#once again this is another piece not proofread but that's okay because that is precisely what hot girls do | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wondernimbus · 4 years

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veritaserum — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

request: Hi I want to request a Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw reader please! a spell gone wrong makes Malfoy can say nothing but the truth throughout the day. Scared but too embarrassed to approach a teacher, he decided to go to y/n instead because she’s the top student of their charms class to help undo the spell but what he didn’t consider is how he would later straight out confess his attraction towards her, going on and on about her hair, her eyes, etc and they just share a heart-to-heart moment

a/n: i did Not proofread this so i apologize in advance if there r any typos!! also i made a v minor change to the req but other than that bon appetit

Someone spiked Draco's morning pumpkin juice.

It would have been really helpful if he'd noticed it before he laughed at Snape's face and called him a greasy git, after which his eyes grew comically wide and and he tried to hurriedly apologize (more out of fear for his parents than Snape)—only for his mouth to tell Snape to "go wash your hair for bloody once".

Veritaserum. Someone put blithering Veritaserum in his drink, and now he can't open his mouth without spitting out several of his deepest, darkest secrets.

"Two points from Slytherin for your uncharacteristic and very offensive behavior, mister Malfoy," Snape had sneered. "I will only tolerate this foolery once. The next time you dare to speak to me like that, I will not hesitate to treat you the same way I would treat any other student."

Draco would have tried to defend himself, but he isn't stupid enough to let another truthful insult slip out by accident, so he'd kept his mouth shut and nodded.

If one were to go into detail, they would tell you about how Draco had tried to ask Madame Pomfrey to help undo the potion's effects only to severely insult the poor old lady's hair, and how he'd also tried to ask McGonagall only to admit the fact that he'd cheated on her transfiguration test two years ago. He has insulted every single person he has tried to talk to so far during the day. He's called Crabbe an illiterate oaf, told a random Gryffindor couple passing by that they look absolutely dreadful together (something that he doesn't really regret blurting out, but he could have lived without letting them know), and admitted to Professor Flitwick that he'd paid someone to do most of his essays.

But if one were to put it simply, they would go like this: Draco is in a dilemma, and he needs help, fast.

Except he has severely offended every single person he has tried to ask for help, and will no doubt do the same for anyone he plans on asking. Draco is desperate. He is halfway through the school day and the effects of the truth serum have yet to wear off. At this rate, he's going to lose all of his friends, as well as lose his teachers' favor.

Draco can't ask a teacher in fear that all of his good grades will slip from his grasp at a single (honest) insult. He can't stick it out for the rest of the day, either, because when he spends too long a time not talking to anyone, it seems that the truth potion grows impatient and starts making him blurt out a bunch of his innermost secrets.

He has already shouted "I peed my pants when I was eight" in the Great Hall; there is no time to waste.

Potions class comes around right after breakfast and brings with it the inevitable need to face Snape again. Uncharacteristically enough, Draco doesn't swagger into the dreary dungeon classroom. Instead, he keeps his head down as he perches himself on his usual seat right—which is, of course, right in front of Snape's desk.

When the last of the students have filed in and Snape closes the dungeon door shut to begin the lesson, he makes sure to fix Draco with a long stare; one that Draco only holds for several seconds before he sniffs and casts his eyes away to look at his desk instead. You'd think that a Potions master would be able to tell when someone was under the influence of a truth potion—but then again Snape might also have known, but was too offended by Draco's jab about his hair.

He looks up sometime along the lesson and catches sight of the light reflecting off of Snape's greasy hair; well, Draco had been telling the truth.

For today's lesson, they're tasked to brew some sort of calming draught. Draco can't entrust Goyle—his partner—to even as much as get the name of the potion right, so Draco shoots the poor boy a familiar scowl and proceeds to do everything on his own. But Draco is no Potions expert, so instead of the faint lilac hue the liquid inside their cauldron is supposed to have turned into, it becomes a violently bubbling pink substance.

"Four slices of the bat spleen, mister Malfoy, not five," Snape drawls, peering down at Draco's cauldron through his hooked nose. "And you have been too heavy-handed on the lavender. Shame. I expected better."

Draco suppresses a sneer. Snape usually never points out his mistakes—that sort of treatment is reserved for other houses. Snape, it seems, took his insult to heart, the greasy-haired bloke.

Feeling severely irked, Draco slumps down in his seat, folds his arms over his chest, and stops trying entirely. He may be acting like a sulky five-year-old but so be it because Draco is not in the mood. He has humiliated his own self far too many times in one day (and been humiliated by Snape approximately ten seconds ago)—he wants this day over, fast, and with any luck, the Veritaserum out of his system by the end of it.

But he can't see how, so Draco does the only thing that he can do to help himself: he keeps his mouth shut.

The annoyance on his face shows as he surveys the dungeon room with a sour glare. Stupid Potter and Weasley are laughing over something at their shared table; why isn't Snape telling them off? Bloody slimeball. How dare he even speak to Draco like that? It's not like Draco lied. He has never seen anyone in such dire need of shampoo as Snape.

Draco shoots the back of his head a nasty glare from where he's standing all the way on the other side of the room, looming over a table of two Ravenclaws. One of them looks bored and the other seemingly immersed in potion-making; her movements are quick and precise as she pours one ingredient after the other into their cauldron with the same kind of effort Draco would put into making his afternoon tea—like what she's doing is an absolute piece of cake.

"Sit up, mister Corner," says Snape curtly, voice echoing throughout the dungeon and ceasing all chatter as he fixes the bored-looking Ravenclaw with a stony gaze. Draco recognizes him now—Michael Corner, some annoying half-blood he shares a few classes with. As for the girl beside him.. Draco tries to angle his head to see her properly, but her head is bowed over her cauldron and her hair blocks her face from view. "If you think you'll be getting the same outstanding grade as miss [Y/L/N] without even as much as lifting your pinky finger, then I assure you, you are terribly mistaken. I do not tolerate free riders."

[Y/N]. Draco knows her. Some Ravenclaw he has several classes with but has never spoken to—the one with the pretty eyes, Draco vaguely recalls himself thinking at one point, back when he'd first laid eyes on her. And truth be told her eyes are pretty; a lovely shade of [Y/E/C] that Draco has only seen up close once or twice.

But that is hardly the topic of concern, because if Draco turns his head just the right way and sits up a little straighter, he can see that the liquid inside of her cauldron has turned a glossy shade of faint lilac, which, according to the instructions written on the board, is what is exactly supposed to happen. [Y/N] finishes faster than anyone else, even Hermione Granger, and Draco sees Snape give her an appraising nod before moving on to criticize some other innocent student.

So it seems Snape isn't the only Potions expert in the room.

He perks up a little in his seat and fixes the Ravenclaw girl—[Y/N]—with a discreet stare out of the corner of his eye. [Y/N] sits down properly in her seat so that Draco gets a good view of her face (not a bad-looking one, an annoying little voice says inside his head). She hasn't even broken out in a sweat—it seems that potion-making isn't as difficult for her as it is for other people. Draco pictures the truth serum in his veins quivering in fear (although physically impossible) because he is pretty certain he's found the answer to his dilemma.

The rest of the class passes by annoyingly slow—or at least for Draco—because it seems like ages until Snape finally dismisses them for lunchtime. Draco just about jumps right out of his seat and strides straight towards [Y/N], who is currently in the process of stuffing her books inside her bag.

Draco clears his throat.

She turns around, and he's suddenly reminded of why he'd dubbed her as "the one with the pretty eyes", because she truly does live up to the name. Her eyes are strikingly [Y/E/C]; even the whites of her eyes look like they're tinted with gold. He finds himself incapable of speech for a brief moment, but then she raises her eyebrows and offers him a grimace of a smile, and Draco is back to himself again.

He opens his mouth to say "brew me something that'll stop me from blurting out the truth every bloody second" but instead what comes out is: "I've never spoken to you before but that's mostly because I have an irrational fear that I haven't quite admitted to myself yet which is that I'm scared of talking to pretty girls in fear that they'll reject me and my pride will be in tatters."

There's a split-second in which Draco stands there, his own words not having sunken into him yet, and then his face slacks.

[Y/N] stares at him, evidently baffled. And then she opens her mouth, eyebrows furrowed in apparent bewilderment, and says, "Um," she swallows, forcing out an awkward laugh as she takes a step back. "Wow. Okay. Thank you..?"

If Draco had been thinking straight—if he hadn't been so flustered and if he wasn't rushing to take back his words—he would have probably paused, realized that talking would have made the situation worse, and left. But Draco is flustered and he isn't thinking straight, so instead he opens his mouth to take his words back only for the following words to leave his mouth in a rapid burst: "Your eyes are a really lovely shade of [Y/E/C] and you have a beautiful smile and I've never heard you laugh before but I bet my inheritance that it's one of the loveliest sounds to ever exist."

[Y/N] looks flabbergasted more than ever. She doesn’t even look flustered—just utterly confused. For a few seconds, all she does is stare at him, frowning.

And then, looking as though she wants to thank him but not entirely sure it would be appropriate, her gaze darts away from his momentarily before she purses her lips. Excruciatingly slowly, she repeats, “Your.. inheritance.”

Draco grits his teeth.

Apparently there are several truths that the Veritaserum in his system thinks appropriate to reveal to [Y/N]—truths that even he hadn't been fully aware of. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again. At that moment he catches sight of the quill and parchment in her hands that [Y/N] had been in the process of stuffing into her bag; hurriedly, he grabs it from her (much to a surprised [Y/N]) and begins to write down the following words (seriously, why hadn't he thought of this before?): accidentally drank truth potion, brew me a remedy.

He practically shoves the parchment into her hands. Still looking wildly confused, she takes it from him with the cautiousness of someone being handed a firecracker. Her eyes dance across the words on the paper for no more than two seconds before she looks back up at him; realization slowly floods her face and her eyebrows rise even higher as she mouths, mostly to herself, "Truth potion."

Draco nods, eyes darting around the classroom. most of the class has already left. Snape is at his desk, fixing the two of them with a frosty stare. When Draco meets his gaze, Snape flicks his eyebrows up at him and asks, in that same drawling voice Draco despises today, "I was under the impression that lunch time meant all students had to be at the Great Hall."

Draco's brain doesn't operate well when he's annoyed—that's something he's realized today. Against his better judgment, he opens his mouth to sneer a retort without even pausing to think about the fact that he might blurt out some other offensive truth, but [Y/N] cuts him off and says, "I'm sorry, professor, but Malfoy's asked me to help him with homework and I thought it'd be nice to help him." She stuffs the piece of parchment into her robe and side-steps Draco so that he's not blocking her from Snape's view. "Would it be okay if we stayed here for lunchtime?"

Snape's lip curls in apparent amusement. Staring at Draco, he drawls, "That’s quite convenient. I had been thinking of assigning mister Malfoy a tutor; it seems he's been having trouble holding his tongue—alas," his mouth twists into a sneer, "I meant potion-making. Forgive me."

And then he heads to the dungeon door, leaving Draco behind to stare at his greasy head on his way out.

[Y/N] purses her lips, cheek twitching with the threat of a smirk. "I’m guessing you've offended him somehow? Veritaserum and all?"

Draco opens his mouth again—really, remembering to keep it shut is easier said than done—and instead of the reply he'd been intending on saying, what slips past his lips is: "Has anyone told you you're one of the prettiest—"

"Okay!" [Y/N] 's eyes widen and she rushes to clamp her hand over Draco’s mouth, looking actually flustered now. "Okay—stop. Just.." Slowly, she pries her hand away from his lips, movements cautious, and Draco stares at her, body completely rigid as he registers the fact that they're a mere few inches away from each other and she'd just put her hand over his bloody lips. And this is the first time they've ever spoken to each other.

"I’ll brew you the remedy," she says, grimacing. There seems to be a hint of a faint pink blush spreading across her cheeks, but that could just be because the dungeon lighting is poor. She turns on her heel and makes her way to the ingredients cabinet all the way on the other side of the room, calling over her shoulder to Draco, "Just sit tight there—and keep it zipped before you say anything you don't mean."

The last part she says in a quieter tone, but Draco catches her words anyway and he finds himself thinking that maybe he did mean them.

Because [Y/N] is pretty—prettier than most. She’s not breathtakingly beautiful, but there's something about her that seems to have always drawn Draco, though he might not have ever thought much of it. Maybe it's why he always finds himself staring at her whenever they come across each other in the hallway. Maybe it's why he'd thought of asking her to the Yule Ball last year, but chickened out at the last moment.

He leans on the desk, arms folded across his chest whilst watching [Y/N] rummage through the ingredients cupboard. A moment later she turns around bearing an armful of different potion vials.

Draco means to ask her if she needs help carrying them (because yes, he may regularly be a prick but he has common courtesy). Instead, the Veritaserum still inside his bloodstream urges him to say, "I wish I’d asked you to the Yule Ball last year instead of Pansy."

He freezes.

At that moment, Draco swears to himself that he will inflict pain onto whoever poured Veritaserum into his pumpkin juice. He will have his revenge—no matter what it takes—and although he hasn't quite figured out how exactly he'll be doing it, all Draco knows is that he will.

He can't bring himself to look at [Y/N] any longer, so he plays it off by picking up a book on the desk he's leaning on and rifling through it. It only takes him a moment to realize that it's [Y/N]'s; her name is written across the bottom of the cover. Almost every page Draco flips through has tiny scribbles written in-between the lines—countless of notes, it seems, but so many of them that the actual text is almost indiscernible. Draco almost snorts. [Y/N] seems to be the quintessential Ravenclaw, if he has ever seen one.

She sets down the potions onto the desk, Draco still flipping through the pages. "I’d ask you how you accidentally drank Veritaserum," she says casually, "But I don't want you fawning over me even more than you already have."

Draco glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s in the process of uncorking two of the vials, both of which she pours into the now steaming cauldron. Whatever, he thinks to himself, rolling his eyes in an effort to convince himself that he's not embarrassed (even though he totally is: he's bloody blushing).

But then again, whatever. He’s totally not flustered. Totally.

Draco reaches the final few pages of [Y/N]'s Potions textbook without having even registered most of the ones he'd flipped through. The last two pages, like every other book, are completely blank save for the—

Draco's eyebrows furrow. There are drawings of all sorts on the back pages of her textbook, from cauldrons and brass scales to places in the castle that Draco recognizes.

But what has him most intrigued is the faces, all drawn so vividly and with so much detail they look as though they had been brought to life on paper. Draco sees Snape’s deprecating sneer and Michael Corner’s familiar face of boredom, sees Hermione Granger with her brows knitted together at the middle as she leans over her cauldron, Ron and Harry with their heads bowed over a piece of parchment—and then he sees himself, arms crossed over his chest as he fixes something with a stony gaze. But the more Draco’s eyes explore the pages, the more of himself he sees. There’s him slicing what looks like a dragon heart, scowling at someone that looks like Goyle, and another one of him smirking—

And then the book is snatched from his grasp by none other than [Y/N] who looks wildly panicky. "You—I—" she blubbers, gaping at him for a moment before whipping around, turning her back on him as she stuffs the book into her backpack. "How much did you see?"

