#*collective groans of disappointment ripple through the crowd*

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Hey! Ps: love another Lie 🫶🏻 Your writing is so beautiful! I have some fiction ideas and I hope you'd like some 🥹

Imagine Charles in the middle of a race and there is a high speed crash. He's bruised and hurt and may have internal injuries but he wants to get back to the reader in the pitlane asap cause he knows the reader would lose it and as he suspects the reader is in the middle of a panic attack with everyone holding her back and on seeing him she is relieved and breaks down and he's like "you've been crying" and consoles and Hugs her in public. Ps: If you're up for it maybe it could lead to soft consoling nsfw smut?

A Little Longer

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader Warnings: 18+ only, crash, panic attack, injuries, smut WC: 1.3k

F1 Masterlist

You only looked away for a second, but that was all it took to miss the crash.

One moment Charles was setting best sector timings, and on the way for the fastest lap, and the next his car was spinning off the track and slamming into the tecpro barrier.

A collective gasp had rippled through the garage and you had nearly broken your neck with how quick your head snapped back to the screens. For a moment you couldn’t even see him through the dust from the gravel pit he had caught the edge of. In that moment a hundred thoughts passed through your head. In that moment a thousand questions followed, growing darker and darker as everyone waited for the dust to clear.

All ability to function was erased as you remained frozen in place, eyes fixated on the screens, unblinking, waiting for any sign of movement.

You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think.

You hadn’t realised you were moving until Joris grabbed your arm and you found yourself under the harsh sunlight of the pit lane instead of the garage. “Let me go,” you begged with a broken voice. “I need to get to him.”

The edge of your sight was fuzzy, the images blurry as tunnel vision set in and Joris shook your shoulders. His lips were moving but no sound penetrated the noise in your head or the whoosh of your pulse that seemed to be thump in your ears.

“I need to get back to my girlfriend.”

“This is your health we are talking about, Mr Leclerc. You need to be thoroughly checked out at the medical centre.”

“Later,” Charles argued as he limped over to the motorcycle, his hand clutching his ribs. “You don’t know her, she will be worried.”

Every bump on the path sent a jolt of pain across Charles ribs and he bit back the groan that followed. He had to focus on his breathing as he ignored the crowd watching his return to the pits, he couldn’t spare a second to think about all the people he had disappointed with his crash. 

All he could think about was you.

He immediately knew he was right to worry when the motorbike puttered along the pit lane and he saw a ring of his crew trying to keep the media from seeing the scene behind them. Your cheeks were damp with your tears but your lips were cracked from the rapid breaths you were struggling to take. Joris was at your side, the relief in his eyes notable when he looked up and found Charles pushing his way through the crowd.

“Mon cœur, you’ve been crying,” Charles whispered as he pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing soft kisses over your damp cheeks.

“Charles?” 

He hated how broken your voice was, broken because you had been screaming for him until your throat was raw. He held you tighter despite the protest his body made but he couldn’t stop the sharp intake he took when life returned to you and you threw your arms around his waist. 

“You’re hurt!” you gasped as you leapt back and kept him at an arms width so you could inspect him. “You should be with the medics. What if you’re bleeding internally? I can’t live without you, Char.”

He chuckled softly and cupped your face so he could silence your ramblings with a kiss. “I’ll see them soon, I just need to hold you first. Please?”

You couldn’t deny him, not when his green eyes looked so blue. Lacing your fingers with his you gave him a small nod and finally noticed where you had ended up. You couldn’t remember leaving the garage and Charles draped his arm over your shoulder, turning you back to the shelter of the garage when he saw your eyes widen in realisation.

“I didn’t mean to cause a scene,” you mumbled as he closed the door to his driver room.

“I know, mon cœur,” he replied softly as his hands ran up and down your back soothingly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Your trembling fingers reached for his face, tracing the creaselines his balaclava had left over his cheeks and when his eyes fluttered shut your thumb brushed away the dust that had clung to his lashes. 

“I couldn’t see you.” His eyes opened at the sound of your voice. “It was the worst feeling in the world. I couldn’t see if you were okay or if…”

Charles chased away the lingering thought as he pulled you into his arms and kissed you. “I’m here, I’m here,” he reminded you as he stepped backwards, taking you with him to the couch where he sank into the soft cushions with a wince before tugging you onto his lap.

You tried to pull away as your legs settled either side of his thighs but his arms locked around your waist. “You’re hurt, baby. You need to let the medics check you.”

“Soon.” His hands followed the curve of your body until he reached the hem of your dress and they slowly began to climb once more. His palms were still warm from his gloves and the touch sent heat waves rippling across your skin as he inched higher up your thighs. “Please, let me hold you a little longer.”

It was unfair of him. Truly. He knew exactly how his touch affected you and when his thumbs teased the line of lace between your thighs you couldn’t think clearly enough to deny him. Your response was dragging the zip of his race suit down and his hands left your body only long enough to pull his sleeves down and shove the material past his waist. 

Time began to work strangely as the urgency to feel each other crashed into the need to savour the moment. Your panties were pushed aside in the rush as Charles’s strong hands guided your body down to meet his and then time slowed as you stared into the gold and green eyes of the man you loved more than anything.

Whatever he saw in your eyes made him swallow deeply and bury his face in the crook of your neck, kissing his way back to your lips where he reminded you once more, “I’m here, amour.”

You returned his kiss, combing your fingers through his hair as it deepened and your hips began to move slowly. There was an awareness of his injuries that kept you from moving any faster and after a minute Charles’ impatient hands gripped your waist and set the pace for you until you forgot about the crash completely.

“I love you, Charles,” you moaned as your core clenched around him and he stole the soft sounds with his lips as he joined you in ecstasy.

“I love you too.” He sighed contentedly as he pulled you as close as possible against him, your entire front pressed to his, but the sigh turned to a groan of pain.

“Medics, now,” you ordered as you climbed off his lap and offered your hands to pull him to his feet. “No more procrastinating.”

“What we did wasn’t procrastinating, amour,” he managed to tease as he held his rib cage with one hand while he pulled his race suit back up with the other.

You groaned and ran a hand over your face. “You’re not allowed to joke until the doctors have cleared you, Charles.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” Lacing your fingers in his, he lifted your hand to his lips and kissed them before reaching for the door. “Let’s go and ease your mind, my sweet.”

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc smut

[maggotzombie]

LIEBE LIESE: ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴠɪɪ - ℬ𝒶𝒹𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉 ℬ𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽

→ CHAPTERS LIST — CHAPTER VI: UNDER PRESSURE WORDS: 6,3k TW: Lots of alcohol, swearing, some fluff, family drama! A/N: Here we are! Thank you so much who stuck with me. I don’t really know why this took such a long time, but I want to gives special thank my in-house German queen, @hinagiku0 (you’re the best, I love you for still talk to me everyday), and the best beta out there, @itmejado (really, I can’t thank you enough for making my stories even better!). So here it is a very long chapter to compensate lol HEADS UP: German dialogue is marked with “[  ]”.

‘I WONDER what Henry’s up to’, the woman thinks.

She frowns. Having just come home from work, Liese is exhausted. But she doesn't feel like being alone tonight. 

The first person she thinks of is him and she’s even more surprised by the fact that she misses him!

‘So much for getting my hopes up, huh?’, she scoffs, searching for her phone.

She smiles and lets him know that she’s going to get ready.

After a quick shower, she puts on warm clothes and makeup. The simple pin-up look goes well with the color of her hair and Liese realizes it’s been a long time since last she wore red lipstick.

To get there faster, Liese calls an Uber and, oh how she regrets it. It’s chillier than usual tonight and sitting in the cold Tube is nightmare-inducing. However, having the Uber driver hitting on her all the way is also not the best...

Liese clearly isn’t keen on a conversation but he insists on it. To make things even worse, it’s Friday night and there’s traffic. So the doctor practically leaps from the car when the man parks in front of the pub.

The Builders Arms is a big pub but it’s packed. Well, again, it’s a Friday night, and it looks like there’s a match of some sort going on.

Running her eyes through the crowd, Liese quickly spots Henry’s broad shoulders and begins making her way towards him. His back is turned away from the entrance so he doesn’t see her but his friends sure do.

The three men staring at her don’t tear their eyes away as she approaches the small group. However, they seem disappointed, but not surprised, when the doctor goes straight towards Henry, resting a hand on the actor’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Hey,” She greets, a warm smile spreading across her lips.

He turns around to look at her. “Hey you,” Henry wraps an arm around her waist as she gives a friendly kiss on his cheek, leaving a faint mark of lipstick on it.

“Sorry, it took me so long to get here,” The woman starts, backing up to look at his face. Then, she reaches out to rub off the red imprint of her lips from his skin. “The traffic was awful tonight.”

“It’s okay. You’re ravishing,” Henry says and she smiles but, before she could say anything, one of his friends clears their throat. “Oh, sorry, let me introduce you to my mates. This is Mark, Juan, Roger, James, and my brother, Simon,” She shakes hands with each man he introduces, smiling. “This is Liese.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Liese says.

“You, too,” Roger says. “You’re really pretty,” He adds and he would give Henry a pat in the back if he wasn’t across from him at the table.

It doesn’t stop the man from shooting him a glare. “Thanks,” She chuckles.

“Please, have a seat,” Simon says from beside his brother and Henry pulls the chair for her. “Heard a great deal about you lately,” He then says and Liese smiles at him.

“All lies,” She says, making them chuckle. “I’m as bad as they come.”

Although she feigned normalcy when greeting him, it didn’t go unnoticed that Henry just introduced her to his brother, a part of his family – and, of course, a bunch of friends. They’d known each other for less than a month; it was a huge deal.

The woman makes a mental note to kill Henry later.

“What will the lady have?” Mark asks and they look at him. “Wine?” He suggests.

She almost snorts for two reasons: his suggestion and what he called her. But, hey, she must be nice.

“Wine is for priests, love,” Liese jokes with a smirk. “I’ll have a pint, thank you very much – Oh, and the menu, please. I’m starving.”

Henry chuckles at his friends’ reaction and signals to the bartender. “Alright,” Mark nods. “I like you already,” He decides and she winks at him playfully.

“It’s the match over already?” The woman asks, trying to make conversation.

“No,” Juan replies. “Halftime,” He explains.

“Oh,” She says.

Her pint is placed in front of her alongside the menu. She orders a burger with French fries and mozzarella sticks. When the waiter leaves, she can finally take a drink.

“Hm, rugby. Of course,” Liese says to herself as she looks up at the flat screen everybody has their eyes locked on.

“Not a fan?” Simon asks, leaning on his elbows to look at her.

“I don’t know much about it, to be honest,” She replies, mirroring his position.

All the eyes snap in her direction. “Are you serious?” Henry asks in disbelief.

“No. I’m a football kinda woman, you know that,” The woman shrugs and he chuckles.

“That’s true,” He nods.

“Where are you from, Liese?” James asks and she looks at him before glancing back at Henry.

“I really don’t look British, do I?” She narrows her eyes.

The man laughs. “No, you don’t,” He shakes his head.

“Well,” Liese looks back at his friend. “I was born and raised in Hampstead but my family is from the Land of Poets and Thinkers…” She replies humorously.

Everybody chuckles, except Juan. “Which is?” He asks.

The woman looks at him in disbelief. “Deutschland!”

“Germany,” Some of the guys say at the same time as her.

“Oh,” He nods. “That doesn’t make sense,” Juan shakes his head.

“Cmon!” Liese throws her hands in the air in frustration. “I’ll give you some names: Nietzsche, Marx, Adorno, Horkheimer, Kant, Goethe, Beethoven, Bach, freaking Einstein, even the Grimm Brothers,” She ticks each name on her fingers.

They laugh and Henry rests his arm on the backrest of her seat. “Okay,” Juan nods, fairly convinced.

“I could go on,” The woman says. “And that’s just the ones on the top of my head.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve made your point.”

She nods, sipping on her drink and leaning back on her chair. Henry’s hand squeezes her shoulder fondly.

“Do you still live in Hampstead?” Simon asks.

“Nope. I’m on the other side of the river, at Brixton,” She replies and they start to boo her.

“Ah, you’re from the south,” James makes a disgusted face.

“Yeah, I know,” The woman shrugs off. “I did grow up on this side of the river, though!” She points out. “But the south it’s not that bad, guys,” Another round of boos. “Plus, it’s closer to work,” She adds.

“Now, don’t try to defend your side, South,” Mark mocks, taking a sip of his beer.

Liese chuckles. “Where do you work?” Roger asks and she looks at him.

“At St. Thomas’ Hospital,” She replies.

“Are you a doctor or a nurse?” James inquiries. “Or neither?”

“Doctor. A&E and pediatrician,” Liese explains.

“It means she’s smart,” Henry brags, sipping his beer and resting back on his chair.

“Yeah. I think we got it from the list of poets and thinkers,” Juan mocks.

She winks at him playfully. “You got it, baby,” Liese smiles.

“So, I got a question,” Mark starts and she nods for him to proceed. “Why the silver hair? I don’t see many doctors looking this cool.”

“I lost a bet to my younger brother,” The doctor replies. “A football bet,” She adds and they seem incredulous.

“Seriously?” James asks.

The woman shrugs. “Yeah. It’s just a thing we do.”

Their conversation dies when the second period of the match starts and the male attention drifts back to the TV. Although rugby is not Liese’s cup of tea, her eyes are fixed on the flat screen as well. She doesn’t know the rules and there’s a lot of tackling going on but she doesn’t mind. This is way better than being alone at home.

“Bärchen!” The shout from not so far is enough to make Liese sigh.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers to Henry, who’s heavily engrossed in the match.

“Huh?” He glances at her with a frown and she shakes her head slightly.

Roger grimaces at the shirtless man coming their way as Liese simply waits for her brother to get to her.

“Drunk guy alert,” He says and the woman rolls her eyes.

“[I knew it was you, Bärchen!]” Her brother says with a huge smile, standing beside the woman.

Her jaw almost drops to the floor when she looks up at him to find the man shirtless, displaying his tattoo collection on the rippled muscles for everyone to see.

“What the fuck?” She asks in disbelief. “[Why are you shirtless, asshole?]” Liese stands up.

He quickly wraps his arms around her and she groans without patience. She’s very aware of multiple sets of eyes staring at them but mostly the stench of alcohol coming from her brother.

“[Alright, let go of me],” She taps his back.

“[I’ve missed you],” He pulls away.

“[You literally dropped me off at work this morning],” She points out, spotting their friends over his shoulder at a table in the far back.

“Mate, you can’t stay here shirtless,” A worker says, looking at her brother.

“I’m taking care of it,” The woman reassures before turning to her table. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” She says before pushing her brother away.

“Who’s that?” James asks as they watch the woman escorting the shirtless tattooed man away.

“No idea,” Henry replies, trying not to feel as jealous as he already is.

His eyes linger on Liese from across the bar as she greets other men, scolding at a particular one and her brother, who’s pulling a shirt over his head.

The looks she received from men and even a few women on the way to the other table doesn’t go unnoticed. In fact, there are a few men still staring at the silver-haired woman and Henry suddenly feels the need to establish territory, which is incredibly stupid of him, but a basic instinct.

“[Weren’t you supposed to be babysitting tonight?]” She asks her brother, hands on her hips.

He shakes his head. “[Who are you here with?]” He asks, looking back at Henry’s table.

“[Do not deflect, Otto],” Liese says.

“[Is the guy you’re hooking up with?]” He continues and Henry glances back at them quickly.

“Otto…” She warns.

The man narrows his eyes. “[Hold on. Are you fucking Superman?]” He looks back at his sister with a smirk and she punches his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. Their friends laugh. “Goddamn, woman,” Otto hisses, rubbing the spot.

Liese sighs, looking back at her table. “Come on,” She says, starting to move away. “Don’t embarrass me,” The woman adds quickly.

“When do I ever embarrass you?” He asks, following after her, his German accent very thick as if he was in Germany all his life.

The woman glares back at him. “How about a few minutes ago when you’re half-naked in front of everyone? Or just now, asking if I’m fucking Superman,” She asks ironically.

Otto nods. “Got it,” He says, and for the first time tonight, he takes a proper look at his sister. “You’re very pretty tonight.”

The compliment is delivered just as they stop at Henry’s table and all the attention is back on them.

“Thank you,” She replies before addressing the other men. “Gentlemen, this is my brother, Otto...” The woman starts. “Otto, this is Henry, his brother, Simon, and his mates, Juan, Mark, James, and Roger,” She introduces them.

