce yesterday so it would do no harm to bribe him into staying out of my life. There was a moment of silence and I was about to head to the door when his murmur ("... Earl Grey. Thank you.") made my mouth gape in shock. A thank you? Seriously? He was trying to creep me out or something. Still, I nodded along even though he’d probably gone back to sleep. "Sure." I took my leave right after, cautiously closing the door behind myself and immediately heading to the bathroom to wash my face. The cold water made my droopy eyes open a bit more, I got goosebumps and my mind was put in race mode as looked at myself in the mirror. The name Petra couldn’t stop repeating in my head, to the point I turned a blind eye to the fact I looked horrifying.

Not inherently French, maybe. Could be a friend or a relative. I dried my hands and face with a towel, combing my hair when my hand halted. Girlfriend? Possible. I exited the bathroom and headed down the stairs, gazing at the fridge with stale longing. The vegetables yesterday would surely make me act up today. Maybe she dumped him and he’s still in love. I went through the process of turning on the coffee machine mechanically – pouring water, waiting for it to heat up, fixing the adjustments, putting the ground coffee and setting a cup in place. He can be gentle. Always cold subtle insults for me but this was a level of care I never expected. She must be a whole angel with wings to bring out so much kindness in him. Didn’t swear once. The beeping told me my coffee was done. I took it, poured milk, mixed in sugar and sat at the counter. Yeah, 100% his girlfriend. I put my chin in my palm and propped my elbow on top of the cold marble, absentmindedly stirring my coffee. 

The sun rays were slithering across the floor of the living room through the glass door to the backyard and the air seemed to have a gold tint. Green grass, empty pool, rose bushes. I remembered how I’d helped my mother plant them years ago. Empress Joséphine was first with her lively pink petals that sometimes had the ability to help me calm down if I stared at them long enough when I was annoyed. We’d planted the Ispahan rose second because my mother adored preaching that it had a long blooming season even though it came once a year. I’d caught her on multiple occasions when she sat in the backyard and drew the flowers. Last but not least, my favourite bush since I’d been young – Harrison’s Yellow. The colour drew me to it initially – at a specific angle, the yellow petals turned golden. The bushes formed a half-circle surrounding the pool we’d left to its own devices around the time I was ten. My father didn’t want to clean it and my mother was sceptic when it came to basically filling it with money.

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. During moments like these, when I was all alone in the kitchen, gazing at the backyard, I felt warm nostalgia settle in the crevice of my chest. The beautiful scenery made me think I was all alone in the world with a small corner of paradise staring at me. The graveyard silence of the house contrasted the chirping of birds on the other side of the door and I was the little kid who’d snuck down the stairs in the early morning with the intention to make breakfast for her parents. My life was good and peaceful, mostly a comedy, sometimes a tragedy, sometimes romance – this was one of the moments that made it feel like the frame had frozen at the perfect time. The camera would keep rolling at some point and the peaceful scenery would fill with the comical approach of my sleepy family and their pretentious taste when it came to morning drinks. And even though I hated silence, I was just trying to enjoy it right now, before the frozen frame moved.

It was ten minutes later when I took a sip from my coffee with my eyes tracing the dust particles in the golden air that my ears caught the sound of an opening door, closely followed by the soft padding of bare feet over the parquet floor. My lids fluttered and my hues lazily climbed the stairs prior to settling on the figure at their top. I greeted my uncle with a small smile as he sat across from me at the counter, rubbing at his eyes and running a hand through his hair. I quickly got up with the intention to help him awaken better by making him a cup of coffee.

“Morning, cupcake. You’re up early.” I returned I could say the same to him, then he snorted. “Exceptions have to be made once in a while. Also, your aunt elbowed me out of the bed.” He sighed and I chuckled from my spot next to the coffee machine. I was staring at the glistening ring on my finger when the beeping of the machine sounded in the quiet kitchen. I served his black coffee with a smile, then he gave a satisfied nod. “Thanks, cupcake.” I took my place across from him and wrapped my fingers round my cup, eyeing the look on his youthful features. Jared Raven was forty, looked like he was thirty and acted like he was twenty. The only things about him that matched his actual age were the silver stings interlocking with his dark locks here and there and the small laughter-induced wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Also his weakening stamina and regular sleeping schedule. He’d become a father at twenty-two, winning a bet against my father, who’d been welcomed into fatherhood by my highness four months later. Doubted my father was proud of himself for losing that one.

"You know, (Y/N), I love your father." Speak of the devil. Uncle Jared’s words were slow and cautious, almost like saying the wrong thing would make a mess. “You know we began competing when we were young. Your grandpa had a fetish for being disappointed in both of us so we decided to settle the score of who comes out on top on our own. At first, I did it to win, because I love winning.” The emphasis made me chuckle. “But I love my brother more. Pride is an inherent Raven trait but his was special. As a kid, I liked angering him, but time changed that. I ran slower to the store when I was twelve and gave him his first victory. After that, he won every time we ran there. Next, I got lower grades. I became quieter, had fewer friends, asked Petunia to marry me only after Rol and Arie set their date for January. I, however, had a child first and it walked first but spoke second. You know your first word was “victory”?” He laughed and I thought it must’ve been why I was grandpa’s favourite – a Raven straight out of the crib.

