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melodyofmbaku · 3 years

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In Between the Lines Chapter 2 (Erik Stevens x OC)

Teaser [1]

Prompt: “C'mon, I wanna hear you say it.”

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst... I can’t help it.

That was her problem.

Elloise couldn't see. So she liked to touch.

It was how she was able to experience the world. It was also the bane of Erik’s existence.

She was always fiddling & touching and it drove him right up the wall.

Didn't she know that some people would misinterpret her actions?

That’s exactly why he hung around her so much, she was entirely too trusting. And he didn't want someone with ill intentions to take advantage of her.

That’s what it was.

Not because he wanted her hands to be on him and him only.

Or because he wanted to see exactly what that mouth could do.

It was because she had a bleeding heart for every seemingly suffering individual and it would be her downfall.

That’s what it was.

As such he made it his mission to weave his way into her days because Elloise was one of the few people he actually liked around here.

He remembers the first time he met the woman who had ownership of his heart.

It was 2 years ago when hehad just arrived at the palace. The place that was supposed to be his home. After he decided to work alongside T’Challa to better improve relations between Wakanda and the rest of the world it was decided.

He could learn more about his father, his birth place, and detach from his old hobby.

Killing people.

So when the young man approached him with a smile on his face and gesturing towards his gear he put a stop to it quick.

He still had some of his pieces on him and he didn’t want that getting messed with.

He rolled his eyes and mumbled an “nah I’m good boss” under his breath before walking around him.

The man began to follow him, looking intently at him with a confused look on his face.

“Do you need some help with your bags?” He gestured to his belongings once more.

“I’m good man.” He responded back again lowly. What was this dude’s problem?

Then he heard it. Her.

"Would you quit mumbling under your breath? If you have something to say, speak up, if not, you'd be better off shutting up".

He looked to the side and took in the woman who emerged from one of the many entrances that lead to the front hall.

She looked lithe and soft. She had dark skin and plump lips, wild coily hair, and a dress that accentuated her waist dangerously. Her cleavage was artfully on display and he was definitely taking a look.

This was the exact kind of woman he enjoyed whining, dining and bending over at the end of the night.

He would also probably do something wicked to that mouth…

He cocked his head and the corner of his lip lifted up in amusement.

“What you say ma?”

He watched as she walked towards him with intent and an odd aura of grace.

Interesting.

She stopped much too close to him.

"Erik... when you entered these grounds — the palace — my house — because that's what this is... my house — you consented to abiding to the rules of this household”.

"Some of which include forgoing your "I used to kill people for a living" vibe so that the differently abled individuals in the residence can comfortably get their jobs done".

What was she going on about? Differently abled?

She gestured to the young man who came to take his bags.

"James is hard of hearing. It helps that you speak clearly, and preferably facing him, so he can better assist you".

Erik turned to take him in. Then he saw it.

James smiled politely and gestured to the tiny hearing aid that was discreetly placed behind his ear.

Erik swallowed. He felt like a dick. He palmed the back of his neck.

"Nah uh... I'll carry my own weight." he responded after clearing his throat.

James nodded and looked back at the woman as if waiting for a command.

She turned to him "Thanks James, it seems like Mr. Stevens has it covered. You can go now."

The young man nodded and went on his was and Erik could’ve sworn he heard a snicker from him as he retreated. He glared at his retreating back.

"Can I touch you"? she asked tilting her head.

"What"? he asked confused.

She gestured toward his face. “Can I touch you? Your face specifically”. She repeated.

Erik squinted still trying to understand what exactly her problem was.

"Why the fu —". She never let him finish.

"We'll be spending a lot of time together now that you’re officially part of the royal family”.

“What’s that gotta do with you touching me?”.

"To save you further embarrassment, and a repeat scenario… in case you missed it Mr. Stevens... I'm blind". She pointed to her eyes to convey her point.

There was a moment of silence before Erik realized.

He wasn't sure how he missed it. He was getting comfortable and terribly out of practice.

She had done a very good job of presenting as normal as possible.

He ducked lower to her level to meet her eyes. True enough her deep brown eyes were unfocused and there seemed to be a gray film over them but they were brown nonetheless.

She repeated her question.

"Can I touch your face, so I know what you look like?” she gestured to him leaning forward invasively close.

“What if I say no”? He responded back defiantly. She wouldn’t catch him slipping twice.

“Then you say no”. she shrugged leaning back.

“I wouldn’t touch you without your consent, another one of our house rules that I hope you’ll remember”. She replied in a patronizing fashion.

He took offence.

“I’m a killer, not a rapist.” he spat out.

“That’s good to hear”. she commented before walking up the stairs encouraging him to follow.

“I’ll show you to your room, and it’s a pleasure to meet you Erik.”

And that was the beginning of their relationship.

He idled about and nursed a drink in his hands and tried to look the least bit engaged at this donor dinner. He hated these dinners.

He’d have to watch Elloise on his cousins arm the entire night. Not to forget the attendees who were there for selfish political gain alone.

He watched closely as she made the rounds with T’challa around the room. She had chosen a deep green dress with a dangerous V that held his attention throughout the night.

T’challa paraded her around the room like the gift she was and he knew this was the part of him she fell in love with.

That’s why he was surprised to find her alone and still dressed to the nines in the palace kitchen in the middle of the night.

He had changed into his comfortable sweats and made his way over to decide on which concoction of alcohol would knock him out for the night.

She had a plate of lamb and potatoes untouched in front of her.

She didn’t startle when he spoke. She probably knew he was here based on his cologne or possibly just heard him when he came in.

“Midnight snack?” He paused and sat in the seat across from her.

“I got the chef to make me something then sent him away.” She spoke clearly. He heard the hardness in her voice.

She was upset.

He saw that the lamb sat on the play uncut and her hands lay in her lap.

“Let me get some of that.”He reached over for the plate and she stopped him.

“Erik. I like lamb.” She held onto the plate refusing to let up.

He sighed.

“Here, I got it.” He stretched his hands for the cutlery.

“I can do it myself.” She protested eyebrows furrowing.

“I know that.”

She still held onto the fork with hostility. She was upset.

“I like doing this so relax okay? You know it’s not like that.” he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and awaited her answer.

With that she reluctantly released the cutlery to him and folded her hands in her lap carefully.

She heard the fork and knife scrape against the plate as Erik cut it into pieces. She couldn't help but inhale a little bit deeper.

She liked the way he smelled. Erik always smelled like warmth..

She didn't know what to do with her hands. They were always doing something. Touching, feeling, studying, working.

She tried so hard to not be caught lacking, to be looked at as unable.

She would always have an excuse, because of her condition, but she pushed herself to insane lengths to never have to use it.

With Erik she was able to relax without being scrutinized, when it was just the two of them it was different.

This was... nice. She liked it.

"Potatoes too?" he asked wondering if he should slice up the baby potatoes that accompanied the lamb on her plate.

She shook her head — negative, she liked them whole.

"Thank you". she replied back softly.

"Don't mention it". He responded before carefully handing the fork back to her.

Her fingers lingered on his hand a moment before she pulled them away seemingly unaware.

Erik lived for moments like these.

He watched attentively as she speared the tender meat and placed it in her mouth and began to chew.

“Where’s T? Why isn’t he here with you right now?” He was sure he’d be tearing it up tonight. She looked that damn good.

She paused and looked down. “He… got called away for an emergency.”

They both knew what that meant. Erik wanted blood.

“You can’t let him get away with disrespecting you like this El. Tell somebody. The elders. Anybody.” He urged with subdued rage.

“Would they blame him? Or would his actions be chalked up to something else?” She shifted in her seat.

“Maybe how in more than one way I’m not enough.” She placed another piece of meat into her mouth and chewed slowly.

Despite the hot anger that flowed through his veins, he knew it was the truth.

He hated that it was the truth.

He despised his cousin for taking that vulnerable woman and turning her into this.

He was going to end him.

They weren’t that close anyways.

He could see it now.

He’d start from his left hip bone and do a clean cut — probably with something classic. Like a black pearl switchblade. Then he’d —

“You can’t say anything Erik.” she commanded. It was if she heard him plotting.

He scoffed.

“It’s not your right.” She said.

Her mouth was sharp as ever.

He hated that mouth.

He dreamed of that mouth.

He was the forgotten cousin. An honorary royal. Offered a position for blood ties and even then, it was decorative.

An outcast.

Maybe that’s why they got along so well.

She placed another potato between her lips.

He rose from his seat and stood behind her.

He began to remove the large decorated pins from her pressed hair. His fingers reached the nape of her neck and she finally released the tension that her body held.

“I didn’t say I was going to do anything.” He spoke lowly above her, focused on the task at hand.

She leaned into his hand and he snuck his fingers into her hair and found her scalp.

He rubbed at it gently, product would cling to his fingers later but he didn’t mind it.

“We’re the same you and I.” She hummed.

He cocked his head and continued his task.

He never understood her when she said that. But in fear of being scolded he kept quiet.

She was good. So good. He was bad bad bad.

He felt her shuffle to rise and he stopped his actions unwillingly.

She sat up and he reluctantly removed his fingers from her head.

She ran her palms down her dress to straighten it out before she looked in his direction.

“You’re harmless. ” She joked lightly before lifting her hand awaiting his arm to lead her back to her room.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Girl, you should be scared of me.” He murmured slyly.

She rolled her eyes.

He offered her his arm and she grasped it in a familiar fashion and let him lead her.

They walked leisurely through the hallways. When he didn’t get a response to his last statement he assumed his previous joke fell flat.

“Erik, when are you gonna go?” She asked softly. Her fingers added more pressure into his arms, concern lacing her tone.

She’s been pestering him for months to go to therapy — deal with his murderous thoughts.

He didn’t like the idea.

So he wasn’t going to do it.

“I’ll go when you go.” He shot back.

She sniffed and turned her face away from him.

He grinned cheekily, dimples shining through.

“You know why I can’t go. It’d be taboo for me. Plus, they treat me like an invalid.” he watched her mouth twist into a scowl.

He scoffed, and continued to lead them to her destination.

Their route was coming to an end and he knew she felt it.

As they got closer and closer to her quarters her grip tightened on his bicep. And he paused.

“Erik I’m scared.” she whispered.

“If he can do this. Openly. In our room. In our bed, then...”

“What’s next? What’s next for me?“ she looked in his direction — lost.

“If he don’t got you, I got you.” He crowded her space and bent down so he could be level with her.

She needed to understand that she could rely on him for anything. He wasn’t sure he knew just how deep his feelings went for her.

She lifted her hands to hold his face. It was how she saw. Her hands immediately found his beard. He saw the tears pool in the corner of her eyes.

“Anytime you get scared you call me. You hear me?”

Her gaze was downcast. This wouldn’t do.

“I’ll gut em. Like fishes. The whole lotta them.” He pushed out huskily.

“Erik...” she murmured disapprovingly.

“You believe me?” He asked.

“I —“

“C'mon, I wanna hear you say it.” He pushed lowly committed to making her see that she wasn’t alone, he was there.

“Yes Erik, I believe you.” She whispered lowly. She quickly wiped the tears that had slid down her face disobediently.

“Good.”

“Goodnight E.” She stepped back and turned to her door. He watched as she steadied herself.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets to stop himself from grabbing her and crushing her in his embrace.

He wanted to grab her and kiss away her fears.

Instead he subdued his wants and watched her walk through her door.

The door to the room she shared with T’Challa.

He spun around and began the familiar path back to the kitchen.

After knocking back the drink of the night he steadied himself.

Erik walked to his chambers in the same manner he did every night — longing for his cousin's wife.

Taglist:

@fd-writes @amorestevens @raysunshine78 @adreamsublime

Idek what I’m even doing with this story but lmk what you think 💜

If you want to be added to the taglist just comment.

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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hi 💜💜 i got a prompt about ian x body image a while ago (my inbox is a hot mess and i may have deleted the prompt lol, but i did paste it into my phone notes)- and i was feeling some feelings today & had some spare time amidst my travels & ended up writing this!!

prompt: can you write about ian and his relationship with his body image, esp post-canon when they move to the westside

(tw for body image/eating disorder/food mentions)

He didn’t really even think about it the first times that he did it— skipping a few meals that went unnoticed in the morning clamor of the Gallagher kitchen. He noticed his skin growing tauter and tighter around his abdomen with every passing day, a hollow absence sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

He did it for a reason—he’d been getting more lingering looks under the flashing lights at the club, more unwelcome fingers pressed against the now-present ridges on his stomach, tracing his toned upper arms. The less there was of him, the more they wanted him.

The thing about Ian is that he was always disciplined; the middle child, the one who was overlooked and ignored and blended in until he decided that he had to make a name for himself. He and Lip and gotten into hair-tugging, jaw-smashing fights about this very reality; Ian was completely, totally, absolutely ordinary. Until he made himself extraordinary—until he burst through the storefront labeled “ARMY” at a strip mall with smudged windows and said with a tall chest: I want to enlist.

Everything had led up to this— every push-up on the creaking slanted floor of their childhood bedroom, every jog at the crack of dawn. He was going to make something of himself, he was going to be a hero.

He was going to get the fuck away from Mickey, and his wife, and whatever else kept pushing him down and holding him back.

When Ian came back from the army, when he was sleeping on exposed floorboards and working at the club all night—that was when it all actually started. When he decided that less of him meant more—when he decided that he should give people the best show he could, because everything else was fucked up anyways. This was all he was good for.

But then Mickey came through the door, pale skin flashing in the strobe lights, wearing that fucking dark button-up with sleeves folded to his forearms and smelling like nice cologne that he’d almost definitely stolen from one of his brothers’ bathroom shelves; and for a brief moment after the initial shock set in, Ian was proud— proud of how much negative space surrounded him, proud of how he could press his thighs into stretched golden spandex better than any of the other men thrumming to the beat beside him on the podium. Proud of how much other people wanted him, when Mickey didn't.

It was only later, after Mickey carried him home (easily, too easily) after he’d passed out in a snowbank, and Ian had woken and waited for Mickey to burst into his bedroom door at the Gallagher house while he leaned against the wall and scribbled on a notepad— later, when Mickey was about to curl on the floor and sleep using one of Liam’s balled-up t-shirts as a pillow— that Ian noticed Mickey’s eyes lingering on his uncovered torso, a second longer than the quick glances of admiration from the well-dressed men with greased-back hair and grubby fingers at the club. It hit Ian, then, when he saw Mickey’s gaze that was soft around the edges, the same fuzziness and confusion of Fiona’s stares when he would chatter on for too long in the mornings:

He’s worried about me.

But Mickey played along— Ian was back, and Mickey stayed beside him this time, and chuckled when he walked down the stairs to the sight of Ian cutting off the bottom half of his old ROTC pants, now multiple sizes too big and hanging baggy even at the hips. Mickey curled beside him on the twin bed, silently stroking hair back from his forehead and cradling his cheeks with a feather-light touch as Lip and Liam’s even, sleeping breaths swirled around them. And Ian kept doing pull-ups, and told Carl that he liked the way that Mickey smelled. Mickey came out for him. And for a while things were really, really fucking good, and Ian didn’t even think about the gnawing hollow feeling in his stomach at all any more.

Until a grey morning came, quick and silent, and kept him frozen under the sheets for days.

In the months afterwards, Ian trained harder, faster—he met up with Fiona as she pushed Liam in the stroller and jogged beside them, ran before and after shifts at the club, did push-ups on Mickey’s grimy floor while he was out handling Rub N’ Tug shit.

I’m not Monica. This wasn’t going to happen again. His body could do this. His body could fix his brain.

It couldn’t.

Most of what happened on the “road trip” with Yevgeny (that was the only phrasing that Ian could really mentally use to name the incident, the only semiotic filler for “kidnapping” that didn’t want to make him burrow even deeper under his tattered blankets) was a blur—Mickey feeding him fistfuls of pills and room-temperature Gatorade, luring Mickey to the dugouts where he tried to do a pull-up and felt a quivering in his limbs, a weakness rather than a familiar and fulfilling burn. Slamming Mickey in the face with a fist that was too flimsy, too weak—a fist that still left the blooming of a bruise on Mickey’s jawline, a splatter of blood caking into his eyebrow. But still weak, still not enough. Definitely not strong enough to fight off two MPs with loaded guns, tangling his hands behind his back and forcing him into the backseat of a car.

More blurry days— on the road with Monica. Breaking up with Mickey. Getting a job at Patsy’s. Withering away, purple bags sagging under his eyes. Becoming less, always less.

Then, a glimmer of light— he met Caleb. He studied to be an EMT. He got a call from Mandy, got to wrap her in his arms in less-than-ideal circumstances.

“I got tired of starving myself to fit in that golden thong.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud.

He started to run again—and he started to not miss it, the hollow feeling gnawing at his insides, the twisting lack. He met Trevor, he went to brunches, he ordered mimosas and muffins and kept himself in shape, but didn’t push himself too far.

So it surprised him, really, when once again his body and mind weren’t in sync.

That was the biggest thing he’d think about, in the idle hours of he and Mickey’s prison cell, months later—that for once in his life, years after the nights at the club or the hazy early mornings at Patsy’s or in a baggy janitor uniform, he was actually doing really, really fucking good. He had a following. He was strong. Or at least he thought he was.

But something about being near Mickey pulled him out of his head and into his body, centered him— it always did. Mickey had always liked his body; Ian remembered how Mickey’s eyed at lingered that night at the dugouts, when they were two kids doing pull-ups and Mickey watched his muscles clench in the moonlight, two sets of shining eyes and bodies warm with beer leaning closer to each other in the muggy air. But Ian never felt a need to flaunt his body, or change his body, for Mickey— and in so many ways, those first days in prison were like his body was coming home. Sometimes it was hard, and fast, and filthy words whispered into each other’s skin—and sometimes it left them grasping for breath in an entirely different way, in fingertips lazily skimming over collarbones and fisted into roots of hair, of breathed “Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful”s escaping Mickey’s parted mouth that Ian mentally stored but never brought up again, because he knew in the best case scenario Mickey would just roll his eyes and call him a “soft bitch,” and in the worst he would just flat-out deny it. But Ian felt balanced in a way he hadn't in months, with all the "Gay Jesus" bullshit pressing in. He took his meds, he did his nightly sit-ups, he counted down the days—until the hourglass was slipped out from under his fingertips and he was teleported back to the Gallagher house, back to the place where so much of this began and so much was about to end.

The hollowness, the hunger, didn’t really need to be there anymore once he was out— it was only a dull murmur. A ghost, a memory trapped in dreams of strobe lights and prying hands.

Mickey got out, and they got married—and in the moments before Ian called Mickey an “ugly motherfucker” as he let a smile crack onto his face—and he knew Mickey felt it, knew Mickey heard: I have never known anyone as beautiful as you.

And Ian’s fullness just kept blooming and compounding and radiating after the wedding; they fought, and then they didn’t, and it didn’t matter anyways because they were fucking married. Ian kept doing sit-ups before they went to bed, even though he felt like he didn’t really have to anymore. Something big had shifted; something had settled and given way, had filled in all the cracks.

So he’s surprised, when they move to the West Side, and that feeling starts to stir again; faint, fuzzy, like some sort of invasive and shapeless amoeba in the dark corners of his brain, whispering and hissing that there should be less of him. On their first morning in the new place he heads to the gym, wearing a camo t-shit that covered his torso and shoulders—and of course he ends up making a fool of himself next to some guy, some guy that he could have been, with sweaty toned abs and bronzed skin and rippling muscles. He doesn’t know why it gets to him, that small interaction—he’s so much happier now, so fucking happy he’s buzzing with it, but there’s also something churning in the faultlines of transition; that aching for hollow absence and stretched skin and interested eyes, that feeling that made him woozy and lightheaded as a kid but also sickeningly proud, like every moment of standing tall, of dancing, of staying alive was a statement, a challenge, a test of how much he could push his ability to be desired.

He immediately pushes the thought down. He doesn’t fucking need that anymore to keep his head above water; he’s stable, he’s loved, he’s fed. He’s growing organic tomatoes, and definitely developing a farmer’s tan from his days hunched over their way-too-tiny community garden plot tenderly watering and pruning the vines and brambles. He is desired. So it doesn’t make fucking sense that the hunger, the clawing in his stomach for the absence, doesn’t really stop.

“Okay Gallagher, spill.”

Ian felt his eyebrow raise instinctively at Mickey’s tone. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at this fancy fucking chicken thing you made for, like, twenty minutes. Stop staring at it and eat your goddamn dinner.”

He felt a twist in his gut. I don’t want to.

“M’actually not really that hungry.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck’s up? You stressed about work shit?”

Ian huffed out a breath of relief. “Nah. It’s not that.” He fiddled with his fork on the plate, drawing lines into the sauce pooled under the tomato-basil chicken he’d made. It was healthy, it was good, he’d worked out today; he could stomach a couple bites of dinner if he fucking had to. He just had to work up to it. Even the smell was making his stomach twist— it had smelled good while he was cooking it, placing fresh-scented basil leaves into the simmering sauce, but now it just was too much.

Mickey’s boot nudged against his calf from under the kitchen island. “Ey. Is it a tired thing? Or a… sick thing?” His eyes darted to their kitchen cupboard, where Ian kept his meds on the bottom shelf by the water glasses. “Or, like, a food thing?”

Ian felt his fingers go slack around his fork. “A food thing?”

“Yeah, man, y’know. When you get all weird about food.”

A tightness in his chest. “What the fuck? I don’t get weird about food.”

Mickey’s eyes flickered to meet his—and Ian would have gotten more pissed off if he didn’t see the soft concern bleeding into Mickey’s gaze, how cautiously Mickey was trying to broach the topic. Ian blew out a breath. Of fucking course Mickey noticed this shit— he always did.

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re usually good, especially compared to when you were fucking starving yourself when we were kids. But, uh… I don’t know.” Now it was Mickey’s turn to play with his food, scraping his fork along the remnants of sauce on his plate that was nearly clean. “You got kind of weird about working out and shit in prison. And then at the house, with all the quarantine bullshit the first few weeks. Eating fuckin’ cereal all the time, then not eating at all. You’ve been normal since then, or whatever. Lookin’ healthy.” Ian felt Mickey’s gaze drag over him. “Just don’t want you getting stressed out and not eating again or whatever.”

Ian felt a muted warmth blooming in the hollow of his stomach, filling in the cracks of where the jagged feeling continued to claw. If it was anyone else laying out this fucking analysis of his habits Ian would’ve gotten defensive—or at the very least annoyed, that someone was pinning down yet another one of his behaviors, putting them under a fucking clinical microscope.

But of course, this was Mickey— and the difference with Mickey was that he cared, he cared so much that it made Ian’s body ache every time he realized it. Those words wouldn’t have come tumbling out of Mickey’s mouth if they hadn’t been building for a while, hadn’t been gnawing away at some corner of his mind over time.

Ian raised a hand over the table to clasp into Mickey’s warm palm—reaching over the empty plate, the plate of uneaten food.

“It’s, uh. A food thing.”

Mickey’s eyes met his—open, listening.

“You’re right about all the starving myself shit from forever ago. And the not eating. And the… quarantine stuff. I guess I just thought that now that things were good, it’d go away? And I feel so fucking good right now. But sometimes I just have weird days.”

Mickey huffed out a breath. “I fucking know you do, dumbass. M’just saying that I notice that shit. And we can figure it out.”

Ian felt the corner of his mouth tick upwards. “I really thought it was gonna go away. I’m a fucking adult.”

Mickey shrugged. “Sometimes shit doesn’t work like that, Gallagher.” He chugged a sip of water from his glass, apparently glad that this heavier part of the conversation was over now that he knew what was up. “It’s like what you tell me about my shit with Terry. Trauma doesn’t just magically fucking disappear.”

Trauma. He’d never really thought about it like that before—he had plenty of childhood shit to work through, between abandonment and raging mental illness; and he’d never really thought that his body image issues made the list.

But maybe they did— maybe this was another wound, one that he could learn to heal.

Mickey kicked his shin under the table. “There’s cereal and stuff in the cabinet, I got the Fruit Loops shit you like. Want me to wrap up the chicken and shove it in the fridge?”

All he could do was nod— and once again feel that warmth on his insides that Mickey was this good, that he knew how to make shit like this easier.

And he snuggled into the couch beside his husband, a bowl of soggy cereal in his hands.

#idrk what this is but i wrote it at LIGHTNING speed #can u tell that i reached the destination of my childhood home & am having lots of thoughts and feelings about body image LOL #i was like !!! i have a prompt about this #love u all xoxo #gallavich #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ixm #tw eating disorder #tw food mention #tw ed #tw body image

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levis-hazelnut · 3 years

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Summary: when you and your best friend, Hanji, were younger, you had made up stories about your dream guys - what they would look like and how you would meet. What happens when the one you had made up appears to be real?

Warning(s): suggestions of sex. please do tell me if there are anymore.