“Nice to meet you,” Her brother says, shaking their hands as Liese sits back down, shooting an apologetic look to Henry.

Brad looks at Otto with a funny expression. “You have an accent,” He points out.

He snorts. “You too, mate.”

“No. I mean, your sister doesn’t have one,” Brad clarifies.

“That’s because you’ve never pissed her off,” Her brother chuckles and Liese simply takes a sip of her beer, refraining from commenting on it. “Hey, is it cool if my mates and I sit here with you guys?”

For some reason, everybody looks at Henry as if it’s his decision.

“Yeah. Sure, mate,” The actor nods.

“Sweet,” Otto turns around and his sister quickly looks up at him.

“Don’t –,” She’s cut off by his loud whistle, exactly what she was trying to stop. “[Dear Lord],” She murmurs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Henry’s soothing touch is what eases out the stress a bit and she smiles at him.

Otto motions for his friends to come over and they quickly abandon their table. He takes a seat next to Liese and she shoots him a murderous look to which he simply grins. The blonde man introduces Nick, Josh, Pete, and John when they arrive.

Thanks to the still-ongoing rugby match, they simply sit and start to pay attention to it. Liese knows her brother is not interested at all in the match, just like her, but he pretends to watch it just so he can avoid her confronting him.

The woman’s stomach grumbles when a waitress brings her food and she sighs happily, picking up the heavy burger. She’s aware of Otto’s eyes at her food and she doesn’t even take the first bite before he asks for one.

“This looks good,” He points out, looking at it suggestively.

She glares at him but gives him the burger anyway. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Liese asks, looking at the size of his bite when he gives her the burger back. He shrugs off. “You’re unbelievable.”

She takes a bite and Otto takes the burger again, giving it back without another huge chunk missing. Liese literally has two bites of her burger before she gives up and lets her brother have it. Ignoring her craving for the oily meat, she tries to satisfy herself with the French fries and mozzarella sticks.

A hand reaches out for her fries and she slaps it away. “Don’t you dare,” The woman seethes.

Her brother chuckles. “Want another one?” Henry gently asks.

Her mood shifts like a bipolar person and Liese smile, looking up at him. “No, it’s fine.”

“You sure?” He raises an eyebrow and she nods.

“Thanks, though,” She says.

“[That’s disgusting],” Otto murmurs from her side, mouthful.

Liese rolls her eyes before looking back at him. “[Dude, if you don’t shut up, I’ll make sure you don’t have kids ever again],” She threatens.

Her brother chuckles. “[You’re so whipped],” He keeps teasing. “[But he looks whipped, too],” Otto adds.

“Shut up, Otto,” The woman groans, too tired to deal with his bullshit.

“I’m serious,” He insists.

Something happens at the rugby match because everybody cheers and Otto stops teasing his sister, trying to understand what happened. While they watch the game, the men at the table express several emotions with curse words in each sentence.

Liese finds it amusing because they were trying to be very polite and gentlemen with her earlier, avoiding any kind of dirty word or term to not offend her. Now, they’re simply being themselves, without caring about anything. Or they simply forgot about her.

Even Henry, who doesn’t cuss a lot outside the bedroom, has expressed quite a few unpleasant words towards the referee out of discontentment.

It’s completely alright, though. The woman is probably the same or even worse when it’s a football match. As of now, she sips her beer while watching them have some fun.

“FUCK YEAH!” Roger shouts after the referee ended the game, guaranteeing England’s win.

The whole bar cheers and the man looks back, finding Liese’s eyes on him, an amused smirk on her lips. She snuggled closer to Henry during the game and now she’s pressed to his side. Her right foot is propped on her chair and she’s resting a hand on the actor’s thigh, while he has his arm draped over the back of her chair.

Experience taught him to be discreet with relationships, but Liese isn’t giving a single fuck. They were in the Daily Mail last month.

The doctor raises an eyebrow at Roger’s sour expression. “What?” She asks.

“Sorry,” He says meekly.

“What for?” Liese frowns.

“I think I got carried away with the match and forgot about the lady at the table,” The man explains.

She chuckles while Otto and their friends laugh loudly. Roger seems very confused with the reaction to his apology and the other men stare at them with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“Who’s this lady and when is she coming back?” Otto howls.

“You guys don’t know Lis. This woman is crazy,” Nick says, shaking his head.

“I just met them, idiot!” Liese rolls her eyes.

“Are you trying to impress someone, Bärchen?” Josh asks with a grin.

“Nein,” The woman shakes her head slightly, drinking her beer. “But it looks like I’m about to,” She points out.

“Well, let me tell you a few things about the… lady,” Her brother’s best friend starts.

For the next few minutes, the guys rave on and on about the woman, somehow trying to point out how she’s not a lady.

Henry shifts on his seat. Jealousy is the feeling of the moment. He’s not very fond of four unknown men talking about the woman he’s with, saying things he doesn’t know about her. The simple fact that they know her for longer is unnerving.

“It’s not because she’s my sister, but Lis is like… The baddest bitch I know,” Otto says and I look at him with an amused expression on my face. “I’d take her to every college party I went to.”

“Weren’t you ashamed of bringing your big sister to a party?” Simon asks.

He shakes his head. “The opposite, actually. I wouldn’t beg her to come because she always said yes from the start, but Bärchen was, and still is, the first person I’d call,” Her brother explains.

“Hadn’t you graduated by the time he got into college?” Henry asks the woman.

“Ideally,” Liese nods. “But med school takes forever sometimes. I was starting residency when Otto got into college so, technically, I still was a student,” She says. “And I’d always say yes because med students are fucking boring and never have some fun.”

“Anyway. We’d party so much. Bärchen would drink the same amount of us if not more,” He continues. “In the next morning, she was the one taking care of five or six dudes, I included, in the ER. Hooking us to IV bags or pumping stomachs, as if she had a perfect night of sleep instead of partying with us,” Otto shakes his head, looking at his sister with admiration.

She chuckles. “Alright. You guys are being too nice,” She says. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” John dismisses quickly.

Liese tilts her head and raises an eyebrow, staring at them. “Well, if you’d be so kind as to check out a few bikes for us…” Nick suggests nonchalantly.

Josh scolds him and Pete nudges his arm in a scolding manner as the woman laughs. “See? I knew it!” She grins. “I’ll take a look at my schedule and let you know.”

Her brother nods. “How many siblings do you have?” Roger asks.

“We’re five. Four men and her,” Otto replies.

“So you’re daddy’s little girl,” Juan says.

Some men cringe at that, Henry included, but some laugh, and Liese can’t help but chuckle along. “Please, don’t say that,” Simon says.

“Yes. Dad sometimes pampers me as the only daughter,” Liese replies. “But I know better than waiting for a special treatment being one out of five.”

“Pampers?” Otto asks with sarcasm. “You’re downright spoiled rotten by dad, Bärchen.”

“Am not,” She counters and her brother gives her a pointed look.

“The man nearly died when you moved out and, to refresh your memory, he’d call you multiple times a day or randomly show up at your apartment,” He says.

She tilts her head in thought and slowly nods. “Okay. I might be somewhat spoiled,” The woman agrees. “I’ve just realized he stopped showing up since I moved,” She points out.

“Maybe he doesn’t have a key,” Her brother suggests. “At least he won’t give him a heart attack,” He nods his head towards Henry.

“[Dad doesn’t know about him],” She says in German so only Otto could understand but Josh did too.

“Huh?” The actor asks with a frown.

Otto looks at him and smirks before taking a sip of his beer.

I chuckle before starting to answer. “Since I moved out of my parents, dad would randomly show up at my apartment. Usually in the mornings. He wanted to check if I was okay and would make me breakfast.”

“Spoiled,” Her brother says under his breath and rolls his eyes, earning a slap on his arm.

“He had a spare key, so he’d let himself in,” Liese paused. “He wasn’t happy when I started having guys over…” She trails off and a collective “ooh” feels the table. “Then I lectured him about privacy and boundaries.”

“Did that work?” Simon asks.

“No,” The guys laugh. “But he found out he enjoyed the element of surprise.”

“And being a total creep,” Her brother adds.

“Instead of waking me up, and my company, with a scare, he would sit in the corner of the room or at the end of the bed and watch us sleep,” The guys cringe. “I’ve got used to it pretty quickly but my dad is a big, burly, German guy so it was funny to watch grownup men nearly having a heart attack at the sight of him.”

“How many guys came back?” Brad asks.

“Three,” The woman replies.

“And you guys?” Roger asks Otto.

“Ah, now that’s fun,” He smirks, standing up. “I’m gonna take a piss,” He announces.

A few guys look at Liese. “It’s okay. I’m not offended by that. We’re already established that I’m not a lady. I grew up around men and I’m always around you bunch,” She clarifies.

Her brother says something in German that makes Liese’s jaw drop and Josh laugh loudly. Otto has a massive grin on his face and flinches away from the woman when she reaches out to grab him, nearly stumbling on his own feet. Then, she proceeds to profess multiple curse words at him.

Her angry gaze turns to the man still laughing at the table. “[What do you know about that?]” She asks him, not bothering to switch back to English.

“Bärchen…” Josh gives her a knowing look. “What do you think?”

“[Did that asshole tell you?]” Liese points at Otto, who’s watching from afar.

“No,” The man shakes his head, not giving too much so the others wouldn’t have a clue about what they’re talking about and it’s working.

It’s pissing Henry off.

“[If I ever hear you thinking about it, I’ll kill you],” She threatens.

“Hey. I didn’t bring it up!” Josh defends himself.

“What’s the matter, Bärchen?” Otto smirks from a safe distance.

“Fuck you,” The woman seethes at him.

Eyebrows shot up at her words. “Oh, he’s dead,” Nick shakes his head.

“You can speak German?” Roger asks Josh curiously, after watching the exchange before him and Liese.

“Nein,” The man replies humorously. “Their four-year-old niece speaks better than I do, but I can understand them.”

“Spit it out, Josh,” Liese demands after her brother disappears inside the bathroom.

He was in the middle of drinking from his beer. Instead of swallowing, he inhales and the shit is done. Josh chokes on the beer and spits it at the table, starting a coughing fit.

The woman grimaces. “Not literally, idiot,” She says, throwing a napkin at him. “What happened?” Her tone changes from angry to worried.

“What’s going on?” Henry asks, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Josh starts and coughs a few more times. “He said he couldn’t come tonight and he was all excited, saying he’d get Bobby…”

“Two hours later he showed up, smelling like a bottle of whiskey, and nearly punched me when I asked about Bobby,” John goes on.

Liese groans, covering her face with her hands. “Not this shit again,” She mumbles to herself. “Thank God I have white hair ‘cause this is draining my life force!”

“But he’s not drinking anymore,” Nick points out. “He’s been nursing this pint since he spotted you and that’s warm by now.”

Liese nods along, realizing it now. The pint is full.

“Who’s Bobby?” Henry asks and the woman looks over at him.

When she opens her mouth to explain, Otto appears in the corner of her eye. “I’ll explain it later,” She says. “Not a word about it,” She glares at the others.

“Hi! Can I have a towel?” Josh asks the waiter. “I made a mess, I’m so sorry,” He grimaces apologetically.

Her brother refuses to sit next to her again, knowing he’d suffer for his comment earlier. So he switches seats with Nick. The poor waitress manages to clean Josh’s mess and blushes profusely at his sexy smirk.

“Dude, don’t you have a movie or something coming out anytime soon?” John asks Henry, finally bringing the inevitable Hollywood topic to their conversation.

Henry thinks for a bit. “Yeah, yeah. Mission Impossible is coming out shortly,” He nods.

“Finally,” Simon adds.

The actor chuckles at the comment. “Yeah, finally,” He agrees.

“Oh, shit. I’ve seen the trailer for it! It looks so amazing, mate! When can we watch it?” Josh pipes in, excited.

“Thanks, mate. Uh, I know for sure that the world premiere is gonna be in Paris, 12th of July, to be exact,” He says.

‘That’s close’, Liese thinks to herself.

“But I’m pretty sure there’s a premiere here too, I just don’t know the date. The promotion for this film is gonna be massive,” Henry finishes.

“When are you leaving for it?” His brother inquires.

“Officially, in a couple of weeks,” He replies.

‘Wow’, the woman is impressed by the information she’s hearing for the first time in forever.

“But I have meetings with Dany and there’s a couple of events that I have to go before it, so I’m flying to America next week and just gonna go from there.”

Liese sees the glances she gets from her brother and Josh from the corner of her eye. She simply licks her lips and takes a sip of her pint, acting as if she always knew about everything Henry said.

She can’t help but feel like an idiot that has been strung along all this time. Sure, they’ve never put a label on their relationship but he obviously has been keeping that information for a long time and now the actor slapped an expiration date on whatever they have going on.

However, the woman doesn’t let this affect her night. Everybody drinks and talks with a chill atmosphere around them, but Liese can’t ignore the other pressing issue: Otto’s family drama. She wonders how much longer her brother is gonna play pretend.

So she asks it. “[Otto, for how long are you going to pretend everything is fine?]” The woman bluntly asks.

Even though he’s now sitting across from the table, everybody understands it’s a private conversation since they switch to German.

His whole demeanor changes. “[If we pretend there isn’t a problem, it’ll disappear, right?]” He says sarcastically.

“[Sure. You can also stare at the bottom of a whiskey bottle for the rest of your life but that’s alcoholism],” She replies in the same tone.

Otto sighs and brings his hands to his face, pressing on his closed eyelids. Josh tries not to pay attention to their conversation but he’s equally worried and also curious to know what’s going on.

“[Iris is acting up again, like the fucking maniac she is],” Her brother confesses.

“[Yeah, we already established that you have the worst taste for women],” Liese points out. “[What’s she bitching about now?]”

“[She doesn’t want to allow my daughter to spend time with her fucking father because I date ‘whores and I don’t want my child around this kind of people’,]” He makes air quotes.

Just talking about it angers Otto. His blood boils at the stupidity his former-hookup pulls to make his life a living hell.

He rolls his eyes and his nostrils flare. Suddenly, he feels too sober to deal with it without exploding, so he gulps at his pint, regretting it immediately as the beverage has warmed up to room temperature.

His sister, on the other hand, laughs. But it drips with sarcasm.

“[What a fucking hypocrite],” She shakes her head at it.

“[Tell me about it],” Otto murmurs, searching the waitress with his eyes. “Hey! Could you bring another one to me, please?” He asks in English. “And an Irish Car Bombs,” He orders.

Eyes turn to him at his specific request and Liese shakes her head slightly at Josh.

“Make it two Irish shots,” The woman pipes in and she notices Henry’s glance at her.

“One pint, two Irish Car Bombs,” She repeats to make sure.

“You got it, sweetheart,” Otto nods.

The waitress nods and quickly walks away, blushing. Josh elbows the German guy and gives him a dirty look, making Otto shrug off.

“[What are you going to do?]” Liese brings back the pressing issue.

“[I don’t fucking know!]” Her brother seems desperate. “[I can’t reason with that bitch because she’s beyond it but I want and need to see my daughter as I have the right to].”

“[You can serve her],” She suggests and Otto visibly stiffens at her words. “[Just like she served you for child support that you were already paying],” She points out.

“[Uh, I don’t know about that],” The man hesitates. “[This seems too much. I want to keep my relationship with Iris amicable].”

Liese stares at him like he’s demented. “[Amicable? What’s fucking amicable in that relationship, Otto? She’s literally forbidding you to see your own daughter!]”

“[Still won’t do it. That’s the deep end],” Her brother shakes his head.

Before the woman could say anything else, the waitress came back with their drinks. She quickly set the full glasses on the table before walking away with another blush, now caused by Josh’s wink.

“Stop that,” Liese says to him.

“What?” He asks.

“She’s working. She doesn’t need another man-whore making her night harder.”

“But I’m not doing anything,” Josh complains, smirking.

The woman gives him a dirty look, taking the shot glass. “Bet?” Otto suggests and her eyes turn to him.

“You sure?” A smile starts to creep on her face. “I’m shit at football bets but this,” She makes a face. “This is my shit. To this day, you’ve never managed to beat me,” She points out.

“Yet,” Her brother corrects her. “Tonight is gonna be different,” They clink their shots.

“I don’t know about that,” She tilts her head slightly, tapping the glass on the tabletop as Otto mimics her movements.