“Throughout the years, the bets kept going. You know only about a few. So one night we got tipsy and I foolishly slurred that George, as the eldest, was supposed to find himself a fiancé first. Rol argued without batting an eyelash. We found a whole month later our father had raised the stakes. And three years later, it’s your victory, though I’m not losing much since I won the bet on who’d get a better-paid job.” His weak chuckle made my lips purse as I pushed at my cup and when his soft eyes landed on mine, I almost knew what was coming. “I don’t need the truth but it’s obvious your father wasn’t ecstatic when we admitted our defeat last night. I don’t just love my brother, I know him. Whether you’re engaged or not isn’t important. The money is for your college fund. I’m letting it slide, Petunia doesn’t know and Levi didn’t know either, judging by his reaction when I told him. Now, cupcake, this is just between us. Your father’s doing this for you but it doesn’t make him feel good so maybe cheer him up.” His warm smile made me nod.

"I will." My statement made him chuckle heartily and pat my hand over the counter. “Uncle,” he was looking at me, waiting and I wouldn’t be admitting defeat but I was curious, “is this based only on my father’s behaviour?” Because we’d made other mistakes but we’d performed brilliantly at the restaurant and I wanted to know if he saw it the same way.

“Entirely. You were impeccable. But, you know, the rest of the family will also love Levi. So, in case this was all a farce, I think you shouldn’t let them meet him unless you actually plan on marrying him.” I refrained from nodding and then he smirked. “You know it wasn’t the kiss that sold your aunt? It was the ride back home.” My brows scrunched at his words and then he snorted. “The bra on the floor of the car? Yeah, she was in stupor for a few hours.” My face paled, then reddened, then my uncle was laughing loud enough to wake the whole house. “I won’t tell your father, don’t worry. I know he likes to fancy you’re still as innocent as you were when you were five. And when it comes to you, he’s a winner through and through.” I gave a light smile and he took a sip from his coffee when the opening of a door sounded.

"Why are you two awake so early?" My mother’s voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs and I turned to look at her sleepy form still in her pyjamas. I’d inherited my (h/c) bird’s nest hair from her. She was yawning when uncle Jared cleared we’d just happened to wake up, to which I nodded along and my mother narrowed her droopy eyes at our smiling faces. Smiling people in the early hours of a Sunday were usually a good source of suspicion. “I hope you’re not discussing a family taboo or something.” She began preparing herself tea, reminding me of the fact the intern had wanted an Earl Grey and I probably had to make it. 

“Why, that’s all we ever talk about, Arie. I’m currently telling her about your mother’s strange tradition to wet the toothbrush before putting on the toothpaste. What a monstrous act. And your daughter will remember it for life.” Uncle Jared’s exaggerated performance made me cackle as the room became livelier and livelier with the passing of each second.

“Please, Edward’s the one who can’t learn how to put on clothes before he goes to sleep and my mother’s hygiene habits are the ones to scar my daughter for life? I admit it’s a taboo for you, Ravens, but it’s not nearly the worst thing you can tell her.” My mother was heating up water when uncle Jared retorted his father at least closed the door of the bathroom when he took a shit, unlike some of her relatives. She turned around with an offended gasp, then the microwave’s beeping created the perfect background noise for their bickering. “You saw my cousin Joshua do it once, Jared! Once! I’m not going to hear about it for the rest of my life.” The last part was mumbled as she took a jar of honey out of the cupboard above the sink and uncle Jared gave a mocking snort before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Might as well, it’ll haunt us all.” His words were muffled by the rim of his cup as I bit back a chuckle and my mother gracefully brushed off the topic and quirked her brows at me whilst asking, at last, how yesterday had gone. Uncle Jared seemed convinced enough of our engagement and he’d promised not to say anything either way. But I knew he was the type to inspect a fact from all possible sides – thus why he might’ve immediately concluded the kiss we’d shared in front of them, in the case of this being a lie, was a taboo. I glanced at his bright gaze and it was laughing at me encouragingly as if saying he wouldn’t interject no matter what I decided to say. 

"Well, the food was fine. But then somebody tricked us into giving him the Jaguar without offering to drive us home and we had time to spare. I bought myself two books and took the bus home. I was impaled on the way out but that’s not important.” I dismissed casually with a whisk of my hand as my mother sat next to me with wide eyes. Uncle Jared, however, was the first to echo the impalement part of my sentence. Of course, a bit of hyperbole never hurt nobody. “Yeah, by my precious fiancé's elbow.” The explanation made them sigh as they lifted their drinks to their lips. It was then I stood from my chair and began rummaging in the cupboard holding my mother’s tea collection for the box of Earl Grey. One last day of being a good fiancé and I’d never be making tea again. I heated some water, picked an orange cup the intern would be annoyed to drink from and proceeded to steep the tea.

Annie will have some Psychology bullshit to say about me avoiding his name. I rolled my eyes and took the milk out of the fridge, tapping on the carton mindlessly. Which is interesting because he also avoids using mine but he was quick to say Petra. Further proof she’s his girlfriend. Or kiss might’ve been an entirely shit experience for him, too, in that case, for more than one reason. I hummed, throwing out the tea bag once the herbs had done their job and pouring some milk. How cute. You remember how he likes his tea. I scowled at my mean alter ego whilst stirring the hot beverage. Enough of this intern. My conversation with my uncle was a bit more important. My father had told me the money would be mostly for me in the form of future savings, still, to think he felt bad for using a total stranger to win them had eluded me. And now I was supposed to cheer him up when I didn’t even know how to cheer myself up sometimes.