Slowly, a grin breaks out on Draco’s face. "Enough," he says—and apparently it's the truth, because it's what he actually meant to say. A little surprised, he tries his luck again and means to say so you draw? But instead what leaves his lips is something so excruciatingly blunt and embarrassing part of him wants to dive under the table and hide there for the rest of his life: "I’m assuming because you've drawn me more than anyone else that you find me attractive so I’m going to go ahead and thank you for that, but unfortunately you're a half-blood so I might have to get my parents' permission before I think of asking you out."

A moment of silence, only interrupted by the sound of the antidote bubbling. Draco has to physically suppress himself from diving straight into the cauldron and never coming back out.

[Y/N] scoffs a little, uselessly fanning her face with her hand like doing so will somehow rid her of the blush on her cheeks. Draco grits his teeth and fixes his gaze on the stone floor, refusing to meet her gaze.

She clears her throat in an attempt to quell the sudden burst of suffocating awkwardness now resting between the two of them. Not quite looking at him, she peers into her cauldron and mutters, "I just like to draw all sorts of things. People, as you've seen," she adds, pressing her lips together abashedly. Draco watches her out out of the corner of his eye, lips twitching. "And I don't find you attractive. You just have.. a nice face. For drawing, I mean. It comes out nice on paper."

Draco’s eyebrows flick up of their own accord. He has a nice face. Are those butterflies he feels in his stomach, or is it just the Veritaserum?

It takes no more than a minute or two of silent awkwardness before the antidote is finally finished brewing and [Y/N] pours it into a small vial, which she hands to Draco.

Draco eyes it skeptically, holding the vial up to the light and swirling it around a little. It definitely doesn't look pleasant; a stark contrast to the clear hue of Veritaserum, the antidote is a murky brown in color and vaguely reminds Draco of mud and manure.

You expect me to drink this? Draco means to ask, but instead says, "You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen."

And just like that, Draco, exasperated and embarrassed out of his mind, uncorks the vial and takes a large swig.

The feeling of the liquid sloshing down his throat is an unpleasant one; he coughs a little, face scrunching up with disgust as he swallows down the last of the antidote. But not long after the vial is emptied, a tingly feeling spreads from his fingertips to his entire body and has him feeling weightless for a few moments before it fades and Draco feels normal again.

He sets the vial down on the table, rubbing his throat. When he looks up, he sees [Y/N] already cleaning up, throwing away the empty glass vials and emptying the cauldron with a single flick of her wand. She’s taking all of her things and shoving them into her bag, and Draco watches as she slings it over her shoulder and makes for the door—

“You’re leaving?” says Draco without really thinking about it. “Already?”

She stops in her tracks and turns around, already a few feet away from him. Eyebrows raised, lips twitching up at the side just the slightest bit, she shrugs. “Well, yes,” she purses her lips. “Was there something else you wanted me to brew?”

Draco’s hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck. “No,” he says hastily. But he hadn’t been expecting her to leave so soon—not after his, ah, countless confessions.

What had he been expecting, though?

“Well, I’ll be going now,” [Y/N] says slowly, a little awkwardly, gesturing to the door. Draco watches her as she takes a backwards step away from him—but he knows a chance when he sees one, so he blurts out, “D’you wanna go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

Her eyebrows rise even higher as a genuine look of surprise floods her features. Draco doesn’t know what the bloody hell he’s onto, but whether or not he regrets it is entirely up to [Y/N]’s answer.

She lets out a breathless laugh, looking dubious. “You’re being serious?”

Draco stares at her for a little while—Merlin, she really does have pretty eyes—and then he shrugs a casual shoulder, nodding.

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, but there's still that hint of a faint smile resting on her lips. Draco finds himself wishing he’d see her do it more often—in front of him, and not halfway across the classroom. She feigns a look of contemplation, tilting her head at him, now full-on smiling in a manner Draco thinks might be playful. (Alright, those are definitely butterflies in his stomach.) "And what d'you have to offer?" she asks him, eyebrows raised.

It’s Draco’s turn to narrow his eyes at her, unable to suppress the tiny smile that slides across his face. He pauses to think about his answer first, all the while holding her impish gaze, before finally shrugging and saying, "My company. And not everyone gets to enjoy that," he adds as an afterthought, and it's true—Draco is very picky with who he graces with his presence.

But then [Y/N] replies, "Well, not everyone gets to enjoy mine, either," and her tone is almost challenging. Draco, for some reason, finds himself on tenterhooks. Something about her is drawing him in; he can't quite decide whether it's her coyness or her eyes. Likely both.

Severely amused, he leans on the desk and inclines his head a little towards her. "So would you do me the honor of blessing me with your company this weekend?”

There’s a beat of silence—this time not at all awkward—as they stare at each other, a sort of tension between them that Draco finds himself enjoying. And it's a blessing that she breaks it because if it had stretched on for any longer Draco would have lost himself in her eyes completely; “Alright. Sure. No harm to it,” says [Y/N] with a light laugh, nodding.

Draco’s lips break out into a grin and he nods, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Maybe you can tell me more about your drawings. Well,” he pauses, brows raised teasingly. "Drawings of me, to be specific."

She lets out a scoff, rolling her eyes, but she's laughing. "Okay—and maybe you can tell me about how much you love my eyes."

Draco’s face falls. [Y/N] grins, beginning to walk towards the dungeon doors. "I’ll see you around," she sings, and her back is turned but Draco can hear the smile in her voice. Just before she disappears into the corridor, she pauses at the doorway and looks back at Draco, and her eyes are positively sparkling. "Try not to get lost in my eyes too much. Wouldn’t want you tripping over yourself."

With one last playful grin, she leaves the Potions classroom.

And while, just a few minutes ago, Draco had been prepared to get revenge on whoever put Veritaserum in his pumpkin juice, now he feels like thanking them.

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lene-loki · 3 years

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Never Too Close

Summary: After the events of Avengers: Endgame, (Y/N) Romanoff is mourning the death of her sister Natasha. She is unexpectedly finding comfort in the presence of someone who shares the pain of losing the people he loved.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff!Sister Reader

Warnings: Character Death, Spoiler for Avengers: Endgame, Angst, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts

Word Count: 2264 Words

A/N: I hope ya’ll liked this Imagine. Please let me know if you want to get tagged on future Imagines or Series that I want to write. This isn’t proofread and please excuse grammaticaly and verbal mistakes since English isn’t my mother tongue. And now please enjoy!! With Love, Léne xx

(Y/N) = Your Name

The pouring of the rain sounds like a faint whisper in the distance. When I close my eyes and listen precisely to the rustle I can almost hear the voice I long to hear. I open my eyes when the wind starts to blow into my ear, making my whole body shiver. A raindrop lands directly on top of my cheekbone and gets mixed up with a teardrop that escapes my eye. The wet droplet almost feels like a passing kiss. As if she is standing right beside me and kisses my tears away or maybe she cries from heaven herself and her tears end up on my face. I like to think that she watches me from above. Seeing my every move. Despite the rain a familiar warmth is spreading through my heart, making me feel safe and not alone anymore. My eyes blink the tears away, trying to focus on the words that are written on the wooden cross in front of me. The fact that her death is still so recent that she has to wait for a stone to mark her grave, makes me sob. I have looked so many times at that wooden cross that I started to hate it. She deserves a beautiful, carved stone. Not a dirty, broken cross where her name already starts to fade. But she has to wait. Her coffin isn’t set enough to put a heavy stone on top of the earth. I wipe the back of my hand over my tearstained cheeks before I kneel down in front of the grave. Everyday I bring a new kind of flowers by. Making the earth dissapear in a vibrant, little garden. It helps my own mental health to transform the place of grief into a little paradise for her. And I hope this is exactly where she’s at now. In a paradise. My eyes tear away from the flowers before I start counting them again like I always do. Because the number of the flowers is the number of the days since she passed away. My chest hurts, my heart starts to crumble inside when I once again think about the empty coffin under the ground. My sisters body dissapeard when she sacrificed herself to get the Soul Stone. Now all that remained of her is the memory.

Although it’s past midnight when I leave the graveyard I can’t help but to ring Clint out of his sleep - as well as his wife and his children probably. He picks up the phone with a yawn, his voice raspy from his deep sleep. He is the closest I have to family now and he knows. He always cared for me and Natasha and now that she’s gone he’s supporting me more than ever. Giving me a shoulder to cry on no matter how late it is. That is exactly whe he’s never annoyed when I call him at times like this. My loneliness leads the conversation as I tell him that I don’t know where to go. “Where are you right now, (Y/N)?” I shrug my shoulders even though he can’t see. “I think I’m near the Avengers compound.” My voice is barely louder than a whisper. My throats stil sore from my hour long crying at Natashas grave. “I can pick you up. You can stay at mines if you want.” He suggests and I can hear him fumbling with the bedsheets in the background. Ever since Natashas passing, I stayed at the Avengers compound in her former room. But sometimes it gets too much being surrounded by her memories and her whole life in just that little space. Everything in her room reminds me of her scent, her smile, her voice, the look in her eyes - especially that tiny twinkle in her iris that always appeared when she felt extremely proud of me. I have to pull myself together to not sob again and alarm Clint even more. As much as I want to escape from the compound for a little while, I don’t want to wear out Clints care for me. I feel like I already asked too much of him. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry that I woke you.” I swallow the lump down in my throat in hopes he doesn’t hear how near I am to losing it all again. He sighs at the other end. “You’re sure?” “Yes.” “Okay, love. Don’t apologize for calling me.” His voice sounds so soft I could fall asleep immediately on the side of the road. He just has this soothing affect on me. I hang up after telling him that I love him and walk in the dim lights of the streetlamps to the compound.

Inside the building everything is pitch dark. The only light comes from Wandas room. It’s red and spreads in chaotic rays around the space of her own four walls. She surely is training her magic since she still hasn’t full control over her powers what burdened her more than usually the last couple of days. I decide not to disturb the Scarlet Witch and seek refuge in Natashas room. I really try to sleep but since Thanos happened my nights are as restless as my hurting heart. I’m still wide awake physically but dangerously exhausted mentally when I hear voices in the early morning hours in the kitchen. Wandas voice makes me wonder if she’s been awake the whole night as well. I leave the room in my short pyjama shorts and my plain white T-Shirt. I wouldn’t fall asleep anyway so I might as well just get up and start another day of inner misery. I round the corner to the kitchen island where Pepper placed a large bowl of exotic fruits on top. The blonde showed me a sad smile since she’s lost in her own grief. Pepper disappears out of the kitchen - leaving me alone with Wanda and a familiar brunette man which I recognize from Tony’s funeral. I can’t remeber his name but I recall the pained expression on his face and the devastated haze over his pupils. He seems like he always looks like pure misery. “Good morning.” I greet them both shyly since they haven’t notice me yet. Wanda immediately sends a heartful smile in my direction while the stranger’s corners of his mouth just twitch the slightest bit upward - almost to tiny to notice. I also perceive his new hairstyle. The last time I saw him he had messy, long waves. Longer than shoulder length and a full beard. Now he has his hair cut short and looking neat with his jawline covered in dark stubbles instead of the fullgrown beard. “Bucky, this is (Y/N). She is Natashas’ sister.” Wanda explains him in her thick, sokovian accent since he developed the same look of recognition on his face as me. Now the puzzle pieces click together. That is Bucky Barnes. Steves’ best friend and the other Super Soldier. His facial features unravel in realization. “Oh, right. Hello, (Y/N). Nice to meet you again and I’m... Sorry about your loss.” He frowns at the last part. “Thank you, it’s nice to see you again in less sorrowful circumstances.” I try to lighten up the mood a bit because I don’t want to start my day already with a bad encounter that reminds me once again how miserable I am inside. Unsure if we should shake hands, Bucky’s metal arm jerks briefly in my direction but he instantly lets it sink again - wrapping the room in an uncomfortable silence. “Well it was nice to see you again. I got to go now.” I excuse myself from the weird situation and leave without breakfast to go to my Natasha’s room. I still feel uncomfortable calling it my room since it was Natsha’s place to live for so many years. I didn’t completely lie to Bucky and Wanda since it’s a new day and time to pick up new flowers for my sisters grave. I change into comfy short, cotton pants and an old, blue pullover from Natashas wardrobe before I leave the compound.

I take a cab to the same flower shop I visit everyday. Where even the owner knows me by name already. Today marks exactly thirty days since Natasha died. A whole month without my older sister by my side. I ordered a special type of flower for this occasion. A bouqet of beautiful Royal Azaleas - the most precious flowers of our native country Russia. As beautiful as Natasha and I like how it brings a bit of our home to her - making her little paradise even more exotic. At the graveyard I am so consumed in my own thoughts to where I’m going to place the Royal Azaleas on the ground in front of the wooden cross, that I don’t notice right away the broad figure a few feet away from me. He’s standing upset in his posture and bent a little forward above a grave. It’s the back of his head - his freshly done hair and the colour of his shirt that gives him away and I realise that it’s Bucky. I decide against it to walk up to him since he’s mourning in his own world as well and obviously needs his space. My eyes tear away from the picture of the broken man in front of me and I finally walk straight up to Natashas grave. I crouch slightly to put my bag on the ground. I brought a little shovel to set the new flowers into the earth directly in front of the cross - making the Azaleas stand out from the rest. It is when I walk over to the well a few feet away from me to pick up the watering can, that Bucky notices he’s not alone. The can is filled to the brink and quite heavy in my hand as I carry it to Natashas grave, losing waterdrops on my way there. I silently water the flowers - careful not to drown them in the lack of strength I have in my hand that is holding the water can. The whole time I can feel his stare on me and I can almost feel his inner battle if he should come up to me or not. A few moments later he starts nervously walking up to me while I clean the little shovel to stow it away in my bag. “Do you still the need the watering can?” He asks hoarsely as he comes to a halt beside my bend over figure - blocking the sun out of my view which throws a few rays on the water droplets. Making them sparkle inbetween the flowers of Natashas floral paradise. “No.” I smile softly at him and stand up again. He returns my friendly grin and takes the water can but doesn’t leave straight away. He hesitates a second unsure of if he should leave me alone again, but somehow I long for company - not wanting to speak with the wind again and hallucinate about Natashas voice. “I lost everyone. Natasha was the only one left of my family. Although Clint supports the weight of my grief to make me feel like I’m not alone I still feel like it. I always felt like I’m alone in this world and deep down I don’t feel like I belong to the Avengers either. It was Natashas community. Not mine.” My eyes start to sting with upcoming tears while I open up to Bucky. I don’t really know why I do this. I guess I never felt so out of place and so lonely like I did in the past days and it scares me. Bucky clears his throat, his glance burning holes into my soul as he watches every slightest movement of my facial expressions. “I went through losing the people I love so many times that I lost count of it.” He blinks the tears away which threatens to fall from his eyes. “After Steve left to live the life with Peggy he always dramed to have, I officially got left alone. Steve was so much more than my friend. He was my brother.” He sniffs. “And now I’m searching for a sign - just something that keeps me in this life.” I let my tears run freely as I identify his words as my own feelings. And I realise that we are two souls hurting from the same experiences building a connection to one another through the desperation of having lost any strength to keep living. “Without wanting to get too close to you, I think you just as broken inside as me.” He speaks up. His eyes are swollen and red, still glossy from fresh tears which haven’t stopped being reproduced and leaking out of the corner of his eyes. I strangely feel comfort in the detail that his blue pullover matches mine. My heart starts to pick up a pace as I cross a vulnerable line between us and say: “I think you can never be too close to someone. I’m sure closeness is what we both need the most now.” I gift him a teary smile which he returns with a faint tint of red across his cheeks. Our encounter feels like a big step for the both of us - coming out of our shells we’ve been hiding in like anxious snails and I could feel it in the beating behind my ripcage that it was towards the right direction.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #y/n #bucky x original female character #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #marvel #avengers #endgame #clint barton #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #black widow

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imaginesupply · 3 years

Text

Homecoming - Chapter Three

(Gif's not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Three starts after the cut. (Chapter Two can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

Chapter Three

Chapter warnings: Smut, alcohol consumption (moderate), mentions of contraception and of pregnancy.