Quickly, money piles up in front of John. “Anyone want to bet on my mate Otto to boost up his confidence?” The man asks and Liese throws her head back in laughter.

“You all suck,” Otto scowls at their friends.

Nick explains what they’re betting on and most of Henry’s friends don't believe that the woman can chug down the drink faster than her brother, the actor included. In the end, they’ve gathered two-hundred pounds in total.

“I get a share of this, right?” Liese points to the cash.

“Of course,” Josh winks at her and raises his fist for her to bump.

“There’s no way you can beat him,” Simon interjects, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s twice your size,” He points out as if it’s a valid point.

She chuckles. “Watch me,” The woman says, picking up her shot glass again. “There’s still time to give up,” She raises an eyebrow at her brother.

“Just do it,” Otto shakes his head.

“Alright. Don’t cheat, you little shit,” She says.

They clink their drinks and tap them on the table again, before eyeing John to do the countdown. After dropping the shot inside the Guinness pint, it’s game. Both of them rush to bring the glass to their lips and chug the drink down faster than the other as the people around cheer.

As announced, the woman beats her brother easily and she puts her glass down with a small smile, licking the foam from her red lips. Their friends celebrate along with James and Juan, who also betted on Liese, as the others look at her in shock.

“I want to marry you so badly right now,” Mark says to Liese.

She chuckles and Otto gives him a dirty look. “With the little faith that you put in me, I don’t think so.”

At the mention of a wedding, some of the guys realized they have wives at home and called it a night. Their table collectively decides to ask for the check to leave.

Josh suddenly disappears as they make their way to the door and Henry gets stopped to take photos with fans. While he does his thing, Liese waits for him, who stays behind with his brother, at the entrance of the bar.

The sound of her laugh makes the actor glance at her and there she is, with the most genuine smile on her face, looking at his friends while sandwiched between Nick and Pete. Her sparkling eyes look up at Nick as he says something and her form shakes with another laugh, her head resting back on Pete’s shoulder.

“Henry, can I take one, too? I’m a big fan!” The female voice makes him look back.

He smiles, momentarily ignoring the scene outside. “Sure.”

Then, he quickly excuses himself and joins the group with Simon. “Oh, no,” Liese says as Mark finishes his story.

“Yeah,” He nods, his lips in a thin line. “But everything is fine now,” He smiles again.

“Well, I’m so sorry about that,” She adds. “You can let me go now - thank you,” She says to Nick and Pete quickly and untangle themselves from her. “There’s a bunch of assholes still in practice. The good ones are rarely seeing patients. Usually, they start to teach. But, in the name of good professionals, I apologize,” The woman continues.

Mark chuckles. “Don’t sweat,” He shakes his head slightly.

“Well, I should go,” Brad starts.

The goodbyes start. Henry’s friend says Liese is great and she says the same to them. They also bid their goodbyes to the woman’s friends.

“There’s one of you missing,” Juan points out.

Pete looks around. “Where the fuck is Josh?”

Liese scoffs. “Where do you think? He’s either coming back with the waitress or her number,” She says after hugging Roger.

They chuckle but agree with her. “Lis, I can drop you off,” John offers as the designated driver for the night.

Her petty self nearly gets the best of her, but she thinks before replying: “It’s fine, John. Thank you, though.”

The man nods and then Liese starts to bid goodbye to them. When Otto opens his arms to hug his sister, she clutches a fistful of his hair. The man hisses in pain as she pulls his head down to her height but he chuckles when she whispers a threat in his ear. She hasn’t forgotten about what he said earlier before sitting across from her to not get punched.

Well, it doesn’t work.

Suddenly, Josh materializes himself as if he was with the group the whole time. Liese turns to him and scowls, in a big sister mode.

“What?” He asks.

“Do not fuck the girl,” She chides.

There it is: his lips pull in a huge grin. “I won’t,” He starts. “Not tonight, at least. But I got her number,” He confesses.

Liese rolls her eyes as the men roar in laughter at her right guess and swat his arm. Either way, she pulls him for goodbye and he plays a chaste kiss on her cheek. For Henry, his lips lingered way too long on his girl.

Everybody parts way and Liese is left alone with Henry and Simon. She hugs his brother and tells him how happy she is for meeting him. He reciprocates all the compliments, adding a few of his own, before getting into an Uber.

“Did you drive here?” The woman looks at him, after what seems like a long time.

“No, I walked,” He replies. “We could get an Uber too,” Henry suggests.

“I’d prefer to walk if you don’t mind,” She tilts her head slightly.

The man nods, motioning her to go ahead. “By all means,” He says and they walk side by side, however, without touching.

After a while, when they’re away from the crowded bar, she sighs with a content smile on her face. “Thank you for letting me come,” Liese says, honestly, looking at him. “I didn’t want to spend the night alone.”

“Of course,” He nods again. “You okay,” He adds as notices her petite form shivering slightly.

She shakes her head, dismissively. “Just a little cold,” The woman replies, looking straight ahead. She halts when Henry’s buff body blocks her way and looks up at him with a frown. “Wha-?”

Liese is cut off by the man pulling his beanie off and carefully puts it on her head. Her heart flutters and she smiles at his focused frown as he adjusts the hat.

“There you go,” Henry says with a nod.

She stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips against his before he could blink again. He becomes stiff from the sudden move but relaxes when she giggles.

“You’re something else,” She whispers against his lips.

Henry smiles and wraps his arm around her to keep her warm before they resume the walk.

* * *

— CHAPTER VIII (COMING SOON)

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x ofc #liebe liese #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt #august walker #detective marshall #walter marshall #captain syverson #cpt syverson #syverson #clark kent #superman #napoleon solo

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Interrogation

15/06/2020: Sooo, hi there. Me and @marshmallow--3​ were talking (once again) and we got to talking about how assassins would react while being interrogated. Naturally, I like my dark fics + my hurt/comfort fics, so this came out. It’s an experiment than unashamedly spans 4.5K words, but I enjoyed writing it and after a bit of convincing I decided to post it. I worked surprisingly hard on this. I also like putting my characters through their paces. This can also be considered as an ‘asshole writing 101′ course for me bc everyone knows I need it lmao. Okay, enough justification; just... here -- have Jacob needing a lot of hugs :) heed the warnings, friends -- you have been warned. Spoilers for the fic in the warnings, btw

Feedback is greatly appreciated :D

Also, mainly GN!Reader (apart from the first scene) :)

Italics are thoughts bt-dubs.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, beaten for information, abduction, sick mention, PTSD mention, Night terrors, naked mention (sfw we good)... Yeah I got a bit carried away here :3 (if I missed any please lmk)

----------

“Jacob, we need that intel.”

“Why does it have to be me? I prefer to have my weapons on my person, if you don’t mind.” Jacob was sitting at the desk everyone was talking around, feet crossed on the desk.

“Maybe it’s because it’s a Gentleman’s Club, and women don’t necessarily fit in; if they find a single blade on you, the entire mission is compromised.” Evie looked pointedly at her brother. 

He looked to you for help, but you held your hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me; she’s got a point.”

Sighing, he rose to his feet, leaning against the wood and drumming his fingers against it. “Fine. Who am I tailing again?”

----------

“Weapons, please.” Evie stopped him before he could go anywhere.

“What weapons?” He smiled innocently at his sister, while you scoffed amusedly from behind her. 

She said nothing, and instead held her hand out expectantly. Obstinately, Jacob relented, pulling out his cane sword and giving her his thigh holster. “All of them.” 

His kukri came out of his waistcoat.

“All. Of. Them.”

His gauntlet was reluctantly confiscated. As was his revolver.

Evie raised an eyebrow. “Alright, fine!” He reached into his boot and pulled out another knife. “How did you know?”

“I saw you hide it.”

When they were finished, you walked up to him. “Be back by tonight. Alright?” You kissed him softly. He broke apart and gave you a reassuring smile. “You’ll barely notice I’m gone.” As the train came to a stop, you watched as he blended into the crowd at the station, disappearing in the blink of an eye. 

----------

The courier Jacob was supposed to tail wasn’t too hard to find. Bowler hat, stocky build, weird scar on his cheek… All he had to do was get close enough to hear the password, get in and get out. 

But first, he had to follow him there. In unfamiliar territory. No gangs, no Rooks.

Jacob left his top hat on the train, opting for using his hood as an added source of anonymity as he stalked his target. The streets were busy, and he lost eyes on the man’s bowler hat once or twice, but all in all, it was going smoothly. They were halfway down a street when the target crossed the road and went into an alleyway, sparse of people. 

Jacob looked both ways before crossing after him, walking through as naturally as possible, in case he runs into people he would rather avoid. The road took him into a clearing blocked in by buildings, but not a man in sight. His brows furrowed, confused at where his target could have gone. Looking around, he saw that there was only one exit, and that was behind him. There was no way the target could have circled back around without him noticing.

“Wait a second…” 

There were multiple small clicks, before multiple people came out of nowhere, all pointing firearms at him. Jacob raised his hands in surrender, taking small, calculated steps backwards. “Let’s just take it easy for a moment; I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”

“Our boss wants you alive. I couldn’t really care. It’s best if you cooperate, Mr Frye; I’m thinking you’ll put up less of a fight dead.” The hammer was pulled down with a resounding ‘click’ for good measure. The more Jacob observed, the more Templar crosses he could find. 

Oh, for the love of--

Before he could react, two feet came into contact with the back of his knees, and he was forced face down to the ground. His shoulders were pinned as his arms were forced behind his back. He blindly managed to hit someone with his elbow, but it never released any pressure as he felt thick rope cinch around his wrist and knotted tightly, lest he manage to break free of them. “Are you certain we can’t come to some sort of agreement?” His words came out half mumbled, as his face was pushed against the mud.

All too suddenly he was pulled back up to his knees, a very gruff sounding “Get up,” mumbled in his ear. The one seemingly in charge of this whole operation stood in front of him. Sounds of an approaching carriage came closer. Assessing the distance between the two, Jacob smirked. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m spoken for.” 

The man standing over him didn’t react. “Do it,” he said to the people holding him. 

Jacob’s jaw was prised open before a rag was forced in, a bag coming over his head a moment after. He was pulled roughly to his feet and couldn’t get a stable footing before a force threw him backwards, landing on the floor of the carriage with his hands trapped under him. A noise escaped his throat. Jacob could only hope to use his sense of hearing as he shuffled backwards to lean against the door behind him, as multiple people entered the carriage and shut the door -- to supervise, no doubt. The wall was hit two times, and the horses began to trot.  

The journey was the only time he could hope to escape; who knows how they’d be keeping him once they arrived.

He couldn’t help cursing himself under his breath, but it was only comprehended as a random noise to the others in the cab. Jacob began to wiggle his fingers, digits searching the wall behind him for something sharp, like a nail or some splintered wood. His fidgeting must have been noticed, because someone lightly kicked his leg. “Don’t even think about it.” He felt something cold press against his temple, a click sounding in his left ear. He held an involuntary breath as light chuckles rippled around the carriage.

“Forgive me for not finding this funny…” he quipped inwardly.

The gun barrel mockingly shoved Jacob’s head to the side, a silent threat, before withdrawing. 

He had a three mile long argument to have with Evie after this.

He tried to swallow, pushing down the rising anxiety in his throat. Is there a way out of this that wouldn’t end with a bullet in his brain?

There must be.

His fists clench and unclench restlessly as he thinks. Or, tries to think.

All he could decipher was the carriage turning right, pressing him against the wall behind him, before stopping. There was a long moment of waiting, before the door he was leaning against opened. He fell to the ground, the air knocked out of him. Without giving him a moment to collect himself, hands grabbed his arms and pulled. His orientation was in shambles; he couldn’t figure out which way was where. 

There were momentary pauses as doors opened, and just as he had begun to breathe properly, he was shoved. His balance was thrown off, and wood bit into him as he rolled down an incline. He hit the floor ungracefully, half haphazardly dragging a knee up; he was pushed down some stairs. Stifled groans were muted by his gag as they yanked him up again, pushing him down onto a chair. Multiple people tightly bound his ankles to the legs and his wrists between the rungs, the pressure pinning him down causing his heart to skip a beat. 

He hated this feeling of restriction; of being exposed. He knew he had no control. He knew he was fucked.

His head began to throb, no doubt an injury from his tirade with the stairs. As the people around him left, he tested his bonds. There was no give whatsoever; the rope bound his wrists to the rungs behind him, pulling his shoulders taut. He tried lifting his leg; he could bounce them, but that was it. It was instinct; the restless energy needing a bigger outlet. His anxiety was palpable, and he found himself exhaling through his nose multiple times in an attempt to calm himself down. He tried to look around through the material over his head, increasingly desperate, though he knew his chances of escaping were low now that they had him exactly where they wanted him. He briefly wondered whether he’d ever see natural daylight again. 

… Shit.

He had no idea where he was; if he got out, then what? He’d have to cross that bridge when he comes to it.

If he comes to it.

Resigning himself to wait, he sat straight, challenging his bonds every now and then, hoping that the next time would be different.

It didn’t take too much longer for the door to open again, but the fear inside him was painful, squeezing his heart in an iron fist. He strained his ears, and heard multiple light footsteps, followed by a distinct pair of slow and heavy ones. They screamed authority as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The bag was pulled harshly from his head, light blinding him as he squinted, trying to acquaint himself with the area around him. Jacob tried to swallow his anxiety as he took in the newcomer’s appearance; easily over six foot, and built of pure muscle. 

Bloody hell.

Someone came up to him and pulled the gag out of his mouth. He tried re-introducing saliva as the man came closer, his small entourage disbanding around the room behind him. 

“If this was so urgent, couldn’t you have booked a bloody appointment?” 

The man chuckled, though there was no humour in his tone. He rubbed his wrist before he swung at Jacob’s cheek, whipping his head to the side.

His jaw was seized and pulled to lock eyes with the six foot tall interrogator. “I won’t stand for that; understand?” His voice was low and rumbled maliciously. Jacob glared at him defiantly, heart pounding in his ears. He responded by spitting blood in his face. The man recoiled violently, wiping the substance out of his eyes. Jacob exhaled amusedly through his nose. 

Once the man recovered, he chuckled again. “Cute.” He walked over to Jacob, bending down to his eye level as he rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s start with an easy one; what’s your name?”

“Ethan.” He was met with a punch to the gut. 

“I forgot to tell you; these first few questions? I know the answers to them. I know when you’re giving me bullshit.” He grasped his hair and harshly pulled. “Let’s try again; your name.”

He said nothing and was considering lying again, until the man gave another rough tug, threatening to yank his hair right out of his scalp. “Jacob.” He relented through gritted teeth, seething in frustration. His hair was released.

“Nice to interrogate you, Jacob.” The man took a step back and leaned on a table a few feet away. “I’m the Boss around here. See how easy things are when you cooperate?”

The assassin rolled his eyes. 

“Now, I was told that you were, as you put it, ‘spoken for’.”

Jacob raised an unimpressed brow as he tried to hide the hitch in his breath.

“Who is it? A woman? A man?” Jacob left his expression unchanged. “I don’t judge!” The ‘Boss’ raised his hands. “I bet I can guess their name: Henry, Evie… Y/N, perhaps?” Jacob raised his chin and clenched his jaw, an involuntary defensive move as he listed his closest friend, his sister, and his lover all at once. 

“You see,” the Boss sighed, pushing himself off the table. “Even if you don’t say anything, you’re just as good to us as bait. If you speak now, you could be saving everyone a headache. Just remember that.

“Now; why were you tailing that courier?”

----------

The session ended with a condescending backhand. “We’ll pick this up again later.”

Jacob smiled mockingly. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

Once he was finally alone, his defiant front dropped, and he allowed himself to feel the pain in his torso. He groaned as he shifted in his seat, his ribs aching from the inside. He knew he wouldn’t give them any information, no matter how hard they tried to extract it. He instinctively tried to hold his side, but to no avail. His tongue ran over the cut on his lip, busted open time and again. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been; hours or days. But he’s tired, thirsty, and in pain. He can barely keep his eyes open, but his anxiety has kept him awake; an insomnia he could never quite shake. He was too tired to expend any of it physically; it was brewing inside him like a bad cup of tea. He couldn’t stop thinking about the threat of you, Evie, and even Henry. Even so, unless he could be sure his information would be able to counteract that, he kept it to himself.

His chin rested on his chest, and he was on the verge of passing out when the door opened again, causing him to jump and tense at the sudden loud noise. “Sorry I’m late; this is the only time I could slip in.” 