"Good morning, Arie, Jared. (Y/N), you're up early." My father made his entrance just as I was pondering how I was supposed to entertain him out of his unusual misery without particularly letting him know I was doing that. I was putting the milk back in the fridge, looking at his drowsy frown and rolling my eyes with a retort (“What’s with you brothers using the same lines on me? Do you practice?”) that made him gasp dramatically. It was cut off by a yawn, uncle Jared was laughing and when I seated myself at the counter with the intern’s tea, (e/c) clashed with (e/c) and I realised my father was in a good mood. His performance only went to prove that. "Oh, no, Jared, we've been found out. Quick, we've got to bicker to distract her." The brothers exchanged conspiratory glances, then the eldest one nodded hurriedly prior to slapping his knee with a fake gasp of disgust. How fast he could turn on his acting would never cease to amaze me.

"Ew, Rolland, are those the pyjamas our mother gave us?! Are you trying to copy me and look cool in pink after all these years?!" Upon a closer look, they matched perfectly, safe for the colour of their shirts. Loose worn-down pink sweatpants whose once-upon-a-time bright red had washed down to a dull dark pink and simple baggy T-shirts – white for my father and black for my uncle. My mother put a hand to her mouth as to not laugh out loud and it took the brothers about three seconds to realise uncle Jared’s diversion had been spot-on. The most sibling thing they’d done besides bickering constantly, to be honest. They did share one brain sometimes.

"Jesus Christ, we actually match. What the hell, Jared? Aren't those the sweatpants Petunia wore last year?" Their shocked faces of realisation matched perfectly despite the differences in their features, too. My father’s outrage, however, triggered a contrasting reaction from uncle Jared – meaning scepticism and mockery, conveyed by a very particular type of smirk. Then he spoke (“Pot, meet kettle, Rol. Those are Arie’s sweatpants from the year before. Don’t think I wouldn’t recognise them.”) and I took a sip from my coffee only to almost choke on it while my mother’s lips pursed in her comical attempt to hold back laughter. Then the brothers were glaring at each other and my father’s mouth gaped in mild offence. “Does this mean you’ve been checking out my wife when I wasn’t looking?” Certainly a question in desperate need of an answer. One I almost wished never to have heard since it made me swear to all gods in existence despite my religious abstinence that I would’ve died on the spot if I had coffee in my mouth in that moment. Uncle Jared laughed straight at his brother’s face, slapped his knee and then smirked condescendingly.

“Wrong question, my dear brother.” He waved a boney index finger in front of my father’s frowning face, then proceeded to make my mother’s and my eardrums suffer the second-hand embarrassment and shame of his words. “I do it when you’re looking, too. It’s my duty as the eldest in our family and I’m a proud Raven. Therefore, the only wife I don’t check out is my own.” He put a proud hand to his chest, my father looked like he would strangle him, my mother was slapping the marble and wheezing and I put a hand to my forehead at the ridiculousness of my uncle’s impeccable performance. Still, it made me think that if only I could speak such humiliating words whilst yielding confidence of that calibre, I would be unstoppable. My father was on his way to blow a fuse when we heard a yawn coming from the stairs.

"What’s all the ruckus about?" Aunt Petunia and Goerge were rubbing their eyes groggily, then my cousin went to his father’s side, pouting sleepily as uncle Jared patted his head. I snorted and stared at the steam coming off the intern’s tea, coming to the conclusion that my peace had been written off as deceased for the rest of the day. Till the next weekend on which I’d be cursed enough to wake up first. The next few minutes were full of bickering left and right – my mother, my aunt and I were trying to slip out of making breakfast, the two brothers benevolently offering to make more coffee and George deciding, quite wisely, that he’d settle for eating a banana instead of nagging us to cook. The sun had risen, illuminating the rose bushes in the backyard from a different angle – one I wasn’t able to observe due to the interference of the Raven brothers’ broad shoulders pushing lightly at each other in a silent battle of sorts. Despite that, the morning stayed just as pretty.

"So... back to your impalement." Uncle Jared’s words made everybody at the table quiet down as they looked at me. My mother and uncle knew the circumstances, George and my father seemed just a bit baffled by the lack of context and aunt Petunia paled, making my lips purse as I realised what kind of impalement she was thinking of. George quietly asked what that meant, my father nodded along and I hastened, for fear somebody besides my uncle would notice my aunt’s constipated expression. Not a supporter of premarital sex. 

"Yeah, well, my asshole of a fiancé has elbows as sharp as knives. Would compare them to spears if they’d actually cut through but the overall process was impalement.” I explained nonchalantly and my shoulders sagged in immediate relief the moment my aunt let out a breath of relief. Would’ve been really unfortunate if her misunderstanding made my father go into cardiac arrest because, technically, the evidence they’d found was incriminating and very convenient for any of them to jump to the wrong conclusions.

"Seriously, princess? And your heels aren’t like knives? They did pierce my toes." The typical morning voice was gone but the annoyingly flat baritone stayed the same. My eyes narrowed and I glanced at the bottom of the stairs, where he was glaring at me. Speak of the devil. I wasn’t particularly superstitious but I liked to believe he’d sneezed in his sleep one too many times because of the fact I’d talked about him. I rolled my eyes and sweetly greeted him with a “good morning, asshole”, to which he only huffed and took a seat next to me since the only other free seat was between my father and aunt. “Morning, princess.” He returned casually, brushing a hand through his ebony locks and briefly furrowing his brows at the cup of tea I pushed in his direction. He scrutinised the drink and hummed gratefully prior to taking a sip.