Taglist (closed): @castellandiangelo @fandom-addict19 @20coldhearts

Status: completed

part 10 > part 11 > part 12 (final)

series masterlist

(a/n: sorry this is me just being thirsty for levi, it’s completely self indulgent and barely has a plot)

I think what I’m about to tell you right now is probably one of the biggest surprises.

So, you know how both of my relationships never lasted longer than five months? Well, my relationship with Levi has been going on for eleven months now. Almost a whole year. Which means I’ve been living in heaven for the past eleven months.

This man is just amazing in every way possible (but please don’t tell him I said this because he’s going to piss me off). He can pretend that he doesn’t care about anything all he wants because I know how much of a sweetheart he actually is, and I hate him for making me fall even more in love with him.

And another reason why I hate him is because--

That god awful sound of my ringtone screamed into my ear and I knew who it was, seeing as how there was only one person who would call me at eight a.m. on a Saturday.

With a few grumbled curses, I blindly reached for my phone and answered it, “What?”

“Good morning to you, too, darlin’.”

“For god’s sake, just tell me what you want. I’m trying to sleep.”

“I’d like for you to get your ass out of bed since our exam starts in less than twenty minutes.”

... Wasn’t it the weekend?

“... Excuse me? Exam? Since when?”

“Look at your calendar, please, you idiot.”

“I may or may not have put it into my calendar because I relied on you,” I muttered, jumping out of bed and scrambling to find some clothes before quickly brushing my teeth and trying to fix my bed head.

“Also, stop by at the café before you come. I want tea.”

“Are you fucking dumb? I’m not stopping to get you tea when I’ll already be late.”

“It’s on the way. It’ll only add a couple of minutes to your journey.”

“If I’m late, I swear I’m going to--”

“It won’t be my fault if you’re late. Thank you for getting me tea. Love you. Bye.”

He cut the phone before I could even reply and I rolled my eyes, slamming the apartment door behind me as I rushed down the stairs and made my way to the café to get Levi his precious tea since I’m such a loving girlfriend.

With a shrill ring of the bell above the door, my arrival was announced as I looked to the counter to see Eren talking to Levi, with a cup of tea in his hands.

I frowned, marching towards them to slap the back of the raven’s head.

“What the hell?” he spat, flicking my forehead in retaliation.

“What happened to getting you tea, so I can be late to the exam?”

“There is no exam, darlin’.”

“What do you mean? Why did you tell me that there was an exam? Why would you make me lose precious hours of sleep?”

“Seeing as how you don’t remember, I’ll remind you. Last night you asked me to help you study. For the exams. But I didn’t think you’d get out of bed for our study session.”

“Stop knowing me so well and let me sleep. Now, you have to buy me a cof--” I cut myself off when he presented a hot cup to me and the aroma of coffee wafted around my nose, calming me down after I took a sip. “Thank you, babe.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied before turning to the male with turquoise orbs. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“No problem. I also cleared a table in the corner for you guys, so that you wouldn’t get too distracted.”

“Aw, thank you, Eren,” I grinned. “Come on, let’s get this shit over with,” I huffed, dragging the raven towards the table, where we both sat down, and he took things out of his bag before tucking it under the table.

“What do you want to focus on?” he asked, and then glancing at me when I didn’t respond because I was too busy focusing on the black t-shirt he was wearing. Perfectly fitted around his arms, tight around his torso and pecs, exposing the ripples that I love to run my fingers over. And he was wearing a couple of silver rings on his hands, and I didn’t think he’d be able to look more attractive.

“... You,” I replied to his question with a smirk, causing him to roll his eyes.

“I will walk out of this café if you don’t stop staring at me like a freaking weirdo and if you don’t pay attention to what I’m saying.”

“But I’m tired,” I whined, facepalming the table.

“That’s not my fault.”

“I will fucking kill you, Levi. You were the one that decided to call me for five hours last night. And the one who thought it’d be a wonderful idea to wake me up at eight in the morning.”

“... Fine. We don’t have to start straight away,” he told me, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to bulge even more.

“Don’t sit like that.”

“Why?” he questioned, raising a single brow.

“Because I’m sure you don’t want to get fucked in a café.”

“Why are you always so horny, you freak?”

“You’re asking me that question while looking like that?” I scoffed with the roll of my eyes. “The audacity.”

“Just drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

“I will. By the way, do we have to stay in here? Can we go to the library or somewhere quieter?”

“Why? So you can fuck me?”

“No, you idiot. I just won’t be able to concentrate with all these people.”

“But you’ll get too sleepy if it’s quiet.”

“True,” I mumbled. “Okay, then. Just give me like half an hour and I should be ready to study.”

“What am I going to do for thirty minutes?”

“Maybe talk to your girlfriend, smartass,” I retorted, laying my head on the table again, squishing my cheek against it. There was no response, so the only sounds were the chatter of customers, glass clinking, and air conditioning because of the sweltering weather. I glanced at my boyfriend, wondering why he was silent, only to find that he was gazing at me. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” was his reply, which was unusual, before he took a sip of his tea.

“What are you thinking about?”

“About how we ended up here. Together. In a relationship.”

A tender smile conquered my lips as I reached my hand out for his, interlocking our fingers. “Thank you, Levi. For loving me like no one else did. And no matter how much you get on my nerves, I’m always going to appreciate you being here for me.”

“I’m not good with this shit, so yeah, same thing goes to you,” he said awkwardly, causing me to laugh.

“Can’t believe it’s going to be our one-year anniversary in about two weeks.”

“Going to be a year since I entered hell.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, kicking his shin, despite knowing he was joking.

“... You know what, let’s just go,” the raven-haired male randomly stated, standing up and gently tugging on my hand as our fingers were still intertwined. To my one-word question of: “Where?” he replied, “I don’t know, but I don’t feel like it’s day that we should study. We have plenty of time for that, so let’s do something.”

My hues shone brightly as I grinned and gladly accepted his offer, getting out of my seat and grabbing my coffee as he packed his things away prior to leading me out of the stuffy building, bidding farewell to Eren.

“Let’s go to your place. We’ll make breakfast, have it on the balcony, and do whatever after.”

“'Kay, then. But can we slip in a nap after breakfast because I’m still tired?” I requested.

“Of course.”

So, we made way to mine and Hanji’s apartment, relieved that I didn’t have to study all day today and could simply relax with the raven. That fact made me smile a little as I unlocked the door to the apartment, stepping inside and kicking my shoes off as Levi did the same, following you to your bedroom.

“Ten minutes, please. Then, we begin our date,” I sighed, plopping down onto my bed and he made himself comfortable, shifting my head onto his lap. Then, his slender digits began to soothingly drift through my tresses that were completely tangled, so he had gently unknotted my hair to make it easier to run his fingers through it.

“Remind me to never wake you up this early on a weekend again.”

“I always tell you, asshole. And you never listen to me.”

“Well, I’ve finally learnt my lesson. So, hush.”

After my ten-minute rest, I went to splash my face with water to wake me up a little, while Levi was in the kitchen, preparing everything for breakfast, seeing as how the only thing he ate for breakfast was tea and toast, and I only had coffee.

“Hey, darlin’, what do you want to eat?”

“Mmm, maybe crepes... Let me help.”

So, in the next forty minutes, I ended up with flour on my face and clothes, while that idiot was just smirking at me, and I had slipped because there was water on the floor. And all of it was amusing to my boyfriend, who seemed to be in a great mood since he kept chuckling (not that I was complaining because it was a beautiful sound). The annoying thing, though, was that I was too irritated to mock him wearing my floral apron that made him lose his debonair flair.

“You’re an idiot with her own comedy show,” he teased.

“I don’t know if that is a compliment or not.”

“It isn’t. I’m calling you an idiot.”

“Shut up. You’re the reason I’m covered in flour.”

“Just go sit down and eat. I’ll clean everything up.”

“You better, you clean-freak,” I mumbled, doing as he said, taking a seat at the table on the balcony as he placed down the plates and mugs before sitting opposite me. The sun grinned down on him, giving him an ethereal appearance and making him even more gorgeous.

There was idle chatter as we ate because I was too exhausted and agitated to carry a proper conversation that had too much information for my brain to register.

Once we were done, the raven stood up to take the dishes to the kitchen and wash them (husband material right there) as Hanji approached me with a yawn, rubbing the fatigue from her eyes.

“How come you’re awake so e-- Oh,” she said when she noticed Levi.

“Yeah, he made me get out of bed early for no reason,” I complained as I stood up to help him. “There’s leftover batter for crepes, by the way.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks. Also, why is there flour everywhere?”

“Because of that idiot.” I rolled my eyes.

“You’re the idiot, darlin’,” he called from the kitchen before appearing before us, shooting an annoying and teasing look my way, and shot him a glare in return.

From someone else’s perspective that don’t know us, we’d probably look like we hate each other, when in reality, this was basically our love language - annoying each other and glaring.

“I will punch you, Ackerman. However, I need to clean up, so you’re lucky.”

“Not like you would’ve, anyway. And before you say anything else, just go shower.”

Once again, I rolled my eyes but left the room to do as he said, grabbing some clothes and a towel before going into the bathroom. Just as I was about to close the door, however, it opened slightly and Levi stepped inside, shutting and locking the door.

“What are you doing?” I inquired.

“I said I’ll clean everything up, didn’t I? That includes you,” he whispered with a smirk, leaning in to latch his lips onto mine, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

~/~

Soft kisses were pressed along my hairline and my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, down to my jaw and further down to my shoulders. Lips continued to migrate, travelling to my neck where there were soft nibbles and flicks of a tongue against the flesh of my neck.

My fingers were tangled in ebony locks, damp and fragrant from our recent shower, and my nails gently scratched against Levi’s scalp as I drifted my hand through his hair. His touches were light and almost careful, like he didn’t want to hurt me, even though his teeth contrasted that when he sunk his teeth into my skin a couple of times before kissing the spot he bit as a wordless apology.

We were simply lying down in my bed, relaxing in a comfortable silence. I laid on my back with my eyes lidded, while Levi laid on his side, resting his head on my chest as he continued to pepper my skin in soft kisses and gentle nips.

These would always be my favourite moments. Just moments filled with adoration, silent declarations of love, and serenity. No teasing, annoying, or glaring. No retorts, no eye rolling, no grumbles. Only warmth, tenderness, affection.

“Darlin’?” he uttered in a hushed voice, but when I didn’t respond, he lifted his head to gaze at me, finding that I had fallen asleep. His ashen hues were full of fondness, admiring my relaxed visage before he pecked my lips and assumed his original position - his head on my chest and an arm slung over my torso.

While I was asleep, he was on his phone, scrolling through social media, occasionally sighing because he was bored. But he wouldn’t wake me up because I deserved to sleep.

It wasn’t until about twelve o’clock when I woke up with Levi’s head still laying on my chest, however, his grey orbs were hidden. So, with little movement, I attempted to reach for my phone, only to find that his fingers were entangled with mine, which made me smile softly because I hadn’t been holding his hand before I fell asleep.

And when I pressed my lips against his knuckles, his eyes fluttered open to meet mine, and there was a smile shimmering in his beautiful eyes.

“Finally awake, sleepyhead,” he hummed placing a single kiss on my jaw.

“Mhm. Did you miss me?” I murmured, unhinging my jaw and letting out a yawn.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, putting up an act to support his lie. “No.”

I giggled softly, kissing his forehead. “Whatever you say, babe. Anyway, what are we doing for the rest of the day?”

“I was thinking something outside because the weather’s nice.”

“Oh, I know! There’s a funfair at the park just ten minutes away. Let’s go there.”

“Sure. We’ll leave in about an hour?” he suggested, and I hummed in agreement, tugging my boyfriend closer so I could nuzzle my face into his chest before we got out of bed. “Then, we can come back later and make dinner together.”

“That sounds nice,” I said in a hushed voice, feeling sleep taking over me once again. However, Levi attempted to save me before I completely gave in.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“Shhh.”

For the umpteenth time that day, the raven rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help the smile that edged onto his lips every time.

He doesn’t know what it was. But every time I would do or say something, even if it was the most stupid and idiotic thing he’s seen, he feels something warm flutter inside. And he realises how much he’s fallen for me, which has changed him. In a good way.

And all this time I thought I was a bad influence.

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years

Text

Kinktober #8: under his loving gaze: Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

In which Steve discovers it’s possible to love two people to the bone and still be crushed by loneliness.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers (sort of) x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) VOYEURISM of the truest, you-don’t-know-you’re-being-watched kind. Vaginal sex. Male masturbation. Lots and lots of pining for not so many words.

Notes: Another one for my Marvel friends today :) The prompt for day eight is ‘Voyeurism,’ and does he ever watch. Somehow this one turned angsty. I... don’t think I’m sorry, though.

Kinktober Masterlist

Friday nights never used to be this pathetic.

Steve’s not completely sure when he got so boring. Even when he was a kid, Bucky always had one place or the other to drag him on the weekends. He’d stumble in from a backbreaking shift at the docks, c’mon Stevie, the city awaits, and Steve never really wanted to go, but it was Bucky’s sweat that paid for the roof over their heads, so he never felt good about saying no.

These days, though, his idea of fun is an evening pouring over his briefings. Letting the security footage from the compound flick idly across the monitor. He doesn’t need to watch it. Not when there’s an AI system more sophisticated than any on the planet monitoring their premises.

But Steve’s always been a little old-fashioned.

Tonight, there’s something else on his mind. It’s not something that should be plaguing his thoughts, but his brain doesn’t often listen when he decides he doesn’t want to think about something.

“Gonna be taking your post again tonight, Captain?” Tony’s voice, no matter how genuine, always felt edged with an air of mockery. Tonight’s dinner had been no different. Above the idle chatter surrounding plans for the weekend, he’d decided to speak up.

“Whaddaya mean?” Sam had asked, quirking an eyebrow in Steve’s direction with a bite of chicken-something (prepared by Vision) halfway to his mouth.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Steve remembers low dread curling in his gut at the snappy response from Tony, knowing he was setting up for a lethal blow. “Steve’s been watching all of you do the nasty.”

After his cheeks had gone an appropriate shade of maroon, Steve sputtered through the rest of dinner, insisting that there weren’t any security cameras installed in private areas of the compound.

Then again, based on the way that Tony’s eyes had sparkled once he let the subject drop, Steve isn’t so sure anymore.

The mystery of whether seems hell-bent on keeping Steve from getting any work done tonight. Any time he so much as lowers his eyes to the page, the question plagues intently at the corners of his thoughts, forcing him to re-read the same briefing line at least a dozen times before he gives up and pushes the papers aside.

He’s just going to have to figure it out. Once and for all. He slumps over the edge of the desk, taking the mouse in one oversized hand and navigating to the edge of the window that he’s got open- flicking through the normal course of security footage. Front door, hallways, kitchen, gym, garden, repeat.

Steve is not blessed with extensive computer knowledge. But he knows that the black bar at the top of the screen, scrawled with words like file, edit, preferences, refers to a list of possible commands. So he keeps clicking through them, scrolling through each option until he finds something that points him in the right direction.

Under the view tab there’s another series of options. After mousing over one called ‘cycle settings,’ he realizes that the current feeds cycling through the monitor are only one option of many.

His eyes find ‘quarters’ far more quickly than he would care to admit. For an honest moment he sits there, cursor highlighting the option. He chews hard at his lower lip.

It wouldn’t be right. It would be a violation of privacy. But it’s Friday night. Steve’s willing to bet that hardly anyone is even home at the moment. What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?

Oops, he thinks to himself as he clicks, curiosity getting the best of him. My hand slipped.

The feed that pops up before him is, as he expected, mostly empty. Some of the bedrooms are unused, showing bare rooms with bare mattresses and naked walls. Even the ones that are designated to his teammates are mostly unoccupied right now, some beds neatly made, some haphazardly rumpled.

There’s a flicker of motion out the corner of his eye that draws Steve’s attention. His heart clenches. Hard.

It’s your room. And you’re there, but you’re not alone.

The relationship that you have with Bucky is no secret. You connected with one another right away, finding peace in one another and happiness. You’ve turned Bucky into a shred of the man he used to be- smiling, grabbing for you in the kitchen, holding you close when you gather in the common room to watch movies or binge Seinfeld.

Steve’s supposed to be happy for you. Both of you. The two most important people in the world to him have found happiness with one another.

But he can’t help the rush of greed that consumes him every time you’re in front of him. Every time you put that love so proudly on display.

He wants you both for himself.

He clicks on the feed and it quickly expands to fill the entire monitor. This way, it’s easier for him to see the way Bucky looks, laid out on top of your stretched body. His knees are between your thighs, and though his hair hides your faces in a sweep of chestnut, his body doesn’t hide the way his hands are currently working themselves under the edge of your tank top, crawling up your ribcage as he kisses you like a man starved.

Based on the angle of the feed, Steve can surmise that the camera is probably situated in the control panel by your door. He should have guessed. Tony’s a sneaky bastard at the best of times. And the concept of boundaries has always been a foreign one to anybody named ‘Stark.’

Bucky rucks your shirt up over your bare chest. Steve swallows hard. He glances over his shoulder to make sure the door to his study is closed, then turns his attention back to the screen. Bucky’s palming one of your breasts, but he’s already kissed his way down to your chest and sucks attentively at the other one.

He’s worshipping your body. God, he’s so in love with you. Steve’s not sure which one of you he wishes he could be. Both. Neither. He wants to be in the middle.

His cock is already beginning to twitch to life inside his stiff chinos, and he shifts a little to palm the growing swell of it down one thigh. His mind is working a mile a minute- wrestling between how badly he knows he shouldn’t be doing this and how badly he wants to anyway.

Bucky tugs your sweatpants down over your hips in one swift motion and Steve reaches for his fly. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

It’s not like you’re going to look over and see him there, peering at you from the other side of the camera.

He’s just thankful that there’s no sound, or he would have definitely lost it by now. He can see the way your lips are moving, though, and imagines what you might be saying to each other. Are you tender? Dirty? He wants to know it all.

Bucky’s got your pants off now, and he’s shimmying out of his shirt, too. Steve tries hard not to admire the graceful dip and swell of his best friend’s muscles. He’s loved Bucky since he was a chubby-cheeked kid, and he wished that neither of them had ever been touched by any of this. But Bucky’s beautiful now, gorgeous in a way that Steve will never be. He handles his new mass with elegance.

The dull silver glint of a dog tag dangles from Bucky’s throat as he crawls up your body again, shucking down his pants. Steve’s already digging through the fabric in his lap, pushing the folds of his pants aside and pulling out his cock. He can’t stop. It’s like his limbs are moving all their own.

You’re both naked now. To Steve, it’s like a trip to the Louvre. Priceless artwork laid out for him alone. Both your bodies are so perfect. He never knew that he could want two things, two people so badly, but to choose between you would be to choose between breath and heartbeat.

He grips the base of his cock and groans as he watches Bucky line up. He’s so careful with you, worshipping your body at every turn. He slips his metal hand beneath your thigh, intertwining his flesh fingers with yours. He leans down to kiss you, so slow and soft it makes Steve’s chest ache to watch.

He’s seen the two of you kiss before. But this is an intimate moment, meant to be shared by just the two of you. For an instant it hits Steve how intrusive this is, to be looking in on a ritual as tender and sacred as this one.

Bucky’s hips ease forward, clean lines of muscle sinking into the sides of his thighs. Steve’s hand gives an involuntary jerk. He needs this- no- deserves this- and what you never find out won’t hurt you.

For all the softness that Bucky’s shown you in the lead-up he settles into a brutal rhythm, pounding rhythmically into your body as your legs twine around his hips to pull him in. It’s even more beautiful to watch from afar, and Steve quickly matches the rhythm of your lovemaking with his fist, pumping his hips into a closed hand and slicking the fluid that leaks from his tip up and down the length of his shaft.

“Fuck,” he gasps, despite himself. “fuuuck.”

Bucky lasts longer than he does.

Steve can’t help himself. Bound by nothing but his own pleasure, he cums fast. His thighs hit the underside of his desk as he swears and jerks and tugs on his cock, bucking his hips into nothing and spurting quick bursts over his fingers and palm. The pleasure that rushes his system is little compared to what he’d feel if he were with you, but… it’s all he can bear to take for himself.

He stays to watch the two of you finish, transfixed by the way Bucky’s hand slips between your legs and your mouth pops open in a silent cry. Even without hearing you he can tell when you’ve hit your peak- your whole body shivers and he fucks you through it, calm and steady as the tide.

He doesn’t last much longer after that, though, and Steve watches in awe. Bucky draws up so tight before he cums it looks like he’s going to snap, all the tendons and muscles in his body stretched to the breaking point. And when it hits him, he collapses forward, thrusting madly into you before his knees go shaky and he just buries himself to the hilt and stops. He trembles against you. Trails kisses down your whole body. And when he pulls out, his softening cock is followed by a handful of fluid- so much- and Steve comes back to himself so quickly he closes the entire security program and unplugs the desktop.

The weight of what he’s just done settles over his shoulders. But, fuck, he loved it. The image of you and Bucky and your bodies moving as one is printed permanently into his mind.

As he cleans himself up and gets dressed again, he wishes there was a way for him to make you both see. If he could just show you how much he adores you, both of you, maybe you’d let him in. If you knew that he didn’t want to come between you, maybe things would be different.

For tonight, though, all he’ll have is stolen memories. And for now, it has to be enough.

#stucky x reader #stucky x you #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #MCU #captain america x reader #kinktober #jbbkinktober2020 #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #bucky

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sunshinejihyun · 4 years

Text

Enamored || Lucien

Author’s Note: So! This is my first time writing for Lucien, and I’m only on chapter 11 of the game so I apologize if he seems out of character for him later in the game, this is just how I find him right now.

Summary: Lucien finds love in a place he never expected: the orphanage he volunteered at

Warnings: Brief mentions of familial death, mutual pining, kinda a slow burn?

Word Count: 2568

Masterlist

On your 15th birthday, your present from the world was your parents passing in a terrible accident, leaving you to live on your own. Not too long after your family left you, you got taken in by an orphanage with a kind man as an owner who raised you as he would his own child. Now, at age 22, you were doing all you could to give back to the man who helped raise you, that included continuing to live at the orphanage and donating all your extra time to giving love and attention to all the wonderful children living there now.

As you groaned from being awoken by a soft kick to your stomach, you shoved your head into the thin mattress you were sharing with a child who had taken a particular liking to you. Peony was a sweet little girl with a kind smile, but she was a restless sleeper and you always ended with various bruises from her knocking into you during the night. Taking a deep breath, you rolled out of the bed, going over to the window that overlooked the large gate that kept all of the intruders who wanted to exploit the children out. As long as you remembered, you were completely intrigued with the volunteers who showed up early in the morning on weekends and spent their time reading, teaching, or just talking to the children. Every morning that there were volunteers there, you would wake up early as well and watch as the first group of early rising children ran out to greet the people they’d grown fond of, an endearing grin adorning your face.

This morning was different though; there was a new man in line. His clothes were cleanly pressed and his calculating eyes had a smile within them that you could see from far away. You watched as he bent down in front of a little boy and said something, a soft smile on his face, before the boy jumped up and shouted before throwing his chubby arms around the tall man in a tight hug.

Anxiety bubbled in your chest as the door to the sleeping area slammed open causing you to startle and you turned away from the window, grabbing a book and trying to make yourself look busy. “Is it possible you can start waking up the rest of the kids? They’re going to be sad if they miss visiting hours today..” One of the workers grabbed a broom from the corner of the room and smiled at you as you nodded your head. “Thanks, we’ve set aside some breakfast for you in the kitchen.”

When the worker left the room, you hurriedly went around and tried to wake them up so you could catch another glimpse of the new volunteer who looked so out of place in this environment. And when you did peek out of the window, you swore that the man was looking back at you.

The glances went on for days. Every weekend he would show up bright and early, and you would watch out the window as he greeted the kids before following them inside a room. By then, you also knew that it wasn’t just your imagination. The dark haired man was looking for you - at you - and watching, and that brought a flutter to your heart. You knew nothing about this person; you only knew his name from the children who came back chattering excitedly about the newest science experiment he taught them.

When the weather’s a little nicer, everyone would welcome opening a window or two and maybe then you could catch some of the soft words he spoke, but only if he was close enough to a window for the wind to pick up the sound and carry it to you. Until then, you just had to watch and wonder.

The owner of the orphanage silently watched as you curiously snuck around the orphanage, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who intrigued you so and he couldn’t help but smile as he whispered in that man’s ear that there was someone inside that day, looking for someone to help make lunch to feed the children.

You also watched the owner in horror as he whispered in Lucien’s ear before he made eye contact with you through the window, nodded, and started making his way towards the entrance near where you were currently located.

“The owner said you needed some help with lunch today?” His voice came out softer than you’d heard before and your heartbeat sped up. Lucien, noting your flushed cheeks, raised his eyebrows at you before gesturing in the general way to the kitchen.