The Boss took in Jacob’s tired eyes. “Did I wake you? Such a shame.” He laughed at his own quip. 

“It’s fine; my schedule was open.” Jacob tried to bite back.

“Seeing as you weren’t doing so well answering our earlier questions, I decided to start on some different ones, this time.” 

Jacob furrowed his brows. “What makes you think that I’d tell you anything?” 

The Boss revealed items he was hiding behind his back. “Are you thirsty?” 

Jacob tried to smirk at the jug and glasses, though it wasn't as wide as before. “Kind of you to offer.”

The Boss poured out all the water into a few glasses. “You can have as much as you want; just tell me what I want to know; what have you learnt about our current… agenda? Any heists being planned that we need to know about?”

There’s a few moments of silence, before Jacob spoke, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “We’ve decided to go on holiday for a few weeks, actually.” 

The Boss huffed humorlessly. He grabbed a glass of water and brought it near to Jacob, before chucking it over his face. Trying not to react, Jacob only flinched. The liquid made the cuts on his face twinge. “That’s for lying.” Discarded on the table sat a pair of brass knuckles, spiked and gnarly. He picked them up, sliding them over his fingers before clenching a fist to test his comfort. 

“I’m going to ask you this one more time…”

----------

“You’re going to be here for a long time, Frye. Get comfortable.”

Not likely.

The last words spoken to him felt like hours ago. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, his body forcing him to sleep by shutting down. Slumped forwards in his chair, his arms were the only thing holding him upright. His shoulders were numb. He tested his bonds again, as if they would magically loosen after all this time. Fingers stretching, he tried to get blood black in his hands. He rotated his wrists, wincing as the rope pinched his raw skin. His leg began to jump of its own accord once he was faced with his own hopelessness again. 

How long would they keep him alive for? How long until help comes? They must have realised that he was missing by now, right? 

He heaved unsteady breaths out of his lungs; keeping his composure was becoming increasingly difficult, and he was looking at the increased likelihood of coming face to face with his own mortality a lot sooner than he would have liked. 

The only reason why he hadn’t starved was because of someone who came to feed and water him once a day, though he can barely stomach solids. “It will get easier if you tell them the truth.” They kept saying the same things over and over again. 

“Stop it.” Jacob didn’t want to hear any more; his mind was conflicted -- whose side were they on?

“Just tell them what they want to hear; it will make it so much better for you.” 

Jacob clenched his jaw and remained silent. 

“Otherwise, they’ll keep beating you.” They prodded Jacob’s ribs, and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain, refusing to make a sound. They took off his coat a while ago, exposing his body for more beatings. “Food for thought,” they said as they left him in silence once again.

The only other time he would get contact with another human being is when they’d take him out of the room for a bathroom break; they’d undo the rope before rebinding his hands in front of him immediately, dragging him to the bathroom before he’s forced back into the same chair again, waiting for the cycle to repeat.

The familiar tell of nausea was growing, and his stomach had stopped holding down the food he’d been given. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. 

----------

He was awoken by a series of noises that blended into each other, incomprehensible from the next. 

The door opened, and the Boss walked down the stairs, a serious expression on his face. “You have visitors, Jacob.” A fist came into contact with his gut, and for the first time his pain was vocalised. Though still stifled, the noise was noticeable. “It’s a shame, really. We were getting somewhere with you. Hopefully those allies of yours won’t be as stubborn.” 

He grabbed a cloth and balled it up, being met with almost no resistance as it was pressed into Jacob’s mouth. “Not a sound.” He crossed the room at pace, unsheathing a knife as he closed and locked the door behind him. 

The aftershocks of the assault on his gut still had him wincing, but as he heard gunshots and cries above him, he began to panic.

People he cared about could die, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

With every bang that erupted above him, his heart rate increased. He tried to weakly pull at the ropes again, and made a hopeless noise through the fabric in his mouth as he got nowhere. He was frustrated, anxious, and scared. The future was completely out of his control. 

His body wouldn’t listen to his mind; it was slumped in the chair, all but exhausted. He couldn’t breathe. Fear clouded his mind, the adrenaline pushing him to his limits. It wasn’t until he tasted the salt in the gag that he realised that a few tears had escaped. He closed his eyes.

This wasn’t him. He needed to stay calm.

I’m not usually the praying type, but if anyone at all is up there, keep them safe…

Please…

“Please…” It sounded like a groan but he said it; he was never one to beg, but he’d do anything to know what the hell was going on up there.

Everything stopped when he heard it.

“Jacob?” 

He barely moved, his mind clouded, but his heart swelled in relief at the voice -- a relieved noise that became stifled in his throat. But then, he remembered what was said to him.

He was bait.

He flinched as the door was kicked down, fists weakly clenching behind him. Footsteps came down the stairs. 

 He heard someone kneel in front of him. “Jacob? Hey, it’s me.” His face was taken into gentle hands, and the fabric was taken out of his mouth. “Jesus… Can you open your eyes, Jacob?” Slowly, he did, eyes heavy with exhaustion. You were in front of him, visibly relieved at his responsiveness.

“No… Please, leave.” He tried to pull his face out of your hands.

“They’re dead, Jacob. We’re safe; you’re safe now.” 

The ropes around his wrists broke, and he gasped in pain as he fell forward into you, hands slowly coming up to grasp your arms. Evie had moved to Jacob’s ankles, quickly cutting his bonds. “We were given false intel from the beginning; it was always going to be a trap.”

You pulled back. “Can you walk?” 

Jacob nodded, the action dizzying him. You pulled his arm over your shoulders and pulled him to his feet, hissing in pain at the movement in his torso. You stood him up, but he began to crumple almost immediately. Evie half caught him, copying your movements. 

Slowly but surely, he was brought out into the open. It was overcast and miserable outside (not the greeting he was expecting). His vision swam with flecks of green. How you managed to bring Rooks out here, he didn’t know. 

Gang members helped him into a carriage that was parked out in front, and you followed, helping him onto the seat. You lowered him down so he was lying on his back, his head in your lap. “How did you find me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s a long story.” You pushed his hair out of his eyes, observing his wounds in worry. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner.”

Jacob smiled softly and grasped your hand, rocking with the gentle movement of the carriage. “You came; that’s what matters.”

The soothing motion of your thumb over the back of his hand finally convinced his brain to shut down, engulfing him in the comfort of sleep.

----------

He was back in the cellar. Except this time, he wasn’t alone. There was someone across from him, he couldn’t tell who it was, but they were familiar. And they were screaming. There was no way for him to get them to stop, even as he began to beg, to plead, to volunteer information if they would just stop hurting them…

He startled himself awake, gasping. His eyes were open and alert, with his skin covered in a sheet of sweat. 

He wasn’t in a cellar; he was in a bed. 

Deep breaths, just take deep breaths. Everything is fine...

He tried to sit up, but before he moved an inch a pained gasp left his lips. He clutched at his torso, as if holding it would stop the pain. Once it began to subside, he lifted the sheet off of his body. He was shirtless, and he was wearing clean breeches. He raised an eyebrow, but that was low on his list of priorities. Instead, he saw green, blue, and purple bruises saturating his skin. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his chest, no doubt securing a few broken ribs. He threw his legs over the side of the pain, pausing at the fresh wave of pain washing over his body. His eyes were closed as the door opened somewhere, causing him to jump slightly. “Jacob, you’re awake!” 

He looked up and smiled when he saw you come towards him. “How long was I asleep?” 

“Over a day. Um, did you call for me, just now?” You heard him scream for you, most likely in his sleep.

“No, why?” He furrowed his brows as he watched your expression.

You decided to not pry, and instead let him tell you of his own accord, whenever that may be. “No reason; I must have been hearing things. Listen, you need to rest for a bit longer. You’ve taken a lot of damage.”

“Nonsense; I’m fine now.” He went to stand up, but sat back down as his world began to spin. “I’m not staying here… wherever we are.”

“We’re in Lambeth Asylum. We took you straight to Florence Nightingale.”

“Where’s Evie?”

“I finally got her to rest; she hasn’t been able to sleep at all since…”

“Sounds like her.”

“What happened, Jacob? When you didn’t come back that night, I thought you went to the pub or something, but you still weren’t back by the next day. How did you end up outside London?”

“Haven’t the foggiest. One moment, I was following a man in a bowler hat, and the next I was ambushed by about fifty Templars.” Your lips quirked at the exaggeration. 

“I was so worried, Jacob. They almost killed you.”

“It’s going to take a lot more than fisticuffs to take me out.” 

You took his face in your hands. “While we’re here, you need a bath.”

“And here I thought you were going to be romantic.”

“Aha. Cute.”

The word echoed in Jacob’s mind as you prepared the hot water. Absently, his hand ran over his bandages, replaying the memories in his mind. 

“Jacob!” 

“Huh?” He didn’t realise he was staring off into space until you looked at him with concern. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, fine.” 

You went over to him and helped him up, supporting him over to the tub. “Get in.” 

“If you wanted to--”

“Don’t finish that sentence; we’ve seen each other naked enough times.” 

He chuckled, undressed and slowly sat in the warm water, with help from you. “What about the bandages?”

“I’ll replace them afterwards; they’re there to keep your ribs in place.”

As Jacob washed his lower half, albeit slowly, you got a clean rag and dipped it in the water before turning his face towards you. You wiped the grime away from the open wounds on his forehead and lip. “Ow.” He didn’t flinch, but he still voiced his pain in a deadpanned tone. 

“Sincerest apologies,” you teased, for a moment it was silent, with Jacob watching you intently, before he nudged your hand away, leaning in to kiss you. It was a kiss he never thought he’d give you so soon; the ‘I-thought-I’d-never-see-you-again’ kiss. You broke apart, knowing exactly what he was feeling. “It’s alright now,” you reassured, swapping the rag for hair oils. He returned the smile you gave him, allowing himself to breathe.

You poured water over his head as you tilted it back, shielding his face from the liquid. Then, you massaged his scalp, watching as he slowly became more relaxed. 

“What do I have to do to get this more often?” he murmured softly.

“Just ask,” you laughed. 

“What do I have to do... to do this for you?” You washed out the suds in his hair, sweeping it back. 

“Again, ask -- wait until you’ve healed though.”

“If I must.” 

----------

On the outside, Jacob was healing fine. 

On the inside, scarring was plentiful. 

He was back on the train after a few weeks, glad to be somewhere he could call home. Though his mind always seemed to be somewhere else. 

Walking around the carriages, he was mostly doing desk work; Evie’s way to keep him off the streets until his body was healed. 

Night terrors frequently plagued him. He’d bring you into his arms at the end of the day, but as he fell further into his subconscious, he began to heave out frightened breaths. You would sometimes wake up when it was at its height, but other times his cries for help, his begs and pleads and calls of your name as he startles, would sit you up straight. You’d wake him up as gently as you could, waiting patiently for him to realise where he was and who you were, the fright slowly dissipating. 

“It’s okay, it’s alright.” You’d hold him as tightly as he held you, as if you’d never hold each other again. “You’re safe; I’m safe. We’re okay.” These were the only times Jacob revealed just how hard the recent event had hit him, preferring to lock it away and pretending it wasn’t there instead of facing it for what it is.

Slowly, he’d recover.

Slowly, he’d heal.

Slowly, everything will return to normal.

#Hope you had fun reading this #just a small experiment #if people like it i might do it with the others #but you know #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye oneshot #jacob frye imagine #assassin's creed #assassin's creed x reader #x reader

[hollywooduniversityalumnus]

6. with a little dignity

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“If you expect to ever have a career anything like mine . . . which, let’s be real, you shouldn’t . . . You’ll have to handle Hollywood’s high-pressure environment with the grace and aplomb of a seasoned veteran. You must be prepared for anything,” he’d warned them in class, less than twenty-four hours before he made a complete fool of himself in front of his students.

In all his years as a professor at Hollywood University, Thomas had never been successfully pranked on April Fools Day, and he fully intended to keep that record. His students weren’t known for their ingenuity, so the tactics they employed were often derivative and predictable, like the slimy paint bucket drop that his Thesis Lab students rigged above his office door every year like it was tradition. He took pride in seeing through every attempt, and in recent years made it a habit to try and thwart the plan while it was in action, by either getting someone else afflicted by the prank or halting it in its tracks.

(And, while he despised April Fools Day, the memory of tricking Hiromitsu into activating the “watercolour paint balloon bot” brought a smile to his face every time he thought of it.)

But, of course, Miss Schuyler and some of her entourage (which included Bianca Stone for once, which admittedly surprised him) had to take a shot at the king. He honestly would’ve been disappointed if they hadn’t planned at least one go. They had been so transparent from the get-go; it was almost laughable.

But it wasn’t he who had the last laugh.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

He had confronted the pranksters by the now-shattered skylight on the quad, slow clapping their efforts and crowing about how he’d been steps ahead the whole time. He took pleasure in their dejection, even brandishing the silver key he’d stolen from Margot during his heroic lunge to save her from the toppling bookshelf. And then he declared the prank over, that “he has never successfully been pranked, nor would he ever be.”

Hopes dashed, Bianca Stone, Lisa Valentine, and Ethan Blake slowly maneuvered past the gaping hole edged by broken glass. He watched them scurry to his side, relishing their devastation.

And then Margot spoke.

“Oh, darn. We really didn’t expect our plan to fall through.”

Ethan, who had paused by Thomas’s side, cocked his head to the side.

On Thomas’s other side, Lisa’s eyes flitted to Margot’s for a moment before turning her attention to him, her blindingly glossy lips pulling into a pout.

“Yeah, Professor Hunt, you sure caught us in the act!” She faked a sniffle.

He rolled his eyes at Lisa’s theatrics. “Stop moping around and come along. You lost! Accept defeat with a little dignity.”

He began to turn, but Margot spoke once again.

“Sorry, Professor,” she said, as if she meant it. “We’re coming.”

And, so quickly that he had no time to comprehend it, Margot began to maneuver around the skylight towards him when she slipped and disappeared through it, vanishing into the smoke slowly billowing out from below. Her scream, so sharp and shrill, chilled his blood, and he couldn’t hold back his shout of anguish.

“Margot!”

She didn’t respond.

He rushed to the skylight and tried to squint through the smoke, but it was useless. The fog machine he’d installed to thwart their plan was a powerful one. Its haze obscured the screening room below, and as it leaked out to the quad, made it nearly impossible to see through the broken skylight for any signs of Margot.

His heart felt frozen in place.

“Margot!” he called again, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. In that moment, surrounded by her shocked friends, staring into the abyss, he felt painfully helpless.

Ethan placed a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Professor . . .” His mouth was turned downward, a deep frown that the typically professional agent never wore upon his face.

Thomas turned his head to look at the agent. “Quickly, Ethan, downstairs! We have to get-”

Ethan shook his head. “Professor. Listen. It’s too late.”

Lisa’s voice trembled, on the verge of tears. “There’s no way she could have survived that . . .”

Even Bianca, being Bianca, seemed downcast. “She’s gone.”

He stepped back from the skylight and threaded his fingers in his hair, disheveling the neatly combed and gelled locks he so carefully cultivated every day. His heart was now at a racehorse gallop beneath his suit. He felt as though the floor would meet his face shortly.

“I . . . I never told Margot . . .”

That he knew it was her at the charity masquerade.

That he was proud of her and her achievements in such a short time.

That he felt something too.

He raked his fingers over his face in frustration. He hadn’t felt such a mix of emotions in years. A conflicting cocktail brewed in his stomach, twisting it with anger and guilt. He didn’t know if he would cry or throw up. Didn’t know if-

“Tell me what, Professor?”

At the sound of her voice, he whipped around.

Just outside the library doors, Margot stood, hands on her hips, flanked by Spencer “Crash” Yamaguchi and his entourage. The smile on her face was smug in a way he didn’t like, but he was happy – though shell-shocked - to see her anyway.

“How?” he forced out weakly.

At his words – well, word – the three students by his side instantly burst into cheers, joined quickly by Spencer and his equally self-destructively daring crew.

Margot simply raised an eyebrow. “Did I just successfully prank the Thomas Hunt? Mr. ‘I-Will-Never-Be-Pranked-Successfully’ himself?”

“I believe you have,” Ethan snickered. “Is this the proudest moment of my life? Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He pulled out his cell phone and began furiously tapping away. “So many people owe me money now.”