And to think the first “hey, family, look, it’s my boyfriend” breakfast I’d be having would be with a French asshole I knew for a week and not with Eren. Entirely disappointing. Everybody was observing us despite the low conversations they led. I could feel five pairs of eyes on my face as I huffed at the raven, who only stared at me indifferently. I glanced down at our hands resting on the marble next to each other and refrained from immediately removing my hand. My thoughts went back to the early morning and his muttered words. I could bet Petra, whoever she was, was important to him. Could bet he’d held her hand. Could bet that if he’d been lucky enough and she’d settled with his grouch ways he’d kissed her. I’d been able to hear the care and his voice and that was a lot coming from somebody who had three default tones – the one he’d used hadn’t been amongst them.

Jealousy was a natural instinct when it came to romance. I’d been jealous on occasion, mostly at the beginning of my relationship with Eren. He, in turn, was in a perpetual state of jealousy that waited for the appropriate moment to show. I loved him like that even though he required lots of reassurance once his initial anger wore off. And, to dig a grave for the mean alter ego in my thoughts, I concluded there was no jealousy here. I was just a bit curious to know who Petra was. But knowing he had feelings for her did nothing. If anything, our truce was intact but so was my latent spite. I wasn’t angry, sad or anything of the kind – and it went to prove to my stupid subconscience that there was nothing besides hatred here. I don’t like him. Not at all and certainly not that way. Ha, see? Not a single drop of jealousy. I was performing a victory dance in my head and the mean voice kept quiet, if only to make me feel like I was crazy to address it. I just think he’s attractive which is very different. I don’t like him. I don’t---

My internal monologue was cut off by the (gentle, barely there) cold touch upon my hand. Levi’s slender fingers had wrapped securely around my sweating palm over the marble and I was having a hard time telling whether his skin or the stone was colder. My eyes observed the twitch of my fingers then darted upwards to meet his gaze. His face was well-hidden behind the rim of his atrociously orange cup but his hues were there and I thought they’d be lost again but they were quite bright. They were grey and blue and the sun was adding a weird glimmer – or maybe it was my imagination but I could almost swear they hadn’t looked this pretty before. I felt heat creep up the back of my neck and sneak its way around to the apples of my cheeks. And I couldn’t stop staring.

“So, we were talking about knives and impalement?” My father’s sudden question made me snap out of my daze as I glanced at the people seated at the counter. For a second there I’d forgotten they were there. And now it made sense – why he’d held my hand at all – because this was the last day of our performance. And I’d let him do it despite forgetting completely about it. My uncle and aunt were awkwardly eyeing their drinks, George’s neck was painfully bent as he tried to observe the backyard through the glass doors and my mother was looking at the stairs like the most interesting art exhibition was displayed there. I realised we’d looked like a couple spaced off in their own world full of rainbows and shit made of sugar and an uneasy smile hesitantly tugged at the corners of my mouth. 

You forgot! You forgot and you’re preaching to me about jealousy when you let him grab your hand out of duty but forgot about the duty completely! How the turntables – this is hilarious! The mean voice was back and it was cackling, it was making me realise how wrong this had been. I wanted to dig myself a grave right about now. Look at yourself, so confident, so sassy, so much of everything – and you completely forgot. Didn’t even question it, just let it happen. Poor boy, he’s just practising his acting and you, the master manipulator, fell for it. Oh, this goes on my fridge of humiliation. I gritted my teeth, feeling the intern’s light grip on my hand and, along with it, the intense urge to yank my hand from his hold. But that would ruin all the effort I’d put into this performance for the past four days. So I only opened my mouth and tried to manifest the kind of confidence uncle Jared had. Maybe it would help me mask the terrible moment I’d just participated in. Thankfully, it did.

"Yeah, well, in short – the bus isn't a place for high heels."

tag list: @unloved-cadillac​

[cdelphiki]

I’m writing the next chapter of The Best Things now. This will probably be a tomorrow thing, once it’s done. 😬 Sorry I’ve been so bad about keeping to schedule the past couple months, but it’s a work in progress. 

I ended up switching the POV from what I’ve been working on all weekend and it’s coming out SO MUCH EASIER now. So we’ll see if I’m able to get it done tonight or if it’ll still be a tomorrow thing. I’ve got work tomorrow so I can only stay up another half hour or so. But we’ll see!

I’m gonna give y’all a sneak peek at a whumptober fic in the meantime, just as a sort of sorry for not updating anything lately. 😂 It’s a super-work-in-progress (meaning this entire thing might get revised) but I am excited about the concept:

Untitled Baby Tim & Bruce WIP, set after The Best Things, but nothing spoiler-y. Assuming we all already know Bruce is taking Tim and Cass in permanently. LOL  

- 

Bruce avoided business trips at all cost. He tried his best to force all trips to be contained into a single day. He owned a plane. He could take off first thing in the morning and return late that night. No big deal.

He hated business trips. Too much ‘networking,’ meaning too many people trying to kiss up to him, too many fake smiles, too many drinks avoided, and far, far too many meetings.

Which is why when it became clear in mid-June that he’d have to travel to San Fransisco for a week-long trip, Bruce just groaned.

Right there. In front of Lucius and everything.

It didn’t get him out of it.