I think that’s it, but this chapter killed my brain – it was very difficult to write and I feel like I botched it. There are various important moments in this chapter that I found very hard to translate from my brain into words. And the smut, oh my God, it’s so bad!

"You know, when you came to me all bossy and told me to lose my clothes, I had something a lot different in mind." Sy grumbled from the bed, where he was sat wearing nothing but boxer briefs.

Ada laughed and turned around, sticking out her tongue at him before going back to what she was doing, namely sorting through Sy's clothes in the walk-in closet. She slid a pair of jeans off its hangers and threw it at him without looking back. "I admit that I probably don't need as many clothes as I own, but you're definitely a minimalist."

Sy grunted noncommittally, he was not amused, but tried on the jeans all the same. They didn't fit, he couldn't pull them up past the thighs. "Hey darlin'," he called her, a hint of amusement audible in his voice.

She turned around at the pet name and then forced herself not to laugh at the sight in front of her. Sy had already been a burly man when they had met, but it seemed he had managed to gain even more muscle mass in the past few months, now looking like an absolute bear of a man. Ada grinned and tilted her head at the cardboard box at the end of the bed. "Put those in the donation pile."

"Yes, ma'am," Sy said, getting up and doing as asked.

Ada grabbed her small pencil and added another item to the list. "So, you need jeans, new boots, sweatshirts, t-shirts..." She went on, listing the items. What he needed was a whole new wardrobe and she was the woman for the mission.

Turning around, she found Sy rolling his eyes at her. "I ain't need no new t-shirts, woman. I got the black one, the red one and the khaki one."

Ada chuckled and approached him on the bed, coming to stand between his legs. It was unusual for her to be taller than him, and with him sitting on the bed and her standing up, she still didn't have that much of an advantage. With a grin, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead before pulling back to look into his eyes. Instinctively, almost an automatism, his hands found purchase on her hips.

"Last time you wore your red 'DILLIGAF' t-shirt, three separate kids stopped and asked you what the acronym stood for and you looked at me for help."

Sy held her gaze, not keen on losing the staring contest. Ada didn't want to relent but she didn't want to force him either, not after what had happened while grocery shopping. "It's okay if you really don't want to go, I won't for-"

Sy shook his head, silencing her before she could even finish. "Let's get this shopping over with. But I'm warning you: I'll be complaining the whole time."

For a moment, Ada pursed her lips, seemingly unconvinced but eventually her frown was replaced with a grin. "I would expect nothing else from you, grumpy bear," she teased before turning around, excited about the task at hand.

Sy left to get dressed but not before landing a playful smack on her ass.

°°°

It went just as Ada had imagined. Sy sat down on the sofa at the far end of the store, keeping everything in sight, and she would occasionally come up to him with suggestions. To an onlooker, they resembled a devout worshipper trying to make offerings to a very picky and very handsome god.

His replies to the items she presented to him went anywhere from 'no' to 'not a chance in hell', without forgetting the classic 'you lost your mind, darlin’'.

After visiting three stores and Ada trying to visually guess his size because Sy absolutely refused to try out any of the clothes, they had managed to get most of what he needed. It just turned out to be near recreations of the clothes he already owned, just bigger and newer. And with more child friendly texts.

They stopped for coffee by the center of the open-air mall. True to himself, Sy ordered just that - a coffee with 'none of the fancy shit'.

"You're sure you don't want to go to any of your stores?" Sy asked, watching her sip on her colorful drink.

Well, the idea was tempting but she already had more candles and blankets than necessary. And she knew he was uneasy even if he was hiding it well. "No, it's okay. I know you don't like shopping and I can just ask some friends if I really want to go." Sy hummed.

By the time Ada finished her season exclusive drink, she noticed Sy was staring at a shop window. She was almost excited that he was finally interested in buying clothes before noticing that it was some video game advertisement.

"You can buy the game, if you want. No need to stare," she teased.

He reverted his attention back to her. "It's only compatible with the new console that came out last month and that one's sold out." Ada started beaming as he spoke. "What?"

"Well... a few months ago, I came across the launch announcement on the Internet. And I had seen the old model in the study, so I knew you liked it and since you were coming home soon..."

Sy's eyes became even bluer for a moment, a huge grin threatening to illuminate his face. "Are you saying that...?"

Ada laughed, shaking her head. He looked like a kid on Christmas Day. "Yes. It's wrapped in gift paper in the basement under the utility sink."

"I love you, wife."

Again, she scoffed. "Yeah, yeah... Now let's go get you that damn game."

°°°

Later that day, or rather night, Sy wasn't even paying attention to the movie they, or rather, she was watching. He had gotten the gist of it - superheroes teaming up together to save the world - that sufficed him. His focus was entirely on his wife nested between his legs, her back resting against his chest.

When they got home from the mall and went to sort through his clothes and belongings, finally unpacking the rest of his duffel bag, Ada came across his dog tags. She asked if she could keep them. Sy frowned at the odd request but agreed nonetheless, shrugging dismissively.

Ada then proceeded to put the chain around her neck and slide the tags under her blouse. He had stared at her a little confused; she was smiling, looking all smug as if she had managed to trick him out of something valuable and not just two cheap metal tags hanging off an equally cheap chain.

"The fact that I get to have both your tags means I am very lucky to have gotten you back alive and in one piece. I don't want to ever forget that."

With his height advantage, even sitting behind her, Sy could see the chain disappearing under her pajamas and the tags resting in the valley of her breasts. Somehow, the sight made him feel even more possessive than the wedding band on her ring finger.

Things always had felt slightly uncertain with Ada, there had always been the shadow of a doubt in his mind when it came to her. They had gotten married on a whim and she knew he was a green beret, deployed most of the time. It's an entirely different thing to marry someone you get to see for a couple of weeks every once in a blue moon and to actually live, share a home with someone. When Sy had told her, he was coming home for good over the phone, he had half expected her to ask him for a divorce or to find himself alone at the airport. His face hadn't shown it, but when Ada put on the damn chain he had hated wearing in the goddamn desert where it would chafe his nape or get tangled in his chest hairs, Sy felt as happy as a sand boy.

She seemed honest when she said there was nothing going on with that Tom guy. Not that he could truly blame her if there was, even if it would have broken him. His parents had been married for over thirty-five years and his mom found a new boyfriend not even two years after his father's passing.

And yet, Ada was there, cuddling with him on the couch. She hadn't served him with divorce papers upon his arrival. Instead, they had spent the past few days pretty much glued together as they usually did when he was on leave.

Maybe it was time he started to believe that he had come home to his wife and she really wasn't going anywhere. Especially since she hadn't asked him to wear a condom ever since he got home and he hadn't seen her contraceptive pills on her nightstand either. Sy even checked the bathroom cabinet where he knew she kept some medication, but he didn't find anything there either. This morning, he had even considered asking her about it, but he figured that if she hadn't mentioned anything so far, it was because she wanted it to be a surprise and he didn't want to ruin it. Though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't going to be checking the same cabinet for pregnancy tests in the future.

"You good?" Ada asked as the film came to an end, tilting her head back but only getting a view of his beard. It made her smile, though. Sy really was her bear: big, strong and hairy.

"Yeah, I just," he stammered slightly as if waking up from his thoughts. "I was thinking we should probably change the stairs' railing into something safer before we have kids running up and down."

"Yep, that's not gonna happen," Ada chipped in, jumping off the couch before starting to fold the blanket.

"What?" Sy blurted out, turning all his attention to her. "The railing or the kids?"

"The kids," she replied nonchalantly, now laying the blanket in the basket by the sofa. "If you want to redo the stairs, that's fine. I think we could even paint them white."

In a second, Sy was up on his feet, his imposing stature crowding her. "What do you mean, that ain't happening? You don't want kids?"

Ada frowned, suddenly uncomfortable at his intense stare. "No.”

"Why did you never tell me?"

"Why did you assume kids were a given?" Ada retorted, taking a few steps back to put some distance between them. "I figured that if it was important to you, you'd have mentioned it sooner, at some point at least."

Sy had to fight the urge to yell at her, the feeling of betrayal and even anger overwhelming him. If he never spoke of it before, it was because he didn't want to have kids while he was deployed and miss their first years. Instead, he forced himself to calm down, taking a deep breath. "Is that a not now or a not ever?"

Ada looked away for a second, gathering her thoughts before moving her eyes back to him. "I got a new Mirena coil a couple of months ago, so I'm set for the next three years at least."

He had no idea what the fuck a 'Mirena coil' was supposed to be but it wasn't hard to figure out. Instinctively, his hand went to the back of head, raking through his short hair. "Just to be clear, Ada," Sy paused, his nostrils flaring, "you don't want children?"

It didn't even take her a second to start regretting her counter after it came out. "Do you?" She snapped back, the enunciation of the 'you' harsher than she had intended.

The effect was instant, her question giving him pause. Did he? Now reflecting on it, Sy realized he had never asked himself that question. It was just something that you did. First you got a house, then you found a wife and started a family. He had never thought about it as an option, just as the next step if he was lucky enough not to die in Iraq.

"I'm so sorry," Ada apologized, her tone alone expressing her regret. She took his hand, forcing him to look at her only to find her eyes glistening as she attempted not to cry. "I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't questioning your parenting skills. I know you'd make a fantastic father, Sy." Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath before opening them again, their corners wet with tears this time. "I just never saw myself having kids, but if it's something you really -"

"I ain't gonna force you to start a family with me," Sy rebuffed, offended at the very thought. The abruption of it even making Ada smile, if only briefly.

She shook her head quickly. "What I meant was that if you want to be a father, then I wish for you to become one. But... I won't be a part of that scenario."

"No." He said, dismissing the idea as soon as she voiced it, catching her hands in his and stilling them midair when she started gesticulating instead.

"No, this is important!" Ada protested. "I want you to be happy, Sy. And I won't stand in the way of your happiness. You deserve to live the life you want and if that includes a family -"

"No." Sy ordered, his tone final and resolute, silencing her instantly. He had never used this voice with her in the past, usually reserving it for the soldiers in his unit. "Stop with that ridiculous suggestion, woman." Ada blinked. It was obvious in her eyes that she wanted to argue but she didn't dare defy his hard stare.

Sy closed his eyes and swallowed, searching for the right words. "The choice between having kids with some other woman or getting to be with you, is a damn easy one. I'd rather we be a family of two than have children with some woman I could never love."

She was crying again, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. Had he said something wrong? Ada didn't let him wonder for too long, her hand fisting in his t-shirt to pull him down to her lips for a ravenous kiss, their teeth clicking together.

"You know," Ada breathed out against his lips once they parted for air. "It doesn't have to be just the two of us. I am partial to pets."

Later in bed, with his sleeping wife snoring softly and her head resting on his chest, Sy tried to process their conversation only to realize there wasn't much to process at all. It didn't feel that much like giving up on a dream, as it felt like defining the contours his future with Ada. All that mattered to him was that it was a future with the woman whose contagious laugh he had manifested in his mind time and time again to drown out the sound of gunfire and make it through. Children might have been a bonus, he wouldn’t deny that, but their absence was something he could live with. He couldn’t same the thing about Ada.

°°°

"Got your," Sy paused, frowning as he read off the label, entering the kitchen, "Willamette Valley Pinot noir. How many do you need?"

Ada looked away from the oven to find him carrying four bottles of her favorite wine. Did he think they were drunkheads? "Do you want for Tom to have to spend the night here because we're all over the legal alcohol limit and unable to drive?" She laughed.

Sy grimaced. "One bottle it is," he announced, making her laugh all the harder as he set down a single bottle on the table that was already set before casting away the other bottles in the pantry - where they did not, in fact, belong.

Just as was his habit, Sy sneaked up on his wife as she leaned over the kitchen counter, putting away the remaining ingredients and hugged her back to him with one arm. He then dipped a finger in the jar she had filled with leftover caramel and brought it to mouth.

She gasped at his manners. "You can't just stick your fingers in everything that's sweet and lick it off, Sy," Ada chided. She heard it as soon as the words left her mouth, but it was too late.

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest behind her. "Can't I?" Sy goaded her mockingly.

Ada took a deep breath. She knew where this was headed and they didn't have time. It was primordial her pie didn't overcook, and Tom would be there soon. "You know what I meant," she groaned, attempting to sound annoyed but he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Do I?" He whispered against her ear, his beard tickling her skin and his warm breath making her shiver as he slid his hand under her skirt until he was cupping her damp sex over her panties. "Are you certain about that, darlin'?"

Her hands held on to the counter and her eyes closed as he started rubbing his hand along her folds over the fabric. He was also beginning to harden behind at an impressive rate. The temptation made her whimper. "We don't have time," Ada protested, even as her head fell back against him and she leaned into his touch, silently begging for more as she not-so innocently ground her ass on his crotch.

A swift glance at the clock on the wall told him all he needed to know. They had seven minutes. It would have to be enough, Sy decided. Time being of the essence, he was determined not to waste any.

“Open up your legs for your captain, darlin’,” he rasped, his nose nuzzling in the shallow of her neck, his hands already busy bunching up the soft fabric of her skirt around her waist.

“Sy,” Ada lightheartedly protested his eagerness. The idea was certainly enticing but they truly didn’t have time and she really needed to keep an eye on the pie. “We can’t-“

“I said, open your legs,” he repeated, gritting out the words as his foot snuck between her ankles, forcing her legs open himself. Sy barely had to apply any pressure, Ada complied instantly at his tone. There were very few situations in which she let him boss her around and this was one of them.

His hands brushed over her naked thighs, enjoying the way she shivered as he did so. Sliding his fingers higher up her inner legs, Sy expertly slid the scanty lace of her thong aside in order to access her clit. Ada keened under his touch, the rough skin of his finger pads slowly circling her already swollen nub. She couldn’t decide between pressing into his touch or attempting to pull away from it; it was both too little and too much all at once. “Already so wet and I’ve barely done anything to you,” he teased, hoping to sound less worked up than he was. Sy was set on keeping the upper hand. “Tell me, what is it that you want, darlin’?”

Ada whined as he removed his fingers from her core, his hands going to her hips instead and pulling her to him, letting her feel how hard he was for her. His wife reacted by rubbing her ass against him, determined to get what she wanted without having to voice it. “Sy,” she complained when he didn’t bite the bait, still grinding on him, surely getting his jeans wet with her slick.

“That’s not how it works, darlin’,” he chastised, going back to teasing her. His touch was ghostlike, too light to provide any real satisfaction and she groaned in frustration. “You have to ask for it like a good girl.”