Spencer and his friends whooped and descended onto the quad, doing quick jumps and flips over benches and potted plants. One ran onto the grassy knoll and began beating on his chest with his fists like an ape man, causing a small gathering of birds in the nearby tree to take flight.

Thomas clenched his jaw as Lisa and Bianca began circling him like dodos, chanting their victory cry inharmoniously. “We pranked Hunt! We pranked Hunt! We! Pranked! Hunt!”

In all the cacophony, he stared Margot down as if he’d never seen her before. She had managed to do what many failed at. As much as he wanted to contest their words, say that he never actually thought she was gone, he knew already it was futile. From the commotion her friends were stirring, and how fast some of them were typing on their phones, it would be common knowledge by his next class with them that he had been had. No point in trying to dispute it.

How had she done it? he wondered. Was Spencer and his friends waiting mere feet below the skylight, ready to catch her? Had they maneuvered a trampoline or curtain to break her fall?

At the latter thought, he scowled. They better not have torn down the projector screen.

Margot came closer.

“Miss Schuyler,” he said, moving to meet her in the middle, and thus breaking free from Lisa and Bianca’s strange dance. “I-”

“Accept defeat with a little dignity, Professor.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

The Hollywood 101 class he taught the next day was almost intolerable.

Ethan and the other witnesses of the “prank to end all pranks” (as someone not-so-aptly put it) spread the news at an astonishing pace. They were all reaping the benefits of the successful trick, with Ethan collecting small wads of cash from students who had deeply believed that the attempt would fall apart like all the others, Bianca trying to claim the entire prank as her sole idea, and Lisa chanting that discordant cheer when Spencer and his crew regaled their side of the story.

All the while, Margot sat a little further away from the crowd, talking animatedly to Addison Sinclair with wild gesticulation that Thomas was unsure of how to go about interpreting. It didn’t seem like she was discussing the prank, though she was the main executor of the successful portion of it, and when he looked again, he was surprised to see Miss Sinclair close to tears.

Another roar of laughter came from the more crowded area in the lecture theatre, and Thomas shuffled a stack of papers rather aggressively against the angled wooden lectern. The loud laugher quickly sputtered into low giggles, then stopped once the students saw the icy expression on his face.

“Nothing on your desks except a pencil.” He picked up a stack of Scantron sheets and held them aloft, eliciting a groan from the crowd. “I hope you spent just as much time doing the required readings for this week as you did plotting juvenile – and unsuccessful – pranks.”

“Not all were unsuccessful,” a student stage-whispered, triggering another ripple of low laughter quickly squashed behind palms and sleeves. Lance Sergio tried to disguise his as a coughing fit, but, as he was a model major and not an acting major, failed miserably.

Thomas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Stepping out from behind the lectern, he divided the Scantrons into smaller stacks and handed them to the students in the front row.

“Take one, pass it back, you know the drill,” he said flatly. “You’ll have an hour, and not a second longer. You’re all free to leave-” me alone, he thought, “-once you have finished. Tests and Scantrons without names and student numbers will receive automatic zeroes.”

Then he retrieved the thicker stack of papers, the quiz booklets, and began handing them out at random. He recently made the decision to administer different versions of his exams with different questions and answer keys.

Although it generated a lot of extra work for him, it seemed to thwart attempts at his students cheating off one another, which ultimately reflected well on him and poorly on the students who hoped to coast through the class with minimal effort.

Once the tests had been distributed, he set a timer to be displayed on the projector screen and sat down at his desk to catch up on some grade recording.

The first chair screeched against the floor twenty minutes later. In that time, he had finished the files he needed to update and had begun drafting an email to the headhunter he had contacted a few weeks earlier. He’d also set up the two metal baskets in which they were to hand in their test papers.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a small hand tipped with light blue nail polish precariously drop the papers into the appropriate baskets.

Before the student had even stepped away from the desk, Thomas reached for the baskets and took the papers from it, glancing at the sheets to make sure they were completed.

The Scantron was neatly filled in appropriately. The booklet was similarly appropriately filled. But she’d also included in the quiz booklet . . .

“What is this, Miss Schuyler?” he asked lowly, trying his best not to alert the other students.

At his question, she froze in place. Though she immediately feigned a nonchalant expression, he instantly saw through it.

“What is what?” she whispered back.

He dropped the papers back into the baskets and leaned forward.

“My office. Noon.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

He found her waiting in a stiff metal folding chair in the hallway, a whole ten minutes before she was due to meet him there. She followed him warily into his office and immediately sunk into the seat facing his desk, like a lamb to the slaughter. He took his sweet time adjusting the angled wooden doorstop to keep the office door cracked at fifty-five degrees, removing his suit jacket and hanging it on a foam hanger that hung by the hooks near the door, removing his cuff links and rolling up his sleeves, and logging into his office computer.

Once he was situated and had no more delays, he looked her straight in the eye and brandished her yet-to-be-marked test papers before them.

“What is this, Miss Schuyler?” he asked again.

She crossed her arms over her stomach, trying not to look at him.

“I asked you a question. Twice now. I do not like repeating myself.”

Biting her lip, she leaned forward and flipped the booklet open, turning to the blank lined pages and sifting through them until she came to a stop.

Not all the back pages were blank, and he saw it right away.

“Explain yourself.” He straightened up in his seat, quietly savouring the feeling of his luxurious, buttery leather office chair after having sat in the lecture theatre’s wooden monstrosity while waiting for the last few students to finish their tests. “What did you hope to accomplish with this?”

“Did you even read it?” Miss Schuyler’s voice was quiet, her demeanour the opposite of the smug, smirking young woman from the day before.

He frowned.

She turned the booklet around and slid it across the desk. He glanced down, then turned his gaze back to her.

“It’s an apology,” she said, to fill the air around them with something that wasn’t silent staring. “For yesterday.”

Silence.

He made no move to read it.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Why . . . are you apologizing?”

Her face twisted in confusion. “I upset you. I – I broke your record. My friends have been running amok since it happened, telling people. I humiliated you.”

His shoulder rose and fell in one swift motion. “You did.”

“You’re not mad about it?” she asked incredulously.

He let out a short, sharp huff.

“I’m mad about it,” he said. “But I don’t understand why you’re apologizing.” He leaned back in his seat and sighed. “I hate to admit it, but I have to; I did not see it coming.”

“It wasn’t planned,” she admitted, and leaned forward a little in her seat. “You seemed so sure that our prank was over, and Crash and his friends were already in the screening room looking for us. And you were just so – so smug, it was driving me mad! So, I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

And then her and Miss Valentine’s words echoed back to him.

“We really didn’t expect our plan to fall through.”

“You sure caught us in the act!”

In hindsight, God, it was so painfully obvious.

He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples. “How did I not see that? Hear that?” he muttered to himself.

She smiled, a fraction of the mocking one he’d seen in the quad the day before. “Too busy gloating in your short-lived victory.”

“Right.” He nodded curtly. “Well done.”

She nodded towards her test booklet. “Is that all I’ve been called in here for?”

“No.”

He stood, then walked around his desk until he was by her left side. He looked down at her, studying the curious expression on her face, committing it to memory.

“I didn’t get a chance to say it before your friends went buck wild. But listen here. You may have won that day, Margot.” He leaned against the desk, appearing casual even with his deepening frown. “But mark my words . . . I always have the last word.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Later, when Thomas had returned home and began his usual tedious task of marking up the tests for the day, he saved Margot’s for last. And, after he was armed with his third glass of vintage merlot, he flipped to the not-blank page at the end of the booklet.

Professor, Thomas, Professor, Professor Hunt,

I’m sorry for pranking you and making you worry about me yesterday. I know there were better ways to go about it. I hope the other students and faculty go easy on you about it; it really was a last-minute decision and could have very easily gone wrong, so I understand your concern and justified anger.

Honestly, it was nice to see that you were worried. Makes me feel seen. Matter. Like I could disappear, and someone will actually care enough to look for me.

Anyway.

Sorry.

x Margot

P.S. Sorry about the projection screen, too.

P.P.S. Sorry about the skylight, too.

P.P.P.S. If you were just faking being knocked out by the shelf, does that mean you felt me trying to slap you awake?

P.P.P.P.S. Sorry for slapping you.

#only fools fall for you #thomas hunt #thomas orson hunt #hollywood u #hollywood university #pixelberry #fanfiction

[5amfries]

It’s so busy today! There’s only three people here with a cafe full of steadily frustrated people and you have to double as a barista and cashier.

You wonder how your going to through the rest of your shift as you complete the transaction for the woman in front of you and usher in the next customer.

When you look up to greet them, your smile falters momentarily, your eyes coming into contact with a broad chest, way wider than anything you’ve ever seen on another human.

You follow that strong line between this man’s pecs, very pronounced beneath his seemingly too tight, black turtleneck, up to his face. It felt like an eternity to get there, tilting your neck back farther back than expected, but when you do, you’re met with the scariest face imaginable.

Anger and impatience oozes from this man, sticks to the surface of your counter and leaks out of him like an overfilled bathtub. It almost appears as though the atmosphere around him is darkened in color.

Not only is his size encompassing, but his attitude as well.

He wears a deep set frown, lips twitching to hold back a snarl. Beneath his hat, he glares poison into you with his, otherwise very beautiful, aqua colored eyes. They promise nothing but violence.

The man is extremely frightening and yet you can’t look away. He has you trapped in place, until his lips parted to release a deep rumble of a voice.

“Excuse me.”

His thunder shakes you from your trance. It makes you jump a little. You blink and refocus, remembering that you have a job to do. You smile and hold your hand up to your register, ready to take the man’s order.

“Hi! Welcome to-” You begin, but are swiftly interrupted by another thunder strike.

“What’s taking so long?” The man asks, eyebrows furrowing even deeper.

“I’ve been waiting in line for ten minutes and there’s only been four other people in line.”

He pauses and takes a look around the cafe, before gesturing towards the crowd of people who fill it.

“And how long have these people been here? It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to wait this long to get my order taken, then have to wait an hour on coffee.”

You’re taken aback by this man’s force, but quick to bounce back. This isn’t the first time you’ve dealt with a pissed off customer and it surely won’t be the last.

“Hey! Are you listening to me? Good grief…” The man commands once more. You try to shake the chill that runs down your spine as the man scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Stupid bitch…” He mutters under your breath, but you catch it.

It’s a shot through the heart, brings a sting to your eyes. You didn’t deserve this grilling. This isn’t your fault and you and your coworkers are trying your collective best.

“… S-Sir, I’m sorry, but-” You start, but the man stops you again.

“No you’re not.” He snarls. “If you were, I wouldn’t be standing here wasting my life waiting to pay for overpriced coffee.”

Your fear and sadness flips at his words. Now, you are angry. The man’s bad mood has now taken you over, creeping up your arms and seeping through your skin.

You grind your teeth, clench your jaw and switch your weight to your left side.

It takes a great deal of power, but you return the man’s glare with a steady gaze of your own. You still had to keep a level of professionalism, even for the worst of assholes.

“I’m sorry that you had to wait for so long.” You reply, voice calm and neutral, but you can’t help the underlying annoyance that runs through it. You hope he doesn’t notice.

“As you can see, we are very backed up at the moment, and we’re trying our hardest to serve everyone properly.”

His scowl darkens more, if possible. “That’s not an excuse.”

You continue. “But it is the truth. We can only work so fast, our machines can work only so fast. If you still decide to stay with us, I cannot give you a definite time limit on when it will be done, but I can promise that it will be a high quality product.”

The man becomes silent, but doesn’t let up his glare. This time you challenge him and do the same. If this jerk had a problem, he could ask for your manager or leave. You prefer the latter.

The quicker he was out of not only your store, but your life, the happier you’d be. You never understood why people would take the time to complain and put workers down instead of simply leaving. You weren’t keeping him here.

After a long pause, the man pushes back his long, white coat and reaches into his pants pocket, roughly pulling out his black leather wallet. He takes six dollars out and slams it on the counter.

“Large vanilla latte. Extra shot. Make sure it’s soy. ’M lactose intolerant.”

The tension that had stiffened your body over the past few minutes resides slightly. You type in his order, then ask for his name.

“Jotaro.” He answers, turning away from you to head toward the lobby.

“Okay, your change-?”

“Don’t want it.”

With that, he leaves and sits in the far corner of the cafe, away from the swarming crowd.

Luckily, that man, Mr. Jotaro, was your last customer at the register, now it was time to return to the bar. You smirk as you pull a ticket. After this drink would be that man’s and you’d make sure that you made his drink and make it special.

♡

It’s been about an hour since the man ordered his latte.

He seemed to have been pacified well enough, having had no complaints the entire time he sat. Just sipping on his coffee as he flipped through whatever was on his tablet.

From time to time, you look up and check on him. You had mixed whole milk with the soy and added whipped cream and let it melt into it so he couldn’t tell. For someone so concerned about their intolerance, he didn’t seem to be too affected.

You sigh. It’s a solemn victory, but at least he’s quiet and you’ve survived the rush and that’s all that really matters.

♡

Jotaro’s sweating. It’s a mix of nerves, rage and his body counting down to it’s explosion.

His stomach’s been contracting and writhing beneath his skin. The combination of agonizing cramps and squirming worm-like acid that fills him has him throwing an internal fit.

Everything hurts! And the sickly belches he keeps rumbling in his throat bring nothing but a disgusting, burning aftertaste.

At this point, he’s desperate to touch. His abdomen is in dire need of a rub and a heating pad. He knows the real relief he’s searching for is in releasing the gas that’s been gradually building in him for the past hour.

He should have left the second he got his coffee. He looks over to the counter where he finds the barista he had chewed out earlier. Their eyes catch each other and the barista is quick to look back at whatever they’re doing.

He then looks back at his empty cup, stares at it with sudden interest. Did they… do something to his coffee. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s pissed someone off and they’ve retaliated.

Jotaro’s heart drops at the realization. He might have been a little too harsh. Maybe he deserved a spiked coffee.

A sudden dip in his stomach has him lurching forward. His jaw clenches, trying to hold back the pain from showing. There’s a loud ringing groan that follows the cramp.

It’s noticeable over the light music that twinkles throughout the building. The crowd that once filled the cafe has dispersed and now only he and two other customers reside there.

He’s lucky that they have earphones in to not hear. Discreetly, he brings his hand to his lap and rubs at his bloating belly.

It turns into a mistake as he pushes a pocket of air that rushes to his bowels and out of him in a airy fart. It ends on a bubbly note and it rolls off the wooden chair he sits in. The volume of it has him blushing.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. And yet, another escapes him immediately after, but louder this time. Jotaro stiffens, eyes wide as he takes another look around. The customers are still in their own world. The baristas are busy at work, their machines overpowering his noise level.

Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. If he could just wait for a calm period and not shit himself when he stands, he’s home free.

His stomach roars and stabs him. He huffs a grunt and forces out another short but noisy burst.

And then another.

Jotaro frowns and looks down at his stomach, inwardly commanding it to stop. As if in defiance, it grumbles fiercely and brings up a belch that resembles a dragon. It rumbles on for way too long and is loud enough that the barista who put him in the situation looks up.

Their cheeks flush and they return to work in faux ignorance.

Jotaro sighs, leans into himself a little from subconscious embarrassment. If he could just-

A large bubble inside fills him and slips downwards. His hand flies to the bottom of his stomach. The pain’s intense to where he wants nothing but to get it out, society be damned.

He leans in farther, pressing and massaging his middle to coax out the monster inside. It doesn’t disappoint when it is released. Deep and wet sounding, it stretches on and on and actually burns him coming out.

Jotaro doesn’t need to smell it to know that this one’s going to be the one to alert the cafe of his dilemma, with the way it had decided to stew within him.

To add insult to injury, he burps, three times in succession, an alarm to those in his toxic zone. These bring attention from all of the baristas. They stop momentarily to look over at him, while the smell of his last blast has the customers around him looking up from their computers.

They have the familiar expression of disgust and confusion as they search for the cause.

It doesn’t take them long when Jotaro releases another rippling, sick sounding fart, that’s quickly followed by a neverending string of short blowouts.

“Sir, are you okay?” One of the baristas calls out, her face of concern and repulsion.

“Holy shit!” The youngest customer exclaims, his hands clasping over his face at record speed.

Jotaro rolls his eyes, holding back an annoyed huff. It was over now, no use in trying to hide. He sits back in his chair, his coat falling to his sides over his extended belly.

He claps a hand over its peak and lets a belch rattle inside his closed mouth.