The kids were not nearly as fazed by it as Bruce thought they’d be. He supposed they were used to him having to go away for a few days a time.

Usually it was League business, but the result was all the same for them.

At least League business was typically more enjoyable than a week’s worth of meetings.

“Kay, whatever,” had been Jason’s response, when Bruce told them all at dinner the night he found out, “you gotta bring me back something, though.”

“Yeah,” Damian shouted, “presents!”

Bruce sighed and looked over to where Cass and Tim sat next to each other, to his left. Cass grinned at his attention, then took another bite of her dinner. He was fairly certain she’d understood his announcement. If she had something to say about it, she would have said it.

Tim stared back at him for a beat, then asked, almost uninterested, “When will you be back?”

“Friday.”

“Okay,” he said, with a nod. And that was that.

At least. Bruce thought that was that.

Because when it came time for him to leave Sunday night, everything broke down.

“Be good for Alfred,” he said to the kids, who were all sitting in the living room playing a card game together. He tried to give each of them a goodbye hug, but they were far more interested in their game than they were in saying good-bye.

It was amusing.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said, as Bruce leaned over the couch and wrapped an arm around him, “Okay. Bye. Now get off me, old man.”

Bruce chuckled as he moved over to Damian, who actually stood up on the couch to give him a proper hug with an upbeat, “Bye, Dad!” as he did.

Cassandra grinned wide and let Bruce hug her as she said, “Yes. Good. See you.”

“I love you, sweetheart,” Bruce said as he let go.  

Then he turned to Tim, with the intention of giving him a hug, too, but paused.

Because Tim was sitting there, stiffly.

Bruce rounded the coffee table so he was right next to Tim’s armchair and knelt down, making himself level with Tim.  When he held his arm out, asking for a hug, however, the dam burst.

“Don’t go,” Tim cried, not leaning forward for Bruce to hug him, “You aren’t supposed to go.”

With a sigh, Bruce set his shoulder bag down on the floor and moved to be right in front of his son. “Tim, buddy,” he said, running a hand up and down Tim’s arm, “It’s just for five days. It’s okay.”

“That’s what they always say,” Tim whined, as he pressed the palm of his hand into one of his eyes.

How many times had Tim had this conversation with his own parents? How many times had they promised him a week and been gone for two?

Or seven?

He already hated Jack and Janet Drake. He didn’t need more reasons.

“Come here,” Bruce said, tugging Tim forward so he could finally hug him, “Tim, it’s—“

“I know, I’m sorry,” Tim interrupted, as he squirmed in Bruce’s arms until he could press both his hands into his eyes, “You have to, I know. It’s work. It’s more important. I’m sorry, I’m trying to stop. Sorry.”

Bruce might not need them, but Tim would never stop supplying him with more reasons to hate them.

And every time he said ‘sorry’ or suggested anything was more important than him?

Bruce’s hatred increased tenfold.

“Shh,” he said, squeezing Tim a little tighter as he whispered into Tim’s ear, fully aware that only two of the kids had left the room when Tim started crying, “You don’t have to be sorry. It’s okay to feel this way. And nothing is more important than you kids and your happiness, including work, okay?”

He wasn’t sure how many time’s he’d have to say such a thing to Tim, but he’d keep saying it. Over and over. Until one day Tim finally prioritized himself without prompting.

“I,” Tim started, sniffling once before he broke down into sobs again, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

Curse the Drake for making simple business trips so painful for Tim.

“It’s not forever,” he promised, still holding Tim close, “I promise I will be back on Friday.”

Tim merely let out another heart-wrenching sob, and Bruce couldn’t take it any more.

“Okay,” he said, pulling Tim back away from him, “Go pack a bag.”

If Tim couldn’t handle him going away for five days, then Bruce would just take him with.

“What?” Tim said, startled into silence.

“A bag,” Bruce repeated, standing to his feet and picking back up his own shoulder-bag, “Five days worth of clothes and essentials. Maybe your camera, if you want. Don’t forget pajamas and your phone charger.”

Tim shook his head, and asked again, “What?” Like he couldn’t believe what Bruce was saying.

Of course he couldn’t believe it. Jack and Janet Drake would have sooner died than bring Tim along on a trip, Bruce was sure. They probably though he’d get underfoot, or something.

Admittedly, he probably would get underfoot. He was ten. And Bruce had a week full of meetings ahead of him. Tim was going to get bored within the first hour of meetings, but at least he’d learn that business trips for Bruce lasted exactly as long as he promised they would.

“Hurry,” Bruce said, “Or we’ll be late. I’ll get you some travel stuff you’ll need, okay?”

Even with that, Tim still hesitated, so Bruce said, rather authoritatively, “Go,” and Tim sprang into action, out the room and up the stairs.

“No fair,” Jason whined, once Bruce turned around to face whichever kid didn’t leave to give Tim privacy, “Why does he get to come? I want to come.”

Bruce was not dealing with two kids on the trip.

“Jay,” he said through a sigh, deciding to just be blunt about it, “Do you have abandonment issues?”

“Maybe,” Jason said, crossing his arms and jutting a lip out at Bruce, “You don’t know my life.”

He might not know every detail of Jason’s life, but he knew enough to know Jason would not be scarred deeply by Bruce leaving him with Alfred for five days.

“Jay,” he said again, as he wrapped an arm around Jason, “He’s terrified I’m going to leave and not come back for months. I’m just going to show him what happens on business trips, which is a lot of boring meetings, and prove that I stick to my schedule, okay? Next time he’ll want to stay here, because here is more fun.”