As you chopped the apples for the children, Lucien started making the sandwiches and you both made idle conversation. You learned that he was a scientist who gave lectures and was researching a top secret project. You told him about how you got taken in here at the orphanage when you had no one and now you wanted to stay and help, to pay back the owner for the years he helped raise you. The conversation never died, it was never awkward with Lucien. One thing you’d say would lead him into talking about something else and vice versa. It was easy with him.

Before you knew it, you'd both worked your way through all the meals for the children and had no reason to continue chatting in the kitchen, so Lucien left to go back to his lab, but not before leaving without your phone number, so he can receive updates on the kids while he’s away, of course.

Late one night a few weeks later, you were awoken by your phone ringing, and you quickly grabbed it to silence it before it could wake the sleeping children. Peony only had just fallen asleep and you’d curse the person on the other end if they were the reason for her awakening.

“Hello?” Your voice came out in a soft whisper and the person on the other end laughed. You knew that laugh anywhere.

“I’m in a bit of a debacle and was wondering if you would be willing to help me out?” Lucien, the always cool and composed Lucien, sounded a bit panicked on the other end.

“Anything,” you responded before facepalming. You always seemed to make a fool of yourself when it came to Lucien and you only wished he didn’t think of you as someone who was silly and immature. “How can I help?”

“I’m actually outside the gates. Any way you can let me in and we can talk face to face?” Without responding, you threw back the covers on your legs and slipped your shoes on before quietly making your way out to where Lucien was waiting.

Sure enough, there he was, looking as dark and handsome as ever and you were thankful it was dark enough outside so he wouldn’t be able to see the flush across your cheeks and neck when you approached. “Are you okay?”

Lucien sighed and as you studied his face closer in the moonlight, you noticed the dark purples under his eyes, only barely concealed by the dark rimmed glasses he was wearing. “I’ve suddenly ran into trouble and can no longer stay at my apartment.” Glancing down at you, his mouth quirked into a small smile. “Do you think you guys have room for one more orphan for a few days? Just until I get back on my feet?”

“I’m sure we can make that work.” You replied before quietly leading the professor inside.

Lucien didn’t sleep at night and you woke up earlier than the rest of the kids in the orphanage, that much you two had figured out quickly. Once Lucien arrived, you had managed to swap beds with a few kids to get two beds next to each other so you both could stay up talking into the early morning. Peony was still right next to you, of course. Between hushed whispers in the early morning, you managed to learn a lot about him and vise versa.

Lucien told you about his hopes and dreams, to become a world renowned scientist and how all he wanted to do was research to make the world a better place. Lucien told you that he had plans to make his way around the world eventually and start a new life in a new place where he could research their lifestyle and help people in need.

What he didn’t tell you was that Lucien noticed every time you would sneak a glance out the window and your face would fall. He knew you didn’t want to stay in the orphanage forever, but felt obligated to the owner. He didn’t bring it up for the first few days but after he felt more comfortable with you, his curiosity got the best of him.

“If you could do anything with your life, what would it be?” Lucien asked, his voice coming out slurred and his arm extended towards you and goosebumps rose up your arm as his long fingers brushed against your shoulder. He had closed his eyes for a few minutes after he asked you, soft snores pouring out, and when he awoke again, you weren’t next to him; you were perched on the low window, looking out longingly. You opened your mouth to protest his questioning glance and he quieted you with a look that could command an entire room. “Don’t try to tell me you’re not looking for something, I’ve seen that wistful look across your face everytime you look out that window.”

You sighed, looking out the window once more before hopping down and crawling in the covers next to Peony before turning to face Lucien. “There’s just something about the outside. From the day I saw you, I was intrigued. Just a glance at you could send my mind racing and think of the possible life I could have led. And sometimes, it feels like that life is looking for me too.”

“What do you mean?” Lucien’s eyebrows were furrowed and you grabbed his hand and held it as close to you as you could..

“I don’t know how to explain,” you replied and you shut your eyes, moving closer to Peony for warmth. Lucien had so many questions, that much was obvious. But he knew you didn’t sleep much, so he dropped them for now, before turning over and hugging himself, his eyes closing as well.

A few weeks after your conversation with Lucien, you decided it was time to go off on your own, ready to live the life you longed for. The one that laid dormant until you met someone who made you want to live.

“Where are you going to go?”

You smiled softly, adjusting Lucien’s jacket so you didn’t have to make eye contact with him. “I’ll be around. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

Lucien gently grabbed your hands, forcing you to look back up at him. “I’m thinking about trying to find a new place to go, a place where I can do the type of research I want without being watched all the time. It’s not a life of luxury but....” He trailed off and you could almost hear him finish his sentence. It’s not much, but it’s better than being by yourself. Lucien twisted his mouth into a teasing smile. “I know my life is better with you around.”

And with that sentence, you found yourself agreeing before you could even think to stop yourself. You wanted to go with Lucien, continue to help people as much as possible and just be free enough to live the life you’ve only read about in books. You’d miss the children and the owner of the orphanage, of course, but you could always visit. Come back to tell stories of your adventures with Mr. Lucien. So with one last goodbye to the place you called home, you grasped Lucien’s hand and began on your new adventure together.

Three months after you left the orphanage, you couldn’t be happier. You made quick friends with the new children in the place that you and Lucien ended up in and ended up taunting them much like an older sibling would. Lucien would watch as he worked with a fond smile and every time you felt his eyes on you, you gazed back before you shared an intimate smile with the other.

Everyone who knew you also knew about your crush on the dark haired man. All the women whose children you watched as they worked liked to sit you down and beg you to ‘just tell him, MC.’ But things were going good the way they were, you and Lucien were friends and you were happy with your new lifestyle, you didn’t want to ruin that by saying something he might find stupid.

There was a quiet air about your professor one day after you two finished work for the day, walking silently back to your shared apartment. “Lucien, are you okay?”

Lucien nodded his head and you sent him a disbelieving look. “I think so. I just, uh. Some of the ladies pulled me aside today.”

Your heartbeat picked up and your mouth went dry. “Really,”

Lucien grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers. After months of knowing him, that soft touch could still turn your knees to jelly. “They told me something,” you looked at him, encouraging him to continue. “It was about you. They told me you have, y’know, a crush on me.”

You dropped your hand from his. Taking a deep breath, you looked him in his violet eyes and felt a slight bit calmer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to find out. It’s just like I watched you for a while and was intrigued and then when we became friends it just grew into more of a crush and-”

Lucien cut you off by putting a hand over your mouth. “Can you let me finish please?” When you nodded, he dropped his arm and grabbed your hands again. “I’m glad they told me. Do you know why?” You shook your head no and Lucien smiled at you. “Ask me why.”

You sighed, just wanting to get this over with so that you could go home and hide in your bedroom forever. “Why are you glad they told you?”

Without responding, Lucien leaned in and before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, he looked at you for visual confirmation that it was okay. Once you nodded, his slightly chapped lips met yours and before you could even relish in the taste of him, he pulled away. “It’s because I like you too.”

You felt a smile tug on your lips and Lucien’s mouth was almost mirroring yours. “Well that’s an interesting development.”

“I know a good word for how I felt the first time I saw you from the window.” Lucien said and then leaned in to kiss you once more. “Ask me what it is.”

“What was the word, Lucien?” You two probably looked like fools, standing in the middle of the street, both your hands joined with wide smiles that neither of you could wipe off your faces.

“Enamored,” Lucien responded, bringing your right hand up to his lips and kissing the top of it. “Being filled with complete love for something.”

#mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice lucien #lucien x mc #mlqc lucien x mc #mlqc fanfic #lucien mlqc fanfic #my writing

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puddygeeks · 4 years

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Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 48: Hᴇᴀʀᴛs Tʀᴜᴇ Dᴇsɪʀᴇ

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for.

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Forty-Eight

It took a couple of days for things to return to normal in camp and for my hickies to heal enough to show my face without feeling constantly self conscious. Knox made a few offhand comments about Bellamy during our shifts and I apologised for his recent intimidating behaviour. I avoided our friends for fear of any snide comments and Bellamy slipped back into his strangely inconsistent habits.

After my shift in the kitchens, I wandered across the courtyard but my attention was caught by the sound of a nearby conversation. I paused in place to witness Mel chatting to Bellamy again and I recognised that neither of them had noticed me from the angle that I was standing in. She had her hand placed comfortably on his forearm and they were both laughing in a relaxed state. My stomach flipped with annoyance, despite my best efforts to deny it and I felt my jaw clench as I observed her making doe eyes at him. I tried to remind myself that he chose to take me back to his room every night and of all the small, attentive acts that he did daily to make my heart flutter, but they weren’t enough to remove the uneasy feeling in my chest. I rolled my eyes and dragged myself away to prevent my mind from torturing me any further.

I found a spot near the hustle of the mechanical building to settle and work through the notes that I’d taken from my lessons with Octavia. Recently I felt that I was finally starting to grasp some parts of Trig, but it required consistent work to maintain it in my head and I had discovered that the rhythmic noises of tools helped me to focus. I heard footsteps approaching but kept my eyes trained on my papers in the hope that whoever it was would take the hint to leave me alone.

“There you are Trouble.” I recognised the gruff tone of Bellamy’s voice immediately and glanced up to find him smiling at me warmly. “Kane’s called a meeting to discuss more trips to Mount Weather for supplies, thought you’d want to know.” He stated and I raised my brows in interest. “Yeah, hopefully it won’t drag on for hours again, but if it does I’ll see you back at the room?” He added with a disinterested groan and I sympathised with his responsibility to attend.

“Damn, looks like I’ll have to tuck myself in.” I crooned with a playful expression and he chuckled lightly in a way that I adored the sound of.

“Where have you been all day anyway? I didn’t see you leave your shift.” He questioned and I was surprised that he’d even noticed the slight change in my routine. Most days lately we passed each other in camp as I moved from one commitment to the other and he’d usually throw me a cheeky wink or even slyly make an inappropriate comment if he got close enough.

“Oh, just thought I’d get some study time in.” I confirmed but he simply raised a brow at me suspiciously. “I did pass you in the courtyard earlier, but you were chatting to Mel. I thought I’d give you guys a chance to catch up.” I commented in what I hoped sounded like an idle manner and he shifted on the spot.

“Ah, yeah she caught me for a while there.” He remarked and I concentrated heavily on maintaining a carefree posture. “She’s a nice girl, just very young. I think she’s still got a lot of training to do before I’d take her out as part of the guard.” He thought aloud and I nodded as I stared at my papers avoidantly.

“Hmm, she’ll be disappointed to be left behind. Be careful with that one.” I muttered absent mindedly and my stomach flipped as soon as the words left my mouth. He furrowed his brows at me and I cleared my throat to give myself a moment to consider my words. “Just...don’t lead her on, like you said, she’s young.” I advised with a shrug and he widened his eyes at me.

“Seriously Indie?” He drawled and I held my hands out defensively. “Look, I saved her life when she crashed to Earth, so she looks up to me. She’s another student for me to train, that’s all.” He detailed with a disbelieving tone to his voice, causing me to sigh.

“Are you sure that she knows that?” I asked as I peeked up at him and he analysed me with a slight smirk in the corner of his lips. Already, I regretted initiating this conversation and I found it difficult to discuss whilst still maintaining the casual attitude that I’d been insistent on since we started sleeping together.

“Are you jealous?” He suggested in a low growl and I scoffed in annoyance. “I did offer to train you, it’s not too late to switch classes. You can be my teacher’s pet.” He winked and I shook my head in disapproval at his continued teasing.

“No, I’m not jealous, you can do whatever you want. I’m just offering you some advice; let her down lightly so you don’t break a young girl's heart, take it or leave it.” I explained with a frustration that was evident as I shot to my feet and began to gather my things.

“It’s not like that.” He sighed in a defensive manner and I paused in place to glance at him with exasperation.

“I’m telling you as a woman what I saw in her, she wants it. You used to be excellent at recognising that. But whatever you say Bel.” I chuckled bitterly as I threw him one last look. “I’ll see you after your meeting.” I stated as I placed a chaste kiss on his cheek and left him rooted to the spot in confusion.

For a while, I managed to study in peace in the back of the mechanical building, until I was kicked out by people who needed to use the room. It was almost impossible to concentrate with the building frustration in my mind and I struggled to channel the feeling into anything beneficial. After several attempts to find something to distract myself, I received a message from Raven requesting my assistance with something.

“Hey! Octavia said you were trying to build muscle, right?” She spoke in a rushed way as she opened the door to allow me into her workshop and pulled me inside. I nodded hesitantly and she guided me to a metal structure that made absolutely no sense to me, beside the familiar Rover we’d just recovered. “Awesome, I have a proposal that will be mutually beneficial in that case. I need to install some upgrades but I can’t get around that easily with my bitch of a leg. Can you lift shit for me?” She asked and I noticed the slightest hint of vulnerability in her eyes. It was the first time that she had requested assistance with her injury from me and it felt strange to address the thing that we’d fallen into a routine of pretending hadn’t changed. I knew that admitting she needed help was practically agonising to Raven and felt honoured that she was able to confide in me.

“Of course, but you need to remember that I am, in fact, an idiot. So I’ll need very specific instructions on what you want me to do.” I remarked with a playful expression and was glad to notice that her shoulders visibly relaxed. We fell into an easy companionship as she worked whilst I strained to hold things in place and chatted in the same comfortable way that we always had.

“So, what do you think will come of this big leader meeting your man’s in?” She called from under the car and I sighed thoughtfully. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than sitting in a room full of self important people discussing every minor decision for our camp. It seemed simpler in the days at the dropship, where if something needed to be done we simply took action. I was unsure if the introduction of laws and politics was as beneficial as the leadership believed.

“I don’t know, bunch of political nonsense. I bet Bellamy’s struggling to even stay awake in there.” I commented lightly, imagining him dozing off at the end of the table and I heard Raven hum in agreement.

“Well, looks like he had some comfort before he went in.” She stated in a voice that I recognised well as bait and so I held my tongue. When I didn’t answer, she slid out from the car to examine me in annoyance. “I caught Mel flirting with him pretty hard outside the meeting room. She’s getting her claws right in.” She spat before she got to her feet and dusted herself off. The work space was so large that our voices echoed around it and I was glad that it was just the two of us here with the sharpness of her words.

“Ugh, that poor girl.” I groaned and Raven whipped around to face me as if I’d just grown another head. “I told him to let her down gently before she gets her feelings hurt.” I revealed as I rubbed my forehead in stress and she dropped into a seat to examine me with a riveted interest.

“And? What did he say?” She breathed with a fire burning in her eyes and I couldn’t help a slight snigger at the ridiculous reaction. Recently, it felt as if the budding romance between Bellamy and I was her favourite topic and although I appreciated her support, I couldn’t help finding her enthusiasm bizarre at times.

“He doesn’t think she’s flirting. He says she just looks up to him like the others, or she’s just friendly because she’s grateful to him.” I sighed as I settled into a seat opposite her and she threw her hands up in exaggeration. “I’ve never known him to be so blind to a girl's interest before.” I muttered with a groan and I tried to force the bitter feelings to the back of my mind before they could wander out of my mouth.

“That’s because he only has eyes for you.” She crooned in a mocking tone as she batted her lashes at me and I reached out to slap her playfully on the arm. “Doesn’t it bug you? Seriously, I’m worried. I know you were afraid before all this almost dying stuff, about him losing interest? I don’t want you to be pushed to the point of a nervous breakdown by this random chick.” She dropped her voice to one of genuine concern and I smiled warmly at her ill guided compassion.

“Before everything went down, yes I was. But I already had my nervous breakdown Raven, I’m tapped. Seriously, thinking that you’ll never see someone again kind of changes your priorities.” I explained as she watched me with blatant sympathy. “The way I see it now, Bellamy will do whatever it is that he wants to do. If he wants to fuck some other girl, he’ll do it whether I worry about it or not, so I’m not gonna worry about it. I’m just gonna enjoy whatever we have for as long as it lasts, cause I don’t want to waste a single second of it.” I elaborated and she scoffed as she viewed me with a sense of utter disbelief.

“You’re telling me that you’re just switching your ‘give a shit’ off?” She breathed as she crossed her arms and I sighed as I tried to think of a better way to explain my stance. I shuffled on my seat and rubbed at my temples as she observed my expectantly.

“I’m not switching it off. It was only weeks ago that I thought he was dead and I spent almost all of my time crying.” I revealed and she softened her face. “I reflected a lot on everything I’d learned and I know that Bellamy is the kind of guy who likes the chase. From what I’ve seen, he’s not big on the whole commitment thing and I don’t need it. I’m all too aware that things can change in a heartbeat and honestly, I’m just happy every time that he comes back from a mission alive. I’m glad that I get the chance to see that smile that makes my knees go weak and my heart beat so fast that I think it might explode.” I confessed and Raven smiled smugly.

“Girl, you’ve got it bad!” She laughed and I felt as if I had opened a door that I couldn’t close. The relief of being honest with her was so addictive that the words just continued to flow out of my mouth and the memory of him and Mel talking filled my mind, causing a surge of bitterness.

“I know! God I know.” I breathed as I ran my hands through my hair in a gesture of stress. “Who am I kidding with this whole chilled out act? Part of me wants to find that girl and go full grounder on her ass, tell her that if she even thinks about touching Bellamy I’ll beat her face in.” I growled and Raven whooped in support of this idea. “On the inside, even thinking about him with anyone else kills me, but then I remember how fucking grateful I am that he’s alive and I realise that I’d suffer through anything if it meant that he was happy.” I clarified and she pursed her lips at me with enjoyment.

“I’m pretty confident that he feels the same.” She commented and although I noticed that she didn’t seem to be smiling directly at me, I was too deep in thought to question it. She opened her mouth to speak again but I couldn’t stop the flow of feelings that I needed to speak aloud.

“Maybe, I guess only time will tell. For now, all I know is that I can barely think straight every time he compliments me, or does that thing where he shakes his head and looks at the ground when he laughs. You know, I dream about him, his freckles, the way his eyes glisten when he smiles, or how he runs his hand through his hair when he’s concentrating. I thought that after a while things would calm down, but Raven, every kiss makes my head spin like the first.” I rambled in an emotion charged blur. She watched me with a steadily growing satisfaction as I bared my soul to her and I only paused to sigh. “I’m pretty prepared for the idea that he doesn’t feel the same way, but that's okay. Because if I can just keep him in my life for as long as humanly possible, I’m willing to accept that.” I divulged with a final deep breath as I dropped my shoulders dramatically and finally felt a sense of peace that I hadn’t realised I sorely needed.

“You know, I really think you’d be surprised by how wrong you are about that.” She stated calmly despite an excitement shining in her eyes and I furrowed my brows at her in confusion.

“How can you be so sure?” I enquired with a heavy feeling of insecurity and a delighted smile spread across her lips at my question.

“Oh, just the little fact that he’s standing right behind you and he looks like he’s just won the jackpot, not running for the hills.” She revealed with a blatant enjoyment and I felt my face drop to one of pure horror. I prayed with all of my might that she was simply playing a cruel prank. I was too mortified to turn around to investigate and before I could muster up the courage, I heard a deep voice clear their throat behind me. I felt like my stomach was about to drop out of my body as I closed my eyes in a grimace and heard Raven stand. “I’ll leave you two to talk.” She commented calmly.

I remained frozen on the spot with my eyes firmly closed in an effort to shield myself from the reality of my mistake and heard Bellamy carefully approaching to shatter the hopes of my ‘I can't see you, you can’t see me’ logic. There was a feeling of dread that crept down my spine as I sensed his gaze burning into me and I took a deep breath before forcing myself to look at him. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and exhilaration, and I gulped nervously whilst my mind desperately strained for something to say. I fiddled with the zip on my jacket and my skin burned with humiliation.

“H-how much of that did you hear?” I stuttered as I peeked at him and squirmed in anticipation. My words repeated in my mind and as I reviewed all the things that he’d potentially overhead that I would rather chop off a limb than say to him, I felt like my heart might stop.

“All of it.” He breathed with a sly smile and I felt my heart skip a beat as I groaned. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me and thought that I would give anything for the chance to take it all back. Terror flooded my veins at the idea that the blissful bubble we’d existed in until now could be about to burst and I steeled myself for the potential heartbreak.

“Is there...any chance that you can just forget that you heard any of it?” I suggested with shaking hands and he did the exact thing that I’d just proclaimed my love for: chuckled lightly as he shook his head and gradually returned his gaze to me with a smile that made my head spin. “Cool, perfect. Well, if you didn’t specifically need me for anything, I’m gonna go blow my brains out.” I remarked with my hands in my pockets and I avoided meeting his eyes as I moved to stride away. I only managed a single step before he caught my arm and pulled me back to face him.

“Indie, don’t worry about it, it’s okay.” He stated as he studied me with an inscrutable expression and I was stressed by the action of locking eyes with him. I sighed as I shuffled on the spot and he reached out to place his hands on my shoulders. I couldn’t tell if he did this more as an act of comfort, or to prevent me from bolting, or maybe a combination of both. “You don’t have to be embarrassed with me. Was all that true?” He probed as he examined my face and I nodded reluctantly. “Why didn’t you say something sooner if it was bothering you so much?” He interrogated and I shrugged avoidantly.

“I don’t know, it seemed dumb.” I grumbled as I tried to push aside the urge to escape. I cleared my throat and decided that if we were going to have this conversation, I may as well say what I needed. “Why weren’t you just honest about Knox?” I enquired and Bellamy shrugged in defeat. This relieved some of the tension in the air as we acknowledged that we’d both played a part in creating this situation with our ridiculous behaviours and for a moment I broke into a smile as I viewed him.

“You know that you don’t have to worry about me with Mel, or anyone else, right?” He suggested as I fixed him with a baffled expression. “I don’t need anything else when I have everything I want with you.” He admitted with a genuine tone and I scoffed in disbelief. He took my face in his hands to force me to meet his eyes and I was surprised by the intensity of his gaze. “I’m serious. You’re beautiful, funny, smart. You give me advice when I need it and you keep me going. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He confessed and I stared back at him with wide eyes. “I know you had a hard time in Mount Weather, Love, but you’re forgetting that whilst you were there, I lost you too. You're not the only one who had a reality check. I’ve had plenty of time to think and finally getting you back has made me realise that I don’t ever want to lose you again, not to anything.” He paused to bite his lip and I noticed a hint of vulnerability that he tried to conceal. “You’re my girl, I don’t want anyone to question that anymore, especially not you.” He emphasised and I felt a smile breaking through my concern.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Bellamy Blake?” I crooned with a warmth spreading in my chest as the reality of his words struck me. He tilted his head closer and I bit my lip with a rush of excitement.

“I’m not asking.” He drawled before he leaned in to finally kiss me. The moment that his lips touched mine, I felt a sense of relief and there was a peace that I had craved for longer than I had realised. Thanks to Raven’s gamble, I had security at last.

***

The tension that had been hanging over us completely dissipated over the past few weeks and although we’d been too busy to see much of each other, it didn’t cause any stress now that we knew where we stood. Bellamy had received a whole new batch of volunteers for the guard, which translated into far more frequent shifts for him with the recruits and my training with Octavia had ramped up a notch now that she was starting to see progress. Monty had somehow convinced Jasper to start taking some of his shifts back in mechanical, which was a relief as Monty was looking rather bedraggled recently.

I’d used my new additional free time to either work on building muscle, or studying Trig. I was able to hold almost entire conversations in it now and although I still made the occasional mistake or found worlds that I hadn’t learned, I was proud of the new skill. It was a surprise to discover that Lincoln was slightly chattier in his native tongue and I’d come to appreciate our conversations more due to their infrequency. We bonded mostly over a joint protectiveness of Octavia, but I also enjoyed the quiet wisdom about him that I witnessed more now that he had moved into Arkadia. It was strange to see him living amongst us after our violent beginnings, but he seemed to be adapting well and fell into communicating with other campers far better than I ever would have expected. I was studying in the courtyard of camp, enjoying the cool spring sunshine when Monty rushed over.

“Hey Indie, have you seen Jasper?” He queried with blatant fear filling his face and something about his manner immediately put me on edge.

“No, I’m sorry.” I answered and he hissed in response. “I thought he was doing a shift today? Is everything okay?” I investigated as he shuffled on the spot with distress and I analysed him worriedly.

“He was, he didn’t turn up and I’ve only just heard. No one’s seen him all day and it’s been hours since he left dorms.” He confirmed with his brows deeply furrowed and I quickly got to my feet to assist.

“You want me to take this to Bel, get a search party out or are we keeping this on the down low?” I breathed as I felt his panic bleeding into me and my heart hammered in my chest.

“Let’s just keep it between us for now, I don’t want to get Jasper in trouble.” He muttered and I nodded obediently.

“Alright, let’s split up and meet back here if you can’t find him.” I suggested and we rushed apart in search of him.