He felt her body tense up against his as she tried chasing the friction of his fingers where she wanted them most, but Sy drew away before she could. “I swear to God I am going to make you regret-“

Smack. Ada gasped at the sharp spank on her ass, her body bending over the counter at the impact. Her ass was just too tempting in this position and Sy was running out of patience. “Ask like a good girl,” he ordered between gritted teeth, his hand descending to palm his crotch, hoping for some relief. Her little stunt was turning him on more than it should have.

“God, Sy, just fuck me already!” She sobbed, her legs rubbing together out of their own volition but her husband stayed put, rubbing his palm of his covered cock as he watched her. He wasn’t going to give up any time soon, she realized with a strangled sigh. “Please fuck me, captain,” she whispered, relenting.

Within a second, Sy was unbuckling his belt and pulling down his zipper. His cock was red, hard and throbbing impatiently. With time running out, Sy pushed himself into her without a warning. Ada whined at the stretch, gripping at the flour covered kitchen counter as one of his hands grabbed hold of her hips, the other moving to her breast. Then he started ploughing into her like there was no tomorrow.

Ada kept whimpering his name, but even she didn’t know what it was she was asking for. Her hips were digging into the cold stone and she knew there would be bruises come morning. He had barely started fucking her and she was already beginning to tense up with how worked up she was. “Are you gonna cum for me, darlin’?” Sy grunted, his jaw tense as her inner muscles clenched all around his cock. Ada nodded meekly, unable to speak. Just when he was starting to doubt he’d be able to hold off long enough for her to climax, Ada cried out, her tight walls milking him as she came. Sy exploded inside her with a strangled groan, slowly coming to a still inside her.

The doorbell rang. At seven o’clock on the dot.

"Fucking Brits and their punctuality!" Sy cursed, still panting before pulling away from her and tepidly leaving her warmth. Ada chuckled at his reaction, holding onto the counter for support for a few more seconds until she felt somewhat steady on her feet.

Sy tucked himself back into his pants and she adjusted her skirt over her thighs again before letting out a panicked squeak and turning around. Her front was covered in the flour she has spread on counter for the pie and the white handprint on her breast where he had held on to her was very visible on her black blouse. Sy couldn't keep himself from laughing. She looked great if you asked him, especially since Tom would be going to see just how well he took care of her. "I'll go get changed and you get the door!"

°°°

Sy’s eyes widened, positively surprised as he brought the first forkful of boeuf bourguignon to his mouth. The dish hadn’t appeared particularly appetizing on the plate, but it tasted so much better than it looked. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ada glancing at him with an ‘I told you so’ smirk.

“I received a new shipment of books at the store today,” Tom told Ada in between bites. He owned a bookstore downtown, Sy had learnt. “There’s a new murder mystery I’m sure you’ll love.”

Ada stilled, a look of excitement washing over her face. “Is there… poison?”

Tom laughed. He had expected that question from her. “Ah, yes. And it’s set in the 1920s!”

Sy glanced from the one to the other, forcing himself not to sigh. Ada’s excitement was adorable, but Tom was grating on his nerves. All the conversation so far had been about novels they’d read recently.

“Please tell me that you saved me a copy.” Ada shrieked enthusiastically, prompting Tom to laugh before he suddenly producer a hardcover out of seemingly thin air. As if she was scared that he was only taunting her with it, Ada leaned over the table and snatched the book out of his hand, a smug look on her face before she started reading the back cover. Sy looked at her and chuckled, shaking his head fondly at her almost childish elation.

"So, where did you two meet?" Tom asked, shifting his attention to Sy. "Ada always told me that it was a story for another time."

Sy's grip tightened on his cutlery. Admittedly, the strong animosity toward the man had faded, but he was still not keen on making conversation with the man. "Here in Austin," Sy replied before going back to his food. Ada had to stifle a laugh at the face Tom made at the curt answer.

"I'll tell you," she offered, capturing Tom's attention. "I had just graduated with my Masters and managed to land a PhD position here in Austin. I was freshly debarked out of France and I was only to start to start mid January but I flew over in December already - wanting to fly with my own wings and all that." Tom chuckled as she gestured derisively with the story.

"Anyway, I hadn't found a flat yet, all my stuff was in a storage unit and I had the brilliant idea of going to Vegas. On my own. In a 1979 black Camaro rental."

Sy finally looked up from his plate. "It was from 1980 and it was dark gray, not black, darling’."

Ada found herself staring curiously at her husband as he interrupted her story before laughing. That's what it took to get him to talk?

"So, it was a 1979, dark gray Camaro,” Ada correctly herself. “Anyway, obviously it did not have a navigation system and I stopped at one of the few open bars open at 5pm on Christmas Eve, ordered a beer and tried making sense of the maps I found in the glovebox, making a list of the different exits and turns I would have to make.

"Sy was there drinking with some friends – loud friends, might I add. Well, I am struggling with the maps and he must notice because he approaches me at the counter, takes of his cap and asks me if I need help, in his southern drawl. Actually, no wait, his exact words were” Ada paused, clearing her voice. “’Need some help reading that map, darling?'" Tom laughed at her ridiculous attempt to imitate Sy’s baritone voice. To Ada's surprise, Sy blushed. It was barely visible beneath his beard, but it was there and it was the cutest thing she had ever seen.

"I looked down at the map she was studying and asked her if she was headed somewhere on the east coast. She then slowly looked at me and confidently told me she was going to Nevada, until I pointed out that she was highlighting the road that went East and her face burned up, all self-conscious." Sy recounted, now laughing as well and even Tom scoffed. " I said: ‘At this point, even a navigation system can’t help you, darlin’. You’d need an escort.”

Ada bit her lip, remembering that moment clearly in her mind. She had flushed, staring at the muscular man that towered next to her. He was burly and rugged and yet still exhaled a little softness behind it all. 'Well then, will you be my escort to Vegas? I am leaving tonight,' she had blurted out before she could stop herself.

"I cannot believe you drove from Austin to Las Vegas with a stranger, Ada!" Tom said teasingly, clearly surprised by his friend’s spontaneity and recklessness.

"Yes, I made him miss Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his family, and the best part is that we got married the day we reached Vegas on New Year’s Eve.” They had stopped a few times along the way, visited some towns and she had only known Sy for seven days when we got hitched at the kitschiest chapel imaginable. “We had to hurry to get a marriage license before the courthouse closed and a half-naked dude officiated because everyone else was already booked.”

Sy chuckled, sitting back against his chair and wrapping his arm around Ada's shoulders possessively. "She made me wear my old uniform that lasted all of fifteen minutes and was presided by an officer dressed as a cherub." He gestured at the framed picture standing on the cupboard next to them.

They looked absolutely ridiculous. Sy's uniform made him look too serious next to a tipsy Ada who wore the only white dress she had been able to find on such short notice and that definitely hadn’t been meant for a wedding because it turned out to be partly see-through under the camera flashes.

Ada shared some more stories about Vegas before excusing herself to the bathroom, the conversation instantly dying out as she disappeared, leaving both men in an uncomfortable silence until Sy’s curiosity got to him.

"So, you and her...?" Sy left his question unfinished. He wasn't sure what exactly it was that he was asking, he just wanted to know all there was to know.

In front of him, Tom gracefully dabbed him mouth with the ivory napkin and shook his head, with a tight smile. "No, nothing of the sort," the Englishman replied dismissively before Sy's inquiring stare forced him to expound. "It's not that I didn't think of pursuing something more with her, but Ada made it very clear from the beginning that she was a married woman and a faithful wife."

Sy hummed noncommittally, though internally he was reassured and maybe even elated. Mike had really filled his head with shit. Deep down, he always knew his Ada wasn't like that, it just felt good to hear it.

"My wife, for whom I left England, passed away only two months before Ada and I met. I was going through a rough patch then - and that's a euphemism. Carla had been talking to me about watching a particular film ever since it had been announced, it was an adaptation of her favorite novel." Tom explained, a smile warming up his features. "When she died before it premiered, I wasn't even sure if I even wanted to watch it without her... But the tickets had already been purchased and part of me hoped that for two hours, it would feel like Carla was sitting right next to me."

Sy listened, feeling sympathetic, if not a little uncomfortable by the man’s openness. He still wanted to dislike Tom but at the same time he couldn't imagine the wreck he'd be if Ada were to die on him.

"The cinema was packed and to accommodate a large group, Ada asked whether I minded if she sat down next to me,” Tom paused briefly, smiling at the memory. “I think it was listening to her laugh, cry and eat popcorn next to me during the movie that gave me the strength to drive home instead of off a cliff that night."

Sy gulped down the rest of his wine, still not a fan of the taste as he faced the Englishman before him. Not that he would ever say it out loud, but if he had failed to make it alive out of that godforsaken desert, he had to concede Tom would not have been the worst for Ada.

Silence fell again and Sy became uncomfortable, deciding to pour Tom some more wine. “I am glad Ada and you were there for each other.” When I should’ve been there for her myself but wasn’t, Sy thought but left it unsaid.

Tom chuckled as he observed the burly man in front of him. For all his muscles and gruff exterior, he carried the slightest of insecurities when it came to his wife. "There's a thick silver notebook Ada has kept for a couple of years. Maybe you should have a look at it.”

Sy wanted to ask what he was talking about but was interrupted by the sound of Ada's high heels clicking on the wooden floor as she made her way back to them. "I hope you weren't talking ill of me behind my back," she teased, squeezing Sy's shoulder absentmindedly. "Now, who's ready for my slightly overcooked tarte tatin.” Ada eyed her husband pointedly.

#henry cavill smut #syverson smut #henry cavill x reader #syverson x reader #henry cavill x ofc #syverson x ofc

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years

Text

Title: Rumor Has It {7}**

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Mentions/talk about miscarriage, HEAVY Angst, Moderate SMUT, Grief, Slight NSFW

Word Count: 7.1K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

**Loosley Edited/Proofread**

**Very Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️ ❤️

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

How do you sleep when you’ve single-handedly destroyed your marriage? You don’t. You wander aimlessly around the house thinking of should-haves and could haves. You think of every little thing that you did that was not right. You worry that because your hair is brown, and your man likes redheads that you were doomed to fail. You worry that you are the root of your problems and you worry that you’ll wake up to hear that your husband had driven into a light pole and died because of you.

So, what did you do? You called him every thirty minutes but every time you called the response was the same, radio silence. He didn’t reject your calls; he simply just didn’t answer them. To you that was worse, it meant he saw your calls coming in but chose to ignore you. You found his secret stash of weed and decided you’d use it to mellow you out. You only meant to smoke one joint, but by the time nine rolled around you were on your second one and watching reruns of The Cosby Show.

“Why can’t I have a marriage like the Huxtables?” Your cell phone rang, and you jumped from the couch and frantically looked around for where you could have put it. You looked in the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, and still no phone. By the time you found it in the bathroom on the sink, you’d missed two calls. It rang again, and you quickly answered it.

“Hello? The sound of your agent’s voice came through over the phone, and you groaned.

“No, Shane, it’s fine. No, I--fine. I’m in Boston, so send it to this fax. Okay.” You hung up the phone and groaned. You’d been on go for months, and right now you just wanted to shut everything and everyone down. The last thing you wanted to do was look over yet another prospective script that would sign you to a movie that would take you away from your marriage, or what was left of it. You could hear the fax machine going off and dropped back onto the couch and back to your depressive thoughts and your tears.

Without knowing you dozed off and woke up to your phone ringing. As quickly as you could, you eased onto your elbows and answered your phone without checking the ID.

“Hello?”

No voice came through. It was dead silent, so silent it made you think it was either spam or a bad connection. “Hello?”

Then you heard a sigh. “It’s me.” You sprang up to a seated position and pressed the phone to your ear as if that would improve things. Relief flooded through you. Relief that he was okay, relief he didn’t sound infuriated like last night. You didn’t dare speak. You didn’t know what to say, and you were afraid that if you said anything else, it would set him off. You knew you were on thin ice. “Can you meet me somewhere?” His voice was low, raw and gruff. He sounded like he did when he either hadn’t slept or had just woken, the deep voice that always made you shiver. He sighed again. “Uriah.”

“Yes, yes, anywhere.” Chris took a deep breath then released it and recited an address that you jotted down. One that was no familiar to you. “Where is this?”

“Pack a bag.” That was the last thing he said before he ended the call. You sat there staring at the address you’d written that you knew was at least thirty minutes away. You were confused, and for a split second, an irrational fear filled you. Pushing it to the side you went upstairs to pack a bag which consisted of a few changes of clothes, your toiletries, and everything you needed your hair, face, and body. By the time you’d packed, taken a quick shower and dressed thirty minutes had passed then you were off.

After fifteen minutes of driving, you realized you were leaving the hustle and bustle of the city and its closest neighboring towns and your interest piqued further. Once you got on the freeway you were confused as to where in the world the GPS was leading you. Traffic wasn’t bad, and you were grateful for it, you hated being stuck in traffic which is why most of the time you had a driver driving you. As you looked around at the other drivers each lost in their own thoughts and current situations you missed the simple life. The life you led before you got discovered and signed to Elite. You used to be able to walk around the city no hat, no sunglasses and just walk through the crowds with no one stopping you or snapping your picture. You used to take the subway and the passengers pressed into the overcrowded train like sardines in a tin would be none the wiser because you were just a regular girl. Now all that was different and with your rising star came a slew of other challenges.

When you’d met Chris, you were in your third year with Elite and had just premiered your breakout role in your first big-budget film. You were in Paris for the Victoria’s Secret show where you killed the runway the night before. You saw him across the restaurant gleamed in candlelight and his beard and hair looked auburn. You found yourself mesmerized by the way his eyes uniquely shone. When his eyes met yours, you almost choked on the white wine you were sipping. Everything and everyone around you faded away, and you lived a lifetime in the seconds your eyes were transfixed on each other.

Your attention was drawn from him, and for the remainder of the dinner with your respective parties you both occasionally glanced at each other and smiled whenever your eyes met again. You were the first to leave. The following day you saw each other in the market. You were deliberating between a bouquet of lavender or bunches of pink tulips, and you saw him across the flower cart inspecting some sunflowers. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and you took the opportunity to get a good look of him in daylight. You immediately thought he was gorgeous. You saw him smiling and wondered if he knew you were gawking at him, so you busied yourself with making your decision. His proximity was hard to get over. By the time you looked up he was gone. The flower cart owner handed you a perfect, pink Peony then nodded off to the side where he was standing. You took the flower, smelled it and nodded your head then walked off, away from him.

A week of chance encounters ensued, and every time you were sent a perfect pink peony. You began to wonder if he just walked around with one in case he saw you. Every time you got a flower you always walked off. By the end of the week, he finally approached you in the open field that overlooked the Eiffel tower carrying a full bouquet of peonies and a core melting smile. By the time the sun rose the next day the two of you still had yet to go back to your hotels or tire of each other. Instead, you sat on the steps of one of the many bridges in Paris and shared a box of macaroons. Two days later, the two of you were in bed together, and two days after that you were off exploring every island and almost every country in Europe, Asia, and the Caribbean.

He’d asked you to marry him in Paris at the same restaurant you’d first laid eyes on each other and the next day married on the Eiffel tower with the perfect view of the sunset, precisely four months to the day you first saw each other. It was perfect. Love, at first sight, was possible, you lived it. A loud honk broke you out of your memories. You saw a long stretch of road before you; you were holding up traffic. Quickly you continued on your route and tried not to worry that you wouldn’t share any more days of happiness with him.