His eyes cross over to the barista who served him. They still stare in shock. He can see the regret in their eyes. It almost makes him laugh.

“I’m fine.” He answers, blowing out another burp after.

His stomach rolls, bubbles fill him at a alarming rate. Yeah, he’s not going to make it.

Jotaro takes out his wallet and drops a hundred on the table, before picking up his things and putting it in his bag. He hopes the barista who did this knows it’s for them.

He stands, a continuous, bubbly moist expulsion leaving his backside.

“Your bathroom won’t be though.” He mutters as he storms towards the restroom, leaving the lobby with one last voluminous belch.

#here's my life insert fic #it was... fun to say the least 😳 #jotaro is my punching bag #◇ jotaro #lI! jotaro #burping #farting #j/j/ba #♡ a product sample

[i-cant-do-this-all-day]

Royally Screwed // Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Summary: After a party and quite a lot of drinking Y/n Stark finds herself in quite a predicament // Part Four / Final Part??

Warnings: teen pregnancy, language

Author’s Note: I might add another part cause I feel like this was rushed and didn’t end well but I was under a lot of stress with school and family so this will have to do for now.

One month since I had spoken to any of the Avengers. Two months since I had last spoken to my Dad. Six months since I found out about my pregnancy. Eight and a half months since the night that started it all.

Everything was falling together nicely; May and Peter had set up a crib and changing table in his already cramped room, I had attempted to help but they refused, saying I needed to rest.

Peter had learned about Tony’s lash-out, despite my very concise instructions to not tell him. He didn’t take it well threatening to go over there and have a chat with my Dad himself. I had eventually talked him out of it, saying that with my Dad’s vast array of weapons nearby there was a slim to none chance of him coming out uninjured.

———————

I awoke with with a groan and a pain in my abdomen. I passed it off as a cramp and attempted to fall back asleep but was soon awaken by the same pain.

“Fuck.” I knew what was happening but I wanted to deny it, it was two weeks too soon.

Just another fuck up of mine. I slowly removed myself from Peter’s arms and walked to the bathroom, careful to avoid any loose screws or tools Peter and May left lying around.

I closed the door, making sure no noise was heard through the small apartment. I looked at myself in the mirror for a split second before letting the cold water hit my face.

A knock at the door woke me from my daze.

“Y/n, you alright?” Peter. How did he even realize I was gone?

“Uh, yeah, why?” I needed a minute to collect myself before I told him so that I could calm him down.

“My spidey sense is going insane and then I woke up and you weren’t there.”

I sighed and opened the door to find Peter in sweatpants hanging loosely around his waist and his curls running freely on his head.

“Well, uh, Pete?”

“Yeah?” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I think I might be going into labor? But I don’t really know?” I said with extreme caution in my voice.

He instantly snapped awake. “I, uh, um, uh, May!” I shushed him, feeling immediate guilt for waking the older woman but seconds later she came stumbling out.

“Yeah! I’m up! What’s happening?” She rubbed her eyes as well before staring at us both.

Pain rippled through my body once again as I held onto Peter for support.

“Oh dear God. Okay, Peter get a bag packed, come on Y/n, honey, we’re getting you to the car.” May instructed. Peter nodded and took off back into his room as he ran his fingers through his wild hair.

May took ahold of my arm and helped guide me down the stairs and into the car just in time for Peter to come running back down with a bag.

“I-I think I got everything?” Peter said, slight concern in his voice.

“It’s fine, Pete, let’s go.” May ordered, pulling him into the car and putting it in drive.

The drive was once again short, but painful. My contractions had been getting closer and closer together, as well as incresingly painful.

“Why is this going so fast? I thought labor was supposed to take hours!” I said through a groan.

“Well, I guess yours isn’t! I don’t know maybe it’s something to do with Peter’s powers!” May shouted, still mildly frantic.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I muttered.

“Anything I can do to help?” Peter asked as he placed his hand on my abdomen.

I leaned into his touch and rested my head on his shoulder, “It hurts.”

“I know. I know.” He ran his fingers through my hair and he comforted me.

“These are the times I wish I still had my Dad.” I whimpered.

Peter didn’t respond, I saw May look at us through the the rear-view mirror.

We sat in silence for the rest of the ride, not including my muffled groans and whimpers.

When we finally arrived, May ran inside to get a room while Peter helped me and gathered the bags.

By the time Peter and I got into the building I was being pulled away and into a room.

The three of us got everything settled and awaited the doctor’s arrival.

“I’m going to go see what’s taking so long.” May announced.

Peter and I nodded as he gripped my hand with an iron grip.

Another contraction ripples through my body, causing my grip on Peter to instensify.

May and the doctor, Dr. Reed, cane in shortly after. He did a short exam and concluded that I was, in fact, eight centimeters.

He was genuinely surprised at the speed of the progress, saying he’s never seen someone go through labor so fast.

I helped Peter fill out basic paperwork in the few minutes I was released from the pain of the contractions.

————————

Only forty five minutes later our baby was born.

Dr. Reed was still surprised by the speed of it all and helped the nurse take her away to do tests.

“Pete,” I said breathlessly, “we need a name.”

“I like the name Amelia.” He shrugged as if he wasn’t panicking internally.

I thought for a moment before smiling at him, “Amelia Rose?”

“Amelia Rose.” He tested the name on his tongue. “I love it.” He smiled wide and kissed the back of my hand. “And I love you.”

“I love you too.” I leaned up and kissed him.

“You guys are cute.” I looked over to see May still sitting in the corner. We all chuckled and started to make conversation.

———————-

It had been about an hour and half since we had seen Amelia when the doctor came back in without her, slightly worrying me.

“W-What’s wrong.” Peter spoke before I could form words.

“Nothing is wrong.” He smiled. “We just found abnormalities in your daughter’s DNA and we figured we would tell you, even if it doesn’t affect her yet.” He looked to Peter and winked, as Peter dropped his head. “A nurse should be in here within a few minutes with her.”

I thanked him and put a shoulder on Peter’s shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

“I fucked her up.” He said as he put his head in his hands.

“Peter Parker you did not fuck her up.” The door opened interrupting our conversation. A nurse handed me Amelia and then left us alone. “See. She’s perfect.”

He looked up at the little girl, who was wrapped in a thick blanket.

He took her from me after a few minutes and held her close, only letting her go when May came back in.

“She’s beautiful guys, you should be proud, I know I am.” I smiled and adjusted myself in the bed.

“Get some sleep babe, you need it.” Peter advised.

“But-“

“We’ll watch her.” May interrupted, already knowing what i was going to say.

I nodded and thanked them before letting myself close my eyes.

————————

We were allowed to leave with Amelia a week later.

Peter opened the door of the car and took the baby carrier from me as well as helping me out. We slowly made our way up the steps of the apartment complex, following May, who had all the bags.

May held the door open for the pair of us as we entered the small apartment. Peter flipped up the light switch, turning on the light as we were met with an abundance of people and a banner.

I immediately recognized them as the Avengers and some people from S.H.I.E.L.D.

I smiled as I was enveloped in hugs and showered with ‘Congratulations.’

I started to cry as I leaned into the embraces I had been needing lately. The validation. Not just from Peter and May, but the people I grew up with, I needed to know that they still accepted me.

As everyone pulled away I searched for one familiar face although I was nearly positive it wasn’t going to be there. Natasha put her hand on my shoulder as I scanned the last of the crowd, not finding the one person who’s validation I needed more than everyone else’s.

My eyes met her’s and I tried to hide the disappointed look on my face.

We all sat in the small living space as we caught up. Some of the team I haven’t seen since my dad found out and found out through the news. Everyone saw and got to hold Amelia before I put her down for a nap.

Everyone else was in the midst of laughing at an embarrassing story Rhodey was telling about when I was a baby as I hid my face in Peter’s shoulder.

“Wouldn’t I be more qualified to tell those stories, Rhodes?” My throat almost closed instantly. I looked up slowly and peered over the top of the couch. Peter placed a protective arm around me as he stared him down.

“Dad?” The strangled sound made its way out of my mouth. “What’re you doing here.”

He held a bouquet of flowers and his left hand was shaking ever so slightly.

“Can we go somewhere private?” I looked back at everyone else, who had all stood up and looked ready to attack. All except Natasha, she just smirked at me.

“Y-Yeah.” I got up and led him to the room shared by Peter, me and now Amelia, making sure to position myself between him and a now sleeping Amelia. He shut the door slowly before taking a deep breath. He was about to speak when his eyes caught the small figure of Amelia. He moved closer and I watched him intently. He took her small hand into his palm as tears dropped down onto the mattress.

In less than a second he had his arms wrapped tightly around my back and he sobbed into my shoulder.

“I’m sorry I left you like that. I’m so so sorry, I can never forgive myself.” He repeated into my ear as I wrapped my arms tightly around his midriff.

“Dad…” I whimpered. He pulled away and wiped the tears with the sleeve of his jacket.

“I don’t know what I was thinking just leaving you like that. I should’ve helped instead of lashing out and Steve says I lashed out again when you tried to help me but I don’t even remember it and I’m such a screw up and-“ He rambled.

“Dad. I forgive you.” I cut him off. “I understand I didn’t allow for you to react before I took off. We were both in the wrong. and I hope we can forgive each other.” Amelia began to stir because of the noise in the room.

“May I?” He asked.

I nodded but still watched him carefully as he cooed and rocked her gently. I smiled as he began to cry again.

“Y/n she’s so beautiful.” He cried before setting her back down in her crib where she fell back asleep.

I led him back out to the rest of the team where he thanked May and Peter for taking care of me for the past couple of months. We talked for a while, just like old times. We may have some things to work on but it was the start of the better life ahead.

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[pinknerdpanda]

White Elephant

Word Count: 1028 Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, Jody and Donna Warnings: Fluff Requested by: @amanda-teaches Betas: @wheresthekillswitch & @hannahindie

x White Elephant

“No way! That’s not fair!”

Sam frowns at me from across the small grouping of chairs as I snag the cheerful red and green gift bag from between his hands. It isn’t necessarily that I especially want or need the serial killer trading cards inside, but part of the fun of white elephant gift exchanges is the stealing.

“Sorry buddy, but fair’s relative today,” I grin. “Besides it’s got two more steals before it dies.”

Sam glares at me, before begrudgingly standing and scooping up a small, neatly wrapped box. He stomps back to his seat, ripping the paper unceremoniously and tossing it aside. Opening the box, he frowns harder - if that’s even possible - as he pulls out a small, white, stuffed elephant. He looks up from the creature, confused. The group snickers.

“I think I misunderstood the object of the game,” Castiel sighs, glancing at Sam. “I assumed we were all bringing white elephants.”

I groan, turning to Dean. “I thought you said you explained it to him.”

“I did,” Dean protests, indignantly. “Or at least I thought I did.”

“It’s fine, Cas. It’s cute!” I pat his knee reassuringly. “It’s your turn. Do you want to steal or open something?”

The angel squints at me, his eyes darting back and forth between the remaining packages and the gifts that have already been opened. Jody smiles, showing off the cat butt refrigerator magnets and “My Cat is an Asshole” calendar she’d opened. Donna shifts, obscuring the view of the box of shotgun shells she’d gleefully revealed a few moments ago, clearly hoping her goodies would remain hers.

After careful consideration, Castiel stands and retrieves the stuffed animal from Sam. He blushes, returning to his seat.

“I grew somewhat partial to him,” Cas gives the elephant a small squeeze.

Without hesitation, Sam stands and practically rips the bag I’d stolen from him out of my hands. Jody, Donna and Mary laugh as he sits again, sticking his tongue out at me.

“Dude. You really need a new hobby,” Dean grunts at his brother and turns to me. “Looks like it’s your turn, again, sweetheart.”

I decide to go for the hastily wrapped, irregular shaped package tucked between the two remaining gifts. I slide my finger in the crease of the paper, ripping the tape and revealing a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label.

“Good choice, there, y/n,” Bobby grins at me. “But…” he trails off, holding up a small piece of paper indicating it’s his turn. “Looks like you’re gonna have to pick again.”

“You can’t bring a gift just to steal it back, Bobby!” Dean argues.

“Says who? Quit your belly achin’ and let your girl pick another present.” Bobby snaps as I relinquish control of the scotch.

And so it goes, stealing, unwrapping, arguing and good natured jabs until at last, it’s Dean’s turn - the end of the road for this little holiday game.

“Well, well, well,” he stands, rubbing his hands together. “Looks like I’ve got the final say here. I could open that last present, end the game and send everyone on their merry way. Or, I could steal something and keep the fun going.”

Dean begins circling the small space, clicking his tongue consideringly as he makes a show of checking out everyone’s goodies.

“Oh wouldja just get it over with, Winchester?” Donna groans, still protecting the ammo under her seat with one foot.

“Alright, alright,” Dean chuckles. “I’m not gonna steal your precious shotgun shells, Donna.”

He returns to the middle of the circle and turns to face me, his eyes locked on mine as he bends and selects the last present to be opened. A little current of disappointment runs through me. The evening has been a lovely reprieve from the exhausting reality that is our lives. For the first time in a long time, I remembered what it was like to simply enjoy the company of my friends without some potentially world-ending catastrophe hanging over our heads.

Dean winks at me, pulling out several sheets of tissue paper from the top of the gift bag. He reaches in and pulls out some kind of thin, red fabric. Setting the bag on the floor, he unfolds the fabric. His face flushes pink as he hooks two fingers through a set of loops and holds up what looks to be a very revealing piece of lingerie. A ripple of laughter erupts from the small group of friends and family. Bobby whistles suggestively.

“Well, that is quite the choice, Dean. It’s definitely your color,” Jody chokes between giggles.

Without prompting, everyone begins collecting the scraps of ripped paper and discarded ribbons. Within five minutes the crowd has all but dissolved, leaving only Dean and me behind.

“That was a lot of fun, y/n,” Dean smiles, his hands finding my waist and pulling me towards him. I wrap my arms around him, relishing his warmth. He pulls back, placing a soft kiss against my lips. “Thank you for organizing all this.”

His fingers sneak under the hem of my shirt, his nails grazing lightly.

“Sorry you got the raw end of the deal with the presents,” I run my fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head.

“What are you talking about?” He frowns at me, though his eyes sparkle mischievously. “Everything went as planned. I got exactly what I wanted.”

I narrow my eyes at him, curiously. “Come again?”

He smirks and drops his head, his lips hovering over mine. I feel his breath against my face as he speaks. “It’s your size and everything.” He captures my lips in a heated kiss, his tongue gliding past my lips and colliding with mine in a rush of unexpected hunger. The kiss leaves me breathless and reeling with desire as he pulls back.

Dean grabs my hand, leading me from the war room. He stops, grabbing the gift bag containing the lingerie before resuming his mission.

“What happened to ‘You’re not supposed to steal your own gift’?”

“You know what the say about rules, sweetheart.” He turns, his lips curved in a wicked smile. “They were made for breaking.”

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[romvnova]

Chapter Three

Blue appears calm, though Claire wonders how much of that is Owen’s presence. Were Claire to approach her without him, even in the metal cage, Claire gets the feeling that things would not start so smooth. She watches with unbidden fascination as Blue’s nostrils flare, no doubt analyzing her scent. Owen holds his hand out for her’s and Claire hesitates before she holds it out, her heart doing a small flip in her chest as Owen takes her wrist and guides her hand to Blue’s exposed skin.

It’s not the first time that Claire has touched a dinosaur but each time is marveling, and reminds her that they are, as Owen puts it, more than just numbers on a spreadsheet. It reminds her of the first time she’d ever set eyes on one. The memory comes back to her now as her fingers skim the rough hewn skin of Owen’s (favorite) raptor. It had been Claire’s first real day on Isla Nublar, when she’d been an intern at Bright Minds. They were introducing a young triceratops to the herd they’d already had. Claire could not forget the way the earth had trembled beneath their footfalls. It was the first time she’d heard their call. Actually heard a dinosaur for real: the sounds they make still bring goosebumps to her skin, like she’s hearing the song of an archaic god once forgotten but resurrected.

It was the beginning of Claire’s passion for these animals, it was the start of the path that led her here: from intern to running Simon Misrani’s park.

It was her job to ensure that all the guests felt the same goosebumps she feels now, the same breathless and incredible wonder the first time they set eyes upon their first dinosaur.