I checked anywhere that I thought Jasper was likely to attend for fun first, in the vain hope that he may finally have felt like enjoying himself. When that failed, I had to acknowledge the painful thought that he may have gone somewhere quiet to harm himself and I felt an overpowering anxiety building in me as I searched the secluded areas where I thought it would be easiest to do this. I passed Monty in the mechanical building as we both seemed to have the same idea to investigate the unused rooms and abandoned corners.

In one of the final rooms, I turned to leave when I noticed a boot out of the corner of my eye. I crouched down to examine it and discovered Jasper passed out under a table. I gasped as I neared him in terror and immediately checked for any sign of a pulse. An intense wave of relief washed over me as I confirmed that he was alive and I leaned closer to the door to call out.

“Monty! In here!” I cried, before returning to Jasper to pull him across my lap. I shook him until he responded as I became fearful that he could have overdosed and he groaned dramatically but didn’t seem to be able to wake. Monty stumbled into the room in a fluster and I smiled up at him. “I’ve got him.” I confirmed but Monty could clearly see the concern in my eyes as he glanced between me and Jasper, whose head flopped back in my arms.

“Ugh, he’s tanked.” Monty stated and as I turned to view him doubtfully, I noticed the empty flask further under the desk. “I’d recognise that look on him anywhere. Damn it, Jasper.” He growled with an evident frustration and I sighed in disappointment as I scooped up the evidence to hide in my pocket. “Can you help me get him back to dorms?” Monty asked with an embarrassed expression and I nodded in understanding.

“Of course, my love.” I answered as I got to my feet and we managed to hoist him between us with difficulty. He was barely conscious enough to manage to walk with some stern encouragement and his arms over our shoulders to keep him upright.

“You’re a mess, dude.” Monty scolded, but Jasper only managed an offended groan in response. Monty rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry about this Indie.” He mumbled awkwardly.

“Hey, it’s fine. Family isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, right?” I smiled encouragingly at him and he made his best effort to return it.

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bad-at-names-and-faces · 4 years

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Another Secret

Chapter 25

Chapter Index

As Frederick walked toward the family's wing of the castle, he saw Nanny carrying Baby Linne toward the nursery.

"Hi!" Frederick called out, then put his hand to his mouth when he realized the baby was sleeping. He managed a stage whisper. "Are Mother and Father in their room?"

"Yes, dear," she told him. "Be sure to knock first."

Frederick approached his parents’ bedroom, and realized that Nanny must not have closed the door all the way. There was hushed talk between his parents, and as he approached, he began to hear what they were saying.

"...but there's no way. We have to do something about him," he heard his mother say.

"But why?" his father insisted. "It's not his fault, and besides, people like him. You're the one who wanted to avoid a scandal. Sending him away-"

"Might be better than trying to pretend everything is perfectly normal when you know it’s not… not now."

"You're right, I know. We need to figure something out. But-"

Frederick had the feeling he wasn’t supposed to be hearing any of this, and as much as he thought they might be talking about him, he didn’t feel comfortable eavesdropping, so he loudly knocked on the door and cleared his throat somewhat dramatically.

His father opened the door a crack. “Oh, it’s you,” he sighed in relief. “What is it, Frederick?”

“Is Mother there?” Frederick asked, already knowing she was inside the room.

“Yes,” Kristoff opened the door to let his son in. “What’s the matter?”

“Sorry,” he walked over to his mother sitting on the bed. “Our Ambassador to America quit to get himself a farm out west. I guess they're giving them out free?"

"Wait," his mother began, "What are you talking about?"

"Inga said you need to meet the council yourself to pick a new ambassador," Frederick explained. “Also we were wondering how much longer you’d be leaving us on our own.”

“Oh…” Anna sighed, looking up at Kristoff. Frederick wondered what he’d done wrong, since he wasn't sure who else they might have been talking about.

“I’m sorry,” Frederick apologized, “Inga’s the one who told me to come here. I can go. I didn’t mean… whatever is wrong. I’ll go now.”

“No, wait,” Kristoff told him, walking over. “Is that the letter?”

“Yes,” Frederick replied, realizing he was almost eye level with his father. He slouched a bit. For all the times during the summer that he had tried to act more grown up, he suddenly felt unready.

“Can you leave it with us?” his father asked.

“Of course,” Frederick said, handing it over. “It’s not like I can really do anything with it.”

“Thanks,” Kristoff sighed. “Why don’t you go take a break now?”

“No, really, it’s fine,” he insisted. “And Inga will be expecting me, anyway.”

“Thank you, Frederick,” his mother smiled. “Do you need anything else?”

"Um, if it helps," Frederick spoke before getting to the door. "Admiral Sorensen told me he'd like to take me out on the training ship this spring. I told him I'd have to ask you first."

"That's fine, I guess," his mother replied, seeming somewhat distracted.

"Great, thanks!" Frederick replied, making sure to close the door completely and latch it as he left.

***

With Frederick out of the room, Inga pulled out the envelope she had grabbed a few minutes earlier. She realized she didn’t know what Henry’s handwriting looked like, and hoped the letter wasn’t going to be some generic official thank you for attending the coronation, especially after going to the trouble of hiding it from her brother. Opening the letter, she wasn’t disappointed.

Corona, September 4th, 1864 Dear Inga,

Thank you for the letter you gave me before you left Corona. I hope your trip home was uneventful, and that it was as quick as you said it would be. You still need to tell me what you meant.

I won’t be able to answer most of the questions from your letter just yet. I’ll need to find a chance to talk to my parents alone, since I get the feeling there might be things best discussed in private. Forgive me if I’m jumping to conclusions. As far as the other part of your letter, don’t worry, you didn’t offend me at all. I’d like to think I have a thicker skin than that. I hope you’ll write back. I promise I’ll write more when I can. If we can’t talk, this will be the next best thing.

Sincerely, Henry

Inga stared at the letter, very glad that she’d kept it away from the official correspondence, even if there wasn’t anything that could actually be evidence for any rumors. She realized she wanted a more private place to write a reply. Folding up the letter, she placed it in her pocket, and got up to leave the room. Just then, Frederick was returning.

“Finished already?” he asked her.

“I need a break,” she told him. “It’s getting late. Let’s go into town and get dinner.”

***

“I’m a little cold,” Elizabeth told Lars. He wrapped his arms around her as they looked at the fire.

“It does get cold earlier here,” he admitted, “especially up here in the mountains.”

“I think I’ll get used to it,” she smiled, leaning into him.

“So,” he began, “you really don’t mind that my mother will be so close?”

“I’m the one who suggested it,” she insisted. “I just hope that you don’t mind. I…I know not everyone gets along with their parents.”

He kissed her head. “No, it’s fine. More than fine, in fact. I love that you get along so well with her, and… there might be times when I’ll be busy, and I don’t want you to feel lonely, or overwhelmed. We can’t always count on having help.”

“Thank goodness you seem to have learned to cook,” she laughed, “or else we might all starve!”

“You’re much more talented than I am,” he assured her.

“I can bake some fancy pastries and cakes,” she told him. “That will hardly feed a family. Your mother taught you how to make broth. Our cook always did that, and she liked to keep us out of the kitchen when she was making dinner.”

“Well, it works out nicely, doesn’t it?” He kissed her again. “It’s all worked out rather nicely.”

***

Inga was up early walking down the hall, meaning to get something from the kitchen before heading to the study. Turning the corner, she heard someone playing the piano in the corner of the ballroom. It hardly ever got used, especially since she had stopped playing a few years back. The twins preferred violin, and Sofia wasn’t yet old enough to sit down for anything formal for very long. Frederick never put in much effort, but even then he seemed to play better than she did. Every so often someone in the family would say that they should try to find a way to fit the piano into the library so they could actually play it, or find a smaller piano for a corner of the library, but it never felt urgent enough to change anything.

Frederick was, in fact, the one playing. Inga stood by the door so she didn’t interrupt him, then walked over when he was finished.

“That was nice. What was it?”

Frederick startled a bit. “Inga, I didn’t hear you coming in. It’s just… some piece my friend Edvard sent from Bergen.”

“Well, it’s nice. I didn’t know you were still practicing,” she smiled.

“I hadn’t been, not really. This morning I just decided I would try again.” Frederick shuffled around the sheet music. “It’s a break from the correspondence. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind helping you with that. I’m just happy that I remember how to play.”

“You know that’s annoying, right?” Inga teased. “Being able to just sit down after the better part of a year and just play like that?”

Frederick gave a satisfied smile. “I played at Christmas last year, so I guess you’re right.” He shuffled through the stack of music on top of the piano. “Here, this one has something to sing. Why don’t you join me?”

“You know I hate singing,” she protested.

“No you don’t, you just hated the voice teacher you had maybe a total of three lessons with,” Frederick insisted. “Besides, I can’t sing this high anymore.” Frederick gave her a pitiful looking frown.

“Fine, but I can’t promise I’ll sing it well,” she conceded, and Frederick began playing.

They needed to start over once or twice, but eventually Inga had to admit it sounded nice, especially if Frederick played loud enough to overpower herself. He insisted she sounded fine, and made her sing a second song.

At the end of the second piece, they heard someone clapping from across the room. Inga swung around, nearly knocking the music off the piano, and Frederick caught the pages, making sure they were secure before standing up and looking toward the far door.

“Very nice,” said the man standing there. He was perfectly groomed and clean shaven, tall and tan, with jet black hair in the latest style from Paris, and what looked like a fashion house’s take on a military uniform. “I had no idea the prince and princess of Arendelle would be so talented.”

“And you are…?” Inga looked at him skeptically.

“Oh! I had thought you had been advised of my presence,” he replied. “I had informed Her Majesty of my interest in meeting you.”

Inga looked back blankly.

“Prince Tarkan of Maldonia.” He gave a ceremonious bow as Frederick and Inga looked at each other trying not to laugh.

“Prince Agnarr Kristoff Frederick of Arendelle,” Frederick replied, giving a very spot-on recreation of the Maldonian prince’s bow. Inga was finding it hard to control her expression now, but quickly lost the desire to laugh when the prince was still looking expectantly at her, having barely acknowledged her brother’s reply.

“Your Highness,” she curtseyed. “Princess Anna Idunna Ingeborg of Arendelle. And I’m afraid that I must excuse myself, I was on my way… elsewhere.”

“Where were you going?” Frederick whispered at her.

“Anywhere,” she whispered back, hurrying to the side door toward the kitchen.

***

“Your Highness,” Prince Tarkan bowed to Frederick after his sister had left the room.

“So,” Frederick hemmed, “have you had time to see the countryside?”

“I cannot say that I have,” replied Prince Tarkan, “and I did not come here to make idle conversation.”

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but there’s a lot you can do around here,” Frederick insisted. “Just because my sister isn’t interested, doesn’t mean your trip needs to be a waste.”

“You seem very certain that she isn’t interested,” Prince Tarkan sneered.

“Well,” Frederick laughed, “usually if someone starts the conversation by telling her they want to meet her, that’s the end of it.”

“Perhaps in ten years she will regret being so quick to judge,” Prince Tarkan sniffed. “I’m surprised that your mother is not more active in getting her children settled. I, for one, will be glad to have forged an alliance so that I may get on with the rest of my life.”

“Um, I thought we were talking about getting married, what are you talking about?” Frederick stared at the other prince in confusion.

“Surely, someone in your position understands the importance, and isn’t blinded by romantic notions.”

“Well, I guess maybe for you?”

“I’m not sure what rumors about me have traveled this way, but I assure you they are all false,” the Maldonian prince huffed.

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about. I had to dance with your sister when I was in Corona, but I don’t think she mentioned anything.” Frederick frowned as he tried to remember any conversations he’d had at that party.

“Well, my sister knows when to hold her tongue. Still, I thought your family might be more amenable when the ambassador was explaining…certain things.”

“Certain things?” Frederick was confused.

“I am sure you are aware, there were irregularities? That is, irregularities with the marriage of your parents.”

“Why are you trying to sound so mysterious?” Frederick asked. “They got married by the trolls first, sure, and then they got married in the cathedral by the bishop because everyone expects that. So?”

“You’ll beg my pardon, Your Highness, I did not mean to be rude. Apparently all is explained.” Prince Tarkan bowed and left the way he had come in.

Frederick shook his head and sat back down at the piano.

***

“I think this is where you tell us congratulations.” Anna told the silent council. “I’ve certainly been hearing enough whispers about the impending succession crisis for the last few years.”

The council sat silently for another moment. The Bishop spoke up first.

“Your Majesty,” he began hesitantly, “it truly pains me to say this, and no offense is meant, but as far as the law is concerned, you are not legally married.”

“Well, you could vote to change the law,” Kristoff interjected. “Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“Sir,” the Bishop said, giving a small bow to Kirstoff, “I’m afraid that changing the law would introduce… complications.

“Complications?” Anna asked.

“Yes, you see…” the Bishop sighed. “Legally, if your recent ceremony were recognized, the entire thing could be annulled due to bigamy laws.”

“Wait, what?”

Anna could feel Kristoff’s hand squeezing hers painfully tight.

“If everyone would excuse me,” Anna spoke slowly and deliberately, “I would like to speak privately with the Bishop for a few minutes. The rest of you are dismissed. Thank you.”

With much grumbling, the remainder of the council pulled together any papers they had brought in, and left the room. Anna placed her free hand on top of Kristoff’s hand, and he relaxed his grip on her hand slightly.

“Your Majesty,” the Bishop began once the door had closed and he was alone with Anna and Kristoff. “It would be very difficult to write the law allowing other ceremonies but not… claims of private exchange of vows. Your sister changed the law for exactly that reason. It’s been the practice to look the other way for ordinary citizens, but in your case... I know you roundly denied having exchanged such vows at the time, but if, God forbid, anything were to happen to you, Prince Hans might bring up this marriage claim again.”

“I understand,” she sighed. “There could be bigamy claims, making any children Kristoff and I have illegitimate, and no living witnesses to deny it, and if there are no legitimate heirs, the legal spouse takes the throne. And they have… more warships than we have, even with Corona’s navy.”

“I am afraid so,” the Bishop nodded. “I can perform the ceremony first thing in the morning, if you wish.”

“That would be good,” Anna looked up at Kristoff, who nodded quietly in agreement.

***

Inga grabbed herself a pastry from the kitchen following her escape from the ballroom, and ate it slowly on her way up to the study. She walked in without knocking, in the middle of a bite.

“Good morning,” her mother greeted her. “Did you bring any for me?”

“You’re back?” Inga spoke with a full mouth, swallowing a little too quickly. “And you might have warned me about that prince from Maldonia, you know.”

“Who? Oh…sorry,” Anna laughed a little. “He was definitely obvious about his intentions. He asked directly if you were attached, and as upset as you seemed to be about those rumors last week, I had to be honest. Did he… behave himself?”

“I suppose he was fine, just… rude, I guess?" Inga sighed. "I left Frederick alone with him before I came up here just now.”

“How is Frederick doing?” Anna asked with some concern.

“Fine. He was playing piano this morning.”

"That's nice to hear. He seemed to think he had done something wrong yesterday," she sighed. "I'm sorry about the past few days."

"Is everything okay?" Inga asked.

"I think everything will work out," Anna replied, standing up to leave. "If you'll check the schedule, there should be a few meetings that don't require me to be present. Would you be able to attend those?"

Inga glanced at the book. "Ugh. You won't make me meet with Maldonia, will you?"

"Oh! No, I'll take care of that one. Thank you for reminding me. Now, your father is expecting me to join him for breakfast. Don't forget to eat a proper meal, please!"

***

Anna sat in the garden, a newspaper open on the bench next to her. She stared off absentmindedly, not wanting to read the paper she’d brought with her. She was happy for the headline she read, but it had awoken memories she thought she had put behind her. It had been two months since her twenty-first birthday, a little more than two months, in fact. It was almost September. Olaf wandered over and looked at the headlines. “Oh! The Crown Princess and Prince from Corona! I remember them! They had twins? Wasn’t she the one you and Elsa were traveling with? And her husband, I remember he stayed here for a while. Anna?”

“Sorry, Olaf, what was that? I was a bit distracted. Hey, let’s go for a walk!”

***

Kristoff was sitting at the table by the window with the breakfast set out when Anna came into the bedroom without knocking. Nanny had taken Baby Linne to the nursery for the morning. As she sat down, Anna pulled out a stack of papers she had hidden in the folds of her skirt.

“Inga came in just as I was finishing copying out the page from the law book,” she told him. “She was focused on running into the prince from Maldonia, anyway, so I don’t think she would have asked questions, anyway.”

“Anna,” Kristoff began, taking her hand. “Shouldn’t we tell her? She’s going to ask questions.”

“But when?” she sighed.

“Maybe now?”

“Somehow, I had always imagined it being some kind of deathbed confession…”

“Really?” He looked at her.

“No, of course not,” she told him. “It’s just, you know, we lucked out not having any rumors about this. Our children aren’t exactly good at keeping secrets, either. It would just take one of them saying something to Olaf and pretty soon every kingdom would know, and even if we’ve fixed the legal danger, we still don’t need that kind of talk.” Anna took a breath. “Maybe Inga could be careful now.”

“I think she would be.”

“But how do we tell her? It was a shock enough for you and me, and we knew… part of it.”

“It was a shock enough the first time you told me.”

“I kept questioning when I was going to tell you. Even after I told you, I second guessed myself. You seemed…angry.”

“I was never angry at you, I hope you know it was only…him.”

“Hans.” Anna said it as if it were a curse.

Kristoff bristled at the name, closing his eyes. “And I don’t think there would have been a perfect time.” He looked across the table with a slight smirk. “Well, I suppose I’m glad I’m not just learning about it now. I have to say, a lot of things suddenly made sense after you told me.”

“Honestly, I’m amazed there were never any rumors about the real reason for the trip to Corona."

"Trust me," Kristoff sighed, "everyone was convinced that you were going to be set up with a prince, it was only a question of which one. I almost believed it..."

"That still amazes me. It was the last thing on my mind during that trip,” she paused.

Kristoff smiled a little. "That's what Elsa said when she returned the first time, before she disappeared again. I have to admit, it was hard to believe, since she didn’t tell me why you would be hanging around in Corona for that long if you hadn’t… met someone else."

"Sorry, I know it must have been confusing, not knowing anything…" she looked at him sadly. “At any rate, I wasn’t just talking about what they were saying here. I suppose Elsa made sure that we never stayed in one place long enough for anyone to catch on that my dresses kept needing to be let out. And a princess getting new dresses certainly doesn’t raise any eyebrows. But even in Corona, we only stayed in the capital for three weeks, and that was the longest we stayed anywhere, and then they were joking that the food was too good for me. Elsa and Rapunzel didn’t say anything, of course, they kept quiet. And then Rapunzel found the house in the countryside not long after that. The story was that we needed a break from court life.”

Kristoff sat silently the entire time Anna was talking. Twenty years after the fact, this was the most he had heard her talk about that time. He was still holding her hand, and the other one was nervously gesturing as she reminisced. “How much did Rapunzel have a hand in all this?”

“She knew how to keep us away from rumors in Corona. And she obviously has kept an eye on Mrs. Nilsen all this time. I hadn’t realized when Elsa told me they had found someone that it was someone from Arendelle. I figured it would be someone from Corona, or maybe somewhere near Corona. It makes sense, though. She didn’t need to explain a pregnancy that nobody had seen, and her husband was dead, so she didn’t need to explain why the boy looked so different from his brother, and so much like-”

“He takes after you more.”

#kristanna #my fic #frozen fanfiction #frozen fic #chapter 25

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fics-not-tragedies · 4 years

Text

One Day in December: Chapter 4 🎇

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - epilogue

Words: 3696; Warnings: none, unless you want a warning for drinking then you have it; Summary: In another year Andrew tries to fix what he screwed up last year, but even though Bianca came through alone - she really isn’t.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight; @angelpeachamber; @sgt-morgan; @julessbrown;

December 2013

Andrew didn’t know what to do with himself this year. It was his first Christmas alone in over two years. He split with his girlfriend only few months prior… and since he was on the receiving end of the breakup, the wound was still fresh. He didn’t miss her really… well, he did… but it was more like he missed being with someone.

The thing was… the morning after he cried himself to sleep like a stupid baby… he woke up from a dream about Bianca. It’d been nearly a year again already, and suddenly, he didn’t feel as horrible as he had. Her face and the way she looked just before they were about to kiss under that godforsaken mistletoe, was the singular image that carried him through until two weeks before Christmas when he headed home to Wicklow. He was going to stay with his parents for awhile, hide away and let his mum take care of him. It was the main perk of being the only child, and also a mama’s boy.

For a week, he migrated from location to location in his parents’ house; his old bedroom… the couch in the sitting room… the kitchen table where his mum made him all his favorite meals… It was perfect. He did nothing but watch tv, eat biscuits, and think about her.

Maybe if he had some way to contact her, he would, but he still never found out who she was related to at the party. Then again, even if he did have her number, he was too chicken to call her; especially after how she left last year.

Instead of being an adult, he just made himself sick over her for a week, thinking about all the conversations they could possibly have this year… what he’d say… how he’d act… He was giving himself anxiety over it, and he had no idea if she’d even show up in the first place.

The day of the party had come, and he was going with Ryan and Cormac and even Rory. They’d all come home to see their families, and Andrew finally had someone to hang out with. They met up beforehand, just down the street, passing a flask between the four of them. It was silly and dumb, but it made Andrew feel loads better. The best part was, everyone made a pact to come alone so Andrew wouldn’t feel left out.

“How are you feeling Andy? Look like you’ve been sleeping well. Getting fed. Raine makes you all your favorite meals?” Alex asked, taking a swig from the flask and thrusting it in his direction.

Andrew chuckled, “Yeah… made my favorite biscuits, too. I’m a spoiled little boy” he coughed when the alcohol burned his throat and he handed it off to Rory, “I’m glad you guys are here. Getting lonely, actually.”

“Well… no one told you to run away to your mum, did they?” Cormac grinned, nearly finishing off the booze.

“He’s got a point” Alex muttered through the collar and scarf he’d pulled up tight around his ears, “Are we fucking done yet? I’m freezing out here.”

“Right…” Rory finished the flask and tossed it back into the car and the four of them trudged through the muddy snow to the house.

The party was already in full swing; seemingly much more loud and rowdy then it had been in years past. They shuffled through the front door single file, shaking off the cold as they waved and nodded to friends they hadn’t seen in ages. It was a good welcoming… everyone happy to see their hometown heroes. And it was rare that they were all together for a change in the same place.

They barely removed their coats when someone passed them a shot and Andrew wondered what kind of night this was going to turn into. He’d thrown his coat over his arm until he could make it to the backroom, knocking back the shot with the guys before going off in search of a beer to wash it down. He entered the kitchen to find the fridge wide open, someone bent in front of it. He stood back a little, not wanting to be rude and push through.

“What kind did you want?” The voice called to a girl standing just behind her.

Andrew raised his eyebrows, the girl’s voice behind the fridge sounding awfully familiar. She popped up a second later, and Andrew gasped.

Bianca.

She was here.

She hadn’t seen him yet, her back to him still. He momentarily contemplated running out until he was better prepared to talk to her, but it was too late. She was already peering back at him with those pretty hazel eyes of hers. She looked… so good. Better than his memory served him.

“Thought you weren’t coming this year?” Andrew blurted suddenly, and he felt the blush creep up his neck to his cheeks.

Of all the fucking things you planned on saying…

“Nice to see you, too” Bianca grinned, leaning against the fridge, “Can I get you something while I’m in here?”

“Em… yeah… just… a beer… whatever’s…in there…” Andrew stammered, brushing his hair back feeling like a complete fool. Two months worth of anguish over this girl, and this is how he behaves.

Bianca pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows before ducking back into the fridge and grabbing one for each of them. She opened both their bottles and handed one to Andrew.

“Cheers, love” he murmured and she grinned before taking a sip.

Bianca studied him over the top of the glass, how different he looked this year as opposed to last. His hair was longer, fluffier, and the front strands framed his face so adorably. He wore a maroon sweater, tight-fitting with the sleeves pushed up, and jeans so worn in she felt like reaching out to touch how soft they were.

“How you’ve been?” She finally asked, once they’d stared at each other long enough before the silence became uncomfortable.

“Alright… you?” He said softly, unable to take his eyes off her. Here she was. Live and in the flesh. Standing across from him in the same kitchen they’d stood in at least once every year. Her hair was done up in a purposely undone bun on top of her head, her bangs grown-out and swept to the sides of her face. Little wisps hung down like flyways… and his fingers twitched from wanting to tuck it back over her ear, to let his fingers linger down her neck…

“Better than last year” she grinned, her bright smile stretching across her face.

“Last year…” he murmured, taking another sip of his beer, “That year was a bit shit, wasn’t it?”

Her eyes widened and she smiled, “Yes. Yes it was. But this year seems to be shaping up to be better already.”

It was Andrew’s turn to smile now, and he mirrored hers, “Yes. Yes it is.”

They were right.