Another twenty minutes passed, and you were surrounded by trees that were lush with leaves that were changing between green, orange, and red. The way the sun caught the foliage made your breath hitch. You loved the countryside. When you turned onto a stretch of land that was surrounded by nothing but trees and wood you began to worry. Had he brought you all the way out here so your screaming wouldn’t draw prying eyes? Did he bring you all the way here to serve you with divorce papers? Could he have had them drafted up that quickly?

“You have arrived,” the monotonous sound of your GPS announced. Before you was a jaw-dropping house dropped in the middle of the most beautiful piece of land you’d seen in a long time. You slowly approached the house gaping at its beauty, from the way it was built it looked like a farmhouse. About twenty feet away was a huge barn and miles of land. As you rolled to a stop in front of the house you stared out the window to the left out to the property, it looked well maintained and so peaceful. After killing the engine, you stepped out as the breeze picked up. You took a deep breath and enjoyed the smell of country air. You slowly walked along the dirt and gravel path and remembered a conversation from long ago.

Chris’ voice started the memory; “Dream house, and go, don’t leave any detail out.”

“Okay, no detail left out. No one around for miles, I want to scream your name as loud as I want without neighbors wondering what is going on.”

“Or wondering how I’m ruining your cervix.” The two of you giggled like school children who were doing something naughty in secret.

“Okay, no one around for miles. What else?”

“Um, trees, lots of trees, lots of green as far as the eye can see.”

“Uh-huh, so seclusion. Next?”

“A dirt and gravel driveway. I don’t know why just something about it screams traditional.”

You were standing there staring at the dirt and gravel driveway completely lost to what was happening around you. You spun around to gaze out to the open view and all the trees you could ever want, and there was no one within eye view. Pressing your fingers to your lips you heard the trunk shut. Chris stood there in a pair of worn dark jeans that had patches of paint, a worn blue t-shirt that hugged his biceps like a second skin and boots that looked to have been put to the test to see if Timberlands were the most durable as they claimed.

From the corner of your eye, the flower bushes caught your eye.

“Huge flower bushes in every color imaginable, pinks, blues, purples, reds, flowers everywhere.”

Your eyes scanned the exterior of the house, going over every detail. As you did your voice from your memory rang out as it listed every detail that you wanted. Every single one of those details your eye fell to and you became weaker and weaker by each one. You pressed the palm of your hand to your stomach and tried to calm the butterflies.

“Wh—Wha—What is, what is this? Wh-where are we?”

He didn’t answer; instead he nudged his head as if to say come on then walked ahead to the smooth terra cotta stone walkway that led to the double French doors. You almost fell to your knees and bawled. Chris opened the door and walked inside, but you stopped at the threshold complete frozen with the sight before you.

“What else?”

“Dark wood floors, floor to ceiling windows everywhere, twenty-foot-high ceilings. An amazing stone fireplace, wood beams.”

You slowly walked inside and looked around at everything you wanted. When you got to the living room, you were floored staring at the stone fireplace. The stones went from the beautiful dark wood all the way to the high ceiling where you saw wood beams that matched the floor. On the ledge of the fireplace were two blown-up pictures, one a photo of you and Chris from your wedding in Paris and another from your wedding in Boston. Fresh tears sprang to your eyes as you stared at the documentation of the happiest days of your life.

When you turned, you were alone. You walked out the room and marveled at everything you saw, pictures and paintings lined the walls to give the home the lived-in cozy feeling despite its grandiose size. You stopped unfolding the kitchen before you and what a kitchen it was.

“I want windows everywhere to look out to the view of the beautiful land that isn’t populated. I want to feel the peace from the outside in.”

You gasped sliding the door and stepping out to nature itself. Fall was quickly approaching, and this view and this house fully embraced it and gave you every advantage to really enjoy it. You glanced around at everything from the eight-burner stove, to the butcher's block island and the booth like seating in the corner. It was perfect, everything you’d wanted.

Over the next twenty or so minutes you took in every room of the house slowly marveling at everything you saw. Every detail was as you’d described to him years ago down to the paint color on the wall and even the balcony in the master bedroom and the tub in the master bath. As you scanned the upstairs, you noticed a piece of paper on four of the doors. The first was labeled with “little princess #1”, then the second read “little princess #2”, the next said “little prince #1”, and the fourth said “little prince #2”. You both had said you wanted at least four children and you’d call them little princesses and princes.

“You’re my queen Dragonfly, of course they’ll be princes and princess.”

You hugged your midsection again and realized why you’d done it so often over the last months. You were missing a piece of yourself. Leaning against one of the walls, you allowed yourself to cry as quietly as you could. You’d pushed it aside for months refusing to acknowledge it, refusing to let the grief consume you. You’d been successful and had been able to work through it, but now you saw you hadn’t worked through anything. After drying your eyes, you continued walking and saw another door with a sign on it that said, “Oops prince/princess #1”, and a door across from it that read “Oops prince/princess #2”. You laughed through the tears.

“I can assume there will be at least one surprise baby, I mean it’s us,” Chris joked.

By the time you made it back downstairs, and to the backyard, you were sure you were going to pass out. You stood there staring out to the greenhouse that was perfectly set up. He knew you had a knack for gardening when you had the time, and you’d said you wanted a space for it that the cold Boston winter wouldn’t ruin. You closed your eyes and took several relaxing breaths. By the time you’d found some semblance of calm you felt him behind you and every nerve in your body fired off.

“I promise Dragonfly. I will give you everything you want and more.”

You found some courage and turned; he was leaning against the stone of the house and looking out to the distance with his arms crossed before his chest.

“What is this?” You knew, but you kind of didn’t know why.

“It was supposed to be a gift.”

“My birthday is not for weeks--.”

“I know it wasn’t meant to be for your birthday. It was supposed to be for the day we found out we were going to be parents. It was going to be a gift for that.” You felt even more horrible. It was your fault he didn’t have the baby he could see in one of those rooms. You looked down and tried to avoid his eyes.

“Chris, I’m sorry, it’s my fault--.”

He quickly closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace. You sighed out and instantly felt as if every piece of stress and worry melted from your being. You were reluctant to touch him afraid that as soon as you tried, he’d move. You inhaled his masculine scent that reminded you of all the best parts about fall, apples, leaves, pumpkins, and spices. He also smelled of the cologne you had made especially for him last Christmas. You nuzzled your cheek to his chest and wanted to stay there forever, no need to food, water or anything else.

Chris pulled away, then sighed out. “Let’s talk.” He walked further out onto the back patio, and he sat down and waited for you. It was time to face the music, time to bear your heart and soul to your husband. Taking a deep breath, you sat in one of the rocking chairs, rocking chairs you’d specifically said you’d wanted on the back patio to look out to the beauty that mother nature gifted. You didn’t know how to start, didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know if he wanted you to say anything.

“You could have told me, Uriah. You didn’t have to go through that alone. You shouldn’t have gone through it alone.” The gentleness of his words brought the tears, and there was nothing you could do to stop them, so they fell freely. It was hard. The first week was the hardest. Your doctor had told you there would be blood, but you weren’t prepared for how much blood there was. Then when the clots began passing you lost it and cried for days without getting out of bed. The memories flooded you, and you did your best not to bawl out loud. You cleared your throat and blew out the breath you held.

“I should have told you; I know. I’m sorry. It broke my heart, and I only wanted it for a few hours. You’ve wanted this for years. I thought if it broke me, then it would do far worse to you.”

“What’s the rest of it?” You scoffed; he knew you well.

Taking a deep breath, you looked to him and saw he was already watching you with a solemn expression. You knew he was holding back his grief trying to be there for you. You fell in love with him because of his compassion for others, how he always put others before him. You wanted to be open with him, wanted to trust in the possibility that he’d married you for more than the prospect of children, and that if you couldn’t give them he wouldn’t leave you. As you opened your mouth to confess it all the thought flashed into your head that he might very well blame you for the miscarriage. He might grow to resent you for it. You knew you already blamed yourself.

“I didn’t want you to look at me differently.” It was a half-truth.

“Different? How?” His full attention was on you now with his body turned as well.

“I don’t know Chris, just different. I don’t know what I was thinking then.” Chris sat quietly studying you. You felt as if any second he would see through you and call your bullshit and the end of your marriage. You knew how much he valued truth, and honesty and you’d fucked that up several times. You knew he was at his wit’s end with you.

Sighing you took it there; “I didn’t want you to blame me and hate me for it.” Chris quickly crossed to you and sank to the floor before you, clasping both your hands in his oversized ones.

“Blame you? God Riah how could I ever blame you for this? You didn’t do anything for this to happen. Look at me, Riah.” You lifted your head and glanced into his eyes that were filled with so much emotion. Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks, and Chris quickly wiped them away. “I don’t blame you. I’m angry that you didn’t tell me. We’re in this marriage together, we both said vows before God, we made promises to each other, and I meant them with everything in me. I love you dragonfly.” Your nickname made more tears flow, and a sob escaped your throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” the words spilled out of you amidst your sobs. Chris pulled you into his strong arms. You finally released all the pain you’d held in over the last month and a half. He didn’t speak or move; he just let you cry, and it was what you needed.

Twenty minutes later, Chris’ shirt was soaked with your tears and snot, but he didn’t seem to care. You pulled away from him, your body finally free of the violent spasms from your sobs. You wiped your face then sunk your hands into your hair and held it down then stood and stepped away from him. “I’m gonna clean myself up.” Without another word you walked inside to find one of the bathrooms. Once inside the half bath in the hall your reflection scared you. Your eyes were red and puffy as was the majority of your face and your nose had trace smears of snot. After you washed your face with cold water you used one of the hand rags and did your best to make yourself presentable again. Instead of walking out after you’d finished, you just stared at yourself. There were close to a million things running through your head, so many feelings and thoughts you had no idea how to tune them out. You looked around the bathroom for the first time and smiled remembering what you’d told him.

“I want one of the bathrooms just to be pure ridiculousness, it has to be a guest bath. It would be the funniest thing; they would think we were the most ridiculous couple.”

Yours and Chris’ laughter echoed in your head, and you began to laugh as well. The intricate gold branch and leaf wallpaper was beautiful, but it was bold and way more luxurious than either yours or Chris’ taste. As you spun around the room you fell more in love with it. He did amazing, you thought. You walked out and to the kitchen where you heard clattering. Chris was there in his white undershirt cooking.

“When did you buy this place?”

“Two years ago. It was an old rundown farmhouse ready to be torn down, but the land was perfect. So, over the last few years, we’ve been rebuilding.”

“We?”

“Me, Scott, my dad, some friends, and some work crews.” Your jaw dropped.

“Don’t look so surprised, you know I’m good with my hands.” He smirked your way, and you blushed. He continued doing what he was doing, and you looked around the kitchen once again. It was your dream kitchen; everything was how you wanted down to the color of the backsplash.

“Who knew you listened to me and remembered that far back.”

“I listen to everything you say, and I remember everything.” A few moments passed with the two of you staring into each other’s eyes before Chris looked away and back to the vegetables he was chopping.

“Do you like it?”

You scoffed because he had to be kidding. This place was amazing, and your dream come to life. It was everything you’d ever wanted.

“I love it; every single inch and square foot is incredible. You guys did amazing.” He smiled and nodded.

“You can keep exploring around there is still plenty to see, or you can come be my sous.”

You smiled. In the early days, months, and years of your marriage, you always cooked together. It became tradition to prepare dinner together if you were together and it always proved to be a good time for you to talk, laugh and just be silly together. It had been almost a month since you’d done it. You took off your long cardigan and walked to the sink to wash your hands. When you turned to him ready for instruction he smiled. “Where do you want me?” Chris stepped to you.

“Forever and always by my side dragonfly.” Your heart raced, then he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he turned away and went back to work. He gave a few instructions, but you didn’t hear them, all you heard was the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Cooking together was just as great as you’d remembered it to be. After him showing you around the kitchen and where things were, you moved together with ease. While he worked on the vegetables, you began on dessert, surprised to see the fridge was stocked. He told you about the process of building, how much he enjoyed getting dirty with it and doing all the construction stuff. You saw small inspired smiles on his face and enjoyed listening to every detail of how he’d orchestrated the build and keeping it from you. As you talked, some normalcy felt to have returned, but you could feel the talk that still had to be had weighing on things, and you knew he felt it too. Neither of you pushed the other to speak before they were ready, and you were grateful he was being so gentle and understanding about things. It was a drastic one-eighty from last night and the days you’d been at odds.

By the time the two of you sat to dinner in the booth seats you, the sun had set behind the trees bathing the entire sky outside the house in a beautiful magenta. You knew why he’d chosen this land. You ate quietly just watching the beautiful colors of the sunset and the backdrop that nature provided. It had been months since you’d felt anything close to calm and this was the first time.

“Thank you. This is—more than I can could have ever dreamed up. I love it here.”

He gave you a small smile and nodded as he finished his beer. “Me too.”

You sloshed around your wine in the glass and watched the candlelight reflect through the pale gold liquid before you gulped the remainder down. When you put the glass back to the table, Chris raised the bottle and refiled your glass. As he poured you watched him. “Do you want a divorce now?” Chris’ actions stilled.

He held the bottle in midair and watched the liquid empty from the bottle before he slowly put it to the side. He took up his napkin and wiped his mouth, then put it down onto the table. All his movements were slow, methodical as if they were actions, but he was using the time to properly formulate speech. Each second that ticked away that he didn’t respond your mind crafted some horrible future where you were a divorcee, and then Bravo or VH1 would approach you with some offer to be on the next season of Ex-wives of Hollywood. You’d no doubt be the ex-wife who was secretly bitter and depressed and lonely because she didn’t want the divorce, but she had no one else to blame but herself. So, during the day she’d play the badass boss bitch, and at night she’d cry in bed in her negligee and fur heels and six to nine bottles of wine. It was almost certainly your future; you could see it.

The sound of Chris clearing his throat was what snapped you out of your Ebenezer scrooge ghost of futures to come vision. His fingers were steepled underneath his chin, and he was just staring at you with a very unreadable expression on his face. “Do you want a divorce?”

You felt like you were going to throw up the dinner you’d just had then pass out in the vomit. Part of you said to play it cool and not show how scared you were, but the other part said throw everything out on the table. The pounding in your head made it impossible to think or focus and you decided to listen to your heart and just speak. “Of course, I don’t want a divorce. That is the last thing in the world I want. I love you so goddamn much, but—but if you want a one then I will respect your wishes and give it to you.” The words made you sick. It would kill you, but you’d do it.

“When I asked you to marry me, do you remember what I said?” You took a shaky breath and held it before you nodded.

“Tell me.” Tapping into that strength your parents said they saw when you were a child you forged ahead.

“My life—your life has become exponentially better since meeting me; you’d never been happier and never met anyone like me and had never felt that way about anyone in all your life. You don’t know how you made it through life without me and now that you have me—you can’t imagine ever spending one more day without me in your life. You want to grow with me, build with me, fall even more in love with me and grow old with me surrounded by our four planned and two accidental children. Will you make me the happiest, proudest, most grateful man in the world and spend the rest of—our lives with me?” you dabbed the back of your hand at the tears that spilled out. He nodded.