Blue makes a noise, startling Claire out of memory lane and she goes to recoil her hand from the raptor, unsure if it was a aggressive noise or not. Blue’s breathing grows rapid before it slows, and Owen’s larger hand splays flat over Claire’s own to keep it there. “Good girl, Blue.” He coos to the beta. “She’s curious about you.” Owen tells Claire and she is, for the third time this morning, acutely aware of how close he is. Her shoulder is pressed against his chest and Claire’s head cants ever so slightly in Owen’s direction. She is intrigued to hear that Blue is curious about her. It was a lot more than Claire expected, and part of her can’t help but wonder if Blue’s curiosity has less to do with her and more to do with the fact that she, more than likely, smells like Owen.

Raptors were the second most intelligent species on the planet so Claire does not doubt that Blue understands the concept of what they are to one another, even if Blue’s understanding is much more primal.

Claire’s heart jumps into her throat as the raptor’s head butts against her hand though the metal muzzle that constrains her does not offer much mobility.

“She’s incredible.” Claire breathes, taking a step back when Owen drops his hand. She doesn’t wish to push the boundaries of the raptor’s patience with her. Owen offers Claire another lopsided grin and gestures to the cage where Blue, in all of her six foot glory, appears to study them from between the heavy steel bars that separate her from them.

Claire and to her greater surprise Owen — who adamantly assures and reassures ( again ) her when she rises the protest that Barry can ( and will have to he pointedly interjects ) handle the raptors — spend the day enjoying the park as guests. Admittedly, extremely knowledgable guests; and even more surprising then the fact that Owen had spontaneously joined her, Claire actually enjoyed her day.

“Hey, let’s watch the T-Rex’s last feeding.” Owen jerks his thumb towards the t-rex’s enclosure. Claire’s eyes flicker towards paddock nine and she pushes the sleeve of her shirt up and checks her watch. “Claire…” Owen groans.

“Owen we have to be on the last ferry out of here.” Claire hesitates because if they didn’t head towards the docks now they would be cutting their time margin down to twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to fight the crowds from paddock nine down to the docks. Not to mention the ferry had a capacity limit. If they reached that limit guests would be turned away with an offer of a free night’s stay in the Hilton. Which was great, that was a great failsafe except when a visit to Karen was involved. Karen would be livid if Claire wasn’t on the plane. Beyond livid she would be upset and Claire doesn’t want to deal with her sister’s disappointment and endless guilt trips.

“C’mon Claire. I know that sense of adventure is in there somewhere.” Owen ribs at her, grinning wide.

“I don’t have a sense of adventure where Karen is concerned. We can’t miss the ferry or our flight. I’ve broken a lot of promises to Karen and I’m working on …not doing that.” Claire argues and explains to Owen who rises is eyebrows at her. Owen looks at her as if he’s daring her and Claire’s shakes her head. “No. No! Let’s just go get on the ferry.” She wasn’t budging on this one and eventually her stubbornness won. Owen agreed as Claire calls Zara on her phone. She presses the iPhone to her ear as a group of teenage girls walk past her, wearing varieties of t-shirts all depicting the t-rex. Despite her age she’s one of heir biggest attractions. One of the girl’s shirt had ‘yasss queen’ in fancy lettering beneath the t-rex’s headshot and another had the t-rex wearing a flower crown. A third girl’s shirt read ‘Rexy: Queen since 1993’. Claire feels her brows furrow and she almost doesn’t realize that Zara is calling her name over and over from the other side of the phone connection.

“Claire!”

“Oh, sorry Zara, I was …distracted.” Owen snorts beside her and she swats at him.

“Well, I’m going to see Queen Rexy. You might want to join me, but if you don’t I’ll meet you on the ferry.” Claire feels her face fall in disbelief as she watches Owen walk away from him.

“Owen! Owen!” She hisses after him, apologizing to Zara who sounds as if she’s becoming increasingly frustrated.

It was mutual, Claire thinks as she hurries after Owen.

“Is everything ready for Owen and I?” She asks as she climbs the stairs, murmuring ‘excuse me’s’ as she weaves her way through the people, still trying to catch up to Owen.

“Everything is set to go. Your bags are already loaded onto Ferry 3. Remember. Ferry 3, Dock 5.”

“Ferry 3, Dock 5. Thanks Zara.” Claire ends the call, sliding up to Owen’s side. The log bridge they stand in is cramped, and Claire presses closer to the glass and Owen, feeling like she’d been packed tightly into a can of sardines. The crane lowers the steer down and the voices — little more than white noise — all quiet and a hush grows over the ground. The ground trembles, the log bridge tremors with the first step and a collected gasp ripples from the crowd. A second footfall causes goosebumps to rise along Claire’s arms and her breath catches in her throat as the thick foliage rustles.

The steer lets out a call, low and sorrowful.

Claire swallows hard and instinctively reaches for Owen’s hand as the T-Rex’s head appears out of the foliage and she lets out her infamous scream and charges towards the bridge. Her movements are slower with age but she’s still impressive, can still strike marvel and a fear into Claire. It looks like she’s going to crash into the bridge and Claire spares a second to peek at Owen from the corner of her eye, noting the smirk he gives her before his hand closes around her’s as the t-rex stops and takes a giant bite of the steer sending blood and bits of carrion splattering as she rears her head back.

“Alright,” Owen draws, tugging Claire away from the view glass. “Let’s go catch the ferry.”

“Zara said our luggage was on Ferry 3 at Dock 5.” Claire repeats  the information her assistant gave her as they step out into the evening heat and found their way to the ferry without too much trouble from crowds of people looking to head back to the mainland of Costa Rica.

As the ferry pulls away from the dock and night settles around them, Claire moves from her place at Owen’s side to the railing at the hull. Her hand wraps around the cold railing watching as Isla Nublar gradually disappears in a growing cloud of fog and mist and swears, as she closes her eyes and appreciates the cool kiss of the salty sea brine across her face, that she hears the dinosaurs calling out.

Isla Nublar’s been her home for eight years and though she knows she’ll return to it in a couple of days Claire already starts to feel homesick.

#jurassic world #jw: fanfic #claire dearing #owen grady #claire dearing: evolution #owen x claire #clawen #chapter three #part two #welcome to jurassic queue

[theupstartsparty]

Chapter 2: Rexias and Lahar

Spireling Ymil appeared to be in a better mood than usual when he had called Rexias and Lahar to his office that morning to give them their next task. An anonymous patron had visited that morning with an unusual request. A cave had been discovered a few miles outside of Everspring’s easternmost protectorate, and the patron had it on reliable authority that a crystal ball lay in its depths, a couple centuries old at least. The patron did not disclose the reason for the request. Once Rex soon found out what it was precisely what had gotten the crime boss’s spirits up, he understood why a reason did not matter.

“One hundred fifty gold pieces each upon returning with the objective,” the half-orc said in a smooth baritone, a rare smile curling up his lips. Rex’s ears perked, fully alert. He turned to his partner, whose normally heavily lidded chestnut eyes were open wider than he’d ever seen them, almost making the elf look awake. If that was their personal cut, how much had this patron paid the spireling for the job? He silently doubled down on his policy to never pay for artifacts.

“Anything else you find in the cave is fair game, though if there is something that could prove helpful to the Clasp, know ingratiation will get you far. I know you two are smart enough to remember what happens if you try and screw us over, so there’s no need to go over that policy. Just remember that those marks of yours are there for a reason. Any questions?” The slick half-orc barely gave them a moment to answer. “Wonderful. Be prepared to leave this afternoon,”

The spireling lazily waved them out of the office, and Rex and Lahar, knowing of his capricious and particular temperament, lost no time in making their exit out of the lava chamber the crime boss called his office. They made their way through the system of tunnels underneath the city of Everspring.

“That is a hell of a lot of gold. Not that I’m complaining, but where does he get off on choosing us for this mission?” Lahar asked, keeping his voice in a low drawl as they walked through the underground market. “I thought that Ymil had it out for you somehow,”

“I guess he’s decided six months is enough time to waste keeping me on a leash,” the tiefling responded, flicking his tail on a burlap sack of a white powder on the front of a vendor’s stall. Any objections the vendor might have had were ignored as they pushed through the crowd, keeping an eye out for pickpockets who did not respect the Clasp code. 

“Perfect task for us though, huh?” the elf quipped, taking out a finely carved ivory pipe and some dried plants from a side pouch. “If we die, he gets our dumb asses off his hands. If not, he gets to buy, like, goldspun clothing or some shit,” He trailed off as he lit the pipe and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, then exhaling an opaque blue smoke cloud.

Rex smirked. “Let’s hope the handsome devil didn’t send us on a suicide quest, then. Who knows how much he was paid up front?”

 He took the lead around the corner that turned down a less-travelled tunnel with Lahar close behind him. The path was empty save for a few floating will o’ wisps towards the curve of the ceiling serving to light their way, and they made their way down a few more lanes until they reached the bunkers, where they made up their packs for the weeklong trip. 

The spireling had sent one of his lackeys with directions written down on a scrap of yellowed parchment. The lackey, a familiar scrawny purple-haired human they knew as René, was waiting in the outer tunnel that led into the farmlands. He looked almost envious as he handed the paper over, but sent them off just as amiably as usual.

“Once you return, I’ll be expecting that courier’s tip from you,” he said, pretending to inspect his fingernails as he judged their reactions. There was no way the spireling would have told anyone outside of the mission, but René had a way of knowing things regardless. How he had gained the trust of the spireling was a mystery to Rex and Lahar alike. 

“In your dreams,” Rex grinned. The two bowed slightly to each other while each placing a closed hand over their chest in the common Everspring salutation. René picked up his torch as he walked away from the pair down the tunnel, leaving a flickering shadow that stretched and soon faded into nothing.

The ancient lava tunnel system in which the entirety of the Clasp operated existed underneath the very feet of Everspring’s population. These tunnels had been historically disputed. The earliest people of the area had once lived entirely underground, virtually unnoticed as the deities and arcanists raged in the Calamity. Once the world quieted, the settlement that would later be known as Everspring was built aboveground. Much of Everspring’s history was deeply entwined with the tunnels. However, the growing weight of the city took its toll on the tunnels, and eventually most of the system fell into disuse in the face of structural collapse. The Clasp moved in soon after the condemnation, building up what they referred to playfully as the Black Market, and had secured the tunnels (“Netherspring,” as some of them had dubbed it) for the past eighty years or so.

It was from these tunnels that the two Clasp members emerged, propping open an innocuous hatch that opened up to a flax storage barn. The harvest of the year had not yet been collected, and the barn currently housed pieces of equipment in various states of repair. No one was currently in the barn, Lahar noted, and motioned to Rex to follow him up the ladder and out of the tunnel. 

The tunnel out of the city had taken them past the first hill surrounding the city. A major reason the Clasp valued their hold on Netherspring was because of this particular tunnel, which obscured their movements over land from the curious eyes of the Everspring Guard. Normally, smuggled goods (oloore root and Sannish were the most popular) were handled through ships at the Sea Port. The need occasionally rose to transport inland, and the tunnel was the best means of doing so. It also gave them the advantage against the Myriad, who had been unable to establish a firm trade in the city due to the competition. From the barn the thieves walked inconspicuously to the Shambling Path, heading east to the protectorate of Phandolin.

The countryside of Everspring crested gradually downward, showing off the rolling expanse of farmland that existed outside the walls of the city. Purple fields of flax and saffron gradually blended into the greens of wheat and grapevines, and the landscape itself seemed to ripple as breezes combed through the scenery. The late afternoon skies still recovered from last night’s rain, and a few grey clouds hung onto the otherwise clear blue canvas. The walk was perfect for tourists who would swarm the city like bees at peak season.

The fields stretched on for a few hours before the hills to the south stopped rolling and jutted sharply into sheer rock faces, a formation which was known collectively as the Virage. The hills to the north had changed from agricultural land to the forest of the Verdant Expanse. By twilight, the Virage crested low, and the untamed Mornset Countryside became visible in the distance, and as the sun dipped below the horizon Lahar suggested bedding down along the treeline for the night. 

----

It had been four days on the road at this point, more than halfway to their destination. The past hour had dealt them an ill-tempered hydra, which had put them both in a bad way before Rex managed to incinerate it. Lahar’s survivalist magic had kept them alive, but to recover properly they were forced to make camp earlier than anticipated.

The campsite was minimalistic that evening as they only bothered to set up the tent and find a water source. Rations would have to do for the night; hunting and foraging was too much of an effort, and hydras were inedible much to their disappointment. Dark skies had threatened rain all day and the tension in the air alluded to something more impressive than a drizzle. The tent was pitched a few yards inside the forest, underneath a short but sturdy-looking oak at the top of a slope. They set up quickly and crawled through the canvas flaps just as the first drops began to fall.

“How’s the bite?” Rex asked his ranger companion, who had thrown himself onto his bedroll almost immediately after entering the tent.

Lahar groaned, wiggling off the rest of his armor to assess the hip wound properly. “It sucks. Nothing I won’t be able to sleep off though,” 

The light pattering of rain on their tent suddenly crescendoed into a roar as the deluge hit. They decided to not attempt conversation and instead started in on their rations. The bacalhau from the Nixie Bazaar was worth the risk of being caught, Lahar firmly believed, and Rex had to admit that it beat the tasteless jerky the Clasp offered. 

The black-haired tiefling took out his daggers from their scabbards. Though he had managed to get the worst of it off earlier, the blades were still caked in crusty ochre-colored blood. He took out his cleaning kit and set to work. A blue-tinted opalescent fog began to fill the tent, as if Lahar was calling upon spirits as he smoked.

Rex allowed himself a momentary glance at his former protege. The elf had joined the Clasp’s forces not six months earlier, coinciding with Rex’s own return. Spireling Ymil had assigned the new member to Rex as part of his probation, a decision that he had originally not been enthused about but soon came to appreciate. Lahar proved to have an offbeat personality that instantly clicked with the rogue, and was not lacking in any natural talent for thieving either. According to himself, he had previously taken up with a few roving bands of hunters deep in the Mornset Countryside, and had developed and honed his abilities there for many years. 

As with all things dealing with the Clasp, there were a few questions that could be asked about what caused him to join. Unlike René, however, Rex never found himself needing to know everything, and never made a move to ask about Lahar’s past. To his appreciation, this favor was returned in kind, resulting in a comfortable partnership that lasted even after Lahar was branded a full-fledged Clasp member. They had been working together ever since. 

The torrential downpour had subsided to a steady rainfall when Lahar spoke up, his naturally low voice raising ever so slightly to be heard over the din. “So, this artifact. Crystal balls are supposed to scry on people, yeah? How creepy is that?”

An obsidian, infinitely reaching tower flashed across Rex’s mind. “I know I’d hate that,” he answered, taking out the oil from his kit and getting to work on the leather grips.

“But Ymil said that it also-- knew things, if you asked the right questions. Do you think it’s sentient? Like, some ancient guy fucked up somewhere and trapped himself in an orb?”

“I don’t know if you’d be able to cast a spell if your soul was trapped. At least, that’s what I remember from Lucius’s books,” 

Lucius was the exception to their silent agreement. A month ago, his older brother had interrupted them in the middle of a job. Furious at Rex for taking his gold before leaving Emon, he had come to collect with a vengeance. It was the first time Rex had ever fought together with Lahar, and he had been taken aback by how readily the elf had rushed to his aid. His brother, upon being defeated with two daggers and an arrow to his throat, had sardonically congratulated Rex for making a friend before disappearing into a cloud of sparks. 

(“I robbed my brother and he’s not happy about it,” the rogue had said by way of explanation.)

(“He probably deserved it,” the ranger had answered. And that was it on the subject.)

“Probably not sentient then,” Lahar decided. He sat back up, wincing as he was reminded of the bite mark, and began unlacing his boots. “Do you think there’s a limit to the number of questions you can ask it? Or who can ask them?”

“I don’t know,” The tiefling finished oiling the last bits of leather on the hilt and put the newly cleaned blades back into their sheaths. He paused as he mulled the questions over in his mind. 

“Maybe we should find out,” he said slowly. A slight mischievous smirk crept across his face as he turned to face his traveling companion. “Once we find it, I mean. Ask it a few questions and see what comes of it.”

Lahar took off a boot and set it aside. “I was thinking along the same lines. Might ask if you’re ever gonna be able to fuck the spireling,” 

Rex flung his dingy pillow right at Lahar’s smug expression. The offending party dodged out of the way, laughing softly, and the pillow hit the canvas behind him with a dull thud. Thunder boomed from miles away, and the rain began to pick up again, sounding like gravel pouring onto a rooftop.