They were able to talk for once, hanging around in the same little clique. All the boys were together, and they were all in good spirits, telling jokes and stories. Bianca listened with wide eyes, fully enthralled in every tale. They made her laugh and being with Andrew made her feel as if perhaps last year had never even happened.

He sat perched on the arm of the couch, pushing his sleeves up as they kept slipping, telling a story quite animatedly with his hands flying about for emphasis. Bianca was staring, she knew it, and when he caught her eye, she bit her lip and bowed her head; he’d caught her. He smiled almost bashfully and stuttered a second as he lost his train of thought. He scratched his head, ruffling his hair until the thought came back around and he picked up where he left off.

He was beautiful she decided.

The Christmas tree was just behind him, back-lighting his profile and she squinted a little, making the lights behind him look blurry in her vision. It was like a rainbow glow hummed around him and she secretly wished she could sneak her phone out and snap a picture of him; to remember him just as he was right now. But it wasn’t worth it.

The camera could never capture how perfect he looked.

The karaoke was back.

When the regular party music was turned down, everyone groaned, but it quickly became as popular as it had been last year. Every drunk partygoer took a turn, and everyone laughed egging them on. Even Alex had a go with Rory singing backup to some silly Christmas song.

Bianca and Andrew were tucked away in the corner, talking quietly, getting warm from the outdoors. She’d followed him outside earlier for a smoke, getting lost in the way he looked when he puffed on his cigarettes… the way the little clouds curled up around his head, and the way he held it between his fingers. She was mesmerized all night by him and who he’d become. She found herself getting lost in his gentle muddy eyes, admiring the long lashes and the way they brushed against his cheeks.

Andrew had caught her staring again, for the hundredth time that night. It made his stomach twist in knots, and he felt like he could spend the whole night just hanging out beside her. She was wearing a cute little knit dress, always a dress, and stockings with tiny hearts. His own heart ached at how adorable she was. He knew he should make his move, but… he honestly didn’t know the move to make. He didn’t want to screw this year up as bad as the last. So he chose to do nothing. He would let the night play out and see what happened.

The party was dying; many of the guests had gone home or were idling about talking in clusters throughout the house; just hanging on to the evening as long as they could. Andrew had imbibed just enough beers to make him a bit bold and a lot romantic. He was sitting beside Bianca, their legs touching completely, watching some horrible rendition of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ by someone very drunk who assumed they sounded much better than they did. They giggled, trying not to poke too much fun at the very serious performer.

“Honestly, I thought that’d never end” Andrew muttered, arms crossed over his chest when the last notes faded away.

“Mmm,” Bianca smiled, “you should go up there. Show everyone how it’s done.”

Andrew seemed to shrink back into the couch, trying to disappear altogether, “Em…”

“Come on. I’ve never seen you sing before” she countered, batting her eyelashes at him.

“Do you live under a rock?”

“Noooo… I meant live, silly. In front of my own eyes!” She teased elbowing him.

He chuckled, “You should come to one of my gigs then. Can work out a triple A pass for you, if you want.”

“No, no, no!” She exclaimed, shoving him, “Sing me a Christmas tune, like… here at the party. I’m in the mood for a cliche holiday song.”

“What… that last one didn’t do it for you?” He joked, sitting forward and pushing up his sleeves again.

“Absolutely not. Get going.”

“Alright, alright” he smiled, hauling himself off the couch and over to the laptop that was set up with an open playlist. He stumbled a bit, tugging at the hem of his sweater while he scrolled the list finding one could do properly. He grabbed the mic, spotting the one he wanted.

Clearing his throat, he mumbled, “Em… I’ve had a couple of drinks so… dunno how well this’ll sound… but…”

He didn’t need to watch the little screen, he knew the lyrics well. When the tune kicked in Andrew started off shaking a bit even though there weren’t many people watching. He didn’t really care who was present anyways, because he only had eyes for her.

Bianca sat tucked into the couch, holding her drink with both her hands on her lap. Her full focus was on him, and he smiled shyly at her, making eye contact.

“Oh, the weather outside is frightful

But the fire is so delightful

And since we've no place to go

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”

Bianca’s heart pounded so hard in her chest, she swallowed back the sound, hoping no one could hear it. She was melting, melting down right into the couch because he was singing not just for her, but to her. She glanced around to see if anyone else was paying attention, and there were a few, but when she glanced back, his eyes were still on her.

“It doesn't show signs of stopping

And I brought some corn for popping

The lights are turned down low

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow”

She sucked in her breath, the way his fingers pushed up the sleeves of that maroon sweater, and the way he gripped the mic, his nose just skimming the top of it. He had a scrap from a silver tinsel garland hanging haphazardly around his neck, and it made him look so much sweeter.

“When we finally kiss goodnight

How I'll hate to go out in the storm

But if you really hold me tight

All the way home I'll be warm”

Bianca worried her bottom lip as his eyes closed just for a moment to croon that particular line. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hug him; to cover him in kisses. Maybe they could run away together, and then they wouldn’t have a reason to come back to this silly party ever again…

“The fire is slowly dying

And my dear, we're still goodbying

But as long as you love me so

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow”

Andrew wanted to be with her; to see her again outside of this little bubble. The notes faded out, and he stared at her intently, making sure she knew. He clicked off the mic and set it aside, pushing up those damn sleeves again as he made his way back to the couch. He rubbed his palms on his jeans, his hands sweaty with nerves before he settled back in beside her.

“Hey…” he murmured, his body angled towards her, his arm on the back of the couch, so close to her now he could smell her perfume and he breathed in subtly to remember the notes forever.

Bianca’s heart was beating fast and she put her hand over it to calm it down. This… this wasn’t what she’d expected tonight; didn’t even think she’d still feel this way after all this time, but…

Andrew didn’t know if it was the right thing to do or not, but he did it anyways. He placed his hand on her thigh. She was soft and warm, and he knew she was going to taste sweet when he finally-

“Andrew… I-” she began, her voice small and timid.

“Bianca… I screwed up last year… I’m sorry… I, em… shouldn’t have let it go that far… I ruined your night… em, and it’s destroyed me ever since” Andrew admitted, getting out some of the words he’d practiced so many times over, “And then I let you leave… and, em… it’s crushed me ever since.”

He squeezed her thigh just above her knee, and she looked down at his hand, covering it with her own, “Andrew… it’s… it’s okay. That was a long time ago… I just think you should know…”

But Andrew wasn’t listening. Instead, he was leaning in towards her… his muddy eyes nearly falling closed as he licked his lips in anticipation. Bianca whimpered, the smell of him intoxicating her, his hand so soft and a little bit rough as he squeezed her. She could do it. She could close her eyes and do it. Just let it happen.

She gulped, watching him tilt his head in preparation and she gripped his fingers tight; hoping he’d understand, “Andrew, stop.”

This time, he heard her.

He halted, hovering so close to her, only pulling away just slightly. His eyes were full of confusion as he searched hers, “What? Do you, em… should we go somewhere else?”

Bianca shook her head, the tears prickling behind her eyes. How many times was she gonna cry at this stupid party anyways?

“No. I can’t… I can’t go anywhere with you. Not tonight.”

“But Bianca… I thought…?” Andrew’s heart sunk, unsure of what was happening exactly. He’d put himself out there… read all the signs… all the signals she’d sent…

“You’re going to hate me. I hate me.”

“Tell me” he said quickly, needing an immediate answer. After these last two months of torment and anguish from losing one girl, and then pining after the next…

“I have a boyfriend, Andrew.”

What.

Andrew’s heart sunk into the pit of his stomach and when he fully took in what she said, he retracted from her so fast it was as if he’d just scorched his hand on a hot iron.

“A boyfriend?” He sputtered, his head a complete mess. “But why would you…? Where is he then?”

Bianca gulped, the expression on Andrew’s face breaking her heart into a thousand pieces, “He couldn’t make it tonight… he wanted to, but…”

“And you’re serious?” He asked her softly, raising his eyebrow in disbelief, “You’re not just having a laugh because of last year?”

“I’m not lying to you. I’m… so…” she didn’t want to simply say sorry because, it was too insensitive. She’d already crushed him, she couldn’t do it again, “I… apologize for… leading you on… honestly… I was enjoying your company so much… I just love being around you… and if-”

“Don’t say it” he struggled trying to get off the stupid couch, wishing he could literally disappear right then, “Don’t fucking tell me if he wasn’t in the picture, because I don’t want to hear it.”

“But it’s true, Andrew!” Bianca cried in a whisper, sitting forward as he stood up. She ruined everything.

“That was a shit thing to do. You should know that.”

She’d never seen him upset. Ever. This was new. And it was eating her alive. She scrambled off the couch and after him as he turned to leave. “Wait!” she exclaimed, much louder than she’d intended. A few people turned to look at them, including Alex and Rory who’d come back into the room after all this time. She bowed her head sheepishly in front of their audience.

Andrew turned back to her, lowering his head as he stepped closer, “Bianca. Listen…” he waited for her to look up into his eyes and it felt like a thousand knives stabbing him in the gut. Rusty mangled knives, “We’ve gotta stop doing this to each other, yeah?”

A tear slipped down her cheek as she stared into those beautiful eyes of his, his soft, fluffy hair falling across his forehead in waves, “Last year you were seeing someone. And it killed me. What you’re feeling right now is exactly how I felt.”

“So you did it on purpose? Led me on so you could… just, em, embarrass me like that? So I would hurt as much as you did? Like payback?” He scoffed in disbelief.

“No! Never! I never meant to…” she sighed, “Andrew. Listen to me. I have liked you since the moment I met you. I’ve thought about you every single year since… and I thought… well… I can’t sit around and wait forever, so… I did something about it.”

Andrew sighed, “It’s just… never been the right time, has it?”

“No. It hasn’t” she told him softly, exhaling heavily.

“I don’t have anything else to say right now… em, so if you’ll excuse me… I’m gonna go.”

She grabbed his large hand, stopping him, “Wait…” he looked back at her, and she stood on her tiptoes, cupping his face with her other hand before placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

He looked down at her with so much sadness in his eyes, her soft lips tearing his heart right out, “I hope you have a good holiday, Bianca. I’ll see you around” he squeezed her hand once before pulling away.

Her hand dropped to her side when he let go, and she watched him sulk away, her legs like jelly. It was over. She’d literally ruined everything. Again. She should’ve just let it happen. What harm would a kiss have done?

Well, it ruined your last relationship, so…

“What just happened? Where’s Andy going? Why does your face look like you’ve seen a ghost? Too much to drink?” Alex’s slightly drunk questions were relentless.

“He hates me.”

Alex laughed, “Why’s that? You broke his heart or something?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah. I did. I told him I have a boyfriend.”

His face fell, “Oh” he watched Andrew escape through the front door, “That’s unfortunate… He erm… just broke up with his girl not too long ago, so… he’s feeling… sorta down right now. You know like, a gaping wound where his heart were before?”

Bianca closed her eyes. Maybe one year she wouldn’t fuck up royally, “Perfect. Well… I tried to apologize, but” she sighed, giving up, “He forgot his coat, Alex.”

“I’ll get it. Don’t worry” he patted her back, “It’s gonna be fine. He’ll be fine.”

She nodded as he too left her. And once again; she was alone.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, breaking her out of her trance. Some small part of her hoped it was Andrew… but then she realized, they’d never bothered to exchange any information.

I miss you. I hope you’re having fun. x

She sighed deeply at her boyfriend’s text, sending off a quick response, unsure even of what she said. The only thought on her mind now was Andrew, and the face he made just before he left.

“Merry fucking Christmas, Bianca.”

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essieeeeeeeee · 5 years

Note

For the I wish you would write a fic where... post I’ve got non angsty: Deckard or Hattie or Owen or Luke or all of them chaperone Sam’s class field trip Or angsty: Deckard comes home bruised and broken after a mission gone horribly wrong and Luke takes care of him

I’m already working on a one-shot for the second one, so here’s a little fill for the first. I had to cut it off, because it was getting way too long, so sorry if the ending seems a little stilted, lmao. Thanks for the prompt!

———————

Shaw nearly fumbles the burning hot frying pan when Sam first asks the question. He’s an international spy with reflexes that rival a cat’s, though, so instead of dropping the pan and splattering pancake batter across Hobbs’ kitchen, he pauses.

And slowly, incredulously, turns to look at the kid.

“… come again?” he asks, and Shaw can feel the way his face is twisted in a moue of disbelief. He tones the expression down just a touch, though, as Sam glances away and fiddles timidly with the pen in her hand.

“We’re supposed to go on a field trip next week. My class, I mean. To the San Diego zoo.” She scuffs her foot against the ground, eyes still firmly Not Looking at Deckard. It’d be endearing, if the subject matter wasn’t so baffling. The next part falls out of her mouth in a rush. “And I’ve never been there before, and I’ve always wanted to go, but Dad’s usually pretty busy, so we’ve never had the chance, so I was really excited about the field trip, but Mr. Brougher said there’s not enough parents signed up yet, and that if we don’t get at least three more adults to chaperone by the end of today then–then–”

Her shoulders hunch in. It’s almost painful seeing it. Shaw feels guilty just witnessing the sight.

“… then he’s gonna cancel the trip,” she finishes quietly.

Silence follows her monologue. Neither of them try to fill it–Sam, because she’s too absorbed in staring at the floor, spinning the pen round and round her little fingers in skittish habit, and Deckard because he’s too busy choking on his own tongue in surprise to say a word.

The butter from the pan decides to fill it for them, apparently, as it hiss-pops and bubbles, and splashes a few drops on his hand. Shaw cuts off his own hiss of pain from the burn of it, and turns back to the stove; the motion is half to distract from the alarming subject of conversation, and half to prevent the food from burning.

“… are those pancakes?” Sam asks behind him, shuffling closer to glance curiously at the pan. Apparently, the sight of food was a sure-fire way to tempt the kiddo out of her little bout of nervousness.

Apples and trees, Shaw thinks, the corner of his mouth ticking up somewhat before he has a chance to smooth it over.

“Pull out a plate and the syrup, and I’ll get you some before your bus gets here.”

Sam skips over to the cabinets to do as told, and Shaw takes the moment to wonder how the hell he ended up here: Hobbs’ kitchen, cooking pancakes for a child, being asked to babysit schoolchildren.

He’s a mercenary. An ex-special ops assassin. A cold-blooded, red-handed, rap-sheet-bigger-than-Luke-Hobbs’-biceps murderer.

He’s not some–some fucking nanny.

So what if he occasionally shows up at the Hobbs homestead post-mission, bruised and scraped and in need of a place to sleep and lick his wounds where he doesn’t need to keep one eye open in paranoia? If he occasionally stays a few days here and there, bickering and bitching the time away with the lawman; if from time to time he glances over Samantha’s shoulder while grabbing a glass of water from the fridge, and absently tosses out advice and corrections for her assignments. If sometimes the two of them even manage to coax Shaw to the dining table for meals, like he’s some stray cat that’s grudgingly wandered into their home.

And so what if maybe, occasionally, when Sam is away at Hobbs’ sister’s or a friend’s home, and the house is otherwise quiet and empty–if he lets the bickering turn into something else. Lets Hobbs slam him up against a wall or a counter or the fucking dining room table, any flat sturdy surface that can take the roughousing. If, maybe, he lets Hobbs do things to him he wouldn’t otherwise permit.

So fucking what?

It’s not like any of that makes him the kid’s step-mother.

“You’re burning them,” Sam points out absentmindedly. Shaw glances down at the pan in his hand, and lo-and-behold, the flat little pastry was starting to char around the edges. He scowls, and flips the pancake onto its other side with a quick flick of his wrist.

Still looks salvageable, at least.

He stops to process that thought for a moment, and–Deckard doesn’t even like pancakes.

Why was he making pancakes?

“Can you make one shaped like a star?” Sam asks cheerfully from her stool at the kitchen counter, scribbling in her glitter-pink notebook. “Dad’s really good at making shapes.”

And Shaw, because he wasn’t about to let Luke fucking Hobbs upstage him in anything, acquiesces. He shapes the runny batter into something that resembles a lopsided star, perhaps, if you happen to squint and spin around three times before peeking at it sideways.

Shaw stares at it for a moment. And then, briefly, glances back and forth between the pan, with it’s demented star-cake starting to brown, and the little girl next to him, still happily absorbed in her drawing. Realization builds in his chest like dread.

… Jesus Christ.

He was being domesticated.

“So, can you?”

Samantha peers up at him with big, brown, apprehensive eyes, and bites her lip as though worried about the answer. It takes Shaw a moment to remember what exactly the question had even been.

Ah. Yes. The… field trip.

No, he wants to say, blunt and brutally honest. No chance in all the realms of hell was he about to chaperone a bus full of screaming niblets. The concept was–completely barking, really. Hattie would certainly get a laugh out of it, if she had even an inkling that the idea was put out on the table.

But the kid looks half-way to hiding herself under her own hair again, and even Shaw isn’t heartless enough to ignore that. “Probably not a good idea,” he says instead, slowly, to take any bite out of it. He flips the pancake over to avoid having to look at the disappointment he just knows is on the little bit’s face at his answer. “You even ask your dad yet?”

“He said he doesn’t get home from his next trip until two days after,” she answers, and even without looking at her Shaw can still hear the dejection in her voice. He winces. God, he’s such a bastard.

Really, though, that’s all the better reason for him not to be around a group of young and impressionable children.

“You know if your dad ain’t gonna be here, I won’t be either, don’t you?” he asks, still beating around the bush. Shaw doesn’t really want to face the music and put that defeated look in her big bambi eyes.

Stall, he thinks. When was the fucking bus getting here?

“But he’s only going to be gone for a couple days! And if you watch me, then Aunt Lisa won’t have to cancel her beach trip next week. It’s perfect.”

The kid really had it planned out, didn’t she? Sneaky little bugger.

He wasn’t about to fall for it, though. And if she really thought her father, of all people, would willingly leave his nine year old daughter in the hands of Deckard Shaw, then the kid was only deluding herself.

“I don’t think it’s gonna…”

Work like that, he wants to say, but her pouting face makes him hesitate. Goddamn big brown bambi eyes, he thinks, and tries to steel himself to finish the sentence–

“Please, Uncle Deck?”

… aw, fuck.

Shaw rubs a hand across his face, and swallows down the bitter taste of defeat with as much grace as he can muster.

“Your dad ain’t gonna let me watch you, kid,” he says. Sam’s face starts to fall, but it perks back up instantly as he finishes it with, “but I can… chaperone. Your trip.”

The cheer Sam makes gets muffled into his stomach as she flings herself at him, and Shaw catches her in alarm. He’s not quite sure what to do with his hands as the nine year old wraps her own arms around his waist in a hug that was tighter than he’d expect from someone her size.

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you–” she babbles delightedly. Deckard decides patting her head is probably safe enough, and does so awkwardly until she lets go, humming, and dances back to her seat.

The next few minutes pass in a blur of serving the kid breakfast, with a background chatter of Sam rambling about a social studies project that was due in two weeks. Shaw can’t really say he’s paying much attention, though; the cringing dread welling up in him was too distracting.

By the time Sam grabs her bookbag and darts in to steal another quick hug before rushing off for the bus that was idling out front of the house, Shaw’s regretting every decision that ever lead him to Luke Hobbs’ doorstep.

A chaperone. For a fourth grade field trip.

It may have only been seven thirty in the morning, but Christ, he really needed some alcohol.

#samantha hobbs #deckard shaw #shobbs #kind of #it's mentioned at least #my drabbles #nix1327

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jenovahh · 4 years

Text

The Honey Pot - Ch. 6 - Little Lady

“You disgust me.”

Your own words ring throughout your head, playing over and over like a bad record.

Your hands still feel warm from the heat you felt of your hands around his neck.

What’s worse is they are shaking; trembling so violently that you realize it’s not just your hands shaking, but your entire body. You clutch yourself tight as you huddle upon your bed, chin tucked to your chest as you try to pull yourself together.

Projection was a funny thing, you muse darkly, thinking of how much you hated how you even attempted to squeeze the life from his lungs. To try and kill a man prone on the floor and defenseless…

The one you were disgusted with was yourself.

When it came down to it, you could not kill.

He said it himself; you had the skill. You had the power, the strength. But when it came to actually getting the deed done, to follow through on such a terrible threat--

You fell short.

Thinking now about those cold looks you’ve seen in his eyes, you see now that Zenos truly was serious about having no qualms of killing those who failed him. When you had held back on him that day in the gym, there would’ve been no beat down and demoting you to being some lackey.

He would’ve killed you.

The thought is harrowing as much as it is infuriating, to see how little he values the life of others. It makes you wonder how he could’ve grown up to be so callous; you knew rich people saw the masses as nothing but metaphorical ants, but to actually be so heartless to follow through on killing someone…

A light knock jolts you from your downward spiral, your eyes darting to the door. Before you can even get your mouth open to ask who stands on the other side it slides open, Zenos standing before you.

He’s changed out of his workout clothes. He wears pants that look too casual to be slacks, yet too expensive to be jeans, paired with a simple printed t-shirt. Paired with his long hair now unbound, he almost looks like he could pass for a band member and not the son of a CEO. “Have you finished sulking?” He asks, his one visible eyebrow arched.

Glaring at him, you can’t help but snarl. “I’m not sulking, you bastard.”

“You keep calling me outside of my name and yet expect differently of me. What is it I always hear those commoners say...do unto others, or something of the like?” He ponders dramatically, bracing his form against the doorframe. He looks completely at ease, as if he wasn’t daring you to kill him but half a bell ago. “Granted what you call me doesn’t matter. Address me however you like.” He grins deviously, eyes smug.

You try to find it in yourself to get angrier, but you’re too mentally exhausted from earlier to deal with his obvious baiting. “Well then, Garlean scum, why don’t you fuck off and leave me to my sulking as you call it?” You bite out, giving him no room to guess exactly how you’re feeling.

“Believe me, little savage, I’ve plenty other things that require my attention, but you are perhaps the biggest investment I’ve made for the foreseeable future.” He chuckles lowly, and you can hear his chest rumble with the baritone of his voice. “You’ve been so busy wallowing in your self-pity that you’ve missed lunch entirely.”

Your eyebrows perk up at that, glancing at the alarm clock on the nearby nightstand. Sure enough, it is well past noon. Fighting to keep the upper hand, you turn back to resume your glare at him. “I’d rather starve.”

“And I’d rather you not. While tedious, I’m not above throwing you over my shoulder or dragging you down the hall like the beast you are.” His tone is teasing, but you can hear the underlying threat. “As I said, you are an investment. You’ve not studied anatomy, so it’s safe to deduce you know nothing of proper nutrition. You will receive proper nourishment...understood?”

There’s an almost crushing weight to his stare, one that even you struggle to stand against. Pursing your lips together, you finally look elsewhere. “If you put me on a diet, then I really will kill you.” You huff, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Excellent. Now get up, so that we may go to the kitchens.” He stands back to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. He watches lazily as you climb out of the bed, tugging on the slippers one foot at a time.

“Taking me there yourself? Isn’t that grunt work?” You sass, coming to stand before him at the door. Backing away, he begins to stride down the hallway but you don’t miss the smirk on his face.

“Doing something so menial would usually be beneath me...but I have my own curiosity to sate.” He admits, long legs carrying him quickly through the halls. You try to keep step without looking too silly, though if anything is laughable, it’s how he towers over the majority of his employees. They all immediately shuffle to the sides as he strolls down the middle of the hall, almost pressing against the walls in some cases.

“Curiosity?” You echo, arching an eyebrow at him as he turns a corner and through a door. If he didn’t stop talking about you as if you were some kind of animal…

Looking up, you’ve already arrived at your destination, hearing the sound of shuffling feet, mild chatter, metal hitting metal. The kitchen is as big as anything else in the house, housing an equally large staff to match. The head chef circles around as best he can due his bulk as a Roegadyn.

“Lyngsath.” Zenos speaks, his voice naturally carrying over the din of soups bubbling and idle chatter. The entire room seems to freeze for a moment as they acknowledge his presence. A chorus of “good afternoon” is muttered before everyone hurriedly returns to their work. The chef bows respectfully before carefully working his way towards the two of you.

“A pleasure to see you this fine day, Lord Zenos. How can I be of assistance?” Lyngsath greets, carefully removing an oven mitt. Though he speaks proper Eorzean like most employees on the estate, he cannot hide the La Noscean accent he carries.

“I see that your staff is currently in the process of preparing dinner, but I require lunch to be made for this new employee.” Zenos drones, his eyes drifting down to you. Lyngsath finally looks at you as well, giving you a quick once over. “She is my bodyguard.”

The Roegadyn’s eyebrows shoot up at that, a burly hand coming to scratch at his beard. “You? Needin’ a bodyguard?” he says in disbelief, so shocked that he slips into his accent in full, eyes taking a closer look at you.