“Fine,” Jason exclaimed, in feigned annoyance as he pushed Bruce back off him, “But you better bring back something super cool.”

Laughing, Bruce pat Jason’s head and said, “I’ll call you tonight like always.”

“Kay.”

[whiskynottea]

An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics Ficlet -- All the Time in the World

A/N: @wickedgoodbooks came to my inbox yelling ‘GOOFBALLSIES’, so here they are! Another thermodynamics ficlet. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

AO3

(You can find the main story here and on AO3)

                                                     ~~~~~~

“How is she?” 

My voice came a bit too loud, my breath too short. Before I had time to walk into the room, Jamie rushed to me and crushed me against his chest in a smothering hug. We had hung up less than ten minutes ago but I wanted to make sure that nothing had changed while I was trying to find my way to the waiting room.

“So? Do we have any news?” I asked again with the little breath I had left, wiggling in his arms so I could see him. His auburn locks were falling haphazardly on his forehead and the lack of sleep was evident in his eyes. 

He’d come back from Michigan a week ago, determined not to miss Jenny’s delivery, and I joined them during the weekend. We spent the majority of our time with Jenny and Ian, following Dr Haffer’s orders and taking long walks in the city, but kept the nights to ourselves, locked into the small guest room of Jenny and Ian’s apartment. Time seemed to expand in the little room, like every time we eliminated the space between us. We lived in every second, every minute, drinking in each other -- the murmur of our voices not coming through speakers, the caress of breath on bare skin, the feel of our bodies coming together. The feeling of being home. 

When Sunday night came and Jenny wasn’t in labour yet, Jamie walked me to the train station because I couldn’t skip Monday’s practical. I saw him raising his hand through the window, mouthing ‘I love you’ and once again, I left a part of my heart with him. The biggest part, if I was to judge by the way my chest was caving in and my irregular breathing. It was always like this when one of us had to go and I supposed if I wasn’t used to it yet, I never would.

However, here I was again, only two days later, after receiving a call from a Jamie in the middle of the night. Hovering between excitement and panic he informed me way too loudly that they were on their way to the hospital. I had taken the first train to Edinburgh.

Jamie was a lot calmer now and he was tracing lines on my shoulder blades to calm me as well. 

“Nah,” he smiled and planted a kiss on my forehead. His gaze moved to my lips and a moment later his mouth was on mine. When we broke apart he was smiling.  “We’re still waiting, but any time now…”

I couldn’t stop the grin from my face. “You’ll be an uncle,” I finished his sentence.

“Aye,” he beamed. “Jen will have wee lad. Can ye imagine, Sassenach?”

I thought of the thousand speculations we had made with Jenny over the phone during the last seven months. It was ridiculous, really, how the image of the baby changed according to our whim. First, it had Jenny’s blue eyes and Ian’s brown hair, then Ian’s warm eyes and Jenny’s elegant nose, after that Jenny’s black hair and Ian’s cheekbones. Jenny always ended up saying that she only wanted their baby to be healthy. Healthy and happy. I couldn’t wait to see the amazing mum she’d become.

“A little boy,” I murmured, biting the smile on my lips. “It feels like a miracle.”

Jamie grimaced. “Ian told Jenny so, about two hours ago. It didn’t go well.”

I laughed before cringing at the thought of my friend’s ordeal. “That bad?”

“‘What a miraculous pain indeed’, were her exact words.” I chuckled because that did sound like Jenny. “She was almost there once, but nothing. She got a bit disappointed after that. But the doctor said ‘tis normal for a first-time mum to labour for fourteen to twenty hours. We’re still at fifteen.”

“She going to make it and once she holds him in her arms she’ll forget everything else.”

“You think so? She’ll forget all about the pain?” Jamie doubted as he took my hand and lead me to the chairs. 

“No,” I said, sitting down. “Science doesn’t back up the claims that women forget the pain of childbirth. It’s a myth. What I meant was that she won’t care anymore.”

“I dinna think she cares for the pain that much now, either. She just wants the baby to be okay.”

“That’s our Jenny.”

It was at that moment when Jenny’s scream pierced the air. Jamie shot out of his chair and started pacing back and forth. 

“Babe,” he said in a low voice after a minute or two, coming to a stand in front of me. “I was thinking…” he trailed off. “Now that I know…” He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. “Ye ken…”

“What?” I stood up, alarmed. “Jamie, what is it?”

“I ken we’ve never talked about that and I’m getting ahead of myself. I dinna think that’s the place where we should talk about it for the first time either… ‘Tis hardly romantic. But… Seeing Jenny… I dinna want ye to go through this pain, mo chridhe.”

“What do you mean?” I took a step back, frowning.

“Jenny is a tough one and yet ye heard how she just screamed... I dinna think I’ve ever heard her screaming, apart from when she attacked Ian and me like a wee banshee at Lallybroch when we were children.” 

“Screaming is good,” I tried to reassure him. “It releases tension.”

“Aye, maybe. But ye, going through this? I dinna think I can bear your pain, Sassenach. It will tear right through me.” 

“What are you saying, James Fraser?” I said, my tone ominous and my hands on my hips. “You mean to say that your sister is tougher than I am? That I couldn’t handle giving birth? What is that supposed to mean?”