“I’ll take first watch,” Rex said, abruptly changing the subject. Lahar, still looking overly proud of himself, nodded and packed up his pipe and whatever recreational substance he used, then laid down faced away from the tiefling. About ten minutes later he began to levitate, signalling that the elf had started his deep trance. 

The tiefling spent his watch figuring out his question for the crystal ball.

----

“Fuck! They keep coming?” Rex’s blades sung as they cut through one of the gelatinous oil slicks that had come to life not sixty feet into the cave. Where the dagger sliced a burble of ooze separated from the main body. Its actions seemed entirely autonomous and equally hostile.  

They had combed the forest outside Phandolin for some time looking for the entrance to the cave. Even with their perceptive talents, the rogue and ranger had taken over an hour to locate it; the map had proven to be hastily made up and nowhere near to scale. The mouth of the cave was covered by a thick, pale green epiphytic curtain which obscured most of the daylight, plunging the cavern into semidarkness. Neither had bothered with a torch, which, in retrospect, might have helped in spotting the pitch black ooze clinging to the ceiling, waiting in ambush.

“I’m sure slicing at it isn’t helping!” Lahar shouted, rapidly nocking an arrow and turning over his shoulder to release it. The tarlike entity recoiled, rearing up and forming its amoebic body into the shape of a fist. Lahar’s ears flattened and he darted just as the wave of pitch careened into the wall behind where he had been seconds before. 

“And your arrows are?” Rex retorted, shuffling backwards as the newly formed second ooze plashed forward. True, blades were proving to be detrimental, but what the fuck else could he do at the moment? 

“You have fire, right? Use it!” There was that, he supposed, but he was not too keen on taking a hit from a damn ooze. Part of the slick had stealthily started enveloping the elf’s boots, and Rex ran over to his partner to sever it from the rest of the amorphous entity. Lahar plucked another arrow from his hip quiver and, muttering an arcane phrase, sent a Hail of Thorns at the ooze. The arrow glowed a sparkling green and impacted into the creature, exploding into a ring of long, nasty, thorny protrusions. 

The pitchy ooze still clung to Lahar’s leg, and twisted around in a vortex of tar. He grunted and buckled slightly under the constriction. Out of the corner of his eye Rex saw a black wave headed toward them. It had been easy to avoid the sluggish attacks of the ooze. They had only stayed to deal with the gelatinous creature at present, rather than later.

“Ugh. Fine,”

The wave crashed into Rex, barreling him backwards several feet. A feral red heat surged through his veins, and he extended his arm forward and condensed the energy into a cone of flame. The force of the blast blew his unruly black hair flat against his head. When the fire of the Hellish Rebuke cleared, two piles of ash remained.

Behind him on the ground, cursing steadily, Lahar was kicking the ooze around his leg off. The slick, which had not seemed particularly strong to begin with, fell off after a mild beating, and Lahar scrambled backward, fumbling with his pack until he found his tinderbox. He took one of his arrows and set it alight, and plunged it into the ooze that had crawled its way forward. It caught fire and squirmed into ash, ending the encounter.

They got to their feet and stared deeper into the cave. Rex caught the echoes of guttural snarls coming from down the intersection to the right. His body felt like it had been run over by a draft horse.

“We should stop at Phandolin next,” he said.

“Agreed,” replied his companion.

#the upstarts #the upstarts story #dnd #dungeons and dragons #writing #taldorei campaign

[maryeemeeh]

Wolves of Manhattan

Summary: He is the rich kid from the Upper East Side with a troubled past and a dysfunctional family. She is from Greenwich Village who is pulled into the world of the rich and famous when her parents receive promotions. When their paths cross, a spark is ignited and the tables are turned when they learn they are far more connected than they thought. AU.

Originally posted on fanfiction.net

Tumblr: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

A/N: I didn’t realize I haven’t posted Chapter 7 on here. But it has been up on fanfiction.net. And yes, I am currently working on the latest chapter. I know it’s been months, but I had to get a few one-shots out of my system first before I continued with this (lol). CHAPTER SEVEN

Lucas woke up to bright light streaming through his window. He squinted and shielded his eyes, blinking a few times before he reluctantly got up and stretched. He grabbed his phone buried underneath one of the pillows and turned off the alarm before it sounded in a few seconds. He let out a long yawn and walked out of his room towards the connecting bathroom.

When Lucas had fixed himself up wearing casual dark jeans and a simple V-neck white shirt underneath a grey shawl collar cardigan, he made his way to the dining room where cooked breakfast was laid out on the table. There were blueberry waffles, bacon, breads, macaroons, fresh fruits, juice and tea that made his stomach grumble from the smell alone. He briefly looked up and met his father's sharp gaze. He was fashionably dressed in a dark grey suit and black tie. His graying hair was slicked back and his face cleanly shaven, making him appear 10 years younger. But the eyes were still so terrifyingly righteous that Lucas had to avert his gaze to the gentle blue eyes of his mother—warm and inviting in comparison to his father's hardened expression.

"Morning," Lucas greeted as his mom gave him a warm smile and signaled him to sit down and eat beside her. He obliged and took the empty seat across from his father.

Breakfast was silent except for the chewing and the scraping of forks against plates. Lucas had finished before them as he got up and began to walk out the door.

"Hold on, son." His father called out to him as Lucas turned around and sighed. "Where are you going at this hour?"

"Paying my dues, sir. Mom didn't tell you?"

"Not in that bakery you are." He murmured.

Lucas' eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?" His face remained taut, muscles rippling across his frame as he shifted.

"I got off the phone with the Dean a few moments ago, and explained to him our…delicate family situation. He has agreed for you to complete your hours at Friar Enterprises while you continue coaching Little League."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?!"

"Lucas!" His mother gasped, glancing anxiously between her husband and son. The tension in the room was almost palpable, emotions running on overload as they stared each other down.

"I just want to spend more quality time with you, Lucas." Mr. Friar explained, a nonchalant expression on his face. "Make up for lost time, is that a crime?"

Lucas lightly chuckled at the irony of the last statement. "No, you just want to control every aspect of my life as always." He retorted. His father opened his mouth, about to reply before deflating with a frown.

"I'll see you in my office in an hour." He said curtly, absently picking up his coffee mug and turning his attention over to today's paper.

Lucas' eyes flickered, a look of disbelief on his face. He glanced over at his mother, desperately pleading with his eyes, but she said nothing as she gazed at him calmly. A heavy silence filled the room, wearing down between them before Lucas regarded his father carefully.

"Whatever." His voice was surprisingly steady and collected as he grabbed the house keys from the kitchen counter and stormed out of the apartment.

A few minutes of precious peace was broken the moment another customer walked in, causing the little golden bell at the top of the door to jingle. She scrunched up her face, the smallest of sounds making her ears ring with intensity.

"Ugh." She hissed as she felt small, delicate fingers lift her head up from the table. Her limbs were heavy and her mind sluggish, but she forced herself to sit up on the chair. The morning light from the window blinded her, searing into her pupils like the fires of hell. "So this is what a hangover feels like." She groaned, accepting the water bottle that was placed in front of her. "Remind me to never drink again."

"I'm so sorry, Smackle. I should have never let you out of my sight."

"It's not your fault, Riley. I made the careless and idiotic decision to drink, not you."

"Going to the party was a stupid idea." Riley rambled on in one of her dramatic tirades, getting all worked up as the guilt forced her gaze downwards. "I'm so sorry I made you go with me."

Smackle rolled her eyes. "Would you stop that? Despite how terrible I'm feeling right now, I had fun last night." A hint of a smile graced her features as she thought about Farkle. Riley frowned and watched as Smackle rubbed her hand down her tired face. Just moments later, Evan returned to their table with two coffee mugs in hand.

"I thought this might help." He grinned, cautiously placing the coffee mugs in front of them. "Expresso macchiato for your hangover, and vanilla latte with extra whip for you, Riley."

"Oh thank you!" Smackle's gaze brightened a little at the delightful aroma of coffee. "Just what I need to restore my normal functioning."

Evan smiled, grabbing an empty seat nearby to join them and listened as they talked about the party.

"Sounds like you had a great time, Smackle." He smirked and then glanced over at Riley, whose eyes were wandering aimlessly around the room. Moments later, the bell chimed and echoed throughout the bakery, sounding another customer's arrival. They looked up as Lucas strode inside with his head hung low and one of his hands in his cardigan pocket. He placed the folded black shirt and apron on the counter by the cash register before turning around and hastily exiting through the doors.

"Okay…what's that about?" Smackle asked curiously as they exchange bewildered looks.

"I'll be back." Riley stood up and motioned towards the main entrance. Once she stepped outside, the cool morning breeze embraced her from behind while the warm sunrays hit the corners of her face. Her eyes scanned around the busy crowd, at the many pedestrians and tourists roaming the streets until she spotted him walking along the sidewalk towards the parked black Cadillac Escalade.

"Lucas!"

He stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder. His eyes went a bit wider, and he looked at her in awe as she approached him. "Hey, Riley."

"Hi…" She smiled, a genuine concern pulling at her lips. "Is everything okay? I just saw you walk in and out of there so fast." Riley stared at him for a moment and noticed his face had crumpled with emotion.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. It's my Dad…" he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked her over with gentle, emerald eyes. "He's back."

"Oh…"

"I won't be staying at the bakery. I'll be completing my hours at my Dad's company." A disappointed tone entered his voice. Riley slowly nodded, unsure of what to say. She could see the uncertainty clouding his features, the frustration and anger he was trying to desperately hide from her. So she gave him a reassuring smile—hoping it would ease some of his worries.

"No matter how you feel about him, Lucas…he is still your father who loves you and just wants what's best for you even if you don't agree with him."

He sighed as her words broke through him for a fraction of a second and completely crippled his defenses. "I know…"

A blanket of silence fell upon them; their eyes still set on one another. Lucas was sort of at a loss as he felt his heart slammed against his ribcage at the softness of her gaze. It amazed him that even though he wasn't in the best of moods when it came to his father, somehow...someway she had an effect on him that nobody ever had before. And as scary as it was, Lucas was absolutely sure she was the only one in the world who managed to make him feel the way she did.

Made him feel that everything was going to be okay.

"Anyway, I should go. My Dad is expecting me." He muttered as he took a few steps back and reluctantly began distancing himself from her. "I'll see you around."

Riley nodded, smiling lightly as she watched him get in the back of the car and leave.

The rest of the weekend went by without much incident, and that was mostly due to the fact that Riley didn't leave her apartment once—other than going to Topanga's to help out for a couple of hours. When school rolled around, she found herself being summoned to the Dean's office at the end of first period. As she made her way towards the administration building, she spotted Missy Bradford just stepping out of the Dean's office, a mischievous smirk plastered on her face. Riley didn't think much of it as she approached Missy and greeted her with a giddy smile. "Hi, Missy."

"Oh hey, Reina."

"It's, Riley."

"Oh…right." Missy flipped her hair over her shoulder and shrugged. "Well, bye now."

"Bye!" Riley waved cheerfully and proceeded towards the office, knocking on the familiar oak door.

"Come in." The cool, composed voice belonging to her father sounded through. Pushing the door slowly with one hand, he did not look the slightest bit happy.

"Dad? You wanted to see me?" Riley asked somewhat tentatively as she cautiously entered the room.

"Yes, please sit down." He gestured as she perched on the edge of the nearest chair, not knowing what she was supposed to be guilty of or why she was even there in the first place.

"Does this belong to you?" He asked, placing a dark blue jean jacket on the desk.

"That's not mine." Riley answered truthfully.

"Missy Bradford told me she invited a few friends over for a party, and thought maybe you left it behind." He said, wearily sitting back in his chair. "But I was thinking it couldn't possibly be yours because if you had attended the party, I would have known about it." Riley swallowed thickly, unable to hide the guilt clearly etched on her face. "So why would Miss Bradford think this was your jacket?"

She drew in a nervous breath, bracing herself. "Please don't get angry, Dad."

"I'm not angry, Riley. I'm disappointed that you would lie to me."

"I didn't lie…I just left that part out." She shrugged innocently in an attempt to play it off as something unimportant.

Mr. Matthews regarded her for a moment and sighed. "You're still keeping things from me, Riley and that's being dishonest."

"I'm sorry, Dad." She lowered her gaze shamefully and scuffed her foot on the ground. "I just…I wanted to meet new people and make some friends, and I didn't tell you because I was afraid you'll say no." Mr. Matthews looked her over with a mixture of empathy and concern in his eyes. "Are you going to tell Mom?"

"No, because you are."

She sighed. "I'm so sorry, Dad."

"Just promise me it won't happen again."

"I promise..." There was a brief pause as Riley rubbed her hands together nervously. "So am I grounded?" She asked as Mr. Matthew released a light chuckle and found that he couldn't stay disappointed at her for long.

"Well...it all depends on whether or not you'll accept my proposition."

Her brows knitted together curiously. "What do you have in mind?"

"Finals are coming up and they are going to need some tutors to help out for a few hours after school. This would be a great opportunity for you to meet people and for them to see how amazing you are." Riley beamed at the thought. "That…or be grounded on your mother's terms."

"I'll take it!" She exclaimed, a bright smile suddenly radiating from her lips. "So when do I start?"

"How does right after school sound?"

Her last two period classes went by quickly as she looked forward to the end of the day when she would help someone become a better student. While waiting in the tutor center located inside the library, Riley grabbed the nearest empty table and made herself comfortable in a chair. She took out her pencil and notebook and began flipping through her science book aimlessly, unaware of the doors opening behind her.

"Uh…Riley Matthews?"

A masculine voice sounded, pulling her from her thoughts. Her brown eyes met his warily as surprise registered in her mind when she recognized him.

"Yes?"

"Hi, I'm Thor. It looks like you're my tutor." He smiled, taking a seat across from her at the table as he handed her an official tutor assignment slip with their names printed on them. "Not exactly my favorite subject, but I have a history quiz by the end of the week, and I need to turn my C- into a B+ if I have any chance of getting into Columbia."

She narrowed her eyes, studying him carefully. He looked handsome with his built physique and soft brown hair that fell just above his light brown eyes. "You're the guy that had a bit of a scuffle with Lucas in the hallway the other day."

He cocked a brow at her mockingly, amused. "And you must be the pretty new girl who is also the Dean's daughter." Her lips parted in disbelief as a light chuckle escaped his lips. "Oh come on, two new people at the school who arrived at the same time with the same last name." He smirked. "Even I don't need a tutor to figure that one out."

"Are you making fun of me?" She huffed.

He blinked and flashed her a puzzled look. "I wasn't trying to be funny. I was simply stating the obvious."

Riley closed her science book and released a sigh. "Okay, if I'm going to help you…I need to know the kind of person I'm dealing with because if you're gonna be the jerk I saw in the hallway the other day, then you can just forget about it. Because guess what? We all have problems, and we shouldn't have to put it out on other people."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He felt a strange sense of weariness settle over him as he gazed at Riley. "Is that was Lucas is telling you?" His shoulders relaxed as the barest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "You care about him." It sounded more like a statement than a question as Riley felt his eyes studying her.

"So do you."

"You don't even know me, Princess."

Riley frowned and chose her next words carefully. "I know you guys used to be close friends, and despite your big ego, you miss him." Thor opened his mouth to quickly reply, only to find that no words would leave him. He remained silent, and she can see from the way his face darkened that she has hit a nerve.

"Are you my tutor or my shrink?" He addressed her with a warning tone that she was crossing the line. But at this point, Riley couldn't stop herself. She couldn't help herself when an opportunity arose—the need to help people, to fix those who were broken. If she couldn't fix what was happening between Lucas and his father, then maybe she can mend a friendship.

"Whatever you need me to be." She answered as Thor blinked, looking as surprise as she did. It felt so utterly strange being cared for by someone he barely knew, and yet there was something about it that was almost soothing. There was a short silence as her eyes fell from Thor's inquiring gaze to the open history book on the desk. She swallowed weakly, propping her chin on her hands as she felt her cheeks flush. "Alright then. World War II."

To be continued…

Tumblr: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Fanfiction: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

#rucas #rucas fandom #rucas fanfic #rucas fanfiction #rucas squad #riley matthews #lucas friar #riley x lucas #lucas x riley #liley #riley and lucas #lucas and riley #gmw #gmw fanfic #gmw fandom #gmw fanfiction #girl meets world #girl meets world fandom