“Indeed.” Zenos smirks, having not looked away from you. “As such, you are to make sure she gets the proper nutrition she needs to maintain her proper bulk and energy.” The orders are clearly for Lyngsath, but he has not looked away from you once. You hold back a growl as you realize he is threatening Lyngsath’s life should you fail to eat.

“Bastard.” You mouth, to which Zenos’ smirk only grows wider.

“She won’t be eating with the family, however I trust I can leave it to you to make sure she shows up to eat. Am I understood?” Zenos asks, finally turning back to face Lyngsath. The Roegadyn in question gives a fierce nod, eyes glancing back to you. “Of course, Lord Zenos.” He responds.

“I will have her height and weight and other such things sent to your inbox. For now, if anything remains from lunch, serve it to her.” Seemingly finished here, Zenos begins to head for the door. “Oh, and savage…”

You don’t bother facing him to acknowledge his insult.

He chuckles lowly behind you. “I expect you to behave when not under my supervision. Enjoy what free time you have left, won’t you?” The sound of the door opening and his retreating footsteps let you know he’s gone, your body relaxing immediately. With him gone, you take glance at where he once was, making a face at nothing but air before turning back to face the kitchen.

Everyone is staring at you.

“H-Hello?” You mumble shyly, which seems to spur everyone back into action.

Lyngsath clears his throat before extending his hand. “Though you already know my name now, I think I should properly introduce myself. The name’s Lyngsath, head chef for the Galvus household.” His grip is firm as you shake it, his hand encompassing yours entirely. “Forgive my bumbling earlier; I find it quite hard to believe that Lord Zenos would require any kind of protection, Miss…”

“Honey.” You supply, giving one last firm squeeze before pulling your hand away. “I also don’t know why he needs me around, but a job’s a job, eh?” You smile, and you can see him visibly relax.

“Certainly true, little lady. Let’s get ya fed, eh?” He chortles, meandering his way back through the kitchen. You follow him as he makes his way over to a nearby industrial refrigerator, opening its doors and peeking inside. “We usually don’t keep much in terms of leftovers; everything for the family is cooked fresh, everyday. Even the staff that stay nearby the grounds don’t get access to the family’s kitchen; the young master must hold you in high esteem.”

You release an unladylike snort at that. “I suppose you could call it that. He just thinks--” You cut yourself off for a moment, remembering Ardbert’s words. “...that I am skilled enough to protect him.” You finish as smoothly as possible, watching as he pulls a tin pan out of the fridge. Uncovering the lid, you can see some sort of pan-seared fish inside, and by the Twelve does it look delicious.

“Lucky for you, its not been coolin’ off for long, so give me a moment to warm it up for ya.” Balancing the pan in one hand, he crosses to grab a skillet and sets it on top of the stove. “Go on and find a seat Miss; I’ll have this warmed up for ya soon enough.”

Nodding, you look around and notice a door on the far wall. Pushing past the busy staff, you slip through and find yourself in an elegant dining room. A lengthy table made of what must be carved mahogany sits in the middle, covered in fine porcelain plates and what must be actual silverware. High backed chairs circle the table which is clearly set for tonight’s dinner, and the visage is so pretty you feel like you’ve stepped into a movie.

Circling the table, you eye each plate, staring unashamed at the intricate hand painted designs, admiring the craftsmanship. A candelabra sits in the middle, clearly for show but no less impressive with its beautiful wrought iron. You wonder if guests are allowed to eat in here, or if this dining room is solely for family use. The silverware is so immaculate you have no trouble spotting your own reflection, your hand reaching out before you can stop yourself.

“You are new.”

A deep voice stops your hand in its tracks.

“Little lady, I’ve prepared your lunch,” Lyngsath sings as he shoulders the door open, plate in hand. He freezes in place, eyes on the source of the voice. “Lord Varis!”

Following his gaze, you meet the cold, hard stare of Varis zos Galvus, head of Galvus industries. He is far more intimidating in person than on the television you note, seeing that he is equally tall as Zenos, if not slightly taller. His platinum blonde hair is gathered in a low ponytail that reaches down his back, ends neatly clipped. Dressed for business, his suit fits him like a glove, sharp and tailored and meant to accentuate his figure. A single eyebrow is arched in question as he quickly glances at Lyngsath.

“Lyngsath. Might you know who this...person is?” Varis begins, eyes drifting back to you. If Zenos’ gaze upon you was analytical, Varis’ was downright scrutinous. You couldn’t help but shift in unease, something about his look making you wish you were anywhere but here.

“Why yes, this is the young master’s bodyguard. He had tasked me with ensuring she had eaten properly.” Lyngsath answers, his accent almost nonexistent.

Both of Varis’ eyebrows raise at the chef’s answer, though it was so slight if you had blinked you would have missed it. “Bodyguard?” He mutters, and you swear there is a slight hint of amusement to it. Slowly, he takes measured steps in your direction. “So. Either my son has found someone with skills that rival his own…” Varis trails off, and one would think he was talking to himself if he were not speaking so clearly. “Or he has found a suitable stand in to please me.” Standing before you, much like his son, he is able to look down on you with ease. You could’ve sworn all Garleans were not so tall. “Which then, are you?”

Pursing your lips, you meet the unwavering gaze of the CEO. Your mind races malms a minute as you choose your words carefully. It stands to reason that Varis has the same intellect as his son, and you cannot afford to blow your cover. “Your son wishes he were my rival.”

Goddamnit.

Amusement mixed with surprise flashes through his golden stare, the corners of his lips twitching just slightly. “Curious…” He murmurs, a hand reaching up for your hair. You frown as you sit there and let him take a lock between his fingers, observing it for what, you did not know. “What a mouthy savage.”

You can’t fix your face fast enough, glaring at the taller man with all the fury you can muster. He remains undeterred, still not having released your hair as he continues his appraisal of you. “Tell me, savage, how did my son come across you then?”

You ignore him, for you know if you open your stupid mouth, whatever comes out will blow your cover entirely. Varis huffs a laugh at your silence, releasing the lock of hair. “I would think you smart enough to answer a question when you are asked.” His voice is low, dangerous, but you feel no fear. “Answer me, savage.” His hand moves to reach higher in your hair but you grip his hand to stop him.

You do not hide your hate as you glare up at Varis, his eyes widening slightly.

Good. At least someone in this family seemed to have some sense of self preservation.

Your next words are a hiss between your bared teeth. “You keep callin’ me savage, I’m not gonna,”

“Father.”

Your eyes dart to the opulent door on the far side of the room, where Zenos stands, door knob clutched in his hand. His expression is emotionless, but the tone of his voice betrays him.

He sounds downright murderous.

“You’ve returned.”

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #ff14 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #THP

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galadrieljones · 5 years

Text

The Lily Farm - Chapter 34

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 34: Safety and Other Dreams

Mary Beth stood at the window in their room at the B&B, looking out at all the possibilities. She’d gotten a little tired and left the party without telling anyone but Abigail. Arthur had been talking to Hosea and looked happy. She was certain that it was just because the day had been long, her feeling tired. In truth, though, she was very ready for things to go back to normal. For once, she found herself almost wanting to return to Shady Belle. She knew that was backwards, but it was how home had manifested itself in her mind. The place where everybody was, and where everything was the same. Like an anchor that she hated, but an anchor nonetheless. Mary Beth had lived a life that was always changing. She was in a constant scramble for the thing that never wavered. As she looked out the window at the long, blue lawn, she realized that home was for now a traveling suitcase, and despite this, she did not have to worry. Because she was not alone. She was comforted by the little life taking up residence inside her, and for Arthur. She had begun to feel mixed up by what it would mean to leave the gang that loved her, but it was gonna be okay. She took a deep breath. She heard the door open behind her, and she looked back and there he was.

“Hey there,” he said. He came into the room.

She turned all the way around and leaned against the windowsill and smiled when she saw him. He closed the door, took off his shiny coat from Dutch and tossed it over the brass bed post. Underneath was just him in his white dress shirt, which was still tucked in but a little rumpled and a pair of light leather suspenders wearing thin. He was his big warm self, unchanged, and familiar to her. For the jacket was lovely, she thought, but it was very flashy, and that was not him. His hair was long by now, down to his shoulders, and she had hardly noticed before this moment. He looked windswept and soft with the liquor but just a little. He took off his gloves and set them on the bed.

"You snuck away,” he said.

“I was just tired,” said Mary Beth. “And you and Hosea was talking—I didn’t want to disturb. I snuck away.”

He was smiling. He came over to her at the window and took her right into his arms. He sighed big and huge all around her. She was so relieved now and all the things that had worried her at the window had gone. “Let’s just be in love and go to sleep,” said Arthur, a little cheeky. “What do you think, Mrs. Morgan?”

She blushed. “You like my dress, Mr. Morgan?”

“I do,” he said, getting a look at her. “Abigail and Lizette did a very good job. You look beautiful.”

She grabbed his face then and kissed him good. She had changed course and was suddenly far too happy for sleeping now. It took him by surprise but as usual he gave in to her.

“You have made an honest man out of an outlaw, Mary Beth,” he said, undoing her braid, piece by piece. “I am not sure how I can properly thank you.”

“I can think of some ways,” she said.

She was very glad to have married her best friend.

Meanwhile, downstairs, the party was winding down. John and Hosea were sitting at the kitchen table with Abigail, playing hearts, and Hamish had dozed off on an arm chair in the corner next to the piano. The Reverend and the Mother Superior, as well as Jack, had retired to sleep an hour before, and Lizette was sweeping up and dusting and watering the plants, wearing one of her pretty French aprons with the bobbin lace that she had brought from Nice. Abigail tried multiple times to offer her assistance in cleaning up, but Lizette would have nothing of it.

Out on the porch, Dutch had taken up with his cigar, surveying. It was so dark out here, like being back in Wyoming. He had spent a lot of his life living everywhere, and trying to forget some places, but never Wyoming. Wyoming was where he had found Arthur, when Arthur had been just some long-haired blot-on-the-town teenager, playing cards in the back of a smoky Jackson tavern, caught with two aces up his sleeve and about twenty seconds from being beaten to death by a mining foreman named Spud. It was where he had picked up Susan. She had been a saloon girl in Casper, looking like some sort of washed up beauty queen, offering herself for a price that he found to be unsuitable. She knew how to work Dutch from the moment they met, and he did not buy her—was not prone to buying women, as he preferred that they desire him in return, and so he brought her home, and he protected her. She groomed up young Arthur and taught him how to sit straight, how to appear upstanding and how to use his natural gentlemanly demeanor to charm people into giving him the things that he wanted. Montana had been the death of Eliza and Colorado had been Annabelle. Bessie was Texas. Those states were all dead to Dutch. But nobody had died in Wyoming. Only love had been found. He longed to return but the journey west had been corrupted at some point. He was trying to remember why. He knew that he was losing everything and everybody dear to him, but he just kept fucking up anyway as if losing was his new normal.

“A fine evening, isn’t it?” said Lawrence Winterson. He came out onto the porch with his pipe, looking for quiet. The pipe had already been packed and lit. On instinct, Dutch nodded in an upstanding fashion. He knew how to act and seem better than other people. It was how he'd been born.

"Absolutely," said Dutch. "Join me, won't you?"

They smoked for a while, staring out at the reverie. Sometimes, you could see one of the hounds, come up to sniff the grass and then disappear back into the tree line. The world was filled with the sounds of deer and loons and coyotes and then the deep silence of the lonely back country that was the east Heartlands. At some point, Dutch cleared his throat. He turned to Lawrence, keeping his respectful posture, but in truth, he was highly suspicious and had been since the moment he arrived. “I would like to thank you, kind friend,” he said, “for hosting this gathering, and for extending your welcome and your home to us. Most of all, for taking in Arthur like this, especially despite what he is.”

Lawrence looked at Dutch, blinking from behind his spectacles. They gave him the look of a scholar, most certainly the doctor that he was. “What he is? You mean, an outlaw?"

Dutch laughed to himself, studying his cigar. “That is what I mean, yes. We ain't used to mixing in, you know, with civilized folk. The few times we have, we've ended up burned, or knee-deep in shit."

“Oh,” said Lawrence, wising up. He adjusted his glasses, looking back out to the lawn. “Yes. Well, I'm not sure what you consider civilized. I run a legal business, yes, but I have, at times, entertained customers who may or may not run completely in line with the law. I am neither stupid nor one to cast idle judgment, Mr. van der Linde. This is, after all, the Heartlands. We still tend to walk a rather fine line here. I'm sure you've been to Valentine. You know what I mean. And in any case, whether you're a noble banker in St. Denis or a country doctor who boards outlaws and provides the occasional safe haven for prostitutes and runaways, we're all sinners."

"Is that right?"

"It is."

Dutch took a deep breath. He puffed off the cigar, blew a single smoke ring into the air. "You say you regularly board outlaws and prostitutes, runaways, Mr. Winterson?"

"Regularly? No," said Lawrence, smiling. "But I have not been known to turn away people in need, regardless of their means at birth or social standing."

"That's very noble of you," said Dutch. "And a doctor to boot. You are, indeed, a role model, Mr. Winterson."

Lawrence chucked at this. He ran a hand through his hair, light and graying. He went up to the porch railing and leaned against it on his forearms. "I see we are playing a game," he said, glancing back at Dutch. "I am not one to beat around the bush. You can trust me, Mr. van der Linde."

"How do I know that?" said Dutch, taking a step toward him. His boots were heavy, and his spurs rang like bells. He smoked. He lowered his voice. "I've got a price on my head, Mr. Winterson. As does everybody here. Save for the holy people, of course, Mr. Sinclair I expect, and little Jack. Even Mary Beth and Abigail, they're wanted somewhere. Arthur may be the strong, silent, and trusting type, but I, sir, am not. This is my family, and I am trying to get them to safety. I cannot afford to entertain the untrustworthy."

Lawrence sighed. He nodded, looking back at to the yard. "That is understandable," he said. "After all, I heard you are a great shepherd. John and Arthur both speak highly of you. It's true that I know who you are. That I recognized your name from the New Hanover Gazette immediately. But I must assure you, this is about Arthur. My wife and I care for him and Mary Beth. We truly do. We would never betray their trust. Ever."

"And I am supposed to just take you at your word?" said Dutch.

"No," said Lawrence. "But, it's all I've got, if you'll hear me out. Arthur mentioned to me that your father was in the Army of the Potomac. That he died in Gettysburg. Is that true?"

Dutch studied him closely. "It is."

"I was in the Army of the Potomac," said Lawrence, looking at him. "I was a surgeon, but I killed dozens of men when they broke our position and stormed our tents on Cemetery Hill. There were also men I could not save who I anesthetized into death. I could have fought beside your father. I could have watched him die, treated him, and I wouldn't have even known. There were thousands of us. I was one of the lucky ones. But I do know that whenever I come across another survivor like myself, like Mr. Sinclair for example, I am driven to loyalty. Your father died for a cause that I, too, would have died for. I don't care what you've done. Mr. van der Linde. I am not a moral paragon. I know what Arthur is capable of. I even know about Mary Beth. As long as we're square, you and me, I would never betray you or your people. Not for anything. Do you understand?"

Dutch's cigar had gone cold. He looked down, gave it up, tossed it over the porch railing and into the weeds. He hooks his thumbs over his belt, looked at his boots. "Yes, sir. I believe I do."

"Good," said Lawrence. "Because as I said before, I do care about Arthur. He came to us sort of like a bird with a broken wing. We never had children of our own. It's easy to get attached. Do you have any children of your own, Mr. van der Linde?"

Dutch gave him a stern look, but in the old man's eyes, he got lost and felt broken and for a moment understood why Arthur came here. “No," he said, unsure of why he was confessing such things, but he was. "I had a woman once. She was having my baby, but she died. That was it for me."

This seemed to sadden Lawrence considerably. He straightened up off the railing and placed his hands in his pockets, turning to Dutch, full of body language that communicated his sincerest condolences. "That is a terrible albatross," he said. "I am sorry, Mr. van der Linde."

Dutch said nothing. He felt a deep pressure building inside of him. It was like rage, but it wasn't. "Thank you."

"Anyway," said Lawrence, sort of smiling. He had an unfailing focus. "I should turn in. I hope we can part tomorrow with an understanding between us. You're safe here."

Dutch nodded, looking away. "Yes," he said. "I think we're square, Mr. Winterson." They shook hands.

Lawrence turned to go inside then. He clasped Dutch on the shoulder, lightly. "I should go check on our guest," he said. "The one not here for the wedding."

"You do that," said Dutch.

Lawrence was gone.

They rode back to Shady Belle in shifts. Dutch went first, then Hosea with John and Abigail the next day. Hamish stayed. The Reverend and the Mother Superior took the train. Arthur and Mary Beth waited until everybody was gone, enjoyed a couple of quiet days with the Wintersons and Hamish in the Heartlands. They went back three days after the wedding, rode straight to Shady Belle, stopping only once to rest. When they arrived, it was evening. Miss Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson had prepared the camp with booze and colorful streamers and music. Everybody was happy and using the occasion as an excuse to get wildly drunk and sit around the fire singing and laughing and confessing to one another their deepest, darkest fears and desires. They congratulated Arthur and Mary Beth. There were no fights. Micah wasn't there. Even the gators stayed away that night. Arthur and Mary Beth were thankful, but they really were not wanting for much. By the mid-evening, when the sun had gone down and the frogs and crickets came out, Susan could tell, and so she corralled them both, took them upstairs to Arthur’s room where she had prepared for them a small but important surprise.

“We rustled you up a bigger bed,” she said, showing them how she and the girls had fixed up the room a little bit, cleaned and brought up Mary Beth’s chest of clothes and all of her earthly possessions. “We thought you might be appreciative, as that thing you were sleeping on before, Mr. Morgan, weren’t room enough for the damn dog let alone a married man and woman. So there you go.”

It was so soft of Miss Grimshaw, sweet, almost enough to reduce Mary Beth’s unfailing fear that she may skin her alive. They were thankful. Tilly had also painted a picture of a flower garden for them, using pigment paints she had bought in St. Denis. It was clumsy but made beautiful use of color and light. “I thought it could be like a window,” she said. “Make it seem like you’re looking out at something more romantic than the swamps for a change.”

“It’s so pretty,” said Mary Beth, picking the unframed canvas up off the windowsill. “You should do more of these, Till. You could sell them in town for a good price.”

Tilly waved her off. “Do you know how hard that was? I ain’t doing that for anyone I don’t love as much as you two. Now, enjoy.”

They were overcome. They shut in very early that night. For they had an excuse to do so.

The next morning, Mary Beth slept in. Arthur went to find coffee, and then he went and sat down next to Sadie on the porch to drink it. She had been up for hours, it seemed, and was cleaning her guns, wearing her hat, as usual.

“Mrs. Adler,” said Arthur. “How are you today.”

“Hey, Arthur,” she said, smiling. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

“I am fine. Thank you.”

“Well, congratulations,” said Sadie. “We didn't have much chance to talk last night. But I’m—I’m happy for you. It’s a blessing, what you got. Don't fuck it up.”

Arthur smiled, then looked upon her seriously. She seemed very tired and alone. He sought to change the subject. “I heard you and Charles been out on some recreational errands involving O’Driscolls,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Is that right?”

She laughed to herself, sarcastically. “I guess you could call it that. Errands.”

“How many you killed.”

“Dozens,” she said. “Maybe more, just in the past two weeks alone. Since Colm got his, they been turning up in all corners. Last we found them they’d been holed up in the Roanoke Valley. Nothing but cannibals and monsters up there. A few less now. We got em good.”

Arthur looked out at the camp. Jack was walking around with John, talking about something, gesticulating with his hands and holding a book. John seemed to be listening very closely, though he looked a trifle confused as to what the hell Jack was saying. Arthur smiled to see it. “Well I hope you’re being careful,” he said. “And I hope you’re laying off Kieran. You know he could’ve turned us in back at Lone Mule, but he didn't. He was tortured, and yet he stayed quiet. That means something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Sadie. “I know. A woman can learn.”

“Yes, she can.”

“Charles don’t make mistakes,” she said, looking up at Arthur. “He’s like you. He’s a good partner. But I trust you won’t be coming with us anytime soon, daddy.”

Arthur was amused by this. “Nope. No O'Driscoll hunting for me. I’ve had my ass handed to me by that lot more than once. I have officially retired from the business of blood feuds. You give them my best though, won’t you?”

“If your best is a bullet to the head, then I sure will.”

Arthur laughed. He finished his coffee.

“So how does it feel?” said Sadie. “Being married.”

“You would know,” said Arthur. “How did you feel, when you got married?”

She stared at him, a mixture of emptiness and pain, but also surprise. She seemed happy that somebody was thinking of it, remembering what she had been before, not walking on eggshells for once. “I felt safe,” she said, nodding, setting the gun down on her lap. “For the first time in my whole life.”

Arthur nodded in solidarity. “Yeah, me, too,” he said. He patted her on the shoulder and got up to leave. “Well, I best be getting on.”

"Okay, Arthur."

He got up, dusted off his jeans. It was in the moment that he was beckoned by Hosea from the doorway.

"Arthur,” he said, holding a rolled up newspaper, seeming rushed.

"What is it?"

“Can we talk?” he said. “Upstairs on the balcony. As soon as you're able.”

Arthur nodded. Hosea greeted Sadie then went inside.

“What’s that all about?” said Sadie.

Arthur took a cigarette from his front pocket, still staring at the door. He lit it and smoked. “I’m not sure,” he said. “But I can guess."

"Care to share?"

"Maybe later. See you, Mrs. Adler.”

“It’s just Sadie,” she said, smiling. “You don’t have to call me that no more. We’s friends.”

Arthur nodded. “Okay, Sadie. You have a good day now. And no dying. You hear?”

“I ain’t afraid of dying.”

“Yeah,” said Arthur, smoking. “I know you ain’t. But we need you here.”

This baffled her.

Upstairs, Arthur found Hosea leaning on the bannister, looking down at the bounty of hungover outlaws and all of his happy children. He coughed once when Arthur arrived, turned around and placed his hands in his pockets. “Good morning, Arthur,” he said. “How are you feeling today.”

“About the same as any other day,” said Arthur. “Except I no longer sleep alone, by law.”

Hosea found this amusing. “A humble outlook. That’s good. Being a husband suits you, Arthur. I always thought it would.”

“Well, I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you,” said Arthur. “Now what’s this about?”

“It’s about that poker game, on the river boat,” said Hosea. “You remember we talked about this, some weeks back?”

Arthur sighed. He’d had a feeling. “I do,” he said. He released a bit of smoke from his lungs and then walked out to the balcony and looked down at all the water and the muck and the trees. “What’s the story.”

“Well, we’ve got a development,” said Hosea.

“And?"

"And you’re in,” he said. “Josiah secured you an invitation.”

“It’s just poker?” said Arthur. “If it’s just poker, I can do poker.”

“Indeed. Count the cards at your discretion. I’d advise against sleight of hand, though. You can’t get caught doing math in your head, but you can get caught with an ace up your sleeve.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“There’s a catch,” said Hosea.

Arthur gave him a look, leaned into the balcony, feeling undue annoyance. “What kind of catch.”

"A stipulation of sorts. You have to bring Mary Beth.”

“What?”

“The invitation was extended by Angelo Bronte,” said Hosea. “You have to be Tacitus Kilgore and his wife Marie. It’s both of you, or neither. That’s the only way you’re getting in.”

Arthur just stared at him. He caught himself almost laughing at this, for the situation seemed to fly up and out of his control in an instant. “You’re goddam serious.”

“Yes, I am. She won’t be the only woman there,” said Hosea. “I’ve looked into it. There’s a whole salon of wives and mistresses who accompany their men to these sorts of things. Of course they don’t take part in the gambling. That would be uncouth. They drink and mingle elegantly in an adjacent ballroom. It’s all very aristocratic, I assure you.”

“You’re out of your damn mind, Hosea.”

“I know it sounds that way, but the take will be big, Arthur. I’ve got Dutch against the ropes on leaving the south. We get a couple more big takes, we can be out of here for good. We can go north, and you and Mary Beth, John and Abbie can finally get the hell out of here, live your lives.”

“North?” said Arthur. “What the hell happened to Tahiti?”

“That’s in the wind,” said Hosea. “I told you. I been working on Dutch. He’s listening.”

“And this don’t seem at all suspicious to you,” said Arthur. “Angelo Bronte inviting me, a known outlaw, and my new wife to play cards on a riverboat. You don’t think that sounds like a trap?”

“Of course I do,” said Hosea, wiping his forehead with a red handkerchief. “And though I don’t think it is a trap, the remote possibility that it could be is exactly why, Arthur, I have some work-arounds I want to discuss with you."

"Work-arounds?" said Arthur. "Such as."

"Changing the location, for example," said Hosea. He took out a cigarette. Arthur lit it for him out of habit. He smoked. "To ensure we can control what goes down. And I’ve got some...guarantees we can utilize, involving a few Texas Rangers I know, traveling in the area."