“I meant those words and nowhere in them did I say spend four years of our lives with me. I said the rest of our lives. Four isn’t nearly enough, dragonfly. So no, I don’t want a divorce. Hell, even if you wanted one, I would fight with everything in me for you—for us.” You covered your mouth as relief washed over you. “Divorce is not the answer for me—it’s never going to be the answer Riah. Do you understand? When I said till death do we part, I meant it, and nothing is going to change it.” Sniffling, you nodded and wiped your tears away and tried to get a hold of your emotions. Silence filled the room, and neither of you moved, or even continued to eat the scraps on your plate.

After a few minutes, he stood and took your plates and busied himself with the after dinner clean up. After a few minutes of watching his movements, you got up and walked around the property taking everything in. Although it was now night and darkness took over the entire property was bathed in the light of hanging lanterns and draped pepper lights and it gave the most romantic glow. You saw a lake and smiled.

“I want a lake; my very own lake and I want a pretty deck that has enough chairs for our umpteen-‘leven kids, and we’ll all sit out back on summer nights, and you’ll teach them to fish.”

The deck as you wanted was right there, and you saw plenty of seats just waiting to be sat in. Turning to the right you saw a beautiful cherry tree and a hanging swing. You smiled and walked to it, the final piece falling into place.

“There better be a swing that overlooks this lake so we can watch the sunsets when we’re seventy thinking about how perfect our life together had been.”

You sat down and felt as if you’d finally come home. You watched the water dance and got lost in your feelings and thoughts. Your father did say he was a good man; you knew that or else you wouldn’t have married him. Your mind flitted to the conversation you still had yet to have. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, held it and smiled sensing him.

“I see you found the piece de resistance,” Chris said as he sat beside you.

“Oh yeah and what a piece de resistance it is.”

“Is it as you imagined?” You looked at him and bit your bottom lip.

“No. It’s so much better.” Chris looked to you and smiled that smile that always made your stomach do loopy loops.

“What’s the answer?” He nodded fully understanding your question, then looked back out to the lake. He didn’t speak, and neither did you for a long while.

When the air grew colder, and the breeze picked up the two of you made your way back to the house. Chris locked up, and then the two of you slowly walked upstairs. Once outside the master bedroom, he opened the door for you so you could walk inside. You walked to the balcony that overlooked the lake and sighed at how beautiful and peaceful it was.

“I’ll um—I’ll give you the bedroom, I can take one of the other rooms.” Your stomach sank. In all your years together, you never slept apart when in the same city. Last night was the first time, and you didn’t want to do it again. You were disappointed and hurt that he wanted to. You looked down and nodded then turned your back.

“Goodnight,” you responded. Soon after he repeated the same and you heard the door close. Trying your best to stifle your cries you hopped in the shower and took a quick one. Once you climbed into bed and laid down the moonlight bathed the bed and you laid there mesmerized by its beauty. You couldn’t help but feel incomplete. You looked beside you to where Chris should have been and missed him. You walked to the French glass doors that separated outside from in and put your forehead to it. The cool glass helped to slow your racing thoughts. You felt like some innocent teenager who was scared to say what she wanted and go after it. That wasn’t you; it had never been.

“Riah.” You spun around at the sound of Chris’ voice. There he was in a pair of sweats, and a white undershirt and even that made your heart race and your belly flutter. “Sorry, I didn’t knock.”

“Why do you need to knock it’s your room too.” He nodded and looked down.

“Earlier, did you not want me to sleep in another room?” You bit your bottom lip again then found the courage.

“We don’t sleep apart. Remember?” Chris nodded then rubbed his head, sending all his luscious locks in disarray.

“I remember, I just thought you’d want your space after everything. I didn’t want to crowd you. I want to—give you what you need—be how you need me to be right now.”

He meant well, you knew it. You didn’t know what to say to him about anything and didn’t know what to do. You knew one thing, you needed him.

“Come to bed?” He studied you trying to grasp your meaning. After a few moments, you walked to him, held out your hand and waited for his decision. Without a thought he took your hand, and you led him to the bed.

Once there, you lifted up the hem of his shirt, and he allowed you to pull it off. After the first time you’d seen him shirtless in person you always thought he should just remain shirtless. He was beautiful to look at. You traced your hand down his chest to the waistband of his sweats. As you hooked your finger in you took notice he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Glancing back up to him you noticed his eyes hadn’t left your face. He just stood there letting you take the lead. You pulled his sweats from their precarious location on his hips and kneeled on the bed taking his hand to lure him to follow. He didn’t object and took his place before you. His hand cupped your cheek and softly caressed your cheek.

“I love you, Uriah.”

“I love you too.”

You loosened the ties of your robe and let it fall from your naked body. The two of you kneeled on the bed before each other with the moonlight casting a milky glow over your bodies. Neither of you moved or spoke; there was no need for words. Slowly you traced your hand over his chest taking in every ab indentation and each definition of his pec muscles. Once you made it to his face you reveled the feel of the softness of his hair, then the smoothness of his bottom lip and the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Chris took your hand and kissed your palm before he placed your hand back on his cheek.

You brought his face to yours and softly kissed his lips. The kiss was not one of passion or yearning. It was a kiss of gentleness, one that said how much you missed him, and it was a sentiment he returned. You could feel his pain in the kiss. A pain you shared. Chris deepened the kiss and pulled you flush against his body and wrapped his hands around your waist. You tasted salty tears and sunk your fingers into his hair and gripped his strands. For the first time, you realized that the pain you’d tried to push down these last weeks was a pain he was feeling now. He was grieving right along with you.

You lied down on onto your back and looked up at him. Chris slowly looked over your body. You opened your legs, and he settled between them as he hovered over your body. You reached up and wiped a rolling tear. He turned his head and kissed your palm again before he dipped down and claimed your lips again. This kiss was an urgent one tinged with something else. You pulled him close, and he buried his face in your neck and cried. Holding him to you, you allowed your tears freedom and cried with him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, dragonfly. Forgive me.” Chris kissed your neck, then your collar. His lips moved to your chest, and down to your breast, his tongue lazily circled your nipple and awoke a gentle heat within you. He pulled his head back quickly and searched your eyes. You knew what he was asking. Nodding your head, he kissed you again and returned his lips to your breast. He brought his mouth lower to your belly, and he stared at it. His hand possessively circled it before he kissed around it. Your tears streamed form your eyes, and a strangled cry escaped your throat.

Chris moved lower and kissed your sex before he began slowly pleasing you. Your back arched and your fingers dug into his hair holding on to him praying to God that you would be able to come back from this. The pleasure he brought you felt different than all the times before. Before it was an unquenchable fire that consumed you and never relented, now it was a slow burn that comforted while it maddened. You gasped loudly and pulled at his hair feeling your orgasm rage through you. Again, Chris nestled between your legs and slowly connected your bodies. Both of you sighed feeling your connection strengthen. He didn’t move; instead he stared deeply into your eyes and rocked you to your core with how much you saw hidden behind his blue orbs.

When he began rocking into you, your skin peppered with goosebumps and the tightening in your belly was another sign you were close to claiming your pleasure. Chris pressed his body to yours, and you took the initiative to roll onto him. Once you adjusted you rotated your hips to the motion of the letter “c” and then rocked back and forth. Chris’ hands flew to your hips and squeezed then rocked you to the pace he wanted. Throwing your head back you tried to focus on the sensations he was giving you. You tried to equally allow all you were feeling to come through. When you looked back to Chris you could tell his complex emotions were warring as well. You lowered your body to his and buried your face in his flesh and inhaled his scent--a scent you loved. Without knowing a sob escaped you and Chris’ arms wrapped around you.

“It’s not your fault Uriah.” Those words felt like permission to let it all go, approval and reassurance all at once. Your crying became louder until Chris rolled you back onto the bed and wiped your tears as he stroked the fire within your veins to a blazing inferno. You dug your nails into his skin and held on to him as his movements became less controlled and more desperate. Chris’ grunts and moans were soft. You bit your bottom lip and let out a high pitched wine when he sunk into you to the hilt and broke the dam of your orgasm. The two of you clung to each other as your bodies shook from the power of your release and what you’d just shared together.

After several long moments, Chris rolled off of you onto his back and the two of you laid there staring at the ceiling in silence each trying to catch your breath and lost in your thoughts. Chris pulled you close to his side, and you nestled your cheek onto his chest as you’d done thousands of times. You could head the rapid thumping of his heart and closed your eyes as you focused on it. Chris’ fingers languidly drew patterns on your cooling skin breaking you out in goosebumps everywhere he touched. The intimacy of the moment made you feel closer to him. A closeness you hadn’t felt since the night in Australia where you finally decided to start trying for a baby. You were so lost in the quiet of the moment and your thoughts that you didn’t hear Chris say your name.

“Uriah?” You opened your eyes and sighed. “Hmm?”

“Let’s go to therapy.” Tilting your head up to meet his eyes, you listened with your heart to everything his eyes said. You nodded.

“Yeah.” He released a relieved sigh then kissed your forehead, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence as sleep finally washed over you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @firedolphin04 @sonjashuterbugjohnson @caramara3 @vannahvannahhh @academic-glowup @lorainnebabyy @patzammit @yourwonderbelle @pennywisesmistress @theblulife @kelbabyblue @bugngiz @disneysdarlingdiva @toniilaney @areubeingserved @thinkxlovexloud @cocothewriter @periodtcevans @southerngracela @bellaamor88 @mack-jay @titty-teetee @pananegra @wellthirsted @sup3rn0va13 @ nova3312 @ hello-therree @valkyriesnymph @squeackygee @ab-baybay @niyashell @allmonstersxarehuman @zsuzstyina @peggy-potts @amelatonin @lvlyab @sullyosully @renesmeeharelds @capslut2014 @ilovehatembj @thelittlemoistcarrot @sarcastic-sunshines

#rumor has it fic #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans #Chris Evans X black reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #angst fanfic

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ajax-b1ue · 6 years

Text

Suspension of Disbelief: Ch 3

2018 Big Bang Fic Challenge Submission Amazing Artist, Big Bang Partner, and Header Creator: @ahoardofsides TW: Villainous Deceit, angst, manipulation, gaslighting, self-deprecation, self-harm, anxiety attack, violence, blood, attempted murder Pairings: Platonic LAMP WC: 1761

( Master | AO3 | 1 | 2 | Chapter 3: Two Noble Kinsmen | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 )

By the time Roman was finally ready to declare himself done, it was morning, he was exhausted, and all of the anger he had felt yesterday had burned away, leaving guilt in its place.

He wasn’t eager to face the others again so soon. But, feeling as though they were never going to be able to move past all of this until he could give them something to work with, Roman decided to grit his teeth and bear it.

And so, Roman made his way back out to the common area where the others were having a quiet breakfast. They immediately took notice of him, but also exchanged glances with each other. Roman avoided eye contact, as well as speaking with any of them

Patton still tried to greet him. “Hey, Roman! How’re you doing this morning?” The moral side tilted his head, eyebrows going up. “…Feeling a little better today?”

Roman simply placed the parchment bearing his work on the table. He then turned and walked to the hall— and the second he was out of sight around the corner, he sank out, retreating to his room again.

At least it was done. Nothing to do now but wait— he’d have to deal with the other sides later, but, that was later. In the meantime, Roman was finally going to get some rest.

Roman reappeared in his room, and was only mildly surprised to find that Deceit wasn’t there. Then again, the other side seemed to be irritatingly good at knowing precisely when Roman was trying to work on something, because he only ever seemed to show up then. Roman wasn’t about to complain, though, as he pulled off his sash and coat, and collapsed into his bed.

A knock at his door woke Roman some time later. He was bleary and confused for a few seconds; the only visitor he’d had in recent memory was Deceit, and he just showed up.

The knock repeated. Roman drug himself up from his bed and over to the door, hauling it open to find Logan standing there.

Roman blinked several times, still trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. “Logan?” he asked, almost incredulous.

“…Yes.” The logical side shifted in place.

“What are you doing here?”

Logan held up a familiar piece of paper. “This.”

Roman eyed the parchment bearing his idea— and the red handwriting on it that was entirely new— then Logan, who still watched him uncertainly. “You couldn’t wait until I had woken up to come offer your critique?” Roman asked, peevish.

Logan blinked, then adjusted his glasses. “Ah, no, that wasn’t… I apologize,” he offered awkwardly. “I didn’t realize you had gone back to sleep. And,” Logan went on, “while it could use a little polishing, yes… I actually wanted to tell you, I thinks it’s good.” He proffered the paper to Roman. “You did good work.”

Roman’s eyes flicked down to the paper in Logan’s hand again, and the red ink written on it— all over it.

A ‘little polishing’.

Roman’s gaze went back up to Logan. The logical side shifted uncomfortably again. “Thank you for your approval,” Roman offered flatly, before closing the door and turning to flop back on his bed.

Logan was left standing there, recoiling slightly to avoid getting the door shut into his face.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret Roman’s behavior. …He didn’t slam the door on him. And he actually spoke to Logan, so the logical side supposed it was an improvement from the previous day.

It wasn’t entirely unreasonable that part of Roman’s current demeanor might have been caused by lack of sleep, Logan reflected, since it seemed he had apparently stayed up all night to finish his work. But Logan couldn’t honestly accept that Roman’s less than enthusiastic reception of him was entirely motivated by sleep deprivation.

Logan knew that they’d been at odds for a while now, with the previous day’s blow up seeming to be the culmination of that… But that was a large part of why Logan had chosen to visit Roman in his room. He was uncomfortably aware that his criticism of Roman’s work ethic had not been entirely fair or called for, and clearly the creative side had been under increasing stress. And while he’d only read it over once so far, he did truly think Roman’s idea was a good one— though he had no idea where they were going to get a forklift.

Knowing how much Roman thrived on positive feedback, and how isolated he’d kept himself the past few weeks… and acutely aware that he was at least partly to blame for that… it had seemed like the ideal time to reach out and try to make amends, even if it wasn’t something Logan had much experience at.

But Logan was forced to admit, staring at Roman’s closed door, perhaps… Roman simply wasn’t ready. And it was frustrating, to feel like there was nothing he could do or a way for him to better understand.

Sighing quietly, Logan turned away. He supposed it would be worth discussing with Patton. Maybe he wasn’t the best at understanding or dealing with emotions, but Roman’s behavior couldn’t be healthy, and leaving him to it sounded even worse. In the meantime— he held up the piece of paper.

If nothing else, Logan could use this time to go over Roman’s idea again and actually sit down and proofread it. Helping Thomas get started on his next project could only help to ease the tension they were all experiencing right now.

Roman tried to return to sleep, but was too listless to really rest. He eventually gave up and instead tried to figure out what to do with his day.

Still laying in bed, he stared at his desk, having absolutely no desire to return to it. And why should he? He’d been slaving away trying to come up with some workable idea for who knew how long now.

More unexpected knocking at his door made Roman glare and let out an inarticulate sound. Another knock had him growling, “Go away, Logan.”

“It’s Patton,” was the muffled reply. “Can I come in?”

“…It’s unlocked,” Roman finally grumbled, still not getting up.