Jamie’s eyes got wide, then wider, black eating up the blue. “No, I didna mean… I hardly thought of comparing…”

“Well?”

“All I meant to say is that I don’t know what I would do if it were you screaming in there. I wish I could protect ye from this pain but I won’t. I can do nothing about it. So I was thinking…”

“Jamie,” I interrupted him. “You could be in there, with me. Like Ian is with Jenny. You could hold my hand. You could brush my hair off my forehead or wipe off my sweat or whatever else husbands do when their wives are in labour. You could be by my side. You could be there.” I cupped his face, forcing him to look down at me. “I don’t care about the pain as long as I can crush your hand with every contraction.” I paused, thinking, then added, “And as long as you won’t say that you know what I’m going through.”

He laughed. “Aye, I can do that.” 

His smile was sweet as I pressed my lips on his. Our kiss was tender, a promise for a future resembling a vague painting -- the colours intermingling, the figures taking every form we could imagine. 

“So I take it that you want children?”

“Aye,” he said and the light blush on his cheeks turned him to an insecure teenager, uncertain if he’d said the right thing to his first love. “You?”

“Yes,” I smiled and kissed him again. “Just not yet, okay? We have our degrees to get and, you know… Live on the same continent.”

He laughed and shook his head. “We have all the time in the world. I just want you to know that that you don’t need to go through this if ye don’t want to. If we want children we can adopt…”

I ran my fingers against the stubble on his cheek, the smooth cheekbone, marvelling into the man he was becoming. “We could have children and also adopt one. To give them a home and the love they deserve.”

Jamie beamed and leaned into me to kiss me again when an awkward cough broke us apart. I turned reluctantly around to see Brian carrying three cups of coffee. 

“Welcome back lass,” he said with a nod as he handed me a cup. 

“How are you?” I asked as I took two coffees from him, giving one to Jamie. 

“Impatient.” His eyes twinkled with mirth. “Any news from our girl?”

“Apart from a scream, no. Nothing yet.” Jamie’s countenance changed again, his concern coming forward as his eyebrows almost touched above his nose. He was adorable.

“Dinna fash, lad. ‘Tis normal. Yer Ma was in labour for eighteen hours before Jenny came to the world.”

The mention of Jamie’s mother remained suspended in the air, vibrating with anguish and loss. 

She should be here, I thought. The tall woman who read The Cricket on the Hearth to her children and smelled like almonds. 

I saw the pain on Jamie’s face before he retreated further into himself, as he usually did when guilt attacked his common sense over the loss of his mother and brother. I grabbed his hand and squeezed tight, in a desperate move to bring him back to the present. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. He should stop punishing himself for what wasn’t his fault. He gifted me with a sad smile that wasn’t enough but was better than nothing.

I kept his hand in mine, trying not to sigh. Once, at Lallybroch, I had vowed to Ellen to take care of her red-headed lad. I breathed in deeply and renewed my promise, extending it to encompass all the Fraser family. To love them more, for her.

“Jamie, lad,” Brian said in a soothing voice as he moved closer to his son. “We’re here together and your Ma and Rob are with us because we carry them in our hearts every day, aye?”

It was a sweet thing to say, but when I looked into Brian Fraser’s eyes I realised that he believed it. Each word. He’d never lived a day without Ellen because he carried her with him. Because he saw her in their children. He was living proof of love, of devotion.

We sat in silence, the two Frasers lost in memories of a past forever gone and I, trying to introduce a new subject to discuss and failing miserably. 

“He’s here! He’s here!” Ian burst into the room, laughing, and crying, and hugging us all before we had time to react to his announcement. “Ten fingers and ten toes, with a tuft of black hair and a wee numb for a nose.” Tears were streaming down his cheeks but he didn’t seem to notice. “He’s the bonniest lad ye’ve ever seen. A bit on the red side and covered with --” he stopped, shaking his head. “And Jenny,” he said, turning to Jamie. “Man, if I dinna find myself the bravest lass. She’s so fearless it sometimes scares me.” 

“Can we see them?” Brian asked, eyes darting from Ian to the door, as though he would run down the corridor to his daughter and grandson the moment he got confirmation that he was allowed to. 

“Aye, in a bit. They haven’t finished yet.”

We were all standing, grinning like fools as we bounced on our feet, having nowhere to go but being too hyped to sit down again. 

Ian’s announcement had broken the heavy silence that hung above our heads a minute ago, planting its cracks with a bright, pulsating feeling of anticipation. Life always surprised me in those moments; the moments that show us that nothing ever ends, that we are as complicated as we are simple. No matter what we are facing, we keep finding reasons to go on, to see the beauty, to honour our chance in this world. 

“I’m going back to her,” Ian said and a moment later he disappeared, leaving us alone in that waiting limbo. 

“He has Jenny’s hair,” Brian said, still gazing at the door.

“Yer hair, Da,” Jamie added before he hugged the older man, whose black head was now featuring a few grey hairs as well. 

I looked at them, observing how same they were, how different. Wondering if Jenny’s little man will have the Fraser charm as well.

“Congratulations,” I said to both of them when they turned to look at me. Brian thanked me as Jamie walked to me, wove an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer.

“Congratulations to ye too, Sassenach,” he whispered in my ear. “Ye’ll be his auntie, ye ken. His fairy auntie Claire.”

I laughed at that and kissed him on his cheekbone. “Auntie Claire,” I murmured, claiming a role in the little baby’s life as well. I looked forward to corrupting the little lad with treats and gifts and love.