“Texas Rangers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hold on,” said Arthur. He leaned in, lowered his voice, trying hard not to get angry at the old man. “Before you go on any further, Hosea, about guarantees and work-arounds and so forth, what on god’s green earth makes you think I’d even consider this. Mary Beth is pregnant.”

“I know.”

“Then you know my feelings about bringing her on jobs.”

“I do,” said Hosea. “And Dutch warned me on the matter. I just thought maybe I could convince you otherwise this time.”

“You. You’re trying to convince me otherwise?”

“Yes.”

Arthur shook his head out. He was almost laughing. It was flipping him upside-down.

“Arthur, just hear me out," said Hosea. "I would never willingly put you or Mary Beth in danger.”

“I won’t do it. I won’t take her.”

“You won’t take me where?” said Mary Beth. She was standing in the doorway, dressed for the day with her hair braided to one side. She was a mild sight, holding a book in one hand and an empty basket in the other.

“Mary Beth,” said Arthur.

“Hi,” she said, looking concerned. She came into the room. “What are you two talking about?”

Arthur took a deep breath. He lowered his eyes. Hosea smiled and straightened up, putting on his best show. “I’ll let you two discuss,” he said. He greeted Mary Beth and then bid them both farewell on his way out the door, still smoking. He coughed some. They listened to his footsteps on the stairs as he went away.

Arthur had both of his hands in his pockets now. He was staring down at the floor, shaking his head.

“Arthur?” said Mary Beth. “What’s going on?”

He glanced up at her. She was pretty there, put together for the day in her usual manner. He had wanted to take her away, not bring her back. But here he was again, going in circles, never realizing until it was too late. And he knew what she was gonna say.

“Is this about the river boat?” she said.

He nodded. “Yes."

He was clenching his jaw, his head hurting. He tried to imagine what their honeymoon would have been like in another life where they were both not accustomed to living so recklessly.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #tilly jackson #sadie adler #susan grimshaw #ch ch ch changes #things are on the horizon #:)#the lily farm

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thehomierobbstark · 6 years

Text

Movie Night

Ramen Recipe

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader [#TeamErikDon’tDateWhiteChicks]

Prompt: A typical movie night turns into anything but.

A/N: Don’t ask me where I come up with this shit 😂😂😂 I just be horny as hell daydreaming and be getting creative AF. Been holding onto this idea for a few months now.

Warnings: 👇🏿👇🏿👇🏿 At the bottom

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!! x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy if I decide to continue writing.

*Edit* This story belongs in the Teach Me AU after chapter 5 (chapter 4 & 5 have yet to be posted but there’s your timeline).

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

Ya Out Fit

“You… you made this?” she asks incredulously, face full of shock and disbelief, her cheeks poked out from the mouthful of ramen she was covering with her hand. It was absolutely adorable, the way she looked right now.

Erik groans, dramatically palming a hand over his face and dropping his head back in faux annoyance. This was her fourth time asking him, AND she was just finishing her second helping. If she didn’t believe him by now, he didn’t know if she ever would.

“Yes, babygirl! This all me,” he laughs, watching her munch away on noodle and egg.

It was movie night at Erik’s tonight, except he usually never cooked; they always ordered out. This time, he’d insisted they sit down and eat an actual dinner, even going so far as to give her a scheduled time to arrive. Usually, she’d just show up whenever.

“Hey,” She says, throwing her hands up in defense. “All I know is, last time I saw you in the kitchen, Auntie Dee had just walked out with half her eyebrow missing.”

She steels her face against the oncoming grin, looking away to avoid his eyes.

Erik kisses his teeth, side eyeing her from his end of the table.

“Man, whatever! You always gotta bring up old shit. She ain’t even notice it.”

She drops her hands as the smile breaks through, nodding her head in concession as she remembers how unaware poor Auntie Dee was and how much shit they used to get away with when they were younger.

“You is mutha fuggin RIGHT!” she sings, laughing at her own joke before she’s able to finish telling it.

“You so fuckin wack,” he rolls his eyes at her, chest bouncing from his suppressed chuckles as he gets up from his chair. “Come on and put ya stuff in the kitchen cornball.” He commands, scooping his bowl and chopsticks up before grabbing both their cups.

“How you know I was done tho,” she verbally argues, but follows suit right behind him.

“Cuz, you are.” He states plainly, as if it was obvious.

“CUz yOU aRe,” She silently mocked him, mouthing the words and making a face at the back of his head while she padded into the kitchen. He was right, she was done, but he ain’t need to know all that.

“Don’t get your ass whooped, little girl.” He warns her, glancing back with a knowing face while he places the dishes in the sink.

Yeah, whateva nigga. She thinks, eyebrow twitching from the mental eye roll she does. She places her dishes in after him, flipping on the tap to start some dish water while she tucks her loose braids behind her ear. He turns it off immediately, shooing her away.

“Don’t worry about allat, I’ll handle this later.” He ushers her out of the kitchen, knowing how helpfully domestic she was whenever they hung out together.

“Go pick out a movie and put it in, I gotta go grab something from upstairs real quick.” he says, leaving her in the living room near the couch while he dashes up the stairs to the second floor.

She waits a few beats, idling by the foot of the stairs while she listens to the sound of him moving around. She hears a door close, and slowly moseys her way back into the kitchen, turning the tap back on.

She never did like to listen much.

Once the sink was filled with soapy water, she busied herself, letting herself fall into the monotonous but comfortable task of washing the dishes. She was so distracted and in her own head by the fifth dish, she didn’t realize that Erik had come back down stairs and propped himself against the wall, watching her.

“So I see we just out here doing whatever we feel like, huh?” His voice announces his presence, startling her a little bit.

She recovers smoothly, her answer rolling off her tongue easily.

“Always,” she says, rinsing a pair of panda decorated chopsticks off before smirking over at him, grinning wickedly. Nobody could ever keep her from doing what she wanted, a fact they both knew.

“Well, since you wanna wash dishes so bad,” he says, taking slow steps towards her, face focused while a hint of something sinister lurks somewhere behind his eyes. “Go head and finish then.”

She studies his movements cautiously from the corner of her eye, knowing that he was notorious for surprise attacks of either tickling her until she collapsed or tossing her over his shoulder to body slam her on the couch.

He quickened his steps, and before she could fully remove her hands from the water to shield herself, he slides up behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist.

She reaches for him, but he grunts in disapproval. “Uh uh, put them wet ass fingers back in that sink. You not touching me with them hands.”

Y/N scoffs, grabbing the side of the sink while she shifts her weight to one foot. “Really, Erik.”

He ignores her, wrapping his fingers around her tighter and pulling her closer to him while his head slides in place next to hers.

“I said,” He leans in close, his lips grazing the skin in front of her ear, “finish those fucking dishes.”

Her heartbeat stutters in her throat, mouth going dry from the sudden intensity of his words. She looks down into the sink, seeing the remaining pot and cup left to wash.

Looking back up, she turns to face Erik when his head buries in her neck, pinching the thin skin behind her ear with his teeth, making her take in a sharp gasp.

“What I just say?” he asks darkly, and she freezes as she feels his rough fingers travel up to the dip in her back, pushing her forward gently to lean her over the sink, a silent command to do as she’s told.

She picks up the sponge, lathering it with soap as her mind splits focus between her task and Erik’s hands on her.

As she cleans the pot, he starts to knead small circles into her back with his thumbs, palms rubbing lovingly over her love handles as his hands travel up her back.

It was a comforting massage, helping to release tension she didn’t even know she was holding, and she slowly melted into his fingers.

When he reaches her shoulder blades, he leans down to place a soft kiss on her back, tugging the material of her dress down slightly with his index finger. With the little bit of access he gained, he sticks his tongue out and licks a delicious stripe up her spine, his fingers lacing into the braids at the base of her head to push them aside.

She tenses up again, back involuntarily arching as the cold air hits the warm trail of spit he left behind, making her shiver.

She’d stopped cleaning at that point, far too distracted with what he was doing to her to give a damn about the last cup in the sink.

Reaching the nape of her neck, he ends the lick with a firm bite on the space where her shoulder and neck meet, growling around a mouthful of skin at the breathy moan that escapes her lips.

Detaching from her, his hands find their way back around her hips, squeezing there before he speaks again, lips pressed against the shell of her ear.

“Meet me in the living room when you’re finished. Don’t keep me waiting.”

He lets go of her and steps away, reaching back to give her a swift pop to her ass.

He disappears around the corner into the living room, and Y/N takes a second to gather herself.

Tilting her head back, she blows out a shuddering breath, closing her eyes to reason with her body to come down from the intense rush of hormones that just spiked all over.

Looking back into the sink at the remaining dish, she turns on the water to rinse it off, not even caring if it was thoroughly cleaned or not. She didn’t even want to play with the idea of being late if it meant Erik had any more tricks up his sleeve similar to what just happened. She wasn’t sure if her underwear would make it.

She quickly placed the cup on the drying rack and dried her hands, taking a moment to smooth out her dress and ruffle her braids for a messy but cute look. She had an inkling that her look would probably be ruined by the end of the date anyway, but she could at least attempt to sustain it.

She rounds the corner to the living room, feeling her uncomfortably wet panties moving against her center as she does. Seeing Erik on the couch, she makes a mental note to sit on the opposite end and keep her legs crossed to keep the smell of her arousal from leaking out. She’d be mortified if Erik ever discovered just how turned on he’d made her with his little show in the kitchen. His ego didn’t need any more feeding than it already got on a regular basis.

She plops herself down on the couch, but she isn’t seated two seconds before Erik’s doling out commands again.

“Uh uh. Get your lil ass over here and come pick a movie out like I told you.” She rolls her eyes, kissing her teeth and popping back up to make her way over to the coffee table. He was being stupid bossy, and he had about one more time to be talking to her like that before they had a problem.

Y/N was so busy fussing in her head over Erik’s trifling ass that she didn’t realize the coffee table was weirdly pulled close to the couch, the six movie choices arranged in the center directly in front of where Erik was sitting.

Walking over, she stands perpendicular to both him and the table, looking at the small space in between where she was apparently supposed to stand to make her selection. If she did, her ass would be directly in his face, and with the short dress she was wearing combined with the current state of her cheeky underwear, that was the last thing she wanted to be doing.

Crossing her arms, she peeks over her shoulder to take a look at the options, but the table is incredibly low and her blind ass didn’t have her glasses on, making the titles on the DVD cases difficult to read.

She glances over at Erik to see that he’s watching her intensely, smug smile hidden behind his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“I ain’t got all day beautiful. Bend that blind ass over and choose one. I’m not gon say it again.”

Alright. This nigga was getting way too comfortable ordering her around and she was Over It ™.

She drops her arms and steps to him, ready to start cursing him out when he grabs her hips and spins her around, holding her with a firm grip right at the top of her thighs. Leaning forward, he nips at the back of her thigh, rubbing away the sharp pain with his thumb before kissing the sensitive area.

Dropping one hand down in between her legs, he lazily draws his fingers up the inside of her ankle, delicately digging his nails into her so she could feel them scraping against her skin.

When he reaches her knee, her mind snaps back to reality, and she opens her mouth to say something but he cuts her off.

“Erik -”

“I’m not stopping until you find something for us to watch. So get busy.” he says plainly, shutting down any argument she was about to make.

His nails scrape up past her knee, and Y/N reflexively closes her legs, the tickling sensation starting to become too much for her.

His hand was trapped between her thighs at that point, and thinking him to be defeated, she bends over, placing both hands on the coffee table for leverage, leg muscles still constricted as she tries to scan over the movies.

She gets to the third title, looking it over when Erik pulls his hand from between her legs, moving quickly to flip up the skirt of her dress and grip both her ass cheeks to spread them apart.

She doesn’t even have time to reach back to push him away when he buries his face into her clothed crotch, nose digging sweetly right into her opening. He takes in a deep breath, inhaling everything she has to offer, and her knees go weak making her grip the edge of the table more firmly.

It lasts a few seconds, and when he’s done he opens his mouth, bellowing out a deep and satisfied groan as his hot breath centers right over her pussy, making her squirm around and clench, still helplessly locked in his grip.

Delirious now from the ecstasy of what just happened, she slaps the table, her hand landing on the cover of a random DVD she no longer cared the name of and holds it up, waving it blindly behind her to signal to him that she finally made her decision.

He gives a small grunt of acknowledgement, almost sounding disappointed, and darts his tongue out, sliding it through her slit to rub at her clit a couple times before retreating, tucking it back into his mouth and pressing a sweet wet kiss to the seat of her soaked panties, tasting her through the fabric.

Pulling back, he flips her skirt back down and take the movie from her, giving her a minute to catch her breath since she’d been panting and whining the whole time.

When she’s able to stand again, he smacks her on the ass with the DVD case, handing it back to her.

“Good girl. Now go put this in the DVD player and come sit in my lap. We ain’t finished yet.”

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

I can actually give yall a bomb ass ramen recipe if you want it XD. I fuckin love ramen yo lmao.

Also RIP Blockbuster, we bringing them back for this fic :’D.

Warnings: Pre smut? Fondling, (Slight) Spanking, Above Clothes Touching

Tags:@kxnfuzed-blog-blog @sweet-epiphany85 @blackpantherismyish @huuniii @wawakanda-btch @ljstraightnochaser@bearhuggingbaby@drsunshine97@hearteyes-for-killmonger@maliadestiny @lucidaquarian@theunsweetenedtruth@sicksadgen@louisdimuccis @blackchunkyqueen @ash-moneyy@blowmymbackout @buttercup812 @minkyomom @softnani @curls-and-crosses @lunaerly @lovemekaycee @uhlxis @blackgirloneshots@thecaptainofamerica @wakandas-vibranium @teheeboo @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade@whorderofthepheonix@youreadthatright @killmongerdispussy@cawifornia @tchallamakesmeh0lla @siriuslycollins @panthergoddessbast @blue-ishx@shesfromwakanda@hearteyes-for-killmonger@amethyst1993@bartierbakarimobisson @whoramilaje @muse-of-mbaku@eriknutinthispoosy@wakandas-vibranium @wakanda-inspired @thickoreo@allhailnjadaka@wifeyofnjadaka @hidden-treasures21 @killmvnger@sicksadgen @tgigoldie@killmongersgurl @princessstevens @beautifulqueenflaws @cocooned-butterfly@chaneajoyyy @ange-sensuel@laketaj24 @chasingsunlight @vikkidc@shadowkissedprincessofheart @wakanda-inspired @taint3dvirgin @blackpinup22

#a part 2.....can be done.....should it be requested....#erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger x black!reader #TheHomieFics #bp #black panther fandom #black panther fanfiction

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huntershelper25 · 5 years

Text

The Path of the Chosen: Chapter 4

PotC: Ch 4

Summary: Brooke is a 21 year old girl who’s life is flipped upside down when she receives a phone call from someone she hasn’t heard from in years. This phone call leads to events that cause her to get sucked back into the lives of two young men whom she hasn’t spoken to in years. Her life is never the same. Along the way she learns a secret about herself that not even her father had known. She is forced to face her destiny. Which path will she choose: duty or family?

A/N: I suck at summaries. I started writing this fic YEARS ago. It was posted here on Tumblr, but I have made some edits recently and have decided to repost it. This requires some introduction though. I had a thought one day of what the show would look like if there was a female character that was brought in that actually stuck around for longer than a season or two. And because the thought wouldn’t go away this story and Brooke were born. I had a lot of good feedback the last time I posted this years ago so I decided to repost it for my new followers with some edits.

Disclaimer: There is a LOT of direct quotes and scenes from the show. Especially in the first few chapters. I do not own any of it. I only claim the character of Brooke and how she fits into the story. All else is credited to the writers and copyright holders of the show Supernatural.

Warning: There is some smut thrown in randomly for the first 5 chapters as flashbacks to establish timeline, character building, and relationships, but after that the smut dies off. Also, let’s just assume condoms are implied. They aren’t mentioned, but let’s assume they are used.

Pairings (through entire story): Dean/Brooke (OFC), Sam/Brooke (OFC)(in later chapters)

Word count: 1700

Previous Chapters:

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter Four

She awoke the next morning with the inevitable headache of someone who downed half a fifth of whiskey in less than an hour. As she walked to the bathroom, change of clothes and toiletries in hand, she could hear Bobby snoring away down the hall.

A blinding pain shot through her brain as she flicked on the bathroom light. She stood there blinking for a minute or two, allowing her eyes and her hangover to adjust to the blinding light. She set her things on the toilet seat and stood to examine herself in the mirror. Her two-day old makeup was showing its age. Her eyeliner had decided to finally dislodge and smudge down her cheeks following the trail her tears had taken the night before and her foundation was nearly nonexistent and flaky. She sighed as she took her disheveled self in. She hardly recognized herself anymore. In just two days she had gone from a young, almost pretty girl with such life, to this mess. She hated what she saw in the mirror: a helpless, scared, pitiful girl who couldn’t hold herself together, everything that she was not.

“Pull yourself together.” she told her reflection, “No one is going to hold your hand through this, you’re in this alone now, so suck it up.”

Brooke watched as the girl in the mirror turned from a frightened child into a determined young woman. Satisfied with what she saw, but still unsure of how long it would last, she turned to take a shower.

After she quickly and quietly showered, dressed and put fresh makeup in place, she made her way slowly and quietly down the stairs.

She hadn’t forgotten her plan to leave and start her life anew, but she wanted to do something nice for Bobby before she just took off on him. So, she cleaned the kitchen and straightened things up a little bit. Tossing empty whiskey bottles in the trash and giving things a good dusting. As she put an unopened beer back in the nearly empty fridge, she remembered that she had planned on doing some real grocery shopping. She looked at the clock and saw that it was 8 AM. There had to be a store open somewhere. So, she quickly made a list of what she knew Bobby ate and headed out the door.

After some driving around town she finally found a tiny family run market that was open. As she walked through the automatic doors, she grabbed a shopping cart and instinctively headed toward the produce aisle. She smiled when she found herself surrounded by apples and carrots, knowing full well that Bobby would not eat this, but she grabbed a few apples anyway.

She ran into a few employees stocking shelves, obviously surprised anyone was in the store at this hour. She politely smiled and walked by, not wanting to start up any small talk. She wanted to get this done with and get out on the road to her new life as fast as she could. The less time she spent idling in this one the better. However, you can’t escape the cashier. She sighed when she saw the ear to ear smile of the young gal that stood at the register as she approached.

“Hi there. Did you find everything alright?” she asked as she slowly began to ring things up.

“Yeah, thanks.” If she kept her answers short, she may get the hint.

“Haven’t seen you around before. You new in town?” she continued to scan and bag at a glacial pace.

“Just visiting.”

“Oh? Who? I know just about everybody here in Sioux Falls.” This time she paused. Brooke’s patience was running thin with this one. She made a note to herself to avoid small towns as she searched out her new home.

“Just my uncle, who’s expecting breakfast when he wakes up so if you wouldn’t mind.” Brooke gave her a quick smile, which seemed to do the trick because the girl nodded and hurried up the rest of the transaction.

Bags in her arms, she walked out to her car, as she was about to unlock the door, she caught a flash of pink out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see a little girl, not much older than seven dancing around saying, “Please Daddy? Please!” Brooke’s heart sank as she saw her dark curls bounce around her tiny little face, and saw her fierce green eyes smile up at her as she waved when she caught Brooke looking. She reminded Brooke of herself.

She looked up at the father, who was also waving with a “What can ya do?” look on his face. He too had dark curls and green eyes, just like her father. She tried to conjure up a memory of her own that resembled this interaction, but she couldn’t. She and her father didn’t see much of each other when she was that age, much less ever have that kind of relationship. She learned at a very young age that when Daddy came home you left him alone.

She used to stay with Aunt Julie whenever her dad was off on a hunt, who to this day she didn’t think was actually her aunt. When he would come back, he would be either injured or in a bad mood. He would shut himself up in Aunt Julie’s study and not come out sometimes for days. She remembered the first time she had entered without knocking. She must have been six:

She had just made a batch of yummy cookies and wanted to share them with her father. She slowly opened the sliding doors leading to the study and slid into the room without making a sound. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the walls had been covered in photographs and newspaper clippings depicting some very terrible things. She remembered them because they had never been there before.

Her father was at the desk with his back to her. She slowly walked towards him captivated by all the photographs. As she drew closer she saw a picture of her mother on the wall directly in front of him, she only knew her from photographs he had shown her, it made her smile, but not for long. Alongside her photograph were newspaper clippings and more photos depicting her mother in gruesome circumstances; lying on the floor in a precarious position, covered in blood. She gasped and dropped the plate of cookies.

Her father spun around in surprise, “Brooke, what are you…” then he followed her gaze to the photos of her mother and his expression changed from surprise to anger. He walked around from behind the desk and escorted her out of the room, his grip on her arm tighter than it had ever been. “How many times have I told you to never come in here!” The first time he had ever raised his voice to her.

“But Daddy, why do you have pictures of Mommy like that? What happened to her?” tears welling up in her eyes, rubbing her arm where he had grabbed her.

“That is not of your concern. Stay out of this room!” and he slammed the doors in her face.

She knew now that he thought anger and firmness would protect her from the truth and keep her curiosity at bay for fear of angering him again, but that day shaped their relationship, from that point forward she always feared angering him. She never fully trusted him with anything. Whenever he would come home, she would steer clear of him and let him do his job. They never had father-daughter moments, they never bonded. They were just two people who coexisted. When she became old enough to help him on hunts, once John had convinced him to allow her to, she became his soldier, his partner, not his daughter. A partner he never fully trusted. She could never seem to move fast enough, think sharp enough, or aim sure enough for his satisfaction. He left her behind more often than not.

It pained her seeing this father-daughter interaction and not being able to conjure up her own memory with her father. She gave them both a quick smile and quickly unlocked the car and got in.

She pulled up to Bobby’s just as he was walking out the door.

“Let’s go.” He motioned towards the tow truck the second she got out of the car.

“Good morning to you too,” She said as she heaved one of the grocery bags into her arms.

“Put that stuff in the house and let’s get a move on.”

She gave him a quizzical look as she walked past him into the house. He seemed a little nervous about something. She peeked out the window as she set the bags on the counter and saw him almost pacing by the truck. She became a little concerned. Bobby almost never showed his panic. He always managed to appear calm in even the direst of situations. She quickly put away the perishables and left the rest for later.

“What’s the deal, Bobby? Why so in a hurry?” She asked as she locked the back door behind her.

“I’ll tell ya on the way.” He watched her walk around the back of the truck to the passenger side, a contemplative look on his face, before he opened the driver door and got in.

They sat in silence as he pulled out of the driveway and drove through town, a look of determination on his face. Every few minutes he would look over at her like he was about to say something and then turn back to the road.

“Bobby, seriously, you’re starting to scare me a little. What’s going on?” Brooke finally asked as he pulled onto the freeway.

He sighed and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Sam called. They found John, he was possessed by the demon,” her heart stopped, “It didn’t stick around for long, but it apparently did a number on them all before it took off. They were on their way to the hospital when they were hit by an 18-wheeler. Sam didn’t give me too many details, just that we need to get the impala from the impound lot before anyone sees the arsenal they got in there. We’re meeting Sam at the hospital on our way.”

She turned and looked out the window. They couldn’t be that hurt. Sam was up and around enough to join them at the impound lot, so they had to be fine… right?

She started fidgeting in her seat as they pulled off the freeway and started following the signs to the hospital. The entire drive she had wanted to call Sam to get the full details, to find out if everyone was okay, but she didn’t want to be stuck on the road feeling helpless if the news had been bad, so she refrained.

She was about to explode when they pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. She saw Sam standing just inside the automatic doors and leapt from the truck before Bobby had come to a full stop. It took every fiber of her being not to run across that parking lot. She walked at a controlled steady pace, listening to her heart pound in her ears. He was up right, standing on his own. He didn’t seem to be using the wall to hold himself up. That was a good sign. As she drew closer his face began to come in to focus. She saw the swelling of his eye, the busted lip, and the multiple cuts on his face. He gave a crooked smile when he saw her, but it wasn’t his smile, she could tell it was for her benefit, the pain in his eyes gave that away.

The three of them had always been a tight knit family. They cared for each other more than anything in this world. They would each die for one another without hesitation. Brooke knew that Sam was feeling a thousand times more fear and anxiety over this than she could even imagine. When she was within arm’s reach, she wrapped her arms around his waist. She thought maybe more for her sake than for his, she wasn’t sure, all she knew was it didn’t seem to make a difference for either of them.

“How are they?” she asked as she pulled away.

“Dad’s okay, a little beat up, but okay,” he started to fidget a little and avoided eye contact.

The smile he had given her as she approached, the way he hugged her tighter than normal, and the way he was avoiding her gaze already answered her question, but she had to ask, “and Dean?”

He didn’t answer, but the look he gave her told her everything she needed to know.