Patton ducked his head in. “Hey, kiddo.” He let himself in, carrying a tray with what appeared to be lunch on it. “I know you didn’t eat breakfast, and you’ve been skipping a lot of meals lately.”

“We don’t need to eat, Patton,” Roman reminded him wearily.

Patton set the tray down at Roman’s abandoned desk, then came to sit on the side of his bed. The princely side reluctantly pushed himself up into a sitting position, not yet speaking. He knew he owed Patton an apology, but like his writing, the words just wouldn’t come.

But, Roman seriously doubted that was why Patton had visited. The question he was expecting (and dreading) was, ‘Are you okay?’, but surprisingly, it never came.

“What’s your plan for the day?” Patton asked instead, watching Roman closely.

Roman looked over at his desk and gave a low groan. Patton’s forehead wrinkled and he cocked his head. The fatherly side’s look of concern made Roman sigh, and after a moment, he relented. “I am… unenthused… with the idea of doing any more creative work today.”

“…Then don’t.”

“…What?”

Patton shrugged. “Seems like you’ve been working yourself to death for a while now. I think you’ve earned a day off. When’s the last time you’ve scaled a castle, or fought a dragon-witch, or rescued a handsome prince?”

Roman snorted. “One generally rescues princesses,” he returned. Patton gave him a dubious look. “…Yeah, okay, it’s been princes.” Patton’s mouth pulled to one side in a lopsided smile, and despite himself, Roman couldn’t help but return it.

After some deliberation, Roman had to admit, Patton’s suggestion sounded… nice. Very nice. Just spending the day in one of the fantasy scenarios he’d created in Thomas’s imagination, not having to worry about coming up with something original, or deadlines…

Roman realized that he was smiling even wider, and that cinched it for him. “You know what, padre? That’s an excellent suggestion, and I’m going to take it. Thank you,” he added, inclining his head.

He was rewarded with a fond smile. “Of course. Hey— do you want any company?” Patton asked. “Or, would you rather take the day for yourself?”

Roman hesitated; he knew full well that Patton was trying to reach out to him, and rebuild what had been broken between himself and the other sides, but… As selfish as it was, he really just wanted a day to enjoy himself, without any awkwardness or judgment or unpleasant confrontations.

Patton’s expression became an understanding smile at Roman’s hesitation. He just patted the creative side’s leg, bidding him, “Have a good time. And if you need us for anything, you know where to find us.”

“I do,” Roman assured him. Then, as Patton pushed himself up and made to leave, he started, “Wait, Patton—” The other side paused at his door, turning back to face Roman. Roman chewed on his lip for a moment, then sighed. “…I’m sorry.”

Patton’s expression melted into the warmest smile Roman could recall ever seeing on the moral side’s face, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Then he winked. “Nice to meet you, sorry! I’m Dad!”

Roman snorted, ducking and shaking his head, and Patton let himself out, chuckling.

Roman’s adventure into the imagination ended up stretching the entire day, and he found himself far more relaxed at the end of it; he was bone tired, but in a good way. He even found that he was feeling… more himself, his spirits somewhat lifted, and was actually wearing a smile as he announced his return to the mindscape.

“Dear friends and fellow citizens of Thomas’s mind— I return to you, victorious!”

“You were gone?”

Roman froze, his good mood punctured.

Virgil sat on the couch, headphones on, eyes glued to his phone. He didn’t bother to look up at Roman, who tried to ignore the sting and instead walked to the kitchen. As he left the room, Virgil’s quiet voice followed him: “Should have known— things were actually peaceful around here for once.”

Roman stood stiffly, refusing to react, but his whole frame was tense.

When he finally turned to leave, he could see Virgil, still sitting there, staring at his phone and acting like nothing happened.

Roman sank out silently, returning to his room to fall into a numb sleep.

#suspension of disbelief #ts fanfiction #sanders sides #roman sanders #deceit sanders #angst #big bang

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tales-of-a-fallen-star · 7 years

Text

Starlit Waltz (Ignis Scientia/Reader)

Genre: Fluff/Romance Words: 2215

A/N: Okay, so I’ve had this idea floating around in my head for 3 hours straight now and I’m afraid if I don’t write it down IMMEDIATELY it just ends up on my pile of ideas that rot on my hard drive (which look accusingly at me on a regular basis). So here I am, trying to put this into words as best as I can. I hope there aren’t too many mistakes (but feel free to correct them), I always try to proofread but commas and prepositions are my arch enemies. I hope you enjoy it!

A sigh left your lips when you finally closed the front door of your apartment behind you. You closed your eyes for a few moments, the back of your head resting against the cool material of the door. It was early evening and through your eyelids you felt the last rays of the setting sun, which fell through the window across the hallway and sheathed your apartment in an orange-golden hue, their warmth easing your stressed and tense muscles.

Your day at work has been beyond stressful and busy and you looked forward to getting home before you even arrived at your work place this morning. You only had 20 minutes of your shift left when your boss came to you and practically pleaded on his knees for you to stay for an extra two hours to finish up all the statistics and paperwork and you didn’t have the heart to decline his plea and stayed longer, though now your body punished you for that decision. You felt how a flood of tiredness seeped into every muscle of your body and you just wanted to collapse right there on the floor of your hallway. But you knew you had to pull yourself together because there were still some chores waiting for you, especially the laundry. When you opened your eyes again, you stretched a bit and let out a small yawn before taking off your shoes and putting them back in the neat row below the coat-hangers on the left side of the hallway. You slowly walked down into the open living room, the couch looked all too inviting but you had to resist. You couldn’t rest just yet, or else you weren’t going to get anything done today, so instead you continued your walk to the open breakfast bar and placed your key chain in a small bowl placed atop of it, your purse finding its place on the back of a chair in front of the breakfast bar.

It was only now that you realised that Ignis wasn’t home yet. Instinctively you looked at the clock to your right. It was almost 8 pm. That was odd, he should’ve been home by now, but maybe the two of you share the same fate today. He was probably held up in the Citadel as well and had to work longer than usual, although his working schedule was almost inhumane in your opinion.

Before you did anything else you walked around the breakfast bar towards the coffee machine. You knew that, if you didn’t want to fall asleep within the next 10 minutes, you needed some well-deserved coffee to keep you awake and breathe some life back into your tired body. You prepared an entire pot, not just a cup for yourself, so Ignis could enjoy one cup of his beloved Ebony when he got home as well. You poured yourself a cup, the warm and familiar smell of coffee climbing slowly up your nose, sending calm and relaxing waves down your spine and through your entire body. Taking a few careful sips, you savoured every moment and every drop before, ultimately, your cup was empty and you knew it was time to do the pesky chores now, and so you made your way to the bathroom.

Another sigh escaped your lips when you walked into the bathroom and saw the washing machine, looking accusingly at you, and you had to collect every bit of composure to start to get to work. You rolled up your sleeves, took the basket beside the washing machine and put all the washed pieces of clothing into the basket. When the scent of the laundry detergent danced around your nostrils you started to relax a bit more, inhaling the scent as much as you could before you put in the next load of clothing into the washing machine, this time for dark clothing, and started the correct programme. Then, with the basket in your hands, you made your way to the dressing room to hang the wet laundry on the drying rack.

Before you really started to get to work though, you walked back into the living room towards the big stereo and inserted your favourite CD with lots of classical pieces on it. Listening to them relaxed you and made you feel good. It also made doing chores a lot more pleasant.

When the cheerful tunes of the Valse di Fantastica finally started chiming through your apartment a smile settled across your face and you immediately felt a lot more motivated. You walked back to the dressing room and got to work, paying special attention to flatten out all the small wrinkles in your clothing with precise motions. After a while you remembered how relaxing this could be and enjoyed yourself even more, your feet started moving along to the rhythms and tunes coming from the living room. When the next song, the Starlit Waltz, started to play you picked up the next piece of clothing, one of your favourite dresses, and held it in front of you, now actually dancing to the music instead of hanging the dress on the drying rack.

You tried to remember the last time you actually danced around like this and you were flooded by memories of a ball at the Citadel you attended a few years ago. You remembered all the bright lights, the decoration and the orchestra playing the most beautiful tunes you ever heard, one of them the Starlit Waltz. You also remembered how that evening a specific pair of green eyes met yours for the first time and how you were immediately enchanted by them. Enamoured in your memories and the music you closed your eyes and just kept dancing through the room, all the stress of the day forgotten, completely missing the pair of green eyes looking at you as you did so.

Ignis just stood there in the frame of the door, admiring your every move. He couldn’t help but smile seeing you like this, just as cheerful and happy as you were on the night of the ball, where he met you for the first time.

It was the night of the ball held in celebration for King Regis’s 45th birthday. Ignis wasn’t necessarily on duty that evening, but as adviser to the Crown Prince himself, he basically was on duty all the time, this evening was no exception. Noctis wasn’t really the type for parties and balls, thus he attended the ball only with reluctance and stood most of the time near the buffet, eating and trying to avoid other members of the court as best as he could. Ignis watched Noctis from a corner of the room, a sigh escaping him as Noctis spilled some Ulwaat berry juice on his dress robes, purple stains spreading on the white material very quickly. Ignis approached his charge with a slight frown on his face.

“Noct, perhaps it’s best if you went back to your quarters and got changed. It wouldn’t seem appropriate for the Crown Prince to walk around in stained dress robes, let alone on an occasion such as this one.”

“Um- yeah. You’re right, I guess.” Noctis agreed, though he seemed to be almost relieved to leave the room and Ignis couldn’t help but think that he spilled the juice on purpose. Noctis went towards the door, not looking back and avoiding as many looks as he possibly could. Ignis crossed his arms and looked after him, scanning the crowd. When Noctis left through the open doors Ignis let his gaze wander towards the other side of the room, scanning all the people who danced to the music played by the orchestra, one person standing out the most to him.

Ignis’s gaze lingered on you for what seemed like an eternity. You danced so gracefully with every one of your dance partners and with so much passion and joy, you made it look so effortless. He couldn’t help himself but to stare, the sudden need to have a dance with you just once growing with every second he watched you. When the current song came to an end, he collected himself and approached you with elegant strides, his eyes never leaving your figure. Just in time you turned around to see him approaching, looking directly in your eyes. When he finally stood right in front of you he gave you a brief but elegant bow before holding his hand out to you.

“May I have the honour of your next dance?” he asked smoothly, a small smile on his lips.

“Of- of course.” you stammered, feeling slightly flustered by his sudden approach, a small pool of excitement building up in your stomach. You put your hand into his and walked over to the dance floor with him where a few other couples already collected themselves in anticipation of the next song. You shyly looked up at Ignis and placed your right hand on his left shoulder while he put his left hand around your waist. You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks and looked down at your feet.

When the song, a waltz, finally started the two of you set into motion, the nervousness you felt before faded away when your heart took over, losing yourself completely in the music and the rhythm. You looked into Ignis’s eyes, those beautiful, beautiful eyes and started to smile. He looked back at you, admiration radiating from his gaze.

“A beautiful song, isn’t it?” you said after he twirled you around and caught you again in his arms.

“Indeed. This piece is called ‘The Starlit Waltz’ if I do remember correctly.” he responded and all you could do was smile.

While the song went on and the two of you danced together as if you never did anything else in your lives, you took in his features. His light-brown hair, which was elegantly styled back and framing his face, his jawline and his cheekbones, which seemed to be sculptured by the Astrals themselves, his full lips, which made you wonder how they would feel on your own, and his eyes, his beautiful and wonderful green eyes, which radiated a certain warmth and ingenuity that you weren’t likely to ever forget.

When the song slowly faded to its end, the two of you came to a halt and each of you made a courtly bow with the last note of the Starlit Waltz chiming through the hall. Afterwards you looked into each others’ eyes for a long time, forgetting the world around you, until a tall and muscular man with dark brown hair approached the two of you.

“Hey, Ignis, his royal highness needs your help with something. Apparently, the problem is ‘tying’ him up quite a bit, if you get what I’m saying.” the man said while pointing with his thumb somewhere behind him. Ignis gave the man a curt nod, immediately understanding what he meant but never breaking eye contact with you.

“My apologies, it seems I am needed elsewhere, but I’m certain it will not take too long before I return. Will I have the honour of another dance with you then?”

“It will be my honour.” you said with as much composure as you could muster and he gave you a warm smile in return. He took your hand into his and gently placed a chaste kiss above your knuckles, before disappearing with the other man in the crowd.

Now, while looking at you, he felt that same urge to dance with you again. When you twirled around once more he decided to step in. With one smooth and elegant motion, he took the dress out of your hands, throwing it back in the basket and getting in the right posture for the dance, taking your left hand and placing his left hand on your waist.

You immediately opened your eyes in surprise and looked into his eyes, a smile broadening on your lips as the two of you danced the same way as you did years ago.

“Good evening, darling, I hope you don’t mind me stealing you away from your previous… partner.” he let out a small chuckle as he looked back at the dress in the basket, before placing a small kiss on your cheek. You rolled your eyes at him and let out a small chuckle yourself.

“No, I think the dress doesn’t seem to mind, neither do I, as you are a far superior dance partner, anyway.” you retorted with a smug grin on your face. He then twirled you around, always in perfect rhythm with the song, and caught you back in his arms. When the song ended the two of you just stood there before melting into each others’ arms, embracing one another. You heard him letting out a small sigh.

“Long day, huh?” you asked.

“Yes.” he said while turning his head to face you. He took every of your features in, admiring every little detail, before losing himself in your eyes. He cupped your cheek with his right hand before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. When your lips parted he rested his forehead against yours and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“But I do believe the best part of it is about to start.” he smiled before kissing you again.

#sooooo #there you go #i hope you enjoyed this little piece #i do admit i planned on letting it end a bit more....saucy #but i'm not good at writing smut #still need some practice on that #ffxv #ffxv one shots #ffxv fan fiction #ignis scientia x reader #ignis x reader #ignis scientia #my work

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years

Text

Title: Love, Maybe? {24}

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Cursing, Plot

Word Count: 3.8K

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. Three years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

Note: Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.

**Slightly Edited/Proofread**

***Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

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Chapter 24: Mama Don’t Preach

-Vixen-

“We think a June grand opening would be more than feasible,” Kassius informed. Your jaw dropped.

“June as in six weeks away June?” He laughed and nodded.

“Precisely and that is just stretching it. I have the projected dates that everything will be completed. I’m just overestimating at this point.”

You spun around the space that was still under reno but was shaping up very nicely. The last few weeks were design intensive and you’d nearly pulled out all your hair with all the back and forth. No one seemed to understand your vision. That was until Nexus stepped in with a mock-up. She got it fully and made sure they did as well. the estimated time was always around summer for the opening anyway you didn’t know why you were so shocked.

“Are you okay?” You looked back to Kassius and nodded.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I was just—surprised.”

“I understand. The next few weeks will just be finishing up design and setting up décor. My marketing team has been savages when it comes to marketing and we have a pretty big buzz. If it’s one thing Los Angeleans love is to not cook so a new eatery has everyone excited.” You laughed at his joke and were so grateful that the breakup with Zack didn’t made anything weird or switched up any terms.

“Wow, okay. So, this is your sweet spot besides a few meetings here or there your only focus is what you’re a pro at, recipes, menu planning, staff, distributors, vendors, that sort of stuff.” At the mention of recipes and menu planning you got excited. It was cool and everything to run your own restaurant, but you took the most pleasure in the cooking aspects, the creative points.