When we finally got to see Jenny and the baby, we were like children opening gifts on a Christmas day. Jenny looked exhausted, but when her eyes met ours the sweetest smile curled up her lips. She was glowing. It was like I could feel her wonder at her little human, her happiness. 

“Come see him,” she bid us and her gaze trailed back on the little bundle she was holding. 

Brian moved first, unable to take his eyes away from his daughter and grandson. Jamie took my hand and I felt my feet following him towards the bed. 

“He’s like a miracle, Da,” Jenny repeated Ian’s words that had vexed her with teary eyes, looking up to her father. 

“Aye, my wee lass. Like the miracle ye were, for me and yer Ma. And now ye’re giving me yet another gift.” The voice wavered but his gaze didn’t move an inch away from his daughter’s face. I squeezed Jamie’s hand and he squeezed mine back.

Sometimes, I loved these silent conversations more than our audible ones; this secret code kept only for the two of us.  

Jenny pulled her father down to kiss him. “Thank you, Da.”

“She would be very proud of you, Janet Flora Arabella.”

Jamie and Ian barked out similar laughs that almost covered Jenny’s exclamation, “Da!” 

“And now that we come to names…” Ian started but stopped, waiting for Jenny to continue for him.

She nodded. “His name is James Robert Brian,” Jenny said with a grin. “Continuing this ridiculous family tradition and all.”

Jamie swallowed so hard I could hear it. 

“Jen…” he whispered, looking at his sister through wide eyes.

“Brother, ye ken that ye mean a lot to me. As you do, Da. And wee Rob… I dinna want him to be forgotten.”

Jamie rushed to her, speechless, and bent over her, planting a tender kiss on his sister’s forehead. 

“Thank ye, Jen,” he said, his accent heavier than it usually was. “I… Thank ye,” he repeated lamely, all other words having left him. “Can I hold him?”

Jenny extended the little bundle to his waiting arms. The baby’s head was smaller than his hand and a tiny hand was raised as though to touch him, to feel this new world.

“Hello wee one,” Jamie cooed. “Welcome to the world. Welcome to the family. I promise I’ll always be there to take care of you, even when ye’re a wee rascal and ye make yer Ma and Da mad.”

I chuckled and moved closer, peaking at the baby. He was still reddish, with swollen brown eyes and a tiny nose, just like Ian had said. Without thinking, I reached a forefinger and felt his tiny little fingers against mine. My heart banged in my chest, so full of emotion I thought it would burst.

“And this is auntie Claire,” Jamie introduced me a moment later. “And we love her, just so ye ken.”

“Valuable information,” I mocked, somewhat shy.

“‘Tis.” It was not Jamie, but Jenny that spoke from the bed, looking at as with a sweet smile.

“How do you feel?” I asked, leaving Jamie to have a moment alone with his nephew.

“God, I’m tired. But I canna close my eyes because I want to look at him and I canna do that while being asleep, ken? I dinna think I will draw anything else apart from him in the near future.”

“Nobody is going to take him from ye and ye’ll need yer strength lass,” her father advised. “Life is never going to be the same now.”

“Sleepless nights? Crying?” Ian asked, eyeing the little one who was, for now, calm and quiet. 

“Aye,” Brian chuckled. “Lots of laughter too, son. Can I hold my grandson now?”

He’d barely got the baby from Jamie when a nurse dashed into the room, informing us that it was time for the mother to nurse her baby.

“Oh, aye.” Brian reluctantly handed little James back to his mother, clearly lamenting that he hadn't asked for him before. Jenny took him with tender moves, poked at his nose and started murmuring, asking him if he was hungry. 

“We’ll see you later Jenny. You too, Ian!”

They both nodded, barely sparing us a glance before their gaze fell on their son who was blinking at his Ma.

“They’re so sweet together, aren’t they?” I asked once we left the room.

“A real family,” Brian replied, wistful and happy together.

“Are ye happy, Da?”

“Aye, son.” Brian’s voice was mellow and smooth, spreading around us like butter on bread. “You’ll never know how much happiness Jenny and ye have brought into my life until ye have yer own children. Then, ye’ll understand.” He reached out and ruffled Jamie’s hair as though he was a little boy and not a man more than six feet tall. 

We left the hospital feeling that the world was a little bit better than an hour ago. In the car, on our way home Jamie leaned into me and whispered in my ear, “So… Two of our own and an adopted one? Let’s say… Two girls and a boy?”

I turned to look at him incredulously but the way he was looking at me made my heart stop and my mind go blank. 

“Maybe,” was all I managed to whisper in response before I broke into a wide grin.

“We could name the boy Dalhousie.”

“You must be out of your bloody mind.” 

“Fergus?” Jamie gave me one of his lopsided smiles and I rolled my eyes.

“Jesus!” I shook my head in disbelief before I turned forward, only to see Brian through the mirror, smirking.

“I dinna think Jesus is a good name for the lad, Sassenach. Too much weight on his shoulders.”

Brian was now holding back a laugh. These Frasers. 

I elbowed Jamie and huffed indignantly. He took my hand in his and squeezed until I turned to look at him again. He kissed my temple then, whispering, “We’ll think about it. We have time.”

I smiled, thinking what Jamie had said in the waiting room. We wouldn’t start a family any time soon, but we had all the time in the world.

Two girls and a boy didn’t sound like a bad combination either.