#supernatural #supernaturalfanfiction #supernaturalfanfics #dean winchester #sonfanfic #spnfiction #sam winchester #spn

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brittanythescrivener · 6 years

Text

Love Like White Lightning - Inglourious Basterds - Chapter Two

1947

Aldo Raine swung the maul back behind his shoulder and brought it down in front of him with one forceful blow. A sharp crack echoed through the woods. He took another swing, his biceps rippling and straining against the thin cotton fabric of his shirt. He kicked the wood aside and lodged the maul into a stump in front of him long enough to pull the sweaty shirt from his chest and mop his forehead with it.

It was late August in Maynardville, which meant it was still hotter than deep fried hell. Despite the heat and stifling humidity of late Tennessee summers, it was never too early to get ready for winter, which could be right around the next corner. Aldo found splitting wood to be therapeutic. The simple act of the maul slicing through the air and cracking through wood was oddly satisfying and kept his body and his mind busy. If he was idle, his mind wandered, and it would only be a matter of time before he found himself itching to have a bottle of some kind in his hands.

Aldo came from a long line of Raine drunks, and he reckoned there was whiskey in his blood. His grandpappy was a happy drunk. His daddy was an abusive drunk. Aldo himself was the Hemingway of drunks, and he’d been that way for as long as he could remember. That was, until after the war. He went from being a self-proclaimed high-functioning drunk to something else entirely and damn near drank himself to death during the winter of ‘46.

It was colder than hell that winter, but his homemade corn whiskey always made him hotter than the hottest Tennessee summer. Naturally, he didn’t see any problems with going outside in the middle of the night in his long underwear when it was well below freezing and snowing like a son-of-a-bitch. The neighbor found him passed out in a snowdrift the next morning, nearly a mile away from his house. He ended up with pneumonia and two frostbitten hands.

That night had been the culmination of two years of guilt and self-loathing over how the hell he managed to be one of only two men in his unit to survive the war. He lost nine brothers in France—nine good men who were young and had wives and children and lives to go back to. Raine had nothing but the pile of wood in front of him, and he was constantly asking himself why he deserved to still be alive and kicking.

“You still with me, old man?”

Aldo smirked and put his hands on his hips. Smitty Utivich stood several feet away holding a maul. “Boy, I could work circles around you. I was just lettin’ you catch up.” He wouldn’t admit that he had let himself slip again—he had let his thoughts take over and consume him to the point he was brought to a complete standstill.

“Right,” Utivich remarked.

Aldo looked out across the clearing just as a shining ‘46 Chevy made its way up the lane toward the house next door.

“Damn, that’s a nice ride,” he said. He bent down to grab his shirt up off the ground and wiped his face again.

He continued to watch the car as it came to a stop in front of the house. Aldo was waiting to see who would step out of that car. It was none of his damn business who it was, but he couldn’t stop himself from nosing. A flash of auburn hair was all he could see, but that was all it took to send a pang of something he couldn’t identify straight to his gut like a one-two punch.

...

Charlotte Redman was a runner. Specifically, she ran away from things. Anytime the going got tough, she took off. It was much easier to just leave her problems behind than try to deal with them, or at least that’s what she always told herself. Charlotte knew it was one of her biggest flaws. She knew it was a problem, and she’d known it for years.

And now she’d gone and done it again.

The difference this time was that she ran back to something. She ran back home. She’d driven twenty hours straight and found herself staring up at the old house she grew up in.

Charlotte had imagined that if she ever she set foot in that little Tennessee town again, nothing would be different. She was sure that all the same little shops lined the streets, still run by the same familiar people who had owned them for decades. She was sure that her momma’s house still had the leaky roof, the front porch step that creaked and groaned, and the shutter that slapped the side of the house when the wind blew just right.

Charlotte was disappointed to find that she barely recognized the place. The entire facade of the house had been repainted. The front porch no longer sagged. She climbed the steps—none of which squeaked anymore—and raised her hand to rap on the freshly-painted front door.

She was starting to regret ever going back there. The last time she’d stood on that front porch was back in 1931 when she left and vowed that she would never return.

Charlotte lowered her hand and slowly descended the no-longer-creaking front porch steps and took off toward the clearing beside the house, climbing through weeds to get to the spot where she spent much of her time as a teenager—an old wooden barn on the property next to her mother’s house. She’d spent many nights in that little oasis in the middle of the forest.

Charlotte stared in dismay when she realized that in the very spot where the barn once stood, there was a squat bungalow with a wide front porch and a big box dormer on the front looking out toward the treeline. There wasn’t a single sign that a barn had ever existed there.

At the edge of the clearing, there was a pond and a single grand old oak tree. Charlotte slowly approached the tree and noticed a single, simple headstone beneath it. There were bright flowers planted all around it, and it appeared that someone was taking very good care of it. Charlotte knelt in front of the headstone and touched it carefully with one hand.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” a man drawled loudly, sending Charlotte’s heart into overdrive.

Charlotte whirled around and squinted against the sun to see a tall, shirtless man standing behind her. He wore his brown hair combed to the side and a set of dog tags around his neck.

Charlotte stood and folded her arms uncomfortably in front of her. “Aldo Raine.”

“I guess the town’s been buzzin’ with news that you was comin’ home. I didn’t really believe it when I heard it.”

Charlotte shrugged and said, “Here I am.”

“People been talkin’ ‘bout you like you’re some kinda celebrity.” His expression was soft, but his eyes were cold.

“Hmmph,” Charlotte muttered, “I don’t know about that.”

“You lookin’ for the barn?”

“Yes.” She turned to house and said, “How long has it been gone?”

“We tore ‘er down a coupla years ago,” he said.

“I expected to come back here and find everything the same as it was when I left.”

Aldo shrugged.

Neither of them spoke for several moments. Charlotte glanced all around her, trying to identify something, anything, that looked familiar. The only familiar sight was that of the man standing in front of her, and even he seemed different.

“You want somethin’ to drink?” Aldo asked suddenly, breaking the awkward silence. “I think your momma went into town.”

“A drink? I had quite a long drive, do you have anything strong?” Charlotte asked coyly.

Aldo smirked. “You must’ve forgot who I am.”

Charlotte laughed nervously and said, “Right.”

“C’mon,” he said.

“Is this your place?”

“Just built it,” Aldo said proudly. He led her up the steps onto the front porch and through the front door.

“It’s beautiful,” Charlotte said, her eyes glancing over the shining wood floors. “I didn’t know you were into carpentry,” Charlotte commented as she followed Aldo to the kitchen.

“After the war, I decided I needed to be settlin’ down,” Aldo said, throwing open a cabinet and grabbing two glass tumblers off the shelf. He filled each of them with a clear liquid from a mason jar on the counter.

Charlotte joined Aldo at the counter and took one of the glasses from his hand.

“So is there a Mrs. Raine I need to meet?”

Aldo watched her with an amused expression on his face. She took a sip of her drink, and her eyes immediately went wide. She coughed until she was red in the face and said, “Dammit, Aldo, you could’ve warned me!”

Aldo laughed and said, “Those New Englanders’ve made ya soft. You used to be able to drink this shit all night long.”

Charlotte wiped her lips and said, “You’re still shining?”

Aldo waved his hand and said, “Nah, it lost its fun ‘while back.”

“You mean it lost its fun when it was no longer illegal?”

“You said that, I didn’t,” Aldo said with a half grin. He set his still-full glass on the counter.

Charlotte sipped at her drink once more, wincing as the liquid left a fiery trail down her throat.

Aldo stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, “Listen, Charlie, I meant to get ahold of you when I got back in the States. I just—. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll take another drink,” she muttered softly.

She studied Aldo as he filled her glass with more of the pungent clear liquid. He certainly hadn’t changed much since she’d last seen him, save for a few new creases at the corners of his eyes. “Aldo, I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here, but I’d like to have dinner with you or something before I go back.”

Aldo shrugged. “That really necessary?”

Charlotte was taken aback. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I just thought it might be nice to catch up.” Charlotte dropped her glass onto the counter and said, “I should be going.”

“You walked outta here sixteen years ago, and now you wanna pretend that everything is just dandy? Did ya really think the world would stop spinnin’ just for you, Charlie? You moved on, and we all did, too.”

Charlotte stood in front of him, speechless.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs alerted them both. Charlotte turned just as a dark-headed man of small stature entered the kitchen.

“Ah, this must be Mrs. Raine,” Charlotte quipped, trying to break the tension in the room. She could practically hear Aldo’s jaw clenching.

“Charlotte, this is Smitty Utivich, a buddy o’ mine from the war,” Aldo said. “He’s visitin’ from New York.”

“I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Utivich,” Charlotte said. She shook his hand and said, “I’ll be going now.”

Both men watched her leave, but Utivich was the first to speak after the door slammed shut behind her.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Utivich asked, sounding almost excited.

“What in the hell’re you on about?”

“The girl you always talked about. The one that . . .” Utivich said, stopping himself. “The one that Donny was always egging you on about.”

There’d been several women in Aldo’s life . . . his first back in the summer of 1918 (he was only sixteen), a girl here and there (he was just having fun). But then there was the one there in Maynardville. Charlotte Redman, the girl next door. The One (he loved her).

Chapter Three

#Inglourious Basterds #inglorious basterds #Lt Aldo Raine #aldo raine #aldo the apache #smithson utivich #original character #love like white lightning #fan fiction #fanfic

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jewelslover · 7 years

Text

Brother From Another Mother

Chapter 1: When He Visited

Recommended Song: Energetic by Wanna One

Summary:

An unexpected visit from a childhood friend.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader (Y/N)

Word Count: 3.2K

Length: 1/? | MASTERLIST |

Fluff, Comedy

AO3

“(Y/N)? I hope you’re almost ready, because we’re heading over to have dinner with the Parks in 15 minutes!” your mother yelled up to your room, effectively waking you up from a very pleasant nap. Rolling over in your bed, you tried to focus your eyes on the alarm clock resting on the bedside table. Making out a blurry image of the time, you sighed and looked at your ceiling. Why was your mom yelling at you? You didn’t remember breaking anything recently.

You groaned and sat up in bed, trying to regain full consciousness. You blinked at the disheveled reflection in your mirror before rubbing at bleary eyes. You took a moment to yawn before trying to recall what your mother had been yelling about. “Omma… did she..,” another yawn, “yell something about the Par..-?”

Your eyes blew wide in alarm. Glancing over at the calendar that hung on your wall, your alarm was validated. It was Sunday, and Sunday meant that you were meeting family friends for dinner. You probably had to be at their house soon too, and here you were in your room looking like the walking dead. You slowly looked back over at your clock... it was 5:45 pm.

You and your parents needed to leave at six.

“Crap, crap, crap,-” you repeated, scrambling out of bed to look for some proper clothes. You knew you shouldn’t have napped.

In a rush, you tried to tame your hair with a brush and attempt the awkward “hop n’ pull” into your pants at the same time. Probably not the wisest decision, but it was saving you time, and you hadn’t fallen on your face yet. You were suffering from a serious case of bedhead and gave up on the brush, tossing it onto your dresser and just ruffling your hair in a way you hoped looked at least halfway put together. After quickly swiping on some blush and mascara, miraculously surviving almost stabbing yourself in the eye with a mascara wand, you shrugged on the closest jacket to you, darting out of your room and into Busan’s cool autumn air.

You hopped down the concrete steps of your front porch and towards the grey vehicle idling in the driveway. “Sorry ‘bout the wait,” you called, “Let's get this show on the road folks!” You pulled open the car door and slid onto the sedan’s leather seats, guiltily smiling at your parents. Your dad smirked at you in the rear view mirror and started backing the car away from your house. You blew some rouge baby hairs out of your face and buckled up as he navigated out of the neighborhood roads.

Your family had known the Park’s since you were ten and had been going over to Sunday dinner since you were eleven. Dinner had started as a casual invite for food and socialization but had since then become an unspoken weekly tradition. Both families would usually provide food for the meal, but the hosting responsibility had been given to the Parks. It's not that your family was unwilling, but your house was pretty small and it’s dining room meant for two parents and their only child wasn't quite big enough to accommodate 6-7 people every week. More recently however, only five people had been attending.

The Parks had two sons, Jihyun and Jimin. Both of them lived out of house and only Jihyun visited somewhat regularly. Jihyun was gone to university and had been constantly weighed down with the stress of studies. Everyone understood what an undertaking it was and appreciated that he would try to come over whenever he had the time. Jimin on the other hand… Well, Park Jimin was a household name.

After about four years knowing him, he had moved to Seoul to pursue his dream of becoming a performer. Since then he had become a part of the world famous group Bangtan Sonyeondan or BTS as they were more commonly known. You almost never saw him anymore with the exception of TV and social media, and although you were happy for him, you missed your Oppa. The last time you had seen him face to face was the summer after he debuted, and even then he was so busy working that you barely saw him during the time he spent in Busan.

Not having the two funny brothers always around was nothing short of lonely sometimes. When you three were kids, not a day was spent without being together. Jihyun, being closer to your age, was the brother you were closest to. Looking back, your parents were probably annoyed by how much you and Jihyun would ask to be together. You would always get yourselves into trouble when you were little, and as you grew into young adults, well, it wasn’t much different. You laughed to yourself at the mischievous memories, watching beachside benches pass through the car window. Hm, that was where Jimin would always be.

While you and Jihyun would be down at the seaside, soaking each other's school uniforms in the waves (something your parents loved you for), Jimin would be grinning and keeping watch on you two from the boardwalk. Where Jihyun felt like best friend, Jimin felt like a big brother. He would always be there making sure you were protected while keeping his distance. Although, just because he kept his distance, didn't mean he was some kind of grumpy old grandpa. You and Jiyun definitely dragged him into all sorts of trouble if he didn’t beat you to it.

Though there was a rift between the three of you as children because of age, it was sealed as you all became older. You would do everything together, and when you weren’t out with your separate friends, you were with your little family. You were broken out of your fond reminiscing when your mother shook your knee from the passenger seat. “Jagi… we’re here. Come on,” she nodded towards your door and got out of the vehicle herself. You shook your head and unbuckled, scooting across the seat to unlock the door. Meeting your parents at the doorstep you waited for the door to open after your dad had knocked. When it did, you were greeting by a grinning face. “(Y/N!)”

“Jihyun-Oppa? What are you doing here? I thought you had testing!” You said as you ran up to the older boy, wrapping him in a hug. He laughed and hugged you back. Once you pulled back he led you in and welcomed your parents inside, politely bowing. You kicked off your shoes at the door and both of you went to sit down on the couch while your parents headed to the kitchen. You pulled you legs up to your chest and nestled into a comfy corner of pillows. “So… how’d you escape the prison they call Busan University?”

He laughed at your comparison and shook his head. “Turns out that testing is actually next weekend... I decided to welcome the free weekend and visit!”

You hit his shoulder. “Yah! Why didn’t you warn me, Jihyunie-pabo!” You raised you eyebrow and used your index finger to mimic a mustache. “You would’ve texted me if that were the case. What are you hiding kid?” He gave you a weird look and stuck out his tongue.

“As if I’d ever tell you detective,” He scoffed, tilting his head up and looking down his nose at you. “What makes you think I’m lying?”

You rolled your eyes. “Jihyun-ssi. I have known you and your tricks for 9 years. I can tell when you’re lying. Give it up boy.

He pouted and crossed his arms. “I’m squeaky clean until proven otherwise.”

You both stared each other down until the older boy cracked and let a small smile slip. You let your serious faces drop, and broke into a fit of giggles, smiling at eachother. You prodded his upper arm with your socked toe. “I missed you, Oppa. You don’t visit nearly enough.”

He sighed and shrugged, “Trust me, (Y/N). If I could I would. I use every chance I get to visit everyone.” You both gave each other sad smiles but quickly moved past it and on to happier matters. In fact, you had moved so far past the bittersweet moment that by the time his parents came in to get you, you were doubled over in laughter at his hilarious retelling of an awkward date.

Everyone made their way over to the table and sat down while you helped Misses Park with the food. Once everything had been transferred from the kitchen to the dining table you took your seats and dug in. As you started mixing some sauce, Mister Park called your attention. “So (Y/N), have any schools caught your eye yet?” He smiled across the table at you and you bit your bottom lip.

It was common knowledge that you had chosen to spend the year after secondary school at home, but the clock was counting down to choose a university. As much as you loved Busan, you didn’t love its school options. Still unsure as to what you wanted to do with your life, you always bristled when people asked about it. You cleared your throat and looked down at your food. “Ah- not yet no. I’m still… considering career options, Ahjussi,” you answered, stuffing a rice ball into your mouth before he could ask anymore questions. Jihyun kicked your leg underneath the table, having caught onto what you were avoiding. You shot him a quick stink eye before looking back across the table at the adults conversation.

Everyone was finishing up their meal while your father retold funny encounter he had with a street vender. About halfway through Jihyun paused eating and pointedly looking at his mother. “Oh, that reminds me. Omma, do you know if they left yet?”

You looked over at the boy, with stuffed cheeks and a confused look. “Sorry, ‘They’?” you managed through a mouthful of food.

His mother nodded and ignored your question. “Yes. I believe it was this morning. Don’t worry Jihyun, you won’t have to wait much longer.”

You swallowed your food and nudged the boy next to you. “Jihyun, who’s ‘They’?” you asked, but he had already resumed eating. He was looking away from you, seemingly enthralled by the vender story your father had resumed telling. You lowered your voice, “Yah. Don’t ignore me.” He turned back to you and was opening his mouth to say something, when the doorbell rang.

“I’LL GET IT!” You both yelled, hastily getting up from the table and running towards the front door. Using your socks to your advantage, you got a quick start and slid across the hardwood floors, making it before Jihyun. He was about to yell at you, but you stuck out your tongue and held a finger up to your lips, shushing him. “Who is it?” You called through the door, placing a hand on the knob. You stood on your tiptoes to look through the peephole, and were greeted by the sight of strawberry red hair and a familiar smile. “Is that-,” you looked back at Jihyun’s smirking face, “You knew he was coming didn’t you!”

“Squeaky clean until proven otherwise, (Y/N),” he quoted from earlier.

You opened the door faster than you ever had and beamed at the boy who now stood in front of you. “Jiminie-Oppa!” you shouted, and he opened his arms wide for a hug which you happily jumped into. It was comforting after such a long time.

“Is that really you, (Y/N)?” He smiled, holding you out from him to look you up and down. “You look so much older!”

You pouted and crossed your arms. “Well I would sure hope so! The last time you saw me I was 15!”

He laughed and turned away from you to wave at a van that you hadn’t noticed before. A boy with chocolate brown hair around your age nodded from the passenger window and gave a thumbs up to the driver. Another one with his hair tied back by a bandana leaned out in front of the previous, squishing him against the seat, and waved back as the van pulled away. “Annyeong, Jimin-Hyung! See you Tuesday!”

He laughed and nodded, watching the van roll down the street. It was faint but you could make out a loud “Yah! Taehyung! Get off!” You giggled and quirked an eyebrow at Jimin, “Hmm.”

“What?”

You crossed your arms. “How do I know that you’re actually Jimin and not an imposter?”

He scrunched up his nose and smiled. “What do you mean an imposter?”

“I’m just having trouble believing that THE Park Jimin appeared at our doorstep unexpectedly out of his insane schedule.” You shrugged and let your arms fall to your sides again, “I’ll have to conduct a test.”

His smile dropped and an apprehensive look took over. “What do you mean a te-?”

“Jihyun, come over here please,” you said, waving the younger brother over to you. “I’ll need you to keep track of my discoveries.”

The other boy came to your side, laughing into his fist. You deftly kicked him in the shin to shut him up and recomposed yourself, looking up at the strawberry in front of you. “Let’s see here,” you started, reaching up to ruffle his hair, “Hair has the right amount of fluffiness. Good, record that Jihyun-ssi.”

“Wha- How?” He raised an eyebrow and held his empty hands up, “It’s not like I have anything to record on.”

You sighed and took your hand from a giggling Jimin’s hair, moving it to be placed on Jihyun’s shoulders. “You have a brain. Just remember it, Jihyun.” I placed my hands on Jimin’s face and continued my inspection. “Cheeks have the correct squishy to sharp ratio. Smile is still just as blinding. Height… hm, it’s shorter than usual. Jihyun, we’ve been given a phony. This guy’s too short.”

“Yah!” Jimin shouted, his squishy/sharp cheeks turning the same shade as his hair.

You laughed and smiled up at him, “I’m just kidding Jiminie-Oppa. Come on, it’s your house, you don’t have to ask to be let in.” He made a face and ruffled your hair on his way in, kicking off his shoes in the designated corner. You and he both started walking into the kitchen when Jihyun cleared his throat. “Ahem, forgetting about someone?”

Jimin turned around and looked back at where the question had come from. Jihyun just stood there, with arms crossed and an expectant look on his face. Jimin shrugged and shook his head, “No… I don’t think so Jihyunie-ah.” Jihyun just gasped dramatically and turned his back on his hyung, stalking back to the kitchen. “Wait, Jihyun,” Jimin started in between laughs, “come back.”

Later in the evening, after Jimin had caught up to his younger brother and sarcastically apologized, the three of you spread out in the living room. You and Jimin took the couch and Jihyun was sprawled out on the floor, leaning back on his elbows. Somehow, over the course of the conversation, you had successfully flopped upside-down on the couch with your legs tossed over the back and head hanging off the front. Jimin used this circumstance to use your unprotected stomach as a convenient footrest, earning him a swift kick to the chest.

You all talked up a storm and caught up with what had been happening in each of your lives. Jimin loved hearing his brother’s university stories and laughed at your unfortunate secondary school experiences. “Wait, so he did that and thought it would work?” Jimin laughed after hearing about an awkward moment with a ‘guy’ friend of yours.

“Boys in secondary school are just generally stupid,” you said matter-of-factly, stretching your arms above your head and onto the floor.

“(Y/N)-ah, I’m only one year out of there. I find that offensive,” Jihyun pointed out from his spot on the floor.

“Sorry,” you replied with a sickly sweet smile. “Did I stutter?”

He sat up and swatted at you, but you blocked it with your stretched arms. “Yah! Don’t hit a woman!”

“But you’ve been hitting me ever since you got here!” he complained. You just gave him an upside-down smile and avoided another swat. This time you fully sat up and scooted behind Jimin, teasing Jihyun over his shoulder.

“I have protection now. You can’t touch me, villain.”

“Ah, ah, ah-,” Jimin began, shaking his head and getting up off the couch. “You’re not getting involved in this.” He already could predict what was gonna happen. He had been in the middle of you and Jihyun’s childhood feuds more than once. They used to end up with Jimin either calming you two down, or you two teaming up to attack him with whatever was nearest in proximity…

It was usually the latter.

“Hyung, you’re now considered a defensive measure that can be used by (Y/N)-ssi,” Jihyun grinned. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to defeat you in order to get proper revenge.”

“Aniya, Aniya! I beg of your mercy!” Jimin grinned, already dashing out of the room.

“Get him!” you shouted, and both you and Jihyun grabbed the nearest pillow and ran after Jimin. You chased after each other with an arsenal of pillows and old stuffed animals, your socks becoming more and more of a liability on the wooden floors as you slipped and slid through the hallways. You were quick to learn that you needed to grab onto a doorframe if you were going to turn into a new room.

As you were planning a sneak attack from the bathroom, the boys cornered you causing you to trip back into the bathtub (the traitors), and your saving grace arrived in the form of your mother telling you it was time to go home. Although reluctantly, you climbed out of the tub with the help of the brothers and walked back to the front door. Grabbing your sneakers from the corner, you turned to Jihyun and gave him a high-five, reminding him to not die under the stress of university work. This earned sniggers from both brothers. Then you turned to Jimin and smiled before wrapping him in a bear hug. “Don’t be gone for too long next time, okay?” You said smiling up at him, before stuffing your face into his shirt and quietly mumbling, “Four years is too long, Oppa…”

You let him go, and he gave you a sad smile. “I’ll try not too, (Y/N)-ah.”

You smacked his arm and reprimanded him for his sad eyes. “Yah! Don’t give me that look or else i’m gonna cry, Jiminie-Pabo!” The three of you laughed, Jihyun not buying that you of all people were capable of tears, and you gave one final hug to both brothers before your family said their goodbyes and headed back to your car.

As you were driving back towards your house, you looked out at the sea past the boardwalk. The streetlights passed, re-lighting a stretch of the pavement every mile or so. You were still in minor shock that Jimin was able to visit. You reminded yourself to get Jihyun back for keeping it from you later. It was a comfort to see him, but you still felt his absence right after you left the Parks house. You knew when you’d see Jihyun again- probably in a few weeks or so- but with Jimin it wasn’t certain. You sighed and leaned against the car window, closing your eyes the rest of the way home.

You had really missed him.

#Fanfiction #Fanfic #BTS #BTS Fluff #Park Jimin #Jimin Fanfic #Jimin Fluff #jimin x reader #bangtan #Bangtan Sonyeondan #Brother From Another Mother Fic

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