“All right. What do you say we head out then?” You nodded and looked around the space once again, butterflies began to flutter, it was a mix of nervousness and anxiousness. You followed Kassius out the door. Once outside the two of you said your goodbyes and you made your way home to begin the fun part of this whole partnership.

One stop for snacks and ice-cream turned into an extended stop at the mall where you spent the next two hours shopping. You didn’t even need anything but still you shopped, you only did this when you needed a release, but your kitchen was too far. Last night’s conversation with Chris was still fresh on your mind. You’d gone over it with Nex already and the two of you had come up with a few things.

Nex was happy he didn’t hate you, although you thought he did underneath everything but just was afraid to tell it to your face because of how much he wants Ella. You reasoned that he probably thought if he pissed you off that you’d make it difficult for him to spend time with Ella. That wasn’t the case, you wouldn’t do that. Nex believed as she’s believed for weeks that he liked you. you disagreed, he probably wanted to have sex with you, but he didn’t like you. She pointed out things he said in the conversation that to her were dead giveaways but everything she pointed out you turned right back around as the opposite meaning. It was always like this, you liked to be realistic and Nex had a tendency to have the rose-colored glasses on. When she called you jaded you didn’t object. You were jaded. You would rather remain jaded than give anyone the chance to turn your life upside down.

When you made it home it was almost six and there was an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Part of you thought it was Chris and your stomach did somersaults. When you walked inside you could heard playful giggles and whispers. After kicking off your heels you tip-toed down the hall and into the living room to see Nexus laying on the couch with some guy on her. You’d seen worse than this in your lifetime. Glancing at the baby monitor on the table you saw Ella was napping. You leaned against the wall and cleared your throat in a loud and obnoxious manner. The figures on the couch lurched. The man jumped off her and stood to the side. Your eyes widened.

“Anthony?!” he smiled widely and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uh, hey there Vixen.”

“I can explain,” Nexus began. You looked to her with an amused look.

“Oh you better but there is no need, I have eyes I know just what is going on here. What the hell Antony! Do you respect my sister at all?”

He looked confused. “What? Of course I do, I respect her a hell of a lot.” You took a step to him.

“It sure doesn’t look like it. it looks like you’re over here creeping trying to get in her panties. What is it with you actors who think every woman is at your beck and call?”

Anthony raised his hands defensively. “No, Vixen you’ve got it all wrong. It’s not like that.”

“Oh really? So you’re not trying to fuck my sister?”

“Just now? No I wasn’t,” he quickly responded.

“Uh-huh, and you’re saying you don’t want to fuck my sister.”

With that he snapped his mouth shut and looked to Nex who gave him a look, offering him no assistance. He looked back to you as you crossed your arms before you and gave him your best confrontational look. “I can’t lie to you, I wasn’t trying to just now, but eventually when we both develop more feelings for each other--.”

“Feelings? Oh ho, what in the hell kind of feelings are you talking about? Sexual ones huh, it’s always sexual with you guys.” Again, Anthony looked to Nexus for help but she offered none.

“Nex what did I tell you? They are all the same.” Nex looked down but it was then Anthony stepped closer to her.

“No, we’re not all the same. I am not like anyone else Nex. Since the moment I met you I felt something between us, I couldn’t explain it for the longest but after meeting you I knew I had to see you again. every time I saw you I just fell harder and harder for you. you’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met and I love that you don’t take my shit and you call me out, a lot. I even love that you’re so damn stubborn. I am not looking for a quick fuck and a notch or a side piece I’m looking for a partner, someone to ride with, travel with, grow with and build with. I want it to be you Nex. I really, really like you, like a lot.”

You stood there smiling unable to hide your amusement. He’d fallen for it hook line and sinker. You could see the tears in Nexus’ eyes and knew she had fallen for him just as hard as he’d fallen for her. She peeked at you and broke character with a giggle, you couldn’t hold back anymore and laughed along with her. Anthony looked between the two of you confused.

“What the hell is wrong with the two of you?”

“I was just kidding Anthony.” You smiled again and he looked at Nexus finally getting that she was in on it from the beginning.

“You played me Nex?” she laughed louder. Anthony shook his head faking hurt feelings. “Wow, that’s cold.” Nexus softly caressed his cheek.

“I’m sorry. Don’t be mad. Come here.” She wrapped his arms around her waist and gazed into his deep walnut colored eyes. “I really, really, really like you too.” He searched her face for any hint of a joke.

“Really?” Nex nodded and smiled widely. “Boy duh, no other fool would have me all in my feelings, just your gap toothed ass.” He smiled wider then laughed before he dropped his lips to hers. You stood there witnessing their genuine feelings for one another and you were so happy for them but it also made you feel empty. When they pulled apart they looked to you and laughed.

“Don’t mind me, I’ll just get to cooking dinner.”

“That was dead wrong Vix,” Anthony expressed. You smiled widely. “But you should have seen your face—priceless!” Nexus snorted and dropped back onto the couch.

“Shit, maybe you should change careers, there is hope for you in acting.” You laughed and walked out the living room before you poked your head back in.

“Oh by the way, after that declaration you won’t ave to wait much longer for the fucking.” Anthony’s eyes bugged then looked to Nexus who was having difficulty keeping a straight face.

“Oh, is that right? How much longer have you calculated.” You snorted. “I’d say tonight it your lucky night, sisters know best.”

“Oh-ho, really?” he looked to Nexus who didn’t say a word. “Is that right?” Nexus looked right into his eyes before she spoke. “Sisters know best.” Anthony’s jaw dropped before he turned into a devilish smirk, one Nexus giggled at. With that you made your exit to begin preparing dinner.

Forty minutes later halfway through making dinner the doorbell rang and Nexus was the one to get to it before you. from the hall leading from the kitchen you heard her gasp. “Mom, dad, what are you doing here?” you began to panic. You hadn’t expected to see them until opening night. You wondered why they were there. As you approached you heard your mother ask Nexus who the man was. You stopped and waited to see how she would handle it. after a short pause she spoke. “This is Anthony, my boyfriend.” You smiled widely at her guts. When you stepped out you saw a big smile on your mother;s face as she stared at Anthony.

“Vixen, honey. Did you know Nexus had a boyfriend?” you smiled at Nexus and Anthony, standing next to each other with smiles as big as Spain. “No mom, I had no idea.”

“Wow, she’s only been here a few months and has a boyfriend. See, it’s not hard, Vix.” You shook your head and knew you were in for one of those nights.

Nexus ushered them inside the house and you took note of their luggage. They were going to be here for more than a few hours. Your parents happily chatted with Anthony asking him all the polite getting to know you questions while you and Nex scurried to the kitchen under the guise of getting wine.

“What the hell Nex, what are they doing here?” she shrugged. “I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything.” You closed your eyes in annoyance. This was not what you needed now. “They have luggage Nex, bags. This is not a pop in and see you later. This is a stay for a few days thing.” You paced the kitchen, your mind running a mile a minute. you tried to figure out a way to get them out of LA but every idea you came up with either left you being the asshole or the worse daughter in the galaxy. You tried to decide which one you’d hate the most. You could honestly take either one.

“Let’s just act normal and get through tonight.” You both nodded, she took the bottle of wine and some glasses and walked back out while you returned to cooking. You knew that it was only a matter of time before your big secret came out.

Dinner was only slightly uncomfortable. Your mother fussed over Nexus and Anthony and asked every single question in the book. Anthony was a charmer and answered accordingly. As he spoke you could see how much Nex liked him written all across her face. If you didn’t know any better you’d think she was already in love with him. It made you happy, she deserved all the happiness in the world.

Your mother slipped sly comments in about your single status and even went as far as to ask Anthony if he had any brothers or friends that were single he could set me up with. You nearly laughed out loud because if she only knew. You were proud of yourself, you focused on Ella and eating and didn’t say one thing that was slick or that could be taken as you mouthing off. You let everything she said roll off you like it hadn’t been said. You didn’t know how you did it, but you did. You weren’t angry either.

By the time dinner finished Anthony made an excuse to leave as did Nexus stating she was his ride. You knew better, you knew you wouldn’t see her until the morning, or mid afternoon. Hell, at least someone was getting their back blown out. When they left your mother helped you clean up while your father kept Ella busy. It all felt like old times, except things were different now. You knew you had to tell her. It would be ten times worse if Chris showed up and they met him and saw the resemblance.

After you put Ella to bed you decided now was as good a time as any. You were nervous because you knew what she was going to say. You knew what she was going to ask and how she was going to respond. That was probably why you stayed in Ella’s room longer than necessary just watching her sleep. It always calmed you. When you went downstairs your parents were talking amongst themselves. You smiled because you’d always admired their marriage, they’d been married for close to forty years and they still looked so in love. When you were younger you always said you’d find what they had but as you got older you realized what they had was probably extinct. Watching them from the doorway you chickened out. This was not the can of worms you wanted to open right now. Calling to them you showed them their room and said good night.

Lying in bed that night your mind wandered to Chris and you wondered if he’d had better luck than you.

-Chris-

Oh she was fuming. She was angrier than he’d seen her in a long, long time. When he told his father that morning he was surprised but he took it well considering. Yeah he was angry because he knew what being a father meant, he knew what an important thing it was and for you to have taken it away for so long was vexing. After he’d cleared the air and they’d had a talk about things that stretched well past you and the situation into the kind of man he’d been and how his actions had an impact on this alone, things calmed down.

When he showed his father the picture of Ella he melted. Apart from normal questions, when did it happen, why did you keep it from him, and what’s his plan to do the right thing, he was really chill about it. They had breakfast and talked about the current season of baseball and the standings of his teams.

This was fifty times different. His mother paced back and forth in front of him not saying one word. She hadn’t spoken since he began with his explanation. He sat there feeling like a child who’d broken all of his nana’s fine china. He remembered how he felt when he’d just broken one dish. He was scolded for a good hour. He tried to gauge her anger by studying her face, her body movements and ultimately how thin was the line of her mouth. All he could decipher was she was pissed, pissed. Suddenly his mother stopped and looked at him. Her mouth was tight and her cheeks red. Oh boy, he thought realizing she was more than pissed. She was livid.

“Say that one more time.” Her jaws were clenched, and he could tell it took great effort for her to get the words out. She was trying to hold on tightly to her anger. He took a deep breath and slowly released it then cleared his throat.

“Three years ago, almost three years ago when I was in Vegas. I met someone and we had a quick fling. I hadn’t seen her since and a few months ago I saw her again and she now has an almost two-year-old who is—my daughter.” The room was quiet again. From behind his mother he saw his siblings peering into the window from the front porch where his mother banished them. They’d come for a show and she denied them the amusement.

“So, some woman hid the fact that she has your child.” This was the philosophical teaching voice, he shifted in his seat being extra cautious. “Wait, you had unprotected sex with some random woman? In Vegas of all places? Christopher!”

“I know ma, it was stupid.”

“Don’t interrupt me when I am speaking young man! It was beyond stupid. Stupid is driving after one drink. This—what you did--it was reckless!” Her voice bounced off the walls and slammed into his ears. “We had this talk decades ago--.”

“I know ma, I know.” She narrowed her eyes. He realized he’d interrupted her again. He lowered his eyes from hers as if she were a charging lioness and he had to refrain from eye contact to stop her attack. He knew the preaching was going to begin.

“Of all the stupid, reckless, dangerous and infuriating things you’ve ever done, this has to take the cake. I’ve told you from before you started having sex to always wear protection. I even stressed it much more when you began acting. While the world is filled with good women it is also filled with it’s equal share of opportunists who will seek to use you and take from you. Now look!” She shook her head and he could feel her disappointment. He hated her disappointment; it was worse than her anger. "What kind of woman hides a child? That is underhanded.” He nodded, he expected this.

“Are you sure the child is yours?” He dug out his phone and found Ella’s picture and showed her. The anger in her face faded and her features softened. He watched on as her entire demeanor changed. She sighed and sat down in the seat across from him. “Chris. Wow.” She looked up and he saw the tears in her eyes. Her emotions made him choke up.

“You have a daughter. Oh my god, you’ve wanted a child, we spoke about it and I prayed on it for you honey. I prayed really hard for God to show you your way and light your path. Oh, Chris.” His mother crossed to him and wrapped her arms around him. He was stunned and didn’t move; afraid this was some trick. This was not what he expected at all. He expected shouting, disappointment, anger and maybe some , not this, well not right away.

“She looks just like you, my god. She’s gorgeous.” He nodded and smiled allowing the tension he’d held for the last two days to dissolve. Just as he relaxed he felt her hit him on the back of his head.

“Ouch! Ma!”

“That’s for not listening to me.” He sighed then relaxed again. he soon felt another hard slap at the back of his head.”

“Ma!”

“That’s for not wearing protection. Really Chris this could have been very different than a secret child. Not that a secret child is a walk through the park. This screams messy. What in the world. What are you going to do?”

He rubbed the back of his head and took another deep breath hoping there were no more hits coming his way. “Be involved. I’ve been spending time with her, getting to know her and she is pure joy. She’s amazing. There is no way I couldn’t be involved.” His mother smiled and nodded.

“That better have been your answer or so help me God your brother and sisters would have had to pry me off of you. I raised you better than to be the kind of man to run away from his responsibilities.”

“Of course not ma, I’m running toward the responsibility. I want it all.” She smiled and nodded.

“I can’t wait to meet her.” He smiled at the thought of seeing his mother with a child of his own, the thought made a new wave of emotions fill him. he really did start to think it wasn’t in the cards for him. Turned out he’d never been more wrong.

“What about her mother?” Taking some time to gather his thoughts he tried to form the right sentence.

“She’s not a bad person.” She took his hand then sighed before she spoke.

“Are you sure about that? Are you sure you’re not seeing what you want to especially since you may be in love with her?” His head almost snapped off his neck from the force of which he looked at her. She didn’t speak again she just had that all knowing smile on her face. It was the same smile she had every time she was right about something.

“Well shit, this took a turn.”

“I’m not—it’s not like that. We’ve talked. While I don’t condone what she did, I understand ma. I hate to admit it, but I was a mess then, I was an asshole--.” With the stern eye of his mother he dipped his head. “Sorry ma, I was a--.” He searched for the right word, a respectful one.

“In my day we called men like you players,” she filled in. He snorted and nodded, then shook his head. She loved calling him out. Still it was better than what Shanna and Carly had called him.

“Okay, thanks ma. I understand why she kept this to herself.” His mother nodded and took a deep breath.

“So, you’ve forgiven her.” He made a face. That definitely wasn’t the case, but it may not be too far off. “I wouldn’t say forgiven, I can empathize with her. I want to move forward ma, I don’t want to throw things at her and make things difficult, I want to find a way to parent with her.” His mother continued to study him, and he wondered if she’d call his bullshit. She took a deep breath and lowered her head to look at the picture again.

“Do I say congratulations for finding out about your child you had out of marriage?” He looked at her and she snorted then laughed.

He couldn’t stop himself from joining her. When his siblings peeked again they stood there with their mouths gaped no doubt shocked just as him that this was so easy. He knew if he would have told her or any of them the other half this would not have gone so smoothly.

“When do we meet her?”

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#love maybe fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans X black